Murder at the Kennedy Center (38 page)

“Please, sit down, Jody. Bourbon? I had it ordered up just for you, your favorite brand.” He crossed to a small bar and held out a bottle for Backus’s approval, like a wine steward presenting the evening’s choice.

“Yeah, I’ll have me some of that. I need a belt of something.”

Kane carefully measured the drink with a shot glass, poured it over ice, and handed it to the senator, who had begun to perspire. “Turn on some AC,” Backus said, downing the drink. “Hot as hell in here.”

“I find it quite comfortable,” Kane said, pulling up a straight-back chair. “Refill?”

“I’ll get it myself.” Backus poured directly from the bottle.

“Do you ever worry that you drink a tad too much, Jody?” Kane asked.

Backus looked at him with watery eyes. “What in hell business is that of yours?” He consumed half the drink, and added, “There’s nothin’ like men of the cloth who raise hell against sin, then go out and do all the sinnin’ they damn well please.” He sank into an oversized leather chair.

“I hate to see you this upset, Jody,” Kane said. “No need to be upset about anything. It seems to me that things in general are very well in control, very well indeed.”

“I don’t see it that way, Garrett. I told you up at Zach
Filler’s lodge that I had a feelin’ things had gone too far, and I’m here to tell you it’s got to stop!”

Kane raised his head, an amused look on his face, the fingers of one hand gently touching his chin. It was a pose Backus had seen him adopt too many times before, a posture of superiority and scorn. Backus wanted to lunge at him, beat a fist into his smooth, tanned face, see his perfect white caps fall on the floor like little ice cubes.

“Jody, I only ask about your drinking habits because a man who drinks too much often finds his judgment clouded, his lips becoming unnecessarily loose. Do you understand me?”

“Look, drinking has nothing to do with this, and you know it. I didn’t get to where I did with bad judgment and a mouth that flaps.” He fixed Kane in a steely stare and, for the first time, saw the minister’s cocky, arrogant expression change—not much, but enough to give Backus control. “What’s happened here, it seems to me, is that like with a lot of good things, some people go too far, ruin it, turn somethin’ good into somethin’ bad, somethin’ that starts to smell. I see it all the time. You could see it on the Iran-Contra committee. Riled the hell out of me that good people like North and Poindexter took a worthwhile project and turned it into somethin’ stupid and illegal. I saw it when Nixon resigned in disgrace, and when Kennedy pulled his goddamn Bay of Pigs. Happens all the time in government, because people get swelled heads and think they know everything, think they are above everybody else. That’s when good things go to hell in a handbasket, Garrett, and that’s what I see happening here.”

Kane had listened intently. When Backus’s short speech was over and he returned to polishing off his drink, Kane pointedly looked at his watch. “Are you finished?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think I am. I want your promise that the things I’m speaking of are goin’ to stop. Listen closely to me, Garrett. If I don’t get your promise, you lose this U.S. senator, and you need him.”

“I think you might have it backward, Jody. The fact is, you need me more than I need you. That’s probably hard for a man like you to accept, wheeling and dealing in the
Senate for so many years, handing out favors, collecting your share, buying votes, and burying bodies.” He strung out the last two words, said them with careful and precise emphasis. There was silence as they looked at each other.

Backus said, “You’re the one with clouded judgment and loose lips, Reverend.”

“And you’re the one with the blood of a dead girl on your hands.”

Backus rose to his full height and shouted, “Don’t you say anything like that to me ever again, you hypocritical, sanctimonious bastard!”

Kane flinched at the power in Backus’s voice. He quickly opened the bedroom door and said, “Come in here.” Jenco and another young man stood in the doorway. Kane said to Backus, who still shook with rage, “I thought we might have the next president of the United States as a friend. You want to know the truth, Jody? You’re a loser—a big, fat, drunken slob of a loser, who’s going to end up shining Ewald’s shoes and making speeches on his behalf. At least, that’s what would be the case if I weren’t here to think clearly, to understand what’s at stake and to have the guts to stop it. Now, I suggest you leave and continue to go through the motions of seeking the Democratic nomination. It looks good that you do that, even though none of it makes any difference. Raymond Thornton will be the next president of the United States, and you will continue to slap backs and make promises in coatrooms until, one night, you’ve had too much to drink and run your car into a telephone pole. The nation will mourn the death of Senator Jody Backus.” That famous smile suddenly lit up his face, and his eyes widened. “And I will be honored to officiate at the funeral. Get out!”

Backus started to say something, but the two young men came around to either side of Kane. Backus seemed unsure of what to do. He held up the glass that now contained only ice cubes, and for a second poised to hurl it at the Reverend Garrett Kane. Instead, he dropped it to the floor and slowly crossed the room, pausing at the door. He turned and said, “I’ve had a distinguished career as a United States senator. I may have played the political game rough at times, but
I never lost sight of why. I love this country, Garrett, and I have given to it the best years of my life. You may think what you want of me, but if there is one thing this fat ol’ Georgia politician is
not
, it’s a party to assassination.” He slammed the door behind him.

Backus had left for his meeting with Kane from his Senate office. Now, he drove directly home. His wife, Lorraine, was baking biscuits for dinner. “What are you doin’ home so early?” she asked, her southern accent as thick as his. Lorraine Backus was a short, round woman whose reservoir of energy seemed never to run out. She was one of the most popular Senate wives in Washington.

Backus crossed the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek. “Those biscuits smell good,” he said.

“Made them especially for you, Mr. Senator. You go take your shoes off and get comfortable, and I’ll bring you a drink. I have some news for you.”

Backus lumbered from the kitchen, heavy with a fatigue that threatened to pin him to the floor. He went to his study and did exactly as he was told, removed his shoes, slipped his feet into a pair of slippers, and sat in a favorite chair by a bow window. A window seat in front of the window was used as a ledge for many framed family photographs. Backus leaned forward and looked at them, as he often did. There was something wonderful about a family, something sustaining. Backus had two sons and two daughters, all grown and married, and five grandchildren. Nothing gave him more pleasure than being with his grandchildren. He’d taught them all how to fish. The youngest, Paula, had caught the biggest bass of the five; a picture taken on Jody’s boat in Georgia showed a proud Paula holding her catch, almost as big as she was. Behind her, and beaming from ear to ear, was Backus.

Lorraine Backus came into the study, handed her husband a glass of bourbon, and sat on a hassock at his feet. “Well, now, what brings you home at this hour?”

“I’ve got to do some serious thinkin’, Lorri, and I got to do it fast. I figured I could think better here than someplace else. What’s this news you have for me?”

“You are about to have yourself another fishing student.”

“What in hell does that mean?”

“Winnie is expecting again. She called me just a couple of hours ago. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Backus sat back and clasped his hands on his chest. Tears formed in his eyes. Few people knew that Jody Backus, all 260 rough-and-ready pounds of him, was capable of crying. He made sure he did it privately, but the tears were real in solitude.

“Jody, are you all right? You look very tired today, or very worried, or both.”

He managed to smile, reached out and took one of her hands in both of his. “Just a little pooped, Lorri,” he said. “I think it’s time for you and me to get away, take a nice vacation, maybe go to Paris, where you’ve always been wantin’ to go, then come back and spend a little time fishin’ with the kids. That sound good to you?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“Sure does to me.” He patted her hand and released it. “Now, you get back in that kitchen and make sure those biscuits don’t burn. I need to be alone for a bit.”

Mac Smith had just slipped on his tuxedo pants and was pulling the suspenders over his shoulders when the phone rang. Annabel, he assumed, whom he’d be picking up in a half hour. “Hi,” he said.

“Mac, this is Tony.”

“I thought it was Annabel. What’s up?”

“Mac, I think you’d better get here right away.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We’ve got a couple of visitors.”

“Who?”

“Two lovely ladies. One is named Janet Ewald, the other Marcia Mims.”

“I’m on my way.”

“I want to apologize for all the trouble I’ve put you through, Mr. Smith,” Janet Ewald said. She sat in the Watergate suite with Smith, Annabel, Tony Buffolino, and Marcia Mims.

“That isn’t important, Janet, although I appreciate the sentiment. I’m just glad to see you here.”

“Because of Marcia.” She managed a weak smile at her friend before saying to Smith, “I was going to go to Dr. Collins’s office, but Marcia convinced me to come here. I called Dr. Collins and told him I was back. I’ll call him again tomorrow and make an appointment. I think I could use it.”

“What name were you traveling under?” Smith asked. He knew.

Janet glanced at Marcia before opening her purse and pulling out a VISA card. She handed it to Smith.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, passing it to Annabel.

“In Ken and Leslie’s house.”

Annabel said, “I assume—and please pardon me if I sound insensitive—I assume you found this because of Paul’s affair with Andrea.”

If Janet considered the comment insensitive, her face
didn’t say it. There was some strength there now as she said, “No. Mr. Farmer had that card. He left it in an unlocked desk drawer, and I just took it when the need arose.”

“Ed Farmer? Why would he have it?” Smith asked.

“Because he and Andrea were close,
very
close.”

“Are you saying that Ed Farmer had an affair with Andrea Feldman,
too
?” Annabel asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Janet said. “I said they were close, in a business sense. Mr. Farmer approved the credit cards for staff members. Andrea had a lot of them.”

“What do you mean by a lot?” Smith asked.

“More than the others. Mr. Farmer gave her cards to department stores, house accounts at restaurants, American Express, VISA, MasterCard, all of them.”

“He was the one who approved the use of them?” Annabel asked.

“Yes. He never questioned Andrea’s charges.”

“Go on,” said Smith.

“I was in the house once when Andrea stayed overnight. She didn’t know I was there. I’d been sick and decided to spend the weekend at my in-laws’ house. I used the spare bedroom next to that small office on the second floor.”

“Where was Paul?” Annabel asked.

“Away on business. I forget where. It doesn’t matter. Sometimes when Paul is away and I’m not feeling well, I stay there to be close to Marcia.”

Smith smiled at Marcia. “Go on, Janet, continue.”

“That night, I heard them fighting. Andrea and Farmer. They were in the small office.”

“Where was Senator Ewald?” Annabel asked.

“Out somewhere. I know he came back later because I heard him, but he wasn’t there when the fight was going on.”

“What were they fighting about?”

“About …” She looked at Marcia and suddenly went back into the shell that Smith recognized.

“Go ahead, honey, tell them,” Marcia said, patting her arm. “Remember what we talked about, that you would come back and tell everything you know, get it over with.”

“They were arguing about files that Mr. Farmer had stolen from Ken.”

“That
Farmer
had stolen from Ken? We thought Andrea stole files.”

“I think she did, along with him. I mean, I think what happened was that they did it together. I didn’t pay much attention at first, and I didn’t make any kind of notes, but when they really started yelling, I sat up and listened as closely as I could. She was threatening him. She said she was going to tell Ken what he’d done, and that he had better be good to her if he didn’t want that to happen.”

“ ‘Good to her’?” Annabel said. “Do you know what she meant by that?”

“No.”

Smith asked, “Did you get any hint of why the files might have been taken, who they stole them for?”

“No. They kept talking about ‘they,’ but they never mentioned any names.”

“Janet, there must have been something else said. Didn’t they discuss why they’d done it, how they got started, who had the idea?”

Janet shook her head. “No, they didn’t. I learned more from Paul than from what I heard that night.”

“What did Paul tell you?”

“We were arguing one night about his affair with Andrea, and he told me that he hated her and was sorry he ever brought her into his father’s life. He said she was no good, evil, cared only about money and her own success. He told me that files his father kept had been stolen, and he said she did it.”

“I thought you said Farmer did it with her,” Annabel said.

“Yes, that’s what I heard that night, but Paul didn’t know that.”

“Didn’t you tell him?” Smith asked.

Janet looked sheepishly at her lap. “No, I didn’t. I wanted him to think it was all Andrea. I
wanted
him to hate her, so that he wouldn’t see her again.”

Smith took a walk around the room to stretch his legs—and his mind. When he took his chair again, he said, “You
told me in Annapolis that your father-in-law had slept with Andrea.” He looked at Marcia. “And you agreed with her, Marcia.” He almost mentioned the diary, but didn’t want to bring it up in Janet’s presence.