Gathering String (64 page)

“For pity’s sake, stop pissing at each other.” It was Tess’s voice that cut in, and they turned to look at her. Clearly the arguing was unbearable for her, the dark rings under her eyes more pronounced with the white strain in her face. But her voice was strong. “Sam, you’re looking at jail time, and Jack, the
Journal
is on the line. Swede Erickson can end both your careers.” Her eyes shifted from one to the other. “Don’t you think you’d better get it together to make sure he’s the one who goes down?”

“Well …” Jack started.

“He …” Sam muttered.

Tess held up her hand. “Just shut up and think. Where
was
Carl?” Both looked back at her nonplussed. “When he was supposed to be in Sweden, where was he?”

Jack shrugged. “Someplace drying out. I didn’t really need that piece to confront Swede.”

“You didn’t, that’s true,” Sam was nodding at Tess. “But I can use it, and he’ll know that’s one piece you didn’t have. It keeps you in the clear, and it might help me nail down the story.” His eyes drilled into Jack. “Any ideas?”

Jack sighed, settled back onto the railing, and sipped his coffee, thinking. “OK, Swede had just been elected, and the fire was right before Christmas.”

“OK,” Tess spoke again. “Let’s say Augusta was in the dark about the fire, but she probably knew Carl wasn’t in Sweden. She’s too sharp an old bird not to have some clue there was trouble. I bet she knew he was carted off to some rehab. Swede probably convinced her that the governor’s father couldn’t be a falling-down drunk. But he would have kept her from seeing Carl to be sure she never heard the whole story. Don't you think he probably stashed his father far away, just to keep her from visiting? Somebody had to have been in contact with the caregivers. Obviously Pete couldn’t be trusted to help."

“The wife,” Sam said. “I told Jack it was the wife.”

“Betty?” Tess wrinkled her nose. “Maybe. But she’s not the nitty-gritty type. One thing we know about Swede is that he's protected himself by not letting anyone else see the big picture on his schemes. Someone had to check in on Carl, wherever he was, to make sure he wasn’t talking. I think Swede would have handled that himself.”

With a look of dawning, Jack turned to Sam. “The governor’s travel records.”

“What?”

“They’re public record. If he went to see Carl repeatedly in the early months of his first administration, you might be able to figure out where he was from them.”

“Shit, that’s like looking for needle in a fucking haystack.”

Jack stood. “Maybe not. Ask for the governor’s itineraries for the first year of his administration and compare them to the flight plans filed for his plane for the same time period. Those are public record, too. It’s a good bet Carl wasn’t in Iowa, or there would have been gossip and Augusta would have wanted to see him. Maybe Swede was flying somewhere that wasn’t on his announced schedule and you’ll spot it when it doesn’t match the flight plans. Have your editor Johnson make the request for the records so the calls don’t track back to you or me. If my home phone rings, for God’s sake, don’t answer it. But give me your cell number so I can reach you if I need to.”

“If the itineraries are emailed to the Politifix newsroom Swede still won’t be able to peg where you are if he finds out they were released. You can have your friend Johnson forward them. The network password here is luckyspringstorm, all one word.”

Sam caught Tess’s blush, and was irritated at what was obviously a personal reference between the couple. “This is such a long bloody shot,” he grumbled. “It’ll be a freaking miracle if something comes together. But God knows, I’ve got to come up with something. Both Johnson and I are on Mike Dodson’s shit list now.” He looked only at Tess as he spoke. “Sooner or later, Politifix is going to drop a bundle representing me in court. It’d help a lot if Dodson has a hell of a story to make it worth it.”

“And if he doesn’t?” she asked.

Sam shrugged, “I’ll probably end up running the fucking Facebook page when I get out of jail.” Tess winced, and he added almost as an afterthought, “If I still have a job.”

“Well then,” Jack picked up his empty mug from the rail, “you better get on it. If you hit on something, you can probably be on your way tonight. I’d better get to the
Journal
. I guess I’ve got to write the story on Erickson’s acceptance speech. Looks like we’re both in for a great day.” He shook his head as he went for the door.

“I’ll go in with you.” Tess stood up, and picked up her laptop. “I need to use the darkroom anyway. I’ve got to get moving on stuff for the Boston show.”

“Boston?” Sam looked at her with a huge smile. “No kidding?” She blushed and smiled, as Jack looked over. “That’s great. Tell me about it.” Jack turned away.

“Maybe later. I …”

But Sam grabbed her arm, the strange look coming back to his face and he muttered, “Wait.”

She jerked free as she looked back toward the door with concern, but Jack hadn’t noticed and went on through the house. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Her voice was an angry whisper. “This is awkward enough without you staring and grabbing me …”

“You’re pregnant?” he broke in, his voice very low. Her jaw dropped, as her eyes dipped down toward her own belly. “No, of course it doesn’t show.” When she looked back up, her eyes were wide, and his were soft with concern. “Tess, does he know?”

She shook her head. “I, I went to the doctor in Des Moines yesterday just to be sure. That’s where I was when Pete ... ” The way he was looking at her, with a mixture of gentleness and regret, made her flush more deeply, and she looked down. “What gave it away?”

He grinned. “I told you once before, we’re not meant to have secrets. It was the coffee. Jesus, it’s your chemical dependency. You must be dying without it.”

She rolled her eyes with a little groan. “Like you don’t even know. I’ve had a blasting headache for a week. This is the first morning it’s been a little bit bearable.”

He took her arm again and pushed her back onto the swing. “My God, you with a kid. He’s probably been waiting for this since the day he put the ring on your finger.”

“Not really,” she squinted up at him, her mouth curled down. “Actually, this is pretty bad timing. This thing with Erickson, it’s tearing him up. And he … it’s going to be a surprise.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? How ... I mean, you were always so damned careful.”

She looked at him, at the tenderness in his eyes, and she suddenly remembered that even before they were lovers, he’d been her friend. There was a time when she wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him anything. So she said, “It was a little rough, right after you were here the last time.” She raised her eyebrows with significance. He grimaced with a nod. “I didn’t know he was struggling with everything he was learning about Swede and Carl. I thought he was still upset about …” She waved her hand at Sam, and he nodded again. “When it all came out, and I saw how devastated he was … he really needed … and I just didn’t …” She couldn’t meet his eyes.

Sam leaned back with surprise, “You got caught by the make-up sex?” She blushed to her hairline, and he laughed, low and quiet. When she reluctantly looked back up at him, he reached out to take her hand. “How many times did we fight and make up? Shit, I’m eating my heart out, and I’m not even the paternal type.”

“I’m not sure I want him to know, Sam.”

“Why?” His face suddenly sobered. “What? You think you might not want to …”

“Of course I want to.” It was a whisper. “But he’s worried enough as it is about the
Journal
and how this is all going to play out. I don’t want to get in his way. You saw how he reacted just knowing I was out here alone after Pete was in the house. How do you think he would have felt if he’d known I’m,” her voice dropped even more, “pregnant. I don’t want him blindsided by a baby.”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not the person to tell him the stork’s on the way.” Sam couldn’t help one more soft laugh, but his eyes were serious as he looked down at her. “But like I said, the man can connect the dots. If he weren’t so preoccupied, he’d have put it together already. I gave you lousy advice the last time we talked about whether or not to tell him something. Maybe you’d better fill him in before he figures it out for himself.” He took her full cup of cold coffee off the porch railing, and held it up. “It won’t take him long.”

They left while Sam showered and dressed. Alone, he walked through the bright, high-ceiling rooms, the sound of his footsteps bouncing off a quiet so profound he understood why Westphal put in such an elaborate stereo system. Much as he wanted to break the yawning silence, Sam couldn’t bring himself to touch the equipment. He had the creepy feeling the house itself resented his presence just as much as its owner. He didn’t want to disturb a thing.

He sat at the desk in the study, determined to find something, anything that would get him on the road. One thing was clear after the morning. His being here was not a good thing for any of them, especially Tess. He called Johnson’s direct line at the newsroom but Steve wasn’t at his desk. Maybe he was getting paranoid, but Sam didn’t want to involve anyone else at Politifix, so he left an email asking Johnson to request the itineraries. Then Sam started scanning the online stories he could find on Erickson, hoping to find a gap, just a chink, in the well-constructed image that neither he nor Westphal had delved. When the cell phone at his elbow beeped, he’d become so absorbed he jumped. Looking at the screen, he was surprised that it was already nearly noon, and answered with a “Yeah, Steve.”

“I got your voicemail,” Johnson’s voice was hushed. “I made the requests and just got the travel itineraries of a certain governor. I’m still waiting for the flight plans. Want to fill me in on what’s going on?”

It took a long time for Sam to fill him in on what had happened. If Johnson found the fact that he was camped at Westphal’s house odd, it was overrun by his awe at the story.

“Jesus, Sam. Bear down and get Westphal on the record. You need him …”

“I know, I know. But he’s not budging. And as wrapped up as he is in his town and his business, I gotta say he’s got a lot on the line.” He thought about Tess, and added, “More than he even knows. Besides, even if he stepped up, it’d be his word against Erickson’s. There’s no hard evidence. Yet.”

“Keep working it, and work it fast. Sam, you have got to bring this in.”

This last was said with more than just a desire for the story. There was a warning in his voice, and Sam asked, “You could have just forwarded the email. Why did you call?”

Johnson sighed. “We’ve got a situation developing here. I don’t suppose you happened to read ‘Informed Sources?’”

Sam was relieved. If it had something to do with the Politifix gossip blog, it couldn’t be that bad. “I took a quick glance through the site this morning, but somehow that got past me. Why? Who’s been spotted having frites at Citronelle now?”

Sam set his jaw, and swiveled the desk chair to look out at the cherry tree he’d noticed so many months ago in Tess’s pictures at Westphal’s office. “And what hook is that?”

“I’ll read it to you:
“The halls of the Russell Senate Office Building are buzzing with the latest rumors of investigations to come. No one there is particularly fond of campaign laws, but when a careless Hill-person opens the door of impropriety, it leaves everyone trying to avoid the draft, especially when it was a lawyer who set it ajar. Insiders are casting shaming glances at Judith Sampson these days. The majority counsel for Fredrick Morton’s Finance Committee is trying to keep a low profile as RNC staffers field queries of just how involved she was in her boss’s late, less-than-great, run at the top office. Rules are rules, and committee staff shall not help the chairman up the ladder during office hours, especially when the pay they’re drawing is not from campaign source, even if the lady in question is rumored to be extraordinarily close to his campaign manager. Of course, the big question mark in the mix is Politifix's own top political reporter Sam Waterman, who’s been the barrister’s more-or-less husband for at least a decade. Oddly, they separated about the time the race for the nomination was heating up. Coincidence? Just like a certain grand jury, we’d love to have Sam answer our questions. But we can’t find him either.’”

Sam rubbed his eyes. “OK, I warned her this kind of thing might happen. But why am I on the hook?”