Flashpoint (24 page)

‘Dev Conrad. I work with the senator.'

As we shook hands, I said, ‘Is there any chance we could lose that photo on the wall?'

‘Sure. What did you have in mind?'

‘Solid background. And shoot everything in medium close except when we open. Then we're out a little wider.'

‘I was thinking along the same lines. I guess we must both be geniuses.'

‘Speak for yourself. That's one of the few names I've never been called. And for good reason.'

It helps everybody to get along with the local crew. You generally get a better product. I've watched too many Chicago hotshots snap out orders to local people as if they were idiots. Once in a while they are idiots. But then so are some of the Chicago hotshots. And more times than they seem to realize.

There wasn't much to do except set Robert in the chair, spend a few minutes lighting him and then running through the words on the Teleprompter. Ben and I reassured him that he'd do fine and that this was the right thing to do.

The middle-aged gentleman operating the camera was either having an upset stomach episode or he didn't much like our senator. I caught him rolling his eyes when Robert got to the part about his enemies. And he caught me catching him. The apologetic smile confirmed my read of his political opinion.

The same gentleman gave the countdown. ‘Senator – in five, four, three, two, one – in!'

I listened as carefully as I could. Nuance could kill you just as much as an outright mistake. Even though he insisted on his innocence and apologized to his constituents for putting them through this ordeal, and even though he offered his condolences to the family and loved ones of Tracy Cabot, he could undercut himself with an expression that could be misread or a passage he seemed to hurry through. Every breath he took would be parsed.

Ninety seconds isn't much in real life but in TV life it can be an agonizing year or two. I stood next to Ben as Robert started in. There was a monitor close by. I kept looking from Robert in the studio to Robert on the tube. He'd managed to relax some and that helped establish an intimacy with the public. He wasn't this treacherous beast. He was a guy – admittedly wealthy, admittedly a Washington insider and player – who wasn't all that different from most folks after all. And who had been falsely accused. He was especially good with that part of our response.

At the one-minute mark I realized I was sweating. Cold sweat; flop sweat. If he could just get through the next thirty seconds without screwing up …

And he did.

‘And we're out!' the cameraman said.

Ben and I rushed to the desk and started telling him how well he'd done. We didn't have to hype it; he'd done damned well. I resented the fact that the cameraman was still in the studio wrapping things up. I wanted only true believers around for this little celebration.

‘I wish I felt as good as you two,' Robert said. But he had allowed himself a tentative smile.

‘That's the first step back, Senator, and a good one. You've faced your public. That's got to help.'

I put my finger to my lips. Robert and Ben glanced at me then understood when I nodded in the direction of the cameraman. He'd no doubt made an agreement with somebody to report on everything he'd seen and heard when we were here.

He pretended to be intensely interested in pulling a piece of cable a few feet along a baseboard.

‘You about done over there?' I said. I didn't bother to sound friendly.

‘I work here, remember?'

‘Great. But we'd like a little privacy, if you don't mind.' I realized I likely sounded like one of those Chicago hotshots who pushed around local TV people. At the moment I didn't give a shit.

He dropped the snaky black cable to the floor and rolled his eyes again. We weren't in danger of becoming buddies. Then he sort of flounced – yes, flounced – toward the door and let himself out.

‘Friend of yours?' Ben smiled.

I returned the smile and then said, ‘OK, now we make a run for our cars. I'll do what I can but they'll be moving in a pack and that'll make it even tougher.'

‘This is like a commando raid on our own cars,' Robert said. ‘As long as I've been in public office I've never seen anything like this.' Then he understood what he was
really
saying. ‘Of course, nobody ever thought I'd killed anybody before, either.'

Ben had brought all of Robert's other clothes along so we were ready to go, out of the studio, down the short hall, down the long hall and to the back door. I was the one who peeked out. Dark, wintry air and a blast of camera light that hid the mob behind in shadow. They could have been anything, vampires or werewolves or creatures up from the bowels of the earth as in all those wonderful old late-night horror movies I cherished enough to never watch again. The most I could see of any of them was the way some of the camera light illuminated their eyes, which only enhanced the feeling of inhuman beings.

I looked back at them. ‘You ready?'

‘As we'll ever be,' Ben said.

I pushed the door open only wide enough for me to step through. If their words had been bullets I would have been in ragged pieces on the ground. They pushed, lurched, lunged and surrounded me. I raised both arms as if I was about to bestow a papal blessing. ‘My name is Dev Conrad. I'm here to see if all you sensitive, caring people will do Senator Logan the kindness of letting him get to his car and go back to his home. I can assure you that everything you want to hear him say you'll hear in the ninety-second statement he made on tape just now inside Channel Four.'

‘Did he admit he killed her?'

‘Why would he do that? He had nothing to do with her death.'

‘Does he have any idea of who did kill her then?'

‘No.'

‘If he's innocent why does he need a high-powered attorney like Ben Zuckerman?'

‘Is that supposed to be a serious question?'

‘Yes.'

‘He brought in Mr Zuckerman because before the police forensics team had even left the cabin where Ms Cabot's body was found parts of the media – especially the TV media – had already found him guilty.'

‘Is there any truth to the rumors that he may resign?'

‘No.'

‘How is his family dealing with all this?'

‘How would any family deal with it?'

I didn't have to look behind me to know that Ben had appeared. The group of thirty-plus with all their equipment started to lean in his direction as he ran toward his Buick. He was playing football again. Doing some broken field running and not looking back. But most of them stayed in place.

‘Was he having an affair with the Cabot woman?'

‘I don't mean to be rude but these are the same questions you've been asking Mr Zuckerman. He was not having an affair with the Cabot woman.'

I watched Ben swing the Buick around behind the reporters and honk his horn. Robert came rushing out. They were on him like leeches. He did a football run, too. Far to their right and then straight on to the car. Ben had tracked him so that before they could stop him he was diving into the open door and Ben was screeching away before that door was closed.

In most circumstances, all this would have been funny. Everybody from the lowliest and most incompetent of TV writers to the great Federico Fellini had parodied the press trying to overwhelm and lynch its prey. But tonight it held no charm; no charm at all.

The ones who'd strayed returned to the coven so they could join in yelling at me. I answered a few more questions and then said, ‘I'm afraid that's it for tonight, friends. Now you know as much as I do about the whole story.'

They didn't believe me and kept shouting at me. I didn't try an end run. I just started walking toward them and enough of them parted to let me continue my journey until I was clear of them. They stayed behind, a thundering herd, but I guess that by now they were as tired of it as I was. Bars and restaurants sounded much warmer and fuzzier than trying to browbeat a minor player into giving you something you knew he wasn't going to give you anyway.

I got in my Jeep and gave it the gas before clipping on the headlights, turning on the heat and strapping on my seat belt. I just wanted to get away from here. I did all these things in the next few blocks. I headed by pure instinct toward the same kind of refuge the press sought. My hotel and its restaurant.

There was no escaping the reporters, of course. They were all over the lobby. For the most part these were the A-list boys and girls. Lesser lights would be on less generous expense accounts so would be staying where you had to do a lot of things for yourself, a constant reminder that you weren't successful enough to deserve A-list treatment.

I thought about going up to my room first but was led by a cosmic force into the restaurant where I asked for a table for two. It was warm in here and the candlelight had a nurturing effect on me, and when I speed-dialed and got Jane a great good peace settled on me as soon as she said she'd join me within ten minutes. There's a kind of loneliness that only comes with being on the road. Not so much in your twenties and thirties, maybe, but for me my forties were starting to make the road seem bleak and endless.

Jane seated herself with a smile and scents of woman, rain and, more faintly, perfume. The middle-aged waiter's blue eyes very much approved of her looks.

I'd waited until she was here to order. We decided on Scotch and waters and mushrooms stuffed with lobster meat as appetizers.

‘Channel Four led with it,' she said. ‘The senator really did well. I'm prejudiced on his behalf so I did my best to be objective. He looked good, he sounded sincere and what he said made sense.'

‘He told the truth. The one thing I expect the right to jump on is the reference to his “enemies.” People always have a problem with that. But in this case I'm pretty sure it's true. There's a group called The Alliance for Liberty. That's the only point of contact we have. Tracy Cabot's old man was involved with them. But they may not be part of this at all so that's why we can't talk about them publicly. There are secret groups working twenty-four/seven and they get bolder all the time. Bring down enough senators on our side and they can take over the government.'

‘That sounds like a science fiction movie.'

‘Something like it happened before.'

‘Really?'

‘You can Google it – ‘The White House Putsch.' I read about it a few times before but I needed to read up on it again. A retired Marine Corps major general named Smedley Butler claimed that a secret group of millionaires and billionaires were plotting to take over a veterans' organization – those organizations were powerful back in the thirties – to use as the leading edge of a
coup d'état
that would overthrow FDR and seize control of the federal government.'

‘Was that really true?'

‘Well, historians are still arguing about it. The consensus seems to be that the plot was true and that a number of very, very rich men were involved. The debate seems to be over how close they came to actually acting on the plot. It's the same today. I don't know if anybody could pull it off but maybe they'd try it. There are a lot of true believers with a lot of money. There's one big problem.'

‘What?'

‘Now I sound like every conspiracy nut I've ever made fun of.'

The waiter appeared again and Jane ordered a large Caesar salad. I ordered the salmon.

After the waiter left, Jane said, ‘The idea of a coup is really scary. Most people wouldn't think it was possible.'

‘There's this movie I've seen a number of times where this actor named Kevin McCarthy is running down a road pounding on car windows and warning everyone that they're coming.'

‘I love that movie. The first time I saw it I was eight. I was convinced that half the people I knew were pod people. I just wish it had a different title. You tell most people
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
is a great movie and they think you're an idiot.'

‘It's their loss. They're the idiots. Anyway, I'm not even sure that's what Ruskin is talking about. And he's such a bullshit artist, who knows what he's going to tell me when we finally catch up with him. The only thing I know is that he's convinced whoever hired him has sent somebody to kill him.'

‘Do you believe him?'

‘I believe he believes that. Which doesn't mean it's actually true.'

‘And you have no idea where he's hiding?'

‘None. But he also seems to believe that I'm the only one he can trust. He thinks a number of people on his side are involved. He can't be sure which ones. That would go along with the conspiracy, of course. So I expect to hear from him.'

She sat back; a melancholy smile. ‘I really am a small-town girl. I thought it was a big deal to have a sitting senator from here and go to parties at his house occasionally where other sitting senators and well-connected political people were hanging out. But all this intrigue – I have to slow it down every couple of hours just to take it all in. And now Ruskin insisting somebody's trying to kill him.'

‘Robert was set up. Nothing illegal was done on either side so there's no case against it. A senator made a fool of himself over a pretty woman. In an election cycle that can make a difference between winning and losing. What they'd planned was simple. They'd leak some incriminating photos of the Cabot woman and Robert together – they'd have the hotel clerk testify that she was afraid of him; they'd have testimony that Robert was there in the parking lot clearly angry with her – and that would be that. Robert would be finished. The Cabot woman's murder changed everything.'

The food was served and the aromas reminded me of how hungry I was.

The salmon and Caesar salad were both tasty and the second Scotch and water so good I knew I needed to cut myself off. Be pretty easy to sit here and get hammered, especially with Jane framed in the candlelight.