Grass Roots (22 page)

“We’ve never had that sort of thing around here,” the captain said.

“The Klan is that sort of thing,” Keane answered, “just not as well organized or trained. This isn’t a bunch of good of’ boys with rifle racks in their pickups and a couple six-packs on a Saturday night before some hell-raising.” The captain looked at him but said nothing.

“You see it some other way?” Keane asked.

The captain shrugged.

“You want me to go tell the chief we got a little army working the city and the state? You want him to tell the mayor that? You want the mayor to tell the Governor?”

“My partner’s dead,” Keane said.

“He died in a booby trap that would look good on the Viet Cong. He died chasing a guy who led three other guys in some sort of uniform in the murders of three people, lucky it wasn’t four. It wasn’t a stickup; it wasn’t a grudge; it wasn’t Manny Pearl’s wife trying to collect on the insurance. What do you make it, Captain?”

“Let’s let the newspapers put the labels on it,” the captain replied.

“We’ll just run it down in our own plodding way.”

“Let me go after the guy,” Keane said.

“I told you, we’ve run down every lead. I’ve had fifteen men on it.”

“He’s going to do it again, you watch. Before long, we’ll have another killing, something sexy again. It’ll be Ferkerson or his people. When that happens, I want it.”

“Okay,” the captain said, “you’ll get it when it happens.”

“I’ll know when it’s him,” Keane said.

“You’ll let me call it?”

“You’ll call it,” the captain said.

“You hear something sounds right, it’s yours. Meantime, I want you to take another week of sick leave, go to Florida or something. I don’t want to see that particular face around here. Get some sun on it.”

Keane nodded.

“Yes sir.” He got up and left. Walking through the squad room, he looked straight ahead. One detective stopped him.

“Tough break, Mick,” the man said.

“Yeah,” Keane replied, and continued out of the room.

He’d go to Florida and get some sun, get rested. Ferkerson wouldn’t move yet, he was too hot. But he’d move, and when he did, Keane would be on the job. Mickey Keane wanted Ferkerson. He wanted to stick a service revolver in his ear and pull the trigger until it was empty.

will Lee let himself into his Georgetown house, disarmed the burglar alarm, and turned up the thermostat on the furnace. There was a distant rumble, and warm air began to flow into the stale house.

The telephone rang.

Will ran to get it, but the answering machine picked up on the first ring. He snatched the phone from its cradle.

“Hang on a minute,” he said. He waited patiently until his own recorded voice spoke the answering message and the beep went.

“Hello,” he said.

“Can we meet at Pied de Couchon at seven?” Katharine Rule’s voice said.

At a restaurant? Not at her place or his? They hadn’t seen each other for weeks.

“If that’s what you want,” he said.

“Seven, then,” she said, and hung up.

Will slammed down the phone, furious. He was furious at Hank Taylor for his shabby performance, furious at Tom Black for not having the guts to be at the meeting, and, above all, furious with Kate. He stood and took deep breaths, willing himself to be calm. He looked at his watch. Five-thirty. What could he do until seven? He went into his study, grabbed a legal pad, and started to make lists, lists of things to do in the campaign. Turn all this angry adrenaline to good use.

He made a list for Kitty Conroy, then a list for Jack Buchanan. He looked at his watch again: six-fifteen. He had to do something about another political consultant, or maybe an ad agency would be better. He had to do something about Jack, too. He had asked him onto the campaign without giving him full charge of anything. He would make Jack campaign manager, officially. Jack was smart, imaginative, and hardworking; he deserved it. At the beginning, he’d had some notion of being his own campaign manager, but that was stupid. He’d be in charge, anyway, and it was wrong of him to withhold the title from Jack.

Will looked up Tom Black’s home phone number and called it. He got an answering machine.

“Tom, this is Will Lee. I had a meeting with Hank Taylor this afternoon, and I fired him. But I want to talk to you. I’ll be at the Georgetown house at least through tomorrow night, then back in Delano.

Please call me as soon as you possibly can.” He wanted some answers from Tom Black.

Six-thirty. Will went upstairs to his bedroom, ran an electric razor over his face, and changed shirts. He got into a tweed jacket and grabbed his trench coat. Six forty-five. He was downstairs, about to arm the alarm system, when the doorbell rang.

Jack Buchanan stood on the doorstep, looking as if he had been hit by a truck.

“Jack, what’s the matter?” Will asked.

“Come on in.”

He hung their coats on the hall rack, then led Jack into the living room and got him into a chair.

“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. Will,” Buchanan said.

“That’s okay. Jack. You look as if you could use a drink.”

“Thanks, yes, I guess I could.”

Will went to the liquor cabinet and poured a bourbon on the rocks, then handed it to Jack and took a chair opposite him, glancing at his watch.

Six-fifty, and it was a ten-minute walk to the restaurant.

“What’s the matter, Jack?”

Buchanan took half the drink at a gulp and shook his head as it went down.

“It’s Millie and me,” he said.

“It’s over.”

“Oh, come on. Jack,” Will said, “not you and Millie.

You’ve had an argument or something, but you could never leave Millie.”

“It’s she who’s left me,” Jack said.

“Thrown me out.

Said not to come back, ever.”

“Jack, you know she can’t mean that. You two have the best marriage I know.”

“We did, once,” Jack said.

“We never will again, though.” He began to cry.

Will was embarrassed. He and Jack had been coworkers for a long time, but apart from a couple of dinners at Jack and Millie’s house, he hadn’t known them as a couple all that well, even though he was godfather to their daughter.

Glancing at his watch again, he went and sat on the arm of Jack’s chair. Six fifty-five. He was going to be late.

Awkwardly, he put a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Take it easy, Jack, this isn’t going to look nearly as bad tomorrow.

Why don’t you let me put you up here tonight? I’ve got to go out, but you can make yourself at home.”

Jack took a deep breath and wiped his face with his sleeve, seeming to get hold of himself.

“All right. Will, thanks. I guess I haven’t got anyplace else to go.”

Will stood up.

“Come on upstairs. I’ll show you where things are.” He led the way up the stairs, stopping in the upper hallway at a utility closet filled with tools and other household stuff.

“I’d better get you an electric blanket.

The radiator hasn’t been on in that room.” He led Jack to a guest room at the end of the hall and switched on the light.

“Sheets are clean, I think, and the bath’s through there. There’s a razor and some other stuff in the medicine cabinet.” He spread the electric blanket on the bed and plugged it in.

“This is fine. Will. I’ll try not to be in the way.”

“Don’t worry about it. Jack; why don’t you lie down for a while, and when you’re feeling better, there’s food in the freezer. You know how to use a microwave?”

“Sure.” Jack nodded.

“I can manage.” He sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Will,” he said, “I want to tell you about all of this. It’s been going on for a long time now.”

Will looked at his watch. Seven o’clock. Dammit, she’d be there by now; she was never late.

“Listen, Jack, you don’t feel like talking right now, and I’ve got to be somewhere.

I won’t be in until late, but we can talk in the morning. Things will look better in the morning, anyway, I promise you.”

“Will…”

“No arguments,” Will said, pushing him back onto the bed and covering him with the blanket.

“You can tell me everything in the morning. You know I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Jack nodded and turned onto his side, away from Will.

“Good night. Will,” he said.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night. Jack. I’ll see you at breakfast.” He switched off the light and ran quickly down the stairs, grabbing his coat from the hall rack. No point in arming the alarm system.

He half-walked, half-ran down the street toward the restaurant.

He had meant to be exactly on time; he didn’t want to give her any ammunition. When he arrived, she wasn’t there. It was early, and the restaurant was half empty.

“How many, sir?” a waiter asked.

“Two,” Will replied.

“I haven’t booked, I’m afraid.”

“Quite all right this time of evening,” the waiter said.

He showed Will to a table and left him with two menus and some bread.

Will looked at his watch; seven-fifteen. She was never late. He started to get angry with her for being late. He broke a roll and buttered it. Suddenly, he was hungry. He ate half the roll, then the other half. He ordered a bottle of red wine, one she liked. At seven thirty-five, he looked up, and she was standing there.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, shucking off her coat and handing it to the waiter.

“That’s all right,” he said, as evenly as he could manage.

“I was late myself. Jack and Millie Buchanan have had a fight, and he turned up at the house as I was leaving.

I gave him a drink and put him to bed.” He poured her a glass of wine, but she didn’t pick it up.

“He’s the one in your office? I mean. Senator Carr’s office?” She had never met any of his coworkers, but she had heard their names often enough.

“Yes, he left to come onto the campaign. He’s going to be campaign manager; if I win, he’ll probably be my chief staffer.”

“Nice to have a staff waiting for you,” she said.

“How’s the Senator?”

“Improving, but slowly. I get down there once a week.”

“And the campaign? How’s that going?”

“Hardly begun. I’d blocked off this week for the Moody trial, but the prosecutor was hospitalized. It’s postponed for at least three months, which is a pain in the ass.”

She nodded.

“Must be tough, having to try that case in the middle of a campaign.”

“I’ll let you know,” he said.

The waiter came over.

“May I tell you about this evening’s specials?” he asked.

“I won’t be having dinner,” Kate said to the man. She turned to Will.

“I’ve got to be somewhere at eight.”

“Give me a few minutes,” Will said to the waiter. The man left, and he turned to Kate.

“Looks like a few minutes is all I get from you, too,” he said.

“Will, we’ve got to talk.”

“And fast, apparently.”

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t expect you, and I made other plans. You can’t just call from the airport and expect me to drop everything.”

That was exactly what he had expected.

“I suppose not,” he said.

“Listen to me,” she said wearily.

“I’m under a lot of pressure at the moment.”

“Tell me about it.”

“We’ve got a new director, and the usual shake-up is going on. I told you, I have to sit still for a whole new security check because of the promotion; and quite apart from that, I’m under a lot of scrutiny in general. I’m the first woman to get this high in the directorate, and it’s unsettled some of the old-timers.”

“I didn’t know there were any old-timers at the Agency anymore.”

“Comparative old-timers. Simon’s gone, but some of his friends haven’t.” Simon Rule was Kate’s ex-husband, who had been forced to resign in a scandal some time back.

“They’re hoping I’ll screw up, do you see? There’s always been this problem of you and me seeing each other, what with you working for the chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee, and right now it’s worse than ever.

I don’t know how deep this security-clearance investigation is going; they could be tapping my phones, they could be surveilling me. I just don’t know how to read it.”

“If you think you might be under surveillance, then why the hell did you choose to meet me in a public place?”

“I didn’t want to come to your place, and anyway. Jack Buchanan is there, isn’t he?”

“Afraid I’d jump you?”

“Will, stop it.”

“And they’re watching your place, of course.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Anyway, I’ve got company coming tonight.” She looked at her watch.

“He’s…”

She stopped.

A wave of jealousy flashed through Will.

“Oh, I see, somebody the Agency approves of.”

“He is Agency.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then. I’d forgotten; the Agency likes its employees to cohabit ate marry. Much cozier that way, fewer security problems.”

“We’re not cohabitating,” she said wearily.

“If you had just given me some notice, I could have arranged some thing, but now I’ve bought all these groceries, and”

“You’re cooking?”

He had never known her to boil water. He had always done the cooking when they were together.

She flushed.

“I’ve taken it up, sort of. It’s not as bad as I’d thought.”

“I’m amazed you can find the time, what with all your new responsibilities,” he said.

“You haven’t even been able to find the time to return phone calls lately.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she said angrily

“You certainly don’t.” He waved the waiter over.

“I’ll have the shell steak, medium; baked potato, loaded; a Caesar salad to start. The lady is not dining; not with me, anyway.” The man scribbled the order and went away.

Will turned back to Kate, glancing at his watch.

“I don’t want to keep you.”

“Will, please try to understand what I’m going through,” she said.

“I’m not sleeping with him; he’s just a friend, a good friend, and I need as many of those as I can get these days.”

Will stared at her for a moment, thinking how beautiful she was the auburn hair, the creamy skin, the full mouth.