Conspiracy (29 page)

"How do you mean?" Taylor asked.

"I knew this guy would change what the computer said. Once I gave him the backup, nobody could ever prove he'd changed it."

Cady, who was taking notes, winced. They had totally pulled the wool over his eyes.

"What'd you tell him?" Taylor asked.

"I said NFW."

"NFW?"

"No fucking way. I said that Mr. Knowles was my boss. He's the only one whose orders I follow."

"What did the guy say?"

"He got all huffy. Said he had the power of Hugh McDermott, the U.S. attorney general, behind him."

At the mention of McDermott, Cady dropped his pencil. This was what he had been afraid of from the beginning.

"He didn't intimidate me," she said proudly. "This bozo. I took enough crap from my second husband over the years to hang in with anybody. So I repeated that I only do what Mr. Knowles tells me. I don't take orders from him or his attorney general."

"And then?"

"When he saw he couldn't get his way, he put his briefcase up on the counter and opened it. He had piles and piles of hundred-dollar bills. Like in a movie. And he said, 'How much do you want?'"

"What'd you say?"

"I laughed at him. Told him that back in Washington everybody might be for sale, but out here there are honest people. That really pissed him off. So he said I'd be hearing from Mr. Knowles, and he stormed out."

"Can you describe the man?" Cady asked.

"Sure. Tough-looking. Broken nose."

"Pug Thompson," Taylor blurted out.

"Did he give you a name or show you an ID?" Cady asked.

Trish shook her head. "Nope, but I'd recognize him."

"We need a picture," Cady told Taylor.

She turned to Trish. "Do you have a computer in the house."

"Sure, everybody does. I have one. Kevin has two."

"Internet access?"

"Natch. We may be in the country, but we're not in the Stone Age."

Five minutes later the printer was spitting out a picture of Pug Thompson, whom Trish immediately identified as the man who paid her the visit.

"Did you ever hear from Mr. Knowles?" Taylor asked.

"A couple of hours later. He called to say I was fired for unsatisfactory work, which was total bullshit. All my reviews had been good."

"What'd you do?"

"I was madder 'n hell. I was thinking of hiring a lawyer to sue, but then I got a call from the man with the broken nose. I'll never forget what he said: 'If you ever mention this to anyone, first I'll kill Kevin and then I'll kill you.' I was sure this Pug, or whatever his name is, meant it. He scared the shit of out of me. So I never mentioned a word to anyone until now."

Cady blew out his breath in a whoosh. "Jesus, what a story. What happened to the records of Mill Valley?"

She shrugged. "I got no idea where they are now. After this guy left and before Mr. Knowles called, I checked the storeroom; they were there then. I doubt very much if they're still there."

"When you computerized, you didn't destroy any records?" Cady asked.

She looked at him as if he were daft. "We don't throw out anything."

"Did you happen to see the purchase price for Mill Valley when you looked at the records after Pug left?"

She shrugged. "Didn't have to. I was working in that office ten years ago when Chuck made the sale. The sales price was considered confidential, which you could do in those days. I saw it, of course. Ten million bucks." She whistled. "A hell of a lot of money. I was happy for Chuck, though sorry the bitch would get to spend some of it."

Her words put the final nail into the coffin of Cady's case against Senator Boyd. Taylor had been right all along: Someone had framed the senator.

"Where can we find your boss, Mr. Knowles?" Cady asked.

Trish walked over to a table and picked up a telephone book. While Cady wrote, she said, "William R. Knowles, 240 Stone Canyon Road, Yountville."

"That's not far from Domain Chandon winery," she added. "I hope you nail the bastard. I want my old job back."
 

* * *

In the Oval Office, Webster and McDermott were watching video clips on CNN of Governor Crane's speech in New York earlier in the day.

Crane literally had taken over Times Square. A huge platform had been erected, and a gigantic throng, thousands and thousands of people—New Yorkers, tourists, men and women of all ages—gathered around on a sunny and breezy Sunday afternoon to listen as Crane presented his blueprint for revitalizing the American economy. At first most listened in silence. He was even heckled. But slowly, with his booming, resonant voice, he gained their attention.

"I have a message for you," he said. "A bold new plan to unify all Americans in a gigantic program to jump-start the economy and increase the wealth of all Americans."

The television broadcast showed the crowd at the end of Crane's speech, cheering wildly as he closed with a single powerful point: "Hold your decision until the debate. Then you decide who should be the president of the United States."

Chants of "Crane for president... Crane for presi
dent...
Crane for president," echoed off the walls of the huge skyscrapers.

Crane stood on the platform waving to the crowd.

President Webster snapped at McDermott, "Turn that damn thing off. Get the Redskins game and put it on mute."

The A.G. hit the remote-control switch.

"Nobody has worked a crowd like that since JFK in the 1960 campaign," said Webster in a tone that mixed admiration with envy. "We're just lucky the Democrats started with Boyd and not Crane. We've only got a twenty-five-point lead. Do you think Crane has time to close the gap?"

McDermott didn't hear the question. His mind was miles away. Last evening at a charity benefit he had run into Jim Doerr, who had said Cady was out in California. What was he doing there? McDermott wondered. Doerr had said Cady was tenacious. Christ, he hoped that Pug didn't leave any loose ends out in Napa.

McDermott felt a tug on his arm. It was the president. "Hey, are you okay? You seem spaced out."

"Yeah, I'm fine," McDermott said glumly. "Just a little tired. I thought I'd get some rest when Boyd died. It looks like Crane intends to make a run out of it."

"Unfortunately, that seems to be the case. Crane may have started late, but the public always loves a new face."

"And he's got a pretty one to boot."

"We have to maximize our prep time for the debate. We didn't take the last one with Boyd seriously enough."

"I'll talk to Boudreau. We'll get started ASAP."

Webster sipped the drink in his hand. "Did you ever find out who sent that anonymous package about Senator Boyd to C. J. Cady?"

This time McDermott was ready for him. He had reluctantly come to the conclusion that Webster wouldn't forget about the question. So he had studied Cady's file from the investigation. To his great relief, he could provide an answer to Webster that was plausible and safe.

"I just found out," said McDermott. "I wasn't going to bother you with it today."

The president looked up anxiously. "What's the answer?"

"A man by the name of Abdul Azziz bought the Mill Valley property from Boyd. He didn't like Boyd's sympathetic views toward Israel. He thought your administration would tilt toward the Arabs. Since he was a party to Boyd's sale of Mill Valley, he had all of the facts. It was an easy matter for him to hire someone to deliver the package to Cady."

"How certain are you of this information?"

"I personally read the entire file of the investigation, even the transcript of the deposition of Azziz."

"Should I read that transcript myself?" Webster asked.

"I don't see the need for it. It's very clear."

McDermott held his breath. If he wants to see the file, I'm in deep trouble.

The president moved on. "Who else is aware that Azziz started this whole thing?"

"Only the two of us, and C. J. Cady, of course. Doerr, if he bothered to read the file or talk to Cady, which I doubt."

"Do we have an obligation to disclose these facts to the public?"

McDermott coughed and said, "I don't see why. No one in your campaign organization was responsible. Or even involved."

Webster rubbed his chin, weighing McDermott's words. "You're sure that Pug Thompson and his people didn't put Azziz up to this?"

"I doubt if they even know who Azziz is. I didn't until I dug into the file this morning."

"And you're certain that you're not making this up to protect me from something?"

"Absolutely."

Webster was satisfied. "Good work. Let's consider it a dead issue. Turn on the volume for the game."

* * *

"Willy just left for the country club to play golf," Knowles's wife, Monica, told Cady when he called.

Well, isn't that nice
, Cady thought.

"He plays up at Silverado. I don't know where you are, but you might be able to catch him before he tees off."

Cady and Taylor had the third FBI agent, Curt Donner, follow them in his own car. Upon their show of federal authority, the manager of the club fully cooperated. He checked around before telling them, "Willy hasn't gotten here yet. His tee time's not for another half hour."

"I think we'll wait for him in the parking lot," Cady said. "Do you happen to know what he's driving?"

"Brand-new maroon Lexus sedan. He just bought it last week. I know because he was showing me this unbelievable computer guidance system the car has."

Bingo,
Cady thought. He looked at Taylor, who was smiling too. He knew exactly how to handle Willy Knowles.

Cady was standing at the rear entrance to the country club, flanked by Taylor and Donner, watching the parking lot, when a shiny new maroon Lexus with temporary plates pulled in.

Knowles was alone in the car. When he opened the door to get out, Cady was right there, holding out his ID from DO J. "Are you Mr. William Knowles?"

The quavering response was: "Yes, I am."

"I'm C. J. Cady. This is FBI agent Curt Donner," he said, pointing. "We're here to investigate a conspiracy that involves the Mill Valley records."

Donner removed a pair of handcuffs from his pocket as Cady had instructed him.

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"Then answer a few questions we have," Cady said. "If we're mistaken, we won't bother you anymore."

Knowles briefly considered calling a lawyer, but decided that might only make matters worse. Cady had said this was about the Mill Valley records. He could handle these guys. They'd never be able to prove he had done anything wrong.

The manager of the club made an empty conference room available. Cady and Taylor took up places across the table from Knowles, while Donner waited outside.

Cady said, smiling, "Nice new car." Knowles squirmed, and Cady's smile hardened. "How much did Pug Thompson pay you in cash?"

The direct frontal assault without any warning threw Knowles off guard, which was, of course, why Cady did it.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Cady noticed beads of perspiration breaking out on Knowles's forehead. "I saw on the plates that you bought the car from Napa Lexus. I think I'll call them and see whether you paid by cash or check. If they say check, we can subpoena your bank account. We'll find out how much the cash deposit was that way."

Knowles's lime-green golf shirt was growing wet under the arms. Cady decided to turn up the heat. "Conspiracy to commit murder is a tough crime to be involved in, because everybody who played a role can go to the electric chair. Even the bit players. Did you know that?"

Knowles's teeth were chattering. His knees were knocking. "Did you say mur-murder?" he stammered. "I have no idea about any murder. Who was murdered?"

Cady didn't want to answer that question. "You tell me what you know, and I'll decide how deeply you're involved."

"Can I take a leak?" Knowles said with an urgency that made Cady think he might wet himself. It was tempting to let that happen, but Cady decided not to. "Agent Donner will go with you. To make sure you return okay."

When he was back, Knowles said, "If I tell you everything I know, will you agree not to prosecute me?"

"I won't make any promises. You play ball and we might not bother you. That's the way it works."

A long silence followed, which Cady let stretch out as long as it would. Finally Knowles sighed. He was going to confess. "A man from Washington came to see me about ten days ago. He said he worked for Attorney General McDermott."

Taylor pulled out the picture they had gotten from Trish's printer. "Is he the one?"

"Yeah."

"What did he want?"

"He wanted me to fire Patricia Bailey, who works in the Napa tax office."

"Did he say why?"

Knowles shook his head. "Not a word. I swear it."

"And you didn't ask?"

"That's right."

"You didn't want to know?"

Knowles looked down at the table as if he could find a clue there for some way out of this mess.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Cady asked.

Knowles nodded.

"And he told you who to put in that job. Didn't he?"

"Yeah. He said she'd just be there for a couple of weeks. He assured me that she wouldn't screw anything up."

"So you did it?"

Knowles nodded again.

"How much did he pay you?"

Knowles hesitated.

"Well?" Cady pressed.

"A hundred thousand," Knowles whispered. "In cash."

"Enough to buy the Lexus and remodel the den?"

"Actually, we're redoing a bathroom," he said sheepishly.

"After you heard about Senator Boyd's death and the nature of the grand jury investigation, you knew why they wanted Trish out of that office and their own person in. Didn't you?"

Knowles said weakly, "Yeah, I kind of figured it out."

Taylor looked at Knowles with disgust. "I don't know whether Cady will prosecute you or not, but I do know one thing."

He was staring at her with eyes the size of saucers, waiting for her to continue.

"From this day forth, you have to live with the fact that you helped kill a good man so you could have a new Lexus and a bathroom."