Gathering String (23 page)

“I wanted to know what working for her boss is like.”

He frowned a little. “Morton? With him running for president, he’s hardly ever around the Senate. But he’ll be back soon. I think Erickson will take him. He’s still got some sway though. He’s chairman of Finance.”

“I hedged and said I’d get back to him. That’s why I’ve been impatient to talk to you. It’s less money.” Instantly she was all lawyer, presenting the pros and cons in her careful, linear way. “And in all honesty, I have some ambivalence toward the Republican Party. I don’t know how well, or long, I’d put up with those nut-job Minutemen and religious fanatics. And I know part of the reason I got the offer is because they need to claim some well-placed, intelligent women in their ranks.

“But I like the idea of crafting legislation. Whatever laws come out of the Finance Committee will have my mark on them. Instead of helping clients find their way around tax laws, I would be writing the laws. It’s high-profile work, influential work. And I like the way it would position me. Sam, there are three Supreme Court members over 75. The next president, who will probably be a Republican, will appoint at least one new member, maybe more. And lots of federal judges. This would put me on the radar.”

Looking down into his glass, Sam pushed the ice cubes in his drink, wishing desperately for a cigarette. He’d pretty much quit while he was with Tess, but the day he knew she was gone for good, he started again. But he couldn’t smoke in the restaurant anyway, and Judith was watching closely. He drew a deep breath and said, “Well, appointment to SCOTUS is a damn long shot for anyone, Sweetheart. You could suffer some mighty long, dull years, buried under volumes of tax code and never move one step closer to power. On top of that your husband is a political writer. It could put you in an ugly position if something was leaked out of Finance.”

Judith's mouth screwed up dismissively. “Come on, Sam. Most of the activity from the committee is well covered. It’s hardly a Mecca for covert operations.”

“Look, if you want to make a clear-headed decision about this, you can’t be naïve.” Sam knew that would sting, and her frown deepened. “That committee is pretty up front when it has to be, when it’s good and ready to be. But Judith, don’t think for a moment they don’t wheel and deal and in-fight. What’s happening to the lawyer in the position now?”

“Frank Keller? I gather they want someone a little more aggressive, and apparently there’s been some problems with a few women …” She paused and shot him an ironic smile.

Sam ignored it. “OK, so the GOP needs to dump a counsel who has women troubles. Do you think maybe they’ve taken pains to keep that quiet until after they’ve cut the guy loose and replaced him with a woman? Does the dumb schmuck even know he’s on the way out?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, did Morton ask you to keep his offer quiet?”

“Of course,” she looked exasperated. “You know that’s expected. It keeps them covered in case I turn them down, so when they go to their next choice …”

“So if I pull out my phone right now, and call the newsroom and tell them to check on a rumor that Keller’s on his way out, how long do you think your offer will stand? That committee isn’t going to be interested in listening to you explain how you accidentally leaked it.”

She looked taken aback a moment, then said, “I’m telling you right now, Sam, if I take the position, you and Politifix will get nothing from me.”

He grinned. “I just did.”

“You’re not really going to call this in,” outrage raised her voice.

“No, Keller’s small pickings, and I’m not going to blow you out of the water with someone as powerful as Morton. But don’t think they wouldn’t hop on it if I did. I just want you to see how easily this position would compromise …”

“Wait a minute,” and Sam saw a look of cunning come to her face. “All this concern for me is a little out of character for you.” He dropped his eyes. “Let’s just say for a minute that I told you something really plum, but on background. What would happen to your standing at Politifix when it came out, and everyone realized you’d probably known for awhile?” Her sharp eyes studied him closely. When he didn’t reply, she said, “It’s not my job you’re worried about. It’s yours. Having a spouse on the committee would be a goddamned conflict for you, wouldn’t it?”

There was no point in denying it. “It could get awkward, yes. These days I need to hang on to every advantage I’ve got. I’ve written a lot about tax laws, and I’ve got some good sources on Finance.”

“And you know they won’t keep talking to you if they work for your wife.”

He sighed. “They wouldn’t have a chance to talk to me. Johnson and Dodson would steer me clear of Finance.” He looked down into his drink, trying his best to hold his temper, adding quietly, “And I don’t want that to happen.”

“Well, looking out for your job isn’t my concern. Besides, you’re covering the presidential race now.” She’d given him an opening, and he jumped on it.

“Right. And one of the candidates is the ranking Republican on that fucking committee. Freddy Morton is one of the men I’m writing about. You’re absolutely right. It would be one hell of a conflict. For both of us. Morton certainly knows whom you’re married to. Did it ever occur to you that by giving you the job, he gets Politifix’s top investigative reporter off his back?”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself that you’re such a threat. I wouldn’t have that much contact with him while he’s campaigning. After that, he’ll either be president, or he’ll just be an ordinary, run-of-the-mill senator.”

“That’s not the point. I’d still have to tell my editors,” Judith rolled her eyes, and Sam’s mouth narrowed. “They’d hear about it when you took the job, so it would be better if I told them first. And if we sink under the profit line, when they wield a long-knife through the newsroom, a conflict like that might make it that much easier to cut me loose.”

Her face and shoulder muscles tensed. “Are you telling me to turn down the offer?”

His laugh was bitter. “Come on, I know you better than that. The one sure way to get my ass in a wringer would be to try to tell you what to do.”

“So what are you saying? Is this the last straw? If I take this job, are you finally out the door?”

She’d asked before if he thought they should end it, and Sam was never really sure how she wanted him to answer. For him, the thought of the time it would take, and the lawyers and the money involved, was too unpleasant to consider for long. And he assumed that for her, during the last few years, the emotional strain of her mother’s illness had been all she could handle.

Now he said, “Even if you were my ex-wife, it wouldn’t change things. My editors would still take me off any stories dealing with Morton or the committee. But what about you? Do you want the job so much it seems like a reasonable price to pay?” She looked away, without answering.

“Look,” he said, “just remember, when something comes out of that committee that’s supposed to be under wraps, and believe me eventually something will, you’re the first person they’ll look at.”

“How can you be so certain someone on the committee will do any talking out of turn?” She looked skeptical.

He shrugged. “It’s a campaign year, and tax issues are hot, especially now that Erickson is in the race. Morton’s been on Finance for a long time, and it’s a good place to look for dirt. Not much goes on that we can’t find out. Even if I’m not doing the writing, I can point a reporter in the right direction. Like I told you,” his eyes went hard, “I’ve got some great sources there.”

She leaned toward him, her brown eyes just as stony. “Well, Ace, if I take the job, you’ll find that all your great sources have suddenly dried up.”

They still lived in the small, tasteful townhouse Judith bought before she and Sam met. When Sam moved in, he’d sold or given away nearly everything but his clothes. There hadn’t been much. He’d always lived in the smallest, least troublesome apartment, as close to work as he could find.

She went straight up while he made sure the lock was set and punched in the alarm code. He wondered if he’d swayed her about taking the job, but knew there was nothing more he could do. She’d tell him what she’d decided when she was ready.

He took his bag and went to the spare room where he kept his things. The three large closets in the big master bedroom were full of her things, hanging on color-coded padded hangers: black for work suits and blouses, blue for casual, white for T-shirts and workout clothes, pink for slips and nighties, each color segregated into sections. When he’d moved in, Sam had taken one look at her ethnically cleansed wardrobe and suggested he hang his things in the other room.

Emptying his suitcase, tossing out separate piles for the dry cleaner and laundry, he thought again about calling Higgins, but checked his watch and knew it was too late. Quickly he began gathering what he’d need for the trip, throwing stuff in the general direction of the still-open case. Then, sensing her presence, he glanced up to find Judith standing in the doorway.

“Are you packing?” She was wearing a short, cream-colored nightie he’d always been particularly fond of, and he smiled. Sam never failed to be stirred by her. She was easily the loveliest woman he’d ever been with, and she was an exciting lover. It wasn’t lack of sexual fulfillment that caused Sam’s wandering.

During much of her mother's illness, his physical attention had seemed to comfort her. But then Judith's receptiveness seemed to fade with the old lady. It had been a long time, and looking at her now, Sam was suddenly hopeful the dry spell was over.

“Yeah. I’m going to New Hampshire tomorrow. Erickson’s playing catch-up there, and I’ve got to get moving on his profile. I’ll probably go right on to Iowa without stopping back.” He pulled several folded shirts from the drawer and grabbed a handful of socks.

“You’ve forgotten that you agreed to go with me to Ralphina Holm’s dinner tomorrow night.” It was a statement, and he didn’t bother to respond. “You know, I’m going to have to call her tomorrow, and she’ll have to find another man for the table.” He couldn’t think of a damned thing to say about that, and after another long silence, she said, “I gave you the newest BlackBerry for your birthday last month, and you’ve never even bothered to charge it. It would help you keep track of your commitments.”

He shrugged. “I use my work iPhone. Besides, I’m keeping my commitments. It’s my job. I have to go.” She watched him, breathing deeply, until at last he stopped what he was doing and stared back at her. Finally he asked, “What?”

He sat down on the bed. He’d been banished before when he’d given her good reason to suspect there was another woman in the picture. But that hadn’t been the case for a long time, and Judith hadn’t objected to his presence in the bed next to her, even if she wasn't interested in anything more. But something about her request now felt inevitable, and he gave her a searching look. “Whatever you want,” he answered. “Can you give me a ride over to Reagan in the morning?”

She shook her head. “You should get a cab.”

Bag packed, alone in the room that night, Sam stared up into the darkness, his arms behind his head. Normally he could drop off instantly, especially after he’d had a burning plane dream the night before. But he knew sleep would be a long time coming.

The freezing rain came in sheets driven by a wicked north wind. Snatching the breath and stinging the face, it was the fiercest of Iowa’s weather; icy particles clung to garments and soaked through layers till the wet and cold went bone deep.

But Jack Westphal stood with sweat trickling down his face. Heat from the monstrous furnace, which earlier in the day had been the office of the Lindsborg Chamber of Commerce, washed over him. He watched from a half block away, awestruck, as the building was consumed. Wild tongues of red and orange, wind-driven and gluttonous, licked up past the roof, lolling into the black, starless night. It could be seen for miles out into the countryside, a weird, lurid glow low on the horizon.

Fire equipment and volunteers had come from four other towns, to fight desperately to keep the blaze from spreading. “That’s the most we can hope for,” Thurman McPaul, the Lindsborg fire chief, shouted over the wind and the roar of the fire as Jack recorded him with a video camera. “And only if God’s willing. With this wind, it’s tough to keep it contained. I’m praying we don’t lose the whole block.”

When he hurried off, Jack turned the camera back to the flames. Through the viewfinder he saw a hooded figure, one of many silhouettes in the eerie glow, dart around the stanchion. Smaller than any firefighter, the figure dashed in among them. Jack whispered, “Damn it!” and lowered the camera.

A low hissing that rolled into a ominous rumble came from deep inside the building, and the firefighters quickly moved back, as what must have been part of the floor crashed down into the basement, sending clouds of smothering smoke and brilliant sparks high into the air. In the gusting wind, the engulfed building began to sway. Heart in his throat, Jack sprang forward, brushing aside the spectators in his way. With one hand on the stanchion, he vaulted over with ease. Running, he caught Tess around the waist, lifting her clear of the ground, not setting her down until they were both behind the barricades. Her feet came down in an icy mix of water and slush, and she went down with a splash, the camera around her neck striking her chest with a hollow-sounding thump.