Burying the Lede

by Joseph LeValley

  “You don’t need another suspect handed to you,” Lisa replied, yawning. “Just dig deeper. As you’ve said, no one killed two innocent people for no reason. So someone benefitted, at least indirectly. Look past the people directly involved.” With that comment, Lisa drifted off to sleep.

  But Tony was wide awake. He considered with amazement the insight of the woman beside him who hadn’t spent one percent as much time thinking about this case as he had. He lay awake a long time mulling over the possibilities. A crime of this magnitude must have had lots of ramifications beyond those who were dead and the man sitting in prison. He began to relax and drift into sleep, thinking, don’t focus on the crime. Find out who benefitted. There was a certain comfort in finally having another avenue to pursue. Tony sighed, smiled, and soon joined Lisa in her dreams of happier things.

  Chapter 18

  Lisa liked being busy. She had to remind herself of that as she briskly walked the two blocks from Purdy’s Office Systems, the computer store where she had begun working part time, to party headquarters, where she still volunteered one or two evenings a week. It was just after 5 p.m. and the downtown stores were in various stages of closing for the day as she passed. The July sun was still blazing, and the heat smothered her like sharing a sleeping bag with a first love. She was sweating visibly by the time she passed through the glass door into the air-conditioned surroundings of the makeshift offices. Because it was an election year, the party had rented an old downtown storefront, larger than the office it normally shared with the Extension Service and the Farm Bureau, on the highway at the edge of town. Lisa actually preferred this old building. It had most recently been an antique shop, but originally had been the town’s opera house, which meant it had hosted vaudeville acts in the days before movies, television, DVDs, and the Internet. It had later been a movie house, showing the first “talkie” seen in this part of Iowa. The original stage still existed on the second floor above her head, but Lisa hadn’t seen it in years. She ventured to guess that most of Orney’s current residents had never seen it.

  Her opportunity to explore the mysterious opera house had been as exciting for a young girl as it had been unexpected. Her father had been serving as president of the local Chamber of Commerce that year, and had ventured upstairs to assess whether the facility could be restored enough to host a portion of the town’s annual Harvest Festival. Lisa had been lucky enough to be beside him in the car when he had decided to take the time for a look. Her father had quickly determined that the upper floor of the opera house was beyond hope but had waited patiently while Lisa had investigated every room, reading bits of century-old graffiti and marveling at the props and flats that still remained. Memories of that day were pleasant and reminded her how much she still enjoyed her relationship with her father.

  Lisa entered the building and threw down her shoulder bag. Because she knew computers and could type faster than Clark Kent on speed, she was a valuable commodity to the party’s county office. Even though it was an election year, the office had only three paid staffers. Lyle “The Smile” McCabe was one, and the designated director of the office. People joked that McCabe hadn’t stopped smiling since the governor had hand-picked him for the county post seven years before. Lisa didn’t know, or much care, if that was true. But she did know McCabe was all smiles for her ever since she had walked into the offices the previous year and told him she wanted to volunteer for the governor’s re-election campaign.

  Despite his smile, Lisa didn’t like McCabe much. He was so obviously full of himself, and for no reason she could understand. Short and slightly overweight, he was far from attractive. Much of his hair had long ago disappeared, but his ego required him to grow long what was left and try to stick it to his scalp with some greasy hair product that obviously wasn’t up to the task. By the time Lisa arrived most evenings, McCabe’s strands of hair were lying against the side of his face, mingled with sweat from a day on the phone, asking favors and raising money.

  It didn’t help that Lisa frequently caught McCabe staring at her and finding excuses to stand at her desk or to ask her to his office. His eyes seldom rose to look above her neck, and she found herself uncomfortable and embarrassed in his presence, which only served to irritate her further. Each time she arrived to volunteer, she reminded herself that she wasn’t there to serve McCabe. She was there to help Governor Harry Roskins, a man she had known for most of her life and, more importantly, a man her father admired and supported.

  Lisa had been a little in awe of Roskins since her senior year in high school when the governor had invited her father and her to dine with him at the governor’s mansion in Des Moines. Called Terrace Hill, the governor’s mansion was everything the title implied. Sitting atop a hill in a beautiful neighborhood near downtown Des Moines, the 18,000 square foot mansion was built in the style of Second Empire architecture and featured a ninety-foot high tower with a commanding view of the city. Built in the late 1860s by Iowa’s first millionaire, Benjamin Franklin Allen, the home featured meeting rooms and space for events on the first floor and the governor’s residence on the second floor.

  During Lisa’s visit there, she had been enchanted by the governor’s stories of travels around the world, of hosting foreign dignitaries, and of political maneuverings in the Iowa Statehouse. And she had to admit, she was captivated by his physical presence. The governor was the definition of distinguished. He looked at least a decade younger than his actual age. He worked hard to preserve the body that had captured several track and field titles, in addition to All-American honors in wrestling while an undergraduate at the University of Michigan.

  Because of that one evening with Governor Roskins, Lisa never wondered how he had won and kept the support of Iowans for three terms. Tony teased her, when he was willing to risk her ill will, about her attraction to Roskins. He said her politics were dictated by her heart and not her head. She simply shot back that Tony was jealous that he didn’t look as good at thirty as Roskins did at sixty-five. It was a tired joke by the second time they exchanged it and a source of tension by the third. They let it drop, knowing the truths that lay behind it and trying to respect each other’s varying views of the state’s chief executive. In short, Lisa saw Roskins as a skilled and dedicated public servant, occasionally showing his force of will but always in the interests of serving Iowa. Tony saw him as an old-school political boss who maintained his position by maintaining a powerful grip on people in his party at every level and in every corner of the state. Lisa knew Roskins was simply a good politician. He kept supporters in key roles and paid attention to details. He proved how good he was by increasing his margins of victory in each election. Tony always twisted those things into something less than honorable, or worse, Lisa thought bleakly. He painted the governor as a man obsessed with his seat and with his popularity in the state.

  Lisa was pleased she and Tony were smart enough to avoid the subject, but she wondered how long the truce would last.

  “Hey, Lisa, save a little air for breathing.” It was Molly Parks, the staffer in the office who coordinated Lisa’s weekly assignments.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “The sigh. You let out enough air to blow the windows out of the room. What’s up?”

  Lisa chuckled. She appreciated Molly for her personality as much as for her help in the office. She looked around to make sure she and Molly were the only ones in the room for the moment, and then replied, “Oh, you know…men.” She drew out the word m-m-e-n-n and shook her head, which made Molly laugh in turn.

  “I hear you, girl. You and Tony having problems?”

  “Actually, no. He’s terrific. He’s a little distracted and working too hard, but he’s made a real effort to make time for me, so I can’t complain.”

  Lisa paused, expecting another question, but it didn’t come. Appreciating Molly even more, Lisa continued, “I guess I was thinking about his politics. I’m not sure I can let myself fall for a guy who leans towar
d the other wing, if you know what I mean. Don’t you find it awkward that I’m here, knowing that he’s not exactly one of the governor’s admirers?”

  “I have to admit, I’ve wondered about it,” Molly answered. “I even heard McCabe talking about Tony the other day. But I figure if you two are good together, you’ll work it out.”

  Lisa looked up from the PC. “What was that? McCabe was talking about Tony?”

  Molly realized she had inadvertently changed the subject. “Well, yes. Lyle was on one of his marathon telephone calls a couple of days ago. I was in and out of his office several times and overheard Tony’s name. You know, probably something like, ‘That dumb-ass Harrington.’” Molly laughed. To McCabe, everyone who wasn’t a Roskins supporter was a ‘dumb-ass.’ But Lisa wasn’t laughing.

  “Who was McCabe talking to? You said one of his marathon calls. You don’t mean a call to Des Moines, do you? Why would Des Moines care about Tony? When was this?”

  “Whoa, girl. Before you get your pantyhose in a bundle, try to remember this is politics. I hear McCabe talking about ‘dumb-ass’ media people almost every day. I certainly wasn’t surprised to hear Tony’s name. I’m sure it was nothing. But for the record, I don’t know who The Smile was talking to, and I don’t know what he said. As for the when, let me see. I guess it must have been Tuesday morning.”

  “But Tony doesn’t typically write political stuff. He’s written very little about the governor’s campaign.” The level of Lisa’s anxiety surprised even her, but the thought of McCabe talking to anyone about Tony was distasteful; and the thought that it might have been someone important, perhaps even someone close to the governor… She didn’t understand why, but the thought of it caused a tightness in her stomach like a hard, cold fist.

  She wasn’t sure how, but she had to find out who McCabe had been talking to. For the moment, however, she realized she had to let it drop or risk raising a red flag with Molly. The last thing Lisa wanted was for Molly to say something to McCabe. That would only bring up Tony’s name again in a negative light, and this time with her name attached.

  Lisa pretended to listen to Molly’s sound advice, and then quickly changed the subject to the task at hand. “Are there other flash drives in the trash bin?” she asked, using their favorite term for the basket in which work for the volunteers was thrown. She forced a smile as Molly dug through it and produced two thumb-sized storage devices bearing the “Re-Elect Roskins” campaign logo.

  Much of Lisa’s volunteer time was spent reconciling mailing lists. Each week, the governor’s office sent the local county office one or more flash drives with names and addresses of supporters and potential supporters in the county, including those who had contributed directly to the governor’s re-election headquarters in Des Moines. Lisa’s job was to match those names with the local county office’s mailing lists, adding the names of new supporters, making sure that the addresses of known supporters were up to date, and eliminating any duplicate entries. The database program she was using made the job simple and easy, but very boring.

  Early in her volunteer work, Lisa had asked why the party didn’t just use one statewide database. Going online to a master database would simplify the whole process and free up a lot of volunteers who were undoubtedly doing identical work in the other 98 counties of Iowa. The answer was not what she expected: “Security,” McCabe had said. “If we did all of this online, the risk would be too great that some hacker could tap into our records. We keep this all segmented so we don’t have to worry about outside intrusions.” It had seemed at the time like the party was going to a lot of extra work over a concern that was pretty farfetched, but considering the labor was free, Lisa had decided it made sense enough. Later, when she had remembered that most campaign records were public under Iowa’s campaign disclosure laws, she had reconsidered. She had decided the re-election staff was filled with a lot of McCabe types. That was a scary thought. Does the governor know what a bunch of paranoid schmucks he has working for him? she had mused, thinking she would mention it to her father sometime. But the thought had left as quickly as it had come, and she had never bothered to raise it with anyone.

  Around 8:45 p.m., Molly announced she was heading home by way of the Dairy Queen. “Want to join me for a double chocolate mint sundae?” she asked as she pushed shut the file drawer in her desk and slipped her heels back on.

  “No thanks, Molly,” Lisa smiled. “I’ve got a Diet Coke in the refrigerator and Hershey’s Kisses in the desk. What else could I need? Besides, when you only work two nights a week, you have to keep at it.”

  “Suit yourself, girl. And don’t think your efforts go unnoticed. We all appreciate everything you do for us.”

  “You’re welcome. Now leave me alone to fight my battle to the death with List 1-B113, A through J. And by the way, leave your PC on, will you? If mine freezes up again, I’m just going to move to your desk.”

  “No problem. See you Thursday.”

  Both women were smiling warmly as Molly went out the door and locked it behind her. As soon as she was gone, Lisa’s smile faded and she sat back in her chair. Did she really have the courage to do what she was contemplating?

  What the heck, she told herself. I’m a volunteer. What are they going to do, fire me?

  She stood up, stretched, and walked over to the water cooler. From there, she could look out the front windows of the building. Daylight was fading, but she could see that the street was quiet. No one was approaching the building from either direction. It was simply too hot for people to be out for casual strolls. That suited Lisa just fine. She quickly strode to McCabe’s office, a glass enclosure at the opposite side of the room. She did not turn on the lights. She didn’t want to be seen and the windows provided adequate light from the ceiling fixtures in the outer office. Without hesitation, she walked through the door and around his desk and began looking for his telephone log. She expected to find it lying on top of the desk but did not. The office was a mess of filing cabinets, bookshelves, and cubbyholes. Lisa knew if McCabe kept the book anywhere but in one of the most obvious places, she wouldn’t have the courage to stay long enough to find it.

  She sat in his chair and pulled open the middle drawer of the old wooden desk. Pens, campaign buttons, Post-It Notes, the usual junk, but no telephone log. She pushed it shut and turned to the first drawer on the right. Jackpot. On top of the miscellaneous papers stuffed into the drawer lay the black leather book that McCabe kept beside the telephone whenever he was in the office. Lisa had seen him use it many times and knew he was meticulous about keeping track of every call made or received.

  The book fell open in her hand to today’s date. She had to remove a large paper clip to go back one week to the previous Tuesday. She scanned down the page. No wonder he thinks he’s a hot dog, she thought as she read the list of VIPs in the log. One in particular caught her eye. It said simply: “HR.” That could mean “Human Resources” at the statehouse or it could mean “hour” or it could mean “home run,” but Lisa knew what it did mean: Harry Roskins. McCabe had talked for forty minutes with the governor on Tuesday morning. Lisa was beyond impressed. She was astonished, and more than a little agitated. Could that have been the call? Lisa felt the cold fist returning to her belly. What could McCabe have told the governor about Tony? This made no sense, and the thought of the governor hearing anything negative about Tony from a slimeball like McCabe infuriated her.

  Lisa’s hands were sweaty and shaking as she closed the book to replace it in the drawer. In her haste, she dropped it. She pushed the chair back and bent over to retrieve it, noticing that it had fallen open to a new page, near the back. There, taped to the page and glittering in the dim light, was a key. Lisa raised the book slowly and stared at the key. Every ounce of her being was telling her to put the book back in its place and leave now, but she couldn’t.

  Her dislike for McCabe, her fears about the telephone call, and the unlikely hiding place for the key combined to overwhelm
her inhibitions and her good sense. She was compelled to pursue the mystery one more step. Lisa peeled the key from the page and peeled the transparent tape from the key. She carefully wadded the tape into a ball and slid it into the pocket of her slacks. She turned the key over in her hands. The word “Steelcase” was imprinted on it. Lisa knew from experience that this was a key to a filing cabinet or desk. So she knew what she was looking for, and the brand. With a little luck, she would get a look at McCabe’s secrets. She made one turn around his office, stopping to face the north wall. Along it, covered with books, boxes and dust, was a row of six typical office file cabinets, each with four drawers designed to hold hanging files. Only one cabinet was locked. She smiled, thinking, I hope McCabe is dumb enough to make it this easy.

  Three steps across the office and one turn of the key confirmed her suspicions. Her excitement and self-satisfaction faded quickly, however, as she opened the top drawer. It was filled with files of financial records for the party’s operations in Quincy County. If McCabe’s secrets were financial, it would take her and a dozen accountants a month to find them. She closed the drawer and opened the second. More of the same. She glanced over the labels, but nothing caught her eye, and she pushed the drawer shut.

  The third drawer contained personnel records – a slim file on each of the volunteers in the office. She wanted very badly to pull her own file and read it. She wondered if McCabe had anything meaningful to say about her or any of the women. She wouldn’t be surprised if he used the files only to rate them sexually: legs – nine; breasts – six. Lisa realized it was a sick thought and she pushed the drawer shut. She refused to consider that she had taken the key and was ransacking another person’s private files just so she could see her own records. This had to be more important than that. Three down and one to go, she thought as she slid it closed and knelt to open the bottom drawer. As she pulled it open, her heart leaped once again. Filling the bottom drawer was a leather zipper bag. It looked new, and Lisa knew she had found the reason for the locked cabinet.