Gathering String (47 page)

“Hi,” it was Judith’s voice.

He hadn’t talked to her since Christmas night, hadn’t seen her since the day he’d moved out. Their lawyers did all the communicating now. Even though there had been no pre-nup, things were slowly moving forward. Beyond a joint savings account, there was little to divide. Judith had bought the townhouse, it had stayed in her name, and she had always made the payments. Each kept their own checking accounts, investments and credit cards. Judith’s inheritance from her mother was in a trust for her sole use. Monica had seen to that. Sam’s lawyer continually reminded him he could probably lay claim to more, especially since his assets were far less than hers, but Sam didn’t want to muddy the waters. He only wanted out as easily as possible.

“What’s up?” Reluctantly he minimized the browser, his voice wary.

“I’ve got a meeting with my lawyer this afternoon to tie up a few details, so I thought we should talk about your balls.”

Even though he knew what she meant, Sam couldn’t stop his barking laugh. “It’s been a long time since you’ve shown any interest in them, Honey.”

She sighed and said, “Well, as often as I wanted to put your balls on public display, Sam, I meant the baseballs.”

In the first years of their marriage Judith had given him four baseballs autographed by Red Sox greats: Ted Williams, Carl Yastrzemski, Carlton Fisk and Jim Rice. Besides his clothes, shaving gear and iPod, they were the only things he’d taken when he left the house.

“What about them?”

“Would you like to have them appraised, and pay me for half of their combined value, or would you prefer to sell them and give me half of the proceeds?”

“Right, one for each of our first four anniversaries. They were purchased in recognition of the marriage. Since I was half the marriage, they are half mine.”

Sam’s forehead creased at her tortured reasoning. There was no way that would hold up in court, and he knew she knew that. “OK, does that mean I’m legally entitled to half the worth of that 2½-carat diamond you picked out and I paid for when we got, engaged? Because that was in recognition of our marriage too.”

“No. The woman is always entitled to keep her engagement ring. There’s legal precedent on that.”

“Damn it, Judith, those are my balls.” He saw Bundy’s face peek out from around her computer screen, her eyes wide. He turned away and lowered his voice. “You can’t be serious about this.” The worth of the balls was a chump change compared to what Judith was walking away with, uncontested.

“Well, I tell you what, how about if I keep the espresso machine, and you keep the balls. Does that seem fair?”

Sam sat for a second, nonplussed. Had she called just to jerk his chain? He didn’t give a shit about that coffee maker, and she knew it. He didn’t even know how to use it. “Sure. Keep it. Fine. Are we done?”

“I guess. Hey, what about that story in the
Times
? There’s some whispering going on in the halls about it. The buzz is that you’re in for some trouble.”

Sam winced. So people were already talking about it. “I was just re-reading it when you called. It’s not good.” He didn’t see any reason not to be frank. The article quoted several people he had interviewed who had recently been subpoenaed to testify before the grand jury. Their appearances would take place over the next few weeks. Sam saw the doctor’s name among those served, along with Jack Westphal’s. Neither had commented to the
Times
.

The article went on to quote several legal pundits speculating that once everyone testified, a subpoena would be issued for Sam. And then, Sam knew, he’d be on the hot seat. There was no way he could give up the name of his source. “The Politifix lawyers are watching it. All I can do is sit tight.”

“Will the source step up?” she asked, sounding almost concerned.

“I doubt it. I can’t believe an investigation this full of chicken shit has taken off like it has. Fuller keeps barking about it like the Hound of the Baskervilles, which is downright odd. I'm wondering if Erickson's promised her something, maybe the VP slot, if she'll keep me in hot water,” he said.

“To get you off his ass?”

“Maybe. Or maybe just because I got under his thin skin. Let’s face it, the stuff you tipped me about the Webster family’s contributions was interesting, but not exactly the Pentagon Papers.”

“Or maybe he’s worried you’ll find more. I think there might be,” her voice had dropped, and Sam understood the real reason for her call.

“For God’s sake, Webster’s brother.” There was a funny tone to her voice that made him wonder if she was alone. “Take a look at him again. Think in terms of gainful employment.”

“Judith,” Sam’s voice dropped to a true whisper, “tipping me to help your boss isn’t going to do either of our reputations any good. I looked. I wrote what I found …”

“Whatever. You work on the Finance Committee, for Christ’s sake. If it gets out that you’re tipping me, it’ll make us both look like shit. Judith, you’re a lawyer, you know how this …”

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m trying to help you?” Her voice was strained, and he winced. She was stooping now. No way was concern for him driving this. “If you nail Erickson, you might get clear of that investigation.”

“And if I nail him, your boss will take the nomination. Do you honestly think something this inbred wouldn’t be fodder for the Capitol Hill grapevine? Sorry, Honey, my balls are on the line here, and like I said, I’m going to keep them.”

In the Russell Senate Office building, Judith hung up with a frustrated sigh.

“No deal, huh?” Sitting across from her was David Carlin, the campaign manager for Frederick Morton.

“He’s always been a contrary guy,” she said with a wry smile. “He says we’ll both look bad. And he’s all bent out of shape about the campaign laws on using committee staff members.”

Carlin smiled. “No one will know. It’s not like you’re sitting here stuffing campaign mailings, or using your office for fundraisers. So he won’t check it out?”

She shrugged. “It’s hard to tell with Sam. He won’t if it’s just a matter of my suggesting it. But if he really thinks Erickson is dirty, he probably can’t resist at least looking into it, especially after a little nudge. Would he find much?”

Carlin shook his head. “I don’t honestly know. It really is only rumor that Erickson owes Webster for something awfully big. No one seems to have the goods to back it up.”

“Well,” she said, smiling at him, “maybe Sam will find it.”

Carlin cautioned, “Be careful, Judith. He’s not the type to take being used well, and he’s not stupid. That day at your house when I came bursting in, I hated to leave you alone with him.”

“But I was fine, wasn’t I? Sam’s always been more thunder than lightning. Besides, if there’s something to the Webster-Erickson connection, it’s the media’s job to find it. And deep down, Sam is really slavering to write it.” She laughed. “After all these years, isn’t it about time I put him to good use?”

“Well, for Frederick’s sake, let’s hope so.” He got up but stopped at the door on his way out. “Nine tonight?” She smiled and nodded.

Later that day, Sam had a private meeting with Dodson and Johnson. He told them he’d like to pick up the Erickson campaign and travel with it for a while.

“I’ve got to get back to Iowa, and Erickson’s going there next week to take care of some state business. There’re a few pet bills he’s going to strong-arm through the Legislature before it closes.”

“You’ll talk to the doctor while you’re there?” Johnson asked. They’d read the
Times
story. Everyone in the newsroom had. Before the profile ran, both men insisted he tell them who the source was so they could judge the report’s credibility. And now they knew Sam would want to meet with him again, face to face, to ask if he would step forward or waive their confidentiality agreement.

“I think I’d better,” Sam sighed. “It sure as hell doesn’t look like this is going to go away.”

“Think he’ll let you off?”

“I wouldn’t if I were him.” Sam was under no illusions about his position. At his first interview with the doctor back in November, three other hospital staff members had been in the conference room. They would corroborate that the doctor and Sam had never even touched on the subject of an autopsy report. No one knew they’d spoken after that, let alone met. “But I’d be crazy not to try. If I’m back in Iowa covering Erickson, I can slip off to see him.”

“You’ve got to be careful. Someone might be watching who you meet with,” Dodson said, and Sam nodded. "Our lawyers are on top of this. We’ll do what we can for you, Sammy.” It was good to hear, but Sam didn’t find the comment reassuring. He trusted that Politifix would back him, but the courts weren’t inclined to protect reporters from prying prosecutors. “What’s Erickson up to these days?” Dodson went on to ask.

“He’s been spending most of his time in California, of course,” Johnson answered. The delegate-rich state was a hotbed of campaigning. Fuller, Erickson and Morton were all there as much as possible. “It looks like Erickson is planning a fast and furious swing through Missouri on his way back home too.”

“Shouldn’t that be a ‘gimme’ state for him?” Dodson was surprised.

“You’d think so,” Johnson said, “but Ohio was so close, he’s not taking any chances. You want to pick him up there, Sam?” Sam nodded. “How’s your access with Erickson? He still giving you the time of day?”

Sam shrugged. “I’m not his favorite. But then I’m not real interested in taking a vacation by the sea with him either.” Johnson and Dodson laughed.

“Well, try to find something besides the usual pap while you’re with him,” Dodson said. “We want to look like we’re on top of things. You got any leads to follow?”

“Maybe,” Sam answered vaguely.

Almost a week later, on Swede Erickson’s campaign plane, en route from St. Louis to Des Moines, Sam decided to check out Judith’s tip. It still galled him that Morton was funneling information through his wife, even if she was nearly his ex. Being used by a source always rubbed him the wrong way. It was the kind of thing he’d been known to ridicule in other reporters. But watching Erickson, Sam was certain there was something more he’d missed. The man looked at him, Sam was sure of it, with a shrouded malevolence that no one else seemed to notice.

It wasn’t unusual for a candidate to come back to schmooze with the pack in the back of the plane, and Erickson was particularly good at it. Jocular and funny, he always seemed to be at ease. Generally, the press liked him. For a few minutes Swede chatted, asking if they were as tired of hearing his stump speech as he was of delivering it, and amusing everyone with stories of the mistakes he’d made at one time or another while giving it. Then he spied Sam near the back, and steadying himself against the slight roll of turbulence said, “Why Mr. Waterman’s joined us again. Good to have you back, Sam.” With a smile and a nod, Sam acknowledged him.

“After those Southern primaries, you had me sweating. The scuttlebutt had it that the story you were working on was going to bury me, not that it would’ve have taken much. Damn sporting of you to just write that little piece on state politics. Did your editors really think it was news that the Webster family thinks well enough of me to kick in a few dollars to my campaigns?”

There was a general laugh, and Sam shrugged good-naturedly. “They must have, sir. It ran on the home page and got well over a hundred thousand hits.”

“Slow news day, huh?” Erickson chuckled. “Well, I’d say if that was the best shot an old newshound like you can come up with, I’ve passed the sniff test. Now maybe I can stop having nightmares about you.”

Everyone laughed again, including Erickson. And if it hadn’t been for the stone- hard glint in his eyes, even Sam might have taken it as the light ribbing it appeared to be.

He hit the Iowa ground running, following Judith’s tip. But, his steps only took him around in circles. What he found would barely cause a ripple in the political waters. Apparently the state’s Department of Transportation and Department of Labor and Human Services hired Jeffrey Webster’s consulting services to evaluate workload distribution. It was, as one administrator put it, “a boondoggle” and the reports with Webster’s recommendations had “been put on office book shelves where they just lie there, like dead raccoons on the side of the road.” A cozy deal, and one more tie between Erickson and Judge Richard Webster, but hardly the stuff of political intrigue. It did, however, make Sam more suspicious.

When Sam interviewed Webster about it, the judge had been predictably defensive. He accused Sam of trying to use an ordinary transaction to trash Swede’s political career with “trumped up innuendo” that also cast aspersions on his own judicial ethics. He’d called Sam an irresponsible, inflammatory journalist, and while Sam doubted the story would raise eyebrows, much less inflame, he was uncomfortably aware that if Webster knew that his wife, however estranged, worked on Morton’s committee, he could easily make a case for his accusations.