Dev Conrad - 03 - Blindside Read online

  She dropped her cigarette into the glass I’d given her. The fiery end of it sizzled. ‘If you’re asking me what he was afraid of I couldn’t tell you.’

  ‘But you knew he was afraid.’

  ‘I suppose I did.’

  ‘Did he ever give you a clue about anything?’

  She rolled the glass back and forth in her black-nailed fingers. ‘He said he was going to have enough money to take off to Europe and maybe get lost over there. Which pissed me off.’

  ‘Why would that piss you off?’

  ‘Hello – have you been listening to me? We were supposed to be collaborators. How could we be collaborators if he was in Europe?’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I also pointed out to him that every time he talked about the money he’d get real nervous. His voice would go up an octave. And sometimes he’d stutter a few words. It was kind of pathetic. I said, what’s the point of getting all this money if you’re so scared of it?’

  ‘Was your relationship strictly platonic?’

  ‘Wow. A voyeur. I’ve got some dirty pictures if you want to see them.’

  I sat there, silent.

  ‘Yes, we slept together. He got drunk one night and told me that he’d only had sex three times in his life before me. At his age. Wow. But I brought him along. I taught him a lot of things. And he taught me things, too. He was real smart, unlike the dweebs I usually sleep with. And he was real sweet. Until lately. He was really bummed about something. Maybe about the money or something. He didn’t even cheer up when I bought him that Captain America jacket two weeks ago.’ She wasn’t the type to sob but tears silvered her eyes now and her voice shook. ‘And I come up here and you tell me he’s dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry I had to tell you.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, everybody’s always sorry about everything.’ She wiped her tears with her knuckles. ‘But sorry isn’t gonna bring him back.’

  ‘So he never mentioned any enemies or anything like that?’

  That wild laugh again. Unnerving in this situation. Maybe any situation. It hinted at the same kind of estrangement I was sure Jim Waters had lived with. There was nothing merry about the laugh. It was pure pain.

  ‘Jimmy have enemies? Twenty-seven-year-olds with Captain America posters on their walls don’t have enemies unless they’re into video games.’

  ‘Good point.’

  She must have appreciated my smile because she smiled right back. ‘Actually, I’m the video gamer. Jimmy didn’t like them. He said they stressed him out. He was always talking about finding a place where he could be real peaceful. That’s part of what our book was going to be about. This warrior roaming this planet looking for a place where he could lay down his arms. And just be kind of gentle the rest of his life.’

  I stood up and punched in the number of headquarters. Kathy answered. ‘Is the man there yet?’ She said no. ‘Tell him I’d like to see him tonight. Tell him where my room is.’ She told me this sounded like an order. ‘It probably is.’

  Jenny smiled; a kid smile. ‘That was pretty cool. It was like code. I don’t have any idea who you were talking to. Or what you were talking about. You must be a superspy.’

  ‘Something like that. C’mon, we need to get out of here. Unless you want to talk to the police.’

  She was up from her seat and slinging her purse over her shoulder.

  ‘Have you told me everything?’

  She was bold, even brazen, but she wasn’t particularly good at making her eyes say what her voice said. ‘Sure.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Tough.’

  ‘I need your cell phone number.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I may need to get hold of you.’

  Her sigh would have made Hamlet envious. But she went over to the table with the printer and scratched out a number on a sheet of paper. She tore it in half and folded it over and then brought it back to me. ‘I know I’m going to regret this.’

  I took her arm and led her out of the apartment. ‘Maybe you’ll change your mind about telling me everything you know.’

  ‘Haven’t you ever given your solemn word to somebody? That’s what Jimmy made me give him. My solemn word that I’d never tell anybody under any circumstances.’

  We were walking toward the rear of the hall where there was presumably a back way out. We kept our voices low. The blare of different types of music covered us.

  ‘We’ll never find out who killed him unless we know everything.’

  ‘I’ll just have to think about it.’

  When we reached the door I held it open for her. She led the descent. We didn’t talk as we worked our way to the ground floor.

  The night, all brace and filled with the promise of noisy neon life, was waiting for us and all of a sudden I wanted to be with a woman and a few drinks and having some laughs. This one was not only way too young, she was like working a Rubik’s Cube.

  ‘I need to go get stoned and listen to some of the CDs he liked.’

  ‘Just keep thinking about helping me find out who killed him.’

  ‘Man, you never give up, do you?’

  ‘Not when it’s important.’

  ‘You and my dad would get along. He just harangues you until you give in. Only I don’t give in.’

  I had no trouble believing that.

  Then she was walking away.

  ‘I’ll talk to you soon,’ I called.

  She gave me one of her typical replies over her shoulder. ‘Maybe and maybe not.’

  The only cash I had was a twenty so the bellhop who brought me my very late dinner got lucky. As I ate I went through the thirty-seven e-mails I’d received since the last time I’d checked. I was getting updates on all four of our races. Good news on two, fair news on another. Right now I had to put Jeff Ward in an ‘Unknown’ column. The murder could sink us. Even if we proved that Jim Waters’ death had absolutely nothing to do with the campaign, we’d be smudged by it. Burkhart, like most of his fellow haters, made sanctimony one of his weapons. He’d wonder aloud if homicide wasn’t something a ladies’ man like Ward had brought on himself.

  I caught the ten o’clock local news. On camera the scene at headquarters resembled one of those factory explosion shots. Real turmoil; mass tragedy. Since the reporters had little to go on as yet they took turns speculating on how this ‘bloody death that police are hinting is a murder’ would affect the Ward campaign. The footage they showed was of the dashing young congressman in his nightclub duds, of course. His trophy wife was the latest model.

  When the news finished I switched to the radio. There were six local stations, only two with news staffs. They covered the story at much greater length than their TV counterparts but they made it even more suggestive and lurid. One even claimed that an officer who didn’t wish to be named said that ‘maybe a drug deal was involved.’ The easy blame would fall on Burkhart; he’d somehow mind-manipulated all these reporters to trash Ward.

  But no, this was just the American press we have today. And the blame isn’t all theirs. We’ve been tabloidized as a culture. Left and right, both. We want news that sizzles and if it’s not news, who cares as long as it sizzles anyway.

  I was just about to open a few of the new e-mails when the knock came. The Glock I carried lay on the bed where I’d parked it earlier. Opening a hotel room door this late at night can be dangerous. You never get a fetching, willing woman; you almost always get a rumpled surly male with bad news.

  Well, nobody would ever accuse Jeff Ward of being rumpled, but standing there in his bomber jacket and looking like a print ad for some macho aftershave, he said: ‘I don’t appreciate being summoned, Conrad.’

  Off to a good start.

  I opened the door wide and he came in as if he was in a hurry. He walked straight to the refrigerator where he helped himself to a beer. ‘You know I didn’t want you here in the first place. And now you’re giving me orders?’

  He had to take his anx
iety about Waters’ murder out on someone. I’m sure he’d unloaded at least some of it on his minions earlier but I was to get whatever was left of it. That is, if I’d allow it.

  ‘That makes us even. I didn’t want to come here, either, because everybody told me what an asshole you are. I only did it because your father asked me to. He called in the old times with my own father. That didn’t leave me much choice.’

  I thought maybe he’d see the humor or at least the irony in our positions but that had been expecting too much. ‘Don’t do me any favors, Conrad. You’re just one more consultant and the same people who told you I’m an asshole probably told you that I go through consultants two or three a campaign.’

  I sat at the table and watched him pace. I’d never realized it before but he had the looks of one of those old B-movie stars in the Saturday afternoon serials. The sleek, dark hair, the jutting jaw, the patrician nose. Hell, he already had the bomber jacket for it.

  ‘This is all I fucking needed,’ he said. He was talking to himself. ‘Burkhart’s going to be all over this. We were just catching up with him, too. I can’t believe this.’

  ‘I take it the police interviewed you?’

  ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

  This guy was in pure paranoid mode.

  ‘I meant what I asked. Did the police interview you?’

  ‘Of course they interviewed me. So what?’

  ‘So did they tell you anything about his death?’

  ‘Do the cops ever tell anybody anything?’

  ‘This is a waste of time. Get the hell out of here. I’ll be leaving in the morning.’

  ‘Yeah. And let me be the first to thank you for all the fucking help.’

  ‘One of us is about to get his face punched in and I’m betting it’s going to be you.’

  ‘Oh, great, now you’re threatening me. Dad can sure pick ’em.’

  He was thirty-six going on fifteen.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down at the table here and shut up for a few minutes.’ I’m not sure if he was afraid of me. I think it had all caught up with him. The anger in the dark eyes gave way to weariness. A great sigh as he tossed himself into a chair.

  ‘You have a lot of faith in Nolan. You’re going to have to sit down and figure out how you’re going to handle a press conference.’

  ‘Are you crazy? A press conference? They’d eat me alive.’

  I wanted to say be sure you don’t whine like this at your press conference but I’d probably ragged him enough already.

  ‘It’s too late to get ahead of the story. All you can do is try to stop the bleeding. Find the closest of Waters’ relatives you can. Fly them here first class if you need to. Have them standing next to you at the press conference. Limit your opening statement to your feelings about Jim. Tell a few stories about how close you were. Make them up if you have to. Make everything about Jim. Then offer a ten-thousand-dollar reward for any information leading to the arrest of his killer.’

  ‘Ten grand? Ten grand’s not shit these days.’

  ‘All right. Twenty-five grand.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Then let the relative speak. Tell him or her what to say beforehand. Hopefully this’ll be a woman and hopefully she’ll cry a little bit. If it’s a woman, put your arm around her when she starts to choke up. What we’re trying to do here is set the tone for the questions. They’ll still come at you but they’ll look like insensitive assholes for doing it. A good share of the public hates the press. They’ll be on your side to some degree. Especially if we get a woman and especially if she looks maternal in any way. You know that she really cared for Waters and just can’t get over what happened to him.’

  ‘And this’ll work magic, I suppose?’

  ‘No. But it’ll make Burkhart’s smear job more difficult to pull off. We’ve made the whole thing about Waters. The press’ll be wanting to find some connection between Waters and his killer. Drugs or something. Or that he was gay or an addict of some kind.’ I thought about his Captain America poster. I suppose that was a kind of addiction but one he well deserved. He’d been a lonely man. ‘If you can find any kind of charity or cause that Waters worked for be sure to mention that, too. Soup kitchen, walks for cancer, that kind of thing. Start putting out press releases on anything good you can come up with. And be sure to mention a few of them at your press conference.’

  ‘He worked at this soup kitchen, I guess. He liked this old nun. He brought her around one day to meet everybody.’

  ‘That nun should be at your press conference. One side of you the relative, the other side the nun.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re not cynical, Conrad.’

  ‘That’s what I’m paid for. Being cynical. Burkhart’s a bad guy with a lot of dangerous ideas. He has millions of dollars behind him already from the far right and lobbyists ready to give him a lot more if he wins. I want to stop him. You do what you need to. And you’ve run some pretty rough campaigns yourself.’

  He helped himself to another beer. Walked over to the TV set and turned up the volume. ‘I guess it’s too late for any more news tonight.’

  ‘Shouldn’t your man Nolan be up here helping us figure this thing out?’

  For the first time the natural arrogance of the B-movie face fell into uncertainty. I wondered if something had happened between Nolan and him. They were a famous duo in certain political circles. Where the hell was he?

  ‘You know, I almost started laughing when you came up with that nun thing,’ he said. ‘This sounds like a Saturday Night Live skit. The grieving relative and the nun.’

  ‘Desperate times. Now why isn’t Nolan up here?’

  ‘Family matters. He needed to be home.’

  I doubted that. Nolan was a political junkie. A murder in the parking lot of campaign headquarters and he goes home after the police interview him? ‘What’s so important at home?’

  ‘How the hell do I know? And what’s so important about Nolan? You believe all that bullshit about him being the “brains” of my campaign? I don’t need Nolan. He could quit tomorrow and I’d be fine.’

  ‘Yeah? That’s all you’d need. Your number one man quitting after a murder.’

  ‘I didn’t say he’d quit. I just meant that nobody’s irreplaceable. What the hell’re you trying to do to me anyway? You don’t think I’ve got a million fucking things on my mind?’

  There was something he wasn’t telling me. Even the mention of Nolan had agitated him more than Waters’ death seemed to.

  ‘So what’s going on with you and Nolan?’ I said quietly.

  He started to get angry, then thought better of it. He walked back to the table and sat down. ‘Nobody knows anything about this. And I mean my old man. You tell him and you’ll be sorry. I promise you.’

  ‘Cut the threats. Just tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘Well, his wife and I—’

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  ‘You didn’t even let me finish, God damn it.’

  ‘You don’t have to finish. Let me open my laptop here. I can write it out for you. Save you some time. I may not get all the addresses where you two shacked up but I bet I can get everything else right. I’ll bet she’s got a nice ass, right?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘He’s your best friend since grade school and you’re schtupping his wife? Very nice.’

  ‘Things happen to people.’

  ‘Things like this don’t happen unless the two people involved want them to happen.’

  ‘She’s always had her eye on me. Even back in college.’

  ‘Oh, I forgot. You’re irresistible. Also you can’t help yourself when women throw themselves at you. Even your best friend’s wife.’

  ‘Don’t get sanctimonious on me, Conrad.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m being cynical again. I like your father. When I think of my dad I think of your dad. I want to make your dad happy by seeing that you win. So I’m thinking what happens if Nolan decides to go to the
press? You’re toast. Not only do we have a murder to deal with, now we have an affair. You know how many people will hate you for betraying your best friend and the guy who helped you win two terms in Congress? You’ll be finished, asshole. Burkhart won’t have to say a word. Nobody will. Because you’ll have done it to yourself.’

  I went over and got my own beer from the fridge. The cold air felt good on my face. Cleansing. I was in no position to judge him morally. I was in a perfect position to judge him professionally.

  When I was seated again, I said, ‘So where do you stand with Nolan?’

  ‘He isn’t speaking to me.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since two days ago. He won’t answer my calls and when I see him he just walks away. He knows I won’t start a scene in front of the others. I can’t afford to. He might say something.’

  ‘I’ll talk to him.’

  ‘He doesn’t give a shit about you. Nobody here does. They resent my old man for forcing you on us.’

  ‘You want to talk to him, then?’

  The frown was petulant. ‘I’ve already told you he won’t talk to me.’

  ‘Then I’ll talk to him. By the way, when did he first figure this out?’

  ‘Five days ago. Bryn was typing a letter to me on her laptop upstairs when one of their daughters hurt herself on the driveway. Bryn ran down to help her and forgot all about the laptop. David came home and saw it and read it. I’d written her this really sexy e-mail about us making love and she was responding. I was stupid even to send it.’

  ‘Brilliant.’

  ‘Well, fuck you.’

  ‘You want me to tell you congratulations?’

  ‘People make mistakes.’

  He was hopeless.

  ‘Have you talked to Nolan about it?’

  ‘The one time I was able to talk to him I tried to tell him that I don’t really give a shit about her. That it was just a little fling. Hell, he’s had little flings. But he wants to make this big deal out of it. You know, make himself a martyr.’