Conspiracy (28 page)

"Oh, dear."

"Then one day I came home early from New York because an oral argument was canceled. I found her sitting on top of the club tennis pro in our bed, pushing herself up and down and shouting for joy."

She reached over and put her hand on his. "I'm sorry."

"It forced me to reexamine my life. Tennis certainly was her game. I felt like a chump."

"What did you do?"

"Filed for divorce. For a cash payment of a hundred thousand, she was willing to grant it without a contest. No alimony. Then I got the firm to transfer me for a year to our San Fran office. I went up to Mendocino most weekends to the cabin, walked in the woods and looked at the ocean. From all of that, I lost my taste for corporate law. I decided to try to do some good for the country. With my skills, I figured the U.S. attorney's office was a good place. I've gotten rid of real scum, like that Russian mobster, Kuznov. Despite the problems that come from working for an ambitious ass kisser like Doerr, I've been happy there. That's it. End of story. Now let's eat."

For several minutes, they attacked the quail in silence. All the while Taylor was thinking about what he had told her.

"You know," she said, chewing, "we're not so different. My mother died when I was twelve. After that I had no real family. My father worked hard in a steel mill. When he came home he had a wall around himself. My brothers had no use for a girl. I knew I had to get out of that town." Her face brightened at the next part. "Fortunately I got a steel company scholarship to Carnegie Mellon, which included a summer job to study mining in Colorado. Once I saw the Rocky Mountains, I was never the same. I was planning to go to grad school in environmental engineering, but then a funny thing happened."

"What's that?"

"As I began reading about global warming in a senior seminar in college, it became clear to me that scientists should be the advocates in our society on environmental issues, but they aren't. The lawyers are. If I wanted to make a difference, I'd have to become a lawyer and join their club." She saw him nodding in agreement. "One of my professors knew somebody at USC law school who helped me get admitted late in the process. After law school, I took a job in the governor's office doing energy work. That's how I met Boyd—at a hearing. We hooked up again after I came east to Washington to do good on the Hill. When the excitement of that work turned to boredom, Philip Harrison convinced me I could do something worthwhile with a law firm as my base. Contrary to the public perception, all lawyers in private practice aren't villains. So here we are."

He studied her. "You're right. We're not so different." He hesitated. "Can I ask... have you ever been married?"

"Nope," she said. "The right man never came along, and I was hell-bent on my career." She thought about Alex. "I've had a number of relationships over the years, though. I don't have any regrets." Suddenly she was overtaken by a huge yawn. "I don't know why I'm so tired. In about five minutes I'm going to embarrass you by falling asleep on the table."

They walked slowly back to their rooms, which were next to each other in one of the small cottages that dotted the property. A thousand stars filled the moonlit sky. From the chill in the air, she had goose bumps on her arms. At her door they stopped.

"One thing I want to tell you," she said.

"What's that?"

"I appreciate everything you did for me today. The wig and the false ID. Everything. You're not a cold, unfeeling WASP with ice water in your veins."

He touched her shoulder, and his hand lingered there. "Thanks."

"I had a really nice evening. And the wines you picked were incredible."

"As long as you're giving compliments, I'll give you one: I think you look great in that pants suit. Smashing."

"Thanks, C.J."

He pulled his hand away reluctantly. "Breakfast at seven-thirty?"

"Sounds good."

He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

She held her breath, wondering if he'd ask to come into her room. She didn't want to tell him he was being too aggressive.

When he took a step backward, she said, smiling, "See you in the morning."

* * *

Terasawa entered Taylor's apartment building—the Watergate—through the garage.

He had been lurking behind an oak tree near a large metal door that was locked shut. Tenants, a couple in a black Cadillac, came home late at night and activated the remote control that raised the door. Terasawa waited until their car had passed through, and slipped inside before the door closed.

Squatting behind the nearest car, he watched the couple climb out of the Cadillac and walk toward the garage elevator. The man was dressed in a tuxedo. The woman had on a mink coat and was carrying a jeweled evening bag.

Once the elevator door opened, Terasawa moved forward rapidly and followed them inside. He looked like a tenant, dressed in a suit and tie with a topcoat, carrying a black leather briefcase. The couple paid him no attention. Exhausted and tipsy, they had just come back from a party. The woman said, "I never thought we'd get out of there."

As the elevator started its ascent, Terasawa tensed, prepared to go for the Berretta in his shoulder holster.

Yet the couple exited on the fourth floor. The man nodded to Terasawa and mumbled, "Good night." The woman's eyes were half-closed.

The elevator continued its ascent to the eighth floor, Taylor's floor. Terasawa walked softly down the thick beige carpet of the deserted corridor. He didn't know whether Taylor was in her apartment or not. He had called repeatedly that evening, and there had been no answer. That didn't prove a thing. She might be screening her calls.

In front of her door, he stopped and glanced around. There was nobody in sight.

With a small loop of wire and a thin metal bar, twelve seconds was all it took for him to pick the lock.

Once inside, Terasawa closed the door and looked around the dark apartment. She could be sleeping. With the gun in his hand he moved on tiptoe through the living room to peek into the two bedrooms. Nobody was there.

Terasawa was disappointed. It would have been so easy to dispose of her once and for all and go back home. Now he couldn't do that. He had to stay until he finished the job. Even worse, he had no idea where she was or when she'd come back home.

"Search it first," Sato had told him. "Then do your other work."

Terasawa didn't want to turn on any lights for fear of arousing suspicion. Instead he used a pocket flashlight with a powerful beam. He thoroughly searched the apartment, particularly the drawers, for any papers Taylor might have that could support the idea that the senator had been murdered.

Terasawa didn't find anything until he got to the center desk drawer in Taylor's study. Buried under some papers was an envelope with the address of the
New York Times's
Tokyo bureau. Terasawa sat down in her leather desk chair and began reading Alex Glass's letter. Terasawa was dumbfounded. Glass had pieced together everything Sato had planned. That damned Ozawa had betrayed Sato.

He thought about it some more. No, Glass didn't know everything. He didn't know the name of the American whom Sato had met in Buenos Aires. The man Sato called R.L.

And Ozawa... What a fool the general had been. Terasawa's mind was churning. He now had something powerful to hold over Ozawa and use as he wanted.

In the meantime he slipped Glass's letter into his pocket. Since she had read it, one thing was clear: Taylor had to die.

He opened his briefcase and shined the flashlight inside. All the components were encased in bubble wrap.

First he removed the plastic bomb with great care. It was packaged to resemble a mass-market paperback book. The cover had been torn from
The Eye of the Needle.
He placed it on a wooden coffee table in the living room.

Then he unwrapped the detonator, which was flat and a foot long. He placed it under the edge of the Oriental carpet just inside the apartment door. When Taylor came home, she'd have to step on it.

Finally he removed a clear plastic wire and connected one end to the book. He ran it under the carpet. The other end he connected to the bomb.

Terasawa walked around the detonator with great care as he left the apartment.

It didn't matter any longer what Taylor had found out from Alex Glass or anyone else, Terasawa decided. Sooner or later she'd come home. Then the bomb would finish her off.

 

 

 

Chapter 22

 

Trish looked apprehensively across her living room at Taylor and Cady. She was chewing gum furiously. "The available men out there," she said, pointing to the picture window, "are the dregs. The absolute bottom of the barrel."

It's obvious her overnight didn't go well,
Taylor thought. She felt bad for the tall, willowy woman with curly blond hair who was wearing gold rings on four of her fingers and large gold hoop earrings.

"I'm sorry," Taylor said.

"Ah, don't worry about it. I'll survive. Besides, Kevin's a great kid. He's an honor student."

They had already been here ten minutes, and Trish hadn't asked why they wanted to see her, which Taylor thought was odd. Glancing at Cady, she decided to jump in. "I was a good friend of Senator Boyd's."

Trish turned instantly wary and apprehensive. "Kevin told me."

"He said you knew the senator from school."

"Uh-huh. He was Chuck then. We were in the same class. I liked him. Everybody did. None of us could stand her."

"Sally?"

"Yeah. She was a year behind us. She never even started college. At least I went two years to junior college. Her father owned a little grocery store down in Oakville, but once she married him and went to France, she took on airs. She opened a ritzy antique shop, and after that she didn't want to have anything to do with any of us, which suited me fine." Trish began chewing harder, thinking about her dislike for Sally. "Some people are like that."

"So why'd he marry her?"

"Oldest reason in the book: He knocked her up. Now he's dead, and the bitch has all his money." Trish shrugged. "That's life."

Cady thought he saw an opening. "Was there much money?"

Trish looked at them anxiously. "Who are you people? What do you want?"

Taylor responded before Cady could. "As I said, my name's Taylor Ferrari. I was the senator's campaign manager. You may have seen my name in the newspaper in articles about the campaign."

Trish looked her up and down. "Yeah. I thought I remembered the name."

"I was the senator's friend, too." Taylor gave the woman a measuring look. Leveling with her was a gamble, but her instincts told her Trish could help if they got her on their side. "I don't think he killed himself. I'm trying to find out what really happened."

To her relief, Trish agreed with her. "I couldn't see him doing that myself. Chuck loved life too much." After her immediate response, her expression turned puzzled. "So why'd you come to see me?"

Trish was smart, Taylor decided. She knew why they were here, but she was trying to avoid it. "You worked down in the Napa tax office. With the records. Didn't you?"

Trish jumped to her feet. "I don't want to talk about it."

She stormed out of the house into the backyard. Taylor followed her, signaling with her hand for Cady to remain behind. There was no question something had happened, and she thought she could pry it out better by herself.

Trish had settled on an old swing. She was rocking back and forth. Terror was written on her face.

"What happened down there?" Taylor asked.

Trish didn't respond. She kept swinging and chewing her gum. The silence became long and heavy.

Finally Taylor said, "Cady in there is a government prosecutor. He could get a subpoena and make you tell us, but I don't want to do that."

"I wouldn't talk anyways."

From the fear in her eyes, Taylor knew Trish meant it. She decided to take a different tack. "On the other hand, Cady can also call on people from the FBI. He can protect you and Kevin, if you're worried that somebody might try to harm you."

Trish hesitated. "Yeah, I'm worried. You would be, too."

"I'll go in and talk to Cady. I'll let him tell you what he can do."

Once he learned what Taylor wanted, Cady quickly made a call to Tom Miller.

"Two men from the FBI will be here within the hour," he said, after he had hung up. "One to guard you, the other for Kevin, until this is over. We won't leave until they come. So you can talk to us now."

"Correction," Trish said. "I don't talk until they come."

* * *

Miller had decided to send three agents. He thought Cady might need another one, depending on what Trish said.

An hour later two of them had taken up position outside "Irish's house. The third was in the stands at the field where Kevin was playing football."

That was good enough for Trish.

"I'm not real good with dates," she began in a halting voice, "but about two weeks ago or so—more like ten or twelve days—a guy came in to see me. He said he was from Washington, and he wanted all of the backup documents for Chuck's sale of Mill Valley. He also said that he wanted access to the office computer to check what the computer said about that sale. He didn't fool me for a minute."