According to Their Deeds (32 page)

His lower lip was quivering, and whatever emotion he was trying to show was incomplete without that part under control.

“They’re at my house.”

“Then let’s go.”

John Borchard held the door for Charles, and then locked it. Angelo barely got out before it closed; John had ignored him completely.

Charles twisted through the tangles of suburban roads, John Borchard’s heavy silver Cadillac guiding him.

“You are making that man mad,” Angelo said.

“Yes. It’s unavoidable.”

“That man, you should be careful with him. Does he have friends?”

“You mean his gang? No, there won’t be anyone at his house. I know you wouldn’t follow someone into his base like this, but I think he is a man who works on his own.”

Angelo nodded. “I think he is. You are going into his house?”

“I expect so.”

“I will not go in.”

“That’s probably best. He’ll be more willing to talk with just me alone. He’s in a difficult position and he needs my help, Angelo. I want to get information from him, but even more, I want to help him.”

Finally they came to a driveway on a very new street of very large houses. Where Derek’s house had been a painting, these were billboards. The landscaping was machined and the architecture generated.

John Borchard stood waiting in the driveway.

“Here we are,” he said as Charles stepped from his car. “My wife is away for the morning.”

“It’s a very nice neighborhood, John.”

“Please come in.”

Angelo stayed in the front seat. John led Charles through the garage, not the front door, into an extensive kitchen of hard, polished surfaces, and through a dining room of designed colors and shapes, and a hallway of nothing comfortable, and to an office of deep and rich pretense, with nothing anywhere softened or wizened by any age.

“Please sit down.”

Charles sat in a chair as plush as those in the Justice Department office. A clock ticked. Charles folded his hands.

“I am very disturbed,” John Borchard said from behind his desk. Whether he wasn’t trying, or the novelty had worn off, his face seemed less expressive. It was merely stern. “Charles, I accepted you for who you said you were and what you said you were doing. You gave no indication that you were anything but a friend of Derek’s, simply looking at his life. But now it is obvious that you were misleading me.”

“I apologize,” Charles said. “However. Caution has been necessary, and John, I don’t believe you were simply accepting me as Derek’s friend. You assumed much more than that.”

“And so I was correct. Then let’s start over.” John forced a forced smile. “And let’s start with Derek’s desk. How did you know about it?”

“I really didn’t know anything about it at the time of the auction two weeks ago. Of course, everyone saw the bidding. The desk was worth over a hundred thousand dollars to two different people.”

“But Derek had showed you the drawer?”

“No.”

“Then how did you know about it?”

“That came later, and I’m under an obligation to not discuss it. But I did find out about the drawer, and about what it might have contained.”

“And what do you think it might have contained?” John asked.

“I think caution is still in order,” Charles said. “Instead, I’ll mention Patrick White.”

“I’ve warned you already to not listen to him.”

“I know that he is mistaken about you, John. But someone threatened him and then carried out their threat. Someone.”

“Apparently,” John said.

“I believe it was Derek Bastien.”

“Why?”

“I’ll just say I’ve gotten to know Derek very well since he died. But that is what I think Derek kept in his desk.”

“Evidence against Patrick White?”

“More than just Mr. White. And, John, I think you must have known what he was doing.”

“What makes you think that, Charles?”

“Because you paid a hundred and five thousand dollars to get his desk.”

John Borchard’s face was out of control for a moment with a bewildering array of worries, angers and even bewilderments.

“But how did you know that I did? You’re talking in circles.”

“I guessed. At least two people knew about the drawer, to bid so high for it. Who else would it have been? You, or Karen Liu, or Patrick White. Possibly others. Mr. White didn’t suspect Derek at all, and I don’t believe Karen Liu did either. But Derek worked for you, and his interests in blackmail coincided very closely with yours. It seemed reasonable that you would know what he was doing. And not many people would have been close enough to him to specifically know about the drawer.”

“But you were still guessing.”

“I was guessing. I guessed that someone would get a list of agents from the auction house, which turned out to be true. Was that how you found Jane?”

“That isn’t important.”

“It seemed in character, though. So when I found her, I had a chance to try out my guess. If you hadn’t responded the way you did, I would have tried Karen Liu next. Besides that, your questions about Derek’s books were rather transparent.”

“Yes, his books.” John was back on firmer ground. “My questions were transparent. You could have answered me plainly.”

“Why were you interested in his books?” Charles said.

This time, the expressions progressed through concentration, indecision, calculation, and finally firm resolution. John settled deep into his chair’s padding. The final display of eyebrows, chin and lips was camaraderie and confiding.

“All right, Charles. I see that we need to work cooperatively here. I think we’re working toward the same goal, and we’ll need each other’s help to get there.” He leaned forward for a more intimate discussion. “Yes, I was aware of Derek’s activities, but only slightly. I did see his drawer once and I knew what he had in it. I didn’t ask for specifics. I only knew that he had some leverage over Karen Liu.”

“So, it was unexpected when Patrick White began accusing you of blackmail?”

“Absolutely. I hadn’t known that Derek also had incriminating evidence about him. It didn’t take me long to realize what had happened, though. Derek engineered his downfall and made him think it had been me who did it.”

“And that made it imperative for you to get the rest of his papers,” Charles said.

“Exactly. Absolutely. I had to know what other schemes he had going.”

“Couldn’t you have gone to the police?”

“No. Not until I knew myself what was in the papers.”

“And what was?” Charles asked.

“Too much.” John grimaced. “And not enough. There were files on more people than I would have imagined, but the specific ones I was looking for were missing. Charles, my guess is that you have the papers that I don’t.”

Charles nodded. “I do have some papers.”

“They were in one of the books?”

“Yes.”

“So I was right,” John said. “And that’s how you became involved. Well, Charles, I would like to see them.”

“You should, John. And I’d like to see the papers you have.”

Their solidarity was shaken. John frowned.

“That would worry me,” he said. “The papers concern a number of people. I’m sure they wouldn’t want you to see them.”

“They will never know that I have.”

“It makes me wonder how you will use the information in them.”

“I won’t.”

“Then why even look, Charles? It would be better if you didn’t. You don’t know most of them. They are his colleagues at work and people he knew socially. I have compelling reason to know, because I need to understand what damage has been done, and how it can be repaired. That’s my responsibility as Derek’s superior in the Department. I don’t understand why you need to see them.”

“John, it isn’t that I want to. I also have my own compelling reason, but I can’t tell you what it is.”

John was not pleased. “A compelling reason?”

“I can’t cooperate further until I’ve seen them.”

John Borchard would have been a poor poker player. It was obvious he was going to fold, even as he tried to bluff.

“Tell me what you’re looking for. I can tell you if you’d find it.”

“I don’t know. I have to look for myself.”

“Oh, very well!” For the moment, they were not friends. “I’ll ask you to excuse me for a moment.”

“Of course.” Charles stood to leave. “I’m sorry, John. I really don’t want to see them. But I have to.” He stepped outside.

The brief passage of the hall earlier had been enough to appreciate it. Now he had a much longer opportunity as three minutes passed. It was surprising how poor the Borchards’ taste was; everything was expensive, but nothing was valuable. There was no feel to any of the house. The only consistency to any of the furniture was how soft the seats were, and the severe hardness of everything else.

The door opened.

“Please, come in.”

A stack of folders was on the desk, about two inches high.

“It isn’t as many as it looks,” John said. “Each one is in its own folder. But there are still forty-six in all.”

The folders were unmarked. Charles took the first and set it down off the stack onto the desk’s surface. The wood was dark and heavily grained. He pushed a brass penholder out of the way.

Then he glanced up at a curtained window behind the desk chair.

“Need more light?” John said. “I sometimes do.” He opened the curtains.

Charles looked out into the backyard. The black windows of the house behind them looked directly down and in.

Charles turned back to the folder. It held only a single page: a hotel bill from a Las Vegas resort, with a name and date.

“Nothing illegal,” John Borchard said. “That is my peer, the other Deputy Assistant A.G. for Legislative Affairs. But he wouldn’t want it known that he frequents casinos. He’s quite a straight arrow.”

Charles opened the next folder.

“And that is illegal,” John said.

“I don’t know what it is. A prescription?”

“For a steroid. That is our secretary. Her son is a college football player.”

He opened the third folder. It was a two-thousand-dollar car repair bill.

“That is our personnel manager’s wife. I casually asked him if he’d had any automobile problems lately, and he hadn’t.”

“So she wrecked her car and hid it from her husband. That’s hardly blackmail material.”

“Most of them aren’t. And there isn’t much need to blackmail your own secretary.”

Charles opened another folder.

“Oh, dear!” The page had a dozen credit card charges from a hamburger restaurant.

“I didn’t know that name,” John said. “So I looked it up. He is the owner of a vegetarian restaurant that Derek frequented.”

“That’s absurd,” Charles said.

“That is probably the most so. It’s quite a collection. Some are illegal, some immoral.”

“And some merely fattening.” Charles sighed. “What a strange collection.”

“The papers?”

“The people. You were right, John. He did collect people. Is this all the folders?” Charles asked.

“That’s all of them.”

“I need to look at each one.”

“Then go ahead.”

One by one he looked at the single pages, some for only a few seconds, some longer. John was silent, and the clock ticked. Fifteen minutes later he closed the last folder.

“Well,” he said.

“Not a pretty picture,” John said.

“Not at all. Of course, I don’t know what many of them mean.”

“Many of them, I did know. Most of the others I’ve found out what they mean. There are five that are still unclear.”

“John, are there any people in your office that you’ll have to take action about?”

“There may be. That will take a great deal of judgment.”

“Their careers are in your hands,” Charles said, pushing the stack of folders back toward John.

“They’ve made their own decisions. My judgment will have to be what is best for the Department. And now, Charles, did you find what you were looking for?”

Charles considered. “I think I did.”

“Then I would like to show you something else that was in the hidden drawer of the desk.” He took a small wrapped package from a desk drawer. He undid the tape and brown paper and held out an antique book.

“It’s a
Critique of Pure Reason
by Immanuel Kant,” he said. “But I’m sure you knew that.”

“Yes, I know the book.” Charles held the book closed.

“Which brings us to the subject of books. At first, when you came to me, I thought you might have been supplying Derek with some of his information, and you were offering to do the same for me. Then I went through the papers and I realized there were some missing. You’ve obviously noticed there is no mention among these of Karen Liu or Patrick White.”

“Or you.”

“Yes. Or me,” John said. “So I had to assume those papers were elsewhere. If you open that book, you’ll understand why I finally guessed that you had them.”

Charles kept the book closed. “I really had no inkling there was anything in the books when I bought them at the auction.”

“If I had known,” John said, “you can be sure that you would not have bought them. But please, open it.”

“I assume it’s hollow.”

“Yes, it is. But I want you to see what is in it.”

“It was a shock, John, seeing the first one. I’m perhaps sentimental, but I don’t want to see another antique ruined.”

John shrugged. “I guessed what a hollowed book might mean, and when Derek’s bookseller came calling, I felt my guess was confirmed. I knew the papers had to be somewhere—especially Patrick White’s. So, Charles, I would like to see the papers you have.”

“I don’t have them with me, of course. I can tell you that Patrick White’s is just a title page copied from the University of Virginia Honor Court proceedings, with an interior page number written on it. A person would have to get those proceedings and look at that inside page to make any sense of it.”

“Hardly incriminating at all if someone found it,” John said. “But if a newspaper reporter received a copy and knew it was important, he would quickly get all the details.”

“Which is what happened,” Charles said.

“With the consequences that everyone in Washington knows.”

“And that brings me to the other reason I wanted to talk to you. Patrick White came to me this morning.”