“The confusion comes from rushing it,” Tom said. “Nothing to be done about that, though.” He got out his wallet and extracted five new bills. “I want you to give him this. In case he needs any, ah, supplies.” Maggie immediately unfolded and counted the money while Tom looked around nervously. Did she have to count it here?
“Hundreds? Couldn’t you get twenties or something?”
Tom sighed. “I didn’t think of it till this morning. It’ll have to do. I don’t expect he’ll need so much, but better safe than sorry. Ralph’s been making sure he gets to the shooting range?”
“Yeah. Everybody’s seen him there a few times now. He sticks out like a sore thumb.”
“Good.” That meant someone at the practice range would be able to testify that the boy had been there. It didn’t matter if Hans could actually shoot; Tom’s backup gunman would be doing the real work, unless the boy was an especially lucky shot. There was no need for Maggie to know about the backup man, of course. “And you remember the phrase, right? You have to say the phrase exactly right, or―”
“I know the words, Tom.”
“All right.” Kajdas closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with two fingers, as if trying to massage any remaining items out of his brain. He couldn’t think of anything else. The plans were set. “What time are you planning to get there? 9:00?” Maggie nodded. “Nothing’s going to happen until those primary results start to come in. You could be waiting a while. Do you have a way to look busy?”
“There’s a party for a Senate candidate in the same hotel. Hans says he knows the guy’s daughter.”
“Kuchel? Or Cranston?” Tom wished he’d heard about this earlier.
“Rafferty. We’ll hang out at his party for a bit, have some drinks.”
“Not too many,” Tom warned. “You need to be able to make tracks out of there.”
“I can handle myself.”
“And let Hans do his own thing. Don’t be seen with him the whole time.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I know how to mingle, Tom. Everything will be fine.”
“I know. I just worry.”
“It’ll be easy.”
* * *
“Aren’t you excited?” Maggie asked as they walked up the front steps of the hotel. She’d been beaming since Kajdas had dropped them off two blocks up the street.
“Excited?” Ralph frowned in annoyance. “We’re going to work; that’s all.”
Maggie laughed. “You haven’t complimented me on my new dress.”
He looked her up and down in the light that spilled out of the hotel’s doorway. The dress fit her nicely, especially around the chest—a fact of which he was sure Maggie was well aware. He was looking forward to helping her out of it later. “Those polka-dots are ridiculous,” he said. “Make you look like a little kid.”
“Fuck you,” she replied sweetly. They waited near the door, holding hands.
“Is he here already? Better not be late.”
“He won’t be late.” Just as she said this, Maggie’s diminutive friend came around the corner and jogged up the steps. They let him go in first and then followed five minutes later.
The Rafferty party was in full swing. Ralph and Maggie found a comfortable spot near the bar and had a few drinks while Hans made the rounds, flirting with every woman he saw and tossing back drinks like they were water. Maggie and Ralph pretended not to know him, and he ignored them—or perhaps, being so busy with the ladies, he didn’t even remember they were there.
“What is he wearing?” Ralph muttered as he watched the young man working the crowd. “Doesn’t he know this is a classy affair?”
Maggie shrugged and flagged the bartender for another drink. “He probably didn’t want to get blood all over his nice clothes,” she slurred, shouting to be heard over the background noise.
“Will you keep it down?” Ralph said under his breath. “You’re drunk.”
“Not drunk enough,” she muttered. “Come on, Raoul, loosen up. Have some fun!”
Ralph ground his teeth. “It’s not supposed to be fun,” he said to her, very quietly. “A man is about to die. Have a little respect!”
Unfazed, Maggie watched Hans as he chatted up the girls at the opposite end of the room. “It’s hardly fair,” she complained. “He’s going to be all over the news tomorrow. No one will ever hear of us.”
“Fine with me,” said Ralph.
“I don’t like it one bit.”
“You’d rather have your mug shot on the front page of the Times?”
“Better than being a nobody,” she said, then giggled irritatingly through her nose.
Exasperated, Ralph shook his head and checked his watch. “It’s time to recite your poetry.”
“Mmm,” said Maggie, her eyes widening with excitement. She handed her drink to Ralph, sloshing most of the liquid onto his arm, and began to weave her way through the crowd. She sidled unsteadily up to Hans, who was chatting happily with three men in suits, and bent to whisper in his ear. Hans went rigid for a moment. Then, without a word or even a glance at the others, he walked to the door and out into the hallway, leaving the three men to wonder at his sudden departure. Maggie watched him for only a moment before striking up a new conversation with the men, all of whose attention became instantly fixated on her cleavage. After five minutes of talking to her, Ralph was sure none of them was still thinking of Hans.
It would be a little while longer, so Ralph nursed his drink while Maggie circulated around the room. When it was time, he swallowed the last little bit, rescued Maggie from a talkative group of Republican wives, and escorted her out into the hall. She stank of alcohol and had to lean heavily on his arm to keep her balance. There was no sign of Hans.
A dense crowd had gathered outside the door to the ballroom where the other party was taking place. Ralph and Maggie worked their way through the crowd to the door, only to be rebuffed by a guard there. “Can’t let any more in till somebody comes out,” he told them, but no one inside looked like they were planning to leave anytime soon. All Ralph could do was watch from the doorway.
Craning his neck to see over the heads of the partygoers, he could see a group of people gathered on a platform. Maggie, too short to see even in her heels, said, “What’s going on in there?”
The crowd inside the ballroom erupted in cheers, and Ralph could barely make out the dark-haired man who was the center of attention. The Senator waved to the crowd as he ascended the platform and picked up a microphone. He spoke for several minutes, but the poor acoustics and the noise of the crowd prevented Ralph from making out all of it. A comment about Don Drysdale got a good response from the crowd. As though he’s got a clue about baseball, Ralph thought. There were the usual thank-yous to faithful supporters, and generous praise for his worthy opponent. The usual conciliatory garbage. This was followed by a comment about the Vice President’s failure to connect with the people. Then the crowd cheered all the louder, and several people began to chant Kennedy’s name.
“My thanks to all of you,” the Senator said by way of wrapping up. “Now it’s on to Chicago, and let’s win there.” More noise from the crowd, and then Kennedy was making his way down the steps and out through a back door.
Maggie was still straining to see. “What’s going on? Did it happen yet?”
Ralph held up a finger to shush her. He could see people milling around at the back of the room, near the platform where Kennedy had spoken.
“For crying out loud, Ralph, tell me what’s happening!”
A minute passed. There was still no sign of Hans, but Ralph could now see that quite a commotion was starting to develop at the back of the room. Several people ran toward the far door where the Senator had gone out, while others were more interested in getting away from it. One man was shouting and waving his arms in the air. Next to him, a woman began to cry. As the word spread that something terrible was happening behind that door, the exultation of the crowd was gradually turning into
something else. People were beginning to panic.
“Doctor!” cried one man, pushing his way through the crowd with tears streaming down his face. “Is there a doctor here?”
“Where’s Mary Jo?” a woman yelled from somewhere inside the room. “Somebody find Mary Jo!”
The noise increased to a deafening level as the news and the panic spread through the crowd.
“That’s it,” said Ralph, taking Maggie by the elbow. “Better get going.” He pulled her away toward the lobby of the hotel. Her face was positively lit up with exhilaration, and she began to laugh.
27
June Gloom
The June Gloom lay upon the city like a damp blanket.
Ed’s corn flakes were growing soggy in the bottom of the bowl. He couldn’t summon the appetite to eat more than two or three bites before giving up on breakfast altogether. He should have been getting ready for work. He had a busy day ahead.
The television was still showing footage of the Ambassador Hotel. He’d turned the sound all the way down, but couldn’t get himself to shut off the picture. They kept showing images of the chaos from a few hours before: Kennedy’s final speech, the cheering crowds and starstruck girls, the mayhem that erupted after he went through that door to the pantry. One man pushed through the crowd in a panic, causing others to run in fear before they even knew what they were running from. Women were crying, and a few men as well. Ed watched closely for any sign of the two people he’d met in the restaurant. He didn’t see them, but knew they must have been there.
Kajdas had really gone ahead and done it.
Then the news program cut to the outside of the hotel, where a diminutive young man was dragged outside and thrown into a squad car. Other cops tried to hold back the crowd so he wouldn’t be torn to pieces. The dark, chaotic scene played over and over in Ed’s head long after the news people cut away to something else.
Not for the first time, Ed was struck by the immensity of what was happening. The newscast said Kennedy wasn’t dead—not yet—but it wasn’t looking good. Ed’s own task was simple, a few minutes’ work, but the impact of his actions would last forever. But to what purpose? Would the elimination of a figure like Kennedy really be the watershed event that Kajdas imagined it to be? Somewhere in these thoughts there was an undercurrent of fear, or guilt, or perhaps it was merely nerves. Ed hoped he was doing the right thing. He wished he had even a fraction of Tom’s unwavering confidence in his own rightness. A part of him wanted to give Tom his money back and forget the whole thing.
But it wasn’t just Tom’s money, was it? Even if Kajdas wanted to let him go, there were others who would not look kindly on an attempt to pull out now, after the events had already begun to unfold. No, Ed was stuck on this course now. He had agreed to it—even if he’d had no choice—and now he was stuck.
It wasn’t as if he was the worst of the monsters in this horror movie, he reminded himself. The biggest share of the blame lay elsewhere, and Ed was only helping a few details fall into place. He tried his best to silence his conscience and keep to the job at hand.
It was time to be going. He switched off the TV and headed off to work.
Parker Center was busier than he’d ever seen it. Chief Reddin, under scrutiny of the press and therefore the whole nation, was putting pressure on the department to conduct the investigation as quickly as possible. The suspect was in custody, but the details of the crime had to be fully understood to make an airtight case against him. Teams of detectives and analysts from SID had swarmed the crime scene during the night, capturing the tiniest bits of evidence and sending them back to the lab for analysis. Detectives were interviewing witnesses. Bullets and the weapon were sent to Ballistics. Grisly photographs of the crime scene and victims came in, along with detailed maps with markers indicating projectile trajectories. Several detectives, under the direction of Frank D’Agnenica, dismantled the wooden doorframe from the doorway of the hotel kitchen, which was rumored to have some bullets lodged inside it.
Ed arrived at the lab to find it in a state of chaos. Analysts scurried about, weaving around each other with samples held high over their heads to prevent spills. Dan Berry himself was wandering around, watching over everyone’s shoulders and generally adding to the tension in the room. Chaki was chattering excitedly to Gerald Klem about something; Klem scowled at Chaki with an expression that was half bewilderment and half annoyance.
“Where’ve you been?” Mookie asked as Ed entered the lab, still pulling his sweater over his head. With all the sweating humanity stuffed into the little room, Ed wondered how it could possibly be so cold. “I need you to run some samples through the hot rod.”
“Show me what you’ve got.”
Mookie led him over to the bench, where he had a rack of small test tubes lined up. “Bruce needs me down the hall. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Ed waited for Muñiz to leave, then glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Berry was on the other side of the room, listening impatiently as Chaki struggled to explain something to him. Klem was back at his work, decanting a brownish fluid off of a deep brown precipitate. No one was paying any attention to Ed.
He took out a bottle of sulfuric acid from the bottom cupboard and a narrow pipette from a drawer. With great care to avoid splashing the high-molarity acid on himself, he dripped a few drops into each of Mookie’s samples. Then he returned the acid to its cupboard, cleaned the pipette, and carried the samples over to the HPLC. Whatever Mookie had planned to test for, Ed doubted there would be any sign of it now.
Chaki, still flustered after his conversation with Berry, was struggling to light a burner to heat up a beaker of a colorless liquid. Ed went over to offer his assistance. They struggled with the old burner for several minutes, until finally Ed managed to light it at the very moment that Chaki was peering over his shoulder. A long blue flame erupted from the little burner, passing over Ed’s shoulder and setting Chaki’s hair on fire. This was followed by quite a commotion as several of the other analysts swarmed around Chaki to extinguish his head, while Chaki hollered things Ed couldn’t understand, but suspected were directed at him. While the others were distracted, Ed took the opportunity to pour Chaki’s solution into a nearby sink and refill the beaker with lukewarm tap water. No one seemed to notice.
During the flurry of activity in the morning, Ed was so focused on carrying out his sabotage that his conscience barely bothered him at all. It bothered him more at lunch, when he had time to think about it. He forced himself to eat a few bites of the flavorless lasagna they served in the cafeteria. It was no use; he threw it away and went out to get some air. After only a few minutes outside under the overcast sky, the gray bleakness weighed on him so heavily that he went back in to the distracting madness of the lab.
The excitement of Chaki’s fiery adventure had died down and everyone had gone back to work, including a slightly singed Chaki who glared at Ed from the moment he entered the lab. Bruce took Ed aside and advised him not to go near Chaki, then set Ed to work on testing for powder residue. He gave Ed an indecipherable look as he gave him his assignment, and Ed started to wonder whether Bruce himself might also be working for Kajdas. There was no way to know.
He sat down to work, and his initial findings weren’t surprising at all. On the suspect’s clothes, his tests lit up clear signs of primer residue. It was the same with the swabs from the suspect’s arms and hands; the remnants of primer were unmistakable. There was no question that the suspect had fired several shots from a small-caliber weapon. Ed made the appropriate notes on the forms before turning to the samples taken from the Senator’s clothes.
Tom had told him what to expect, but until now Ed had held out some hope that he wouldn’t be the one who had to run these particular tests. His hope quickly faded. On the back of the Senator’s collar he found a tight cluster of nitrite residue, consistent with a close-range gunshot in the back of the head. Ed had seen the police sketches of the crime scene; the suspect ha
d fired from several feet away. From in front of the Senator.
The shots that hit Kennedy’s head had come from behind. Six to twelve inches behind him.
Ed took out the analysis forms and proceeded to write lies. No powder or primer residue on the victim’s skin or clothes. Nothing to contradict the official story that the Senator had been shot from across the room by a lone assassin. He signed his name with shaking fingers and sat down to catch his breath. He felt terrible.
After cleaning up, he went down to the basement in search of Rosenthal.
The old criminologist was examining bullets under a magnifying glass. Rosenthal used a forceps to pick up one deformed specimen from a small cluster of bullets near his left hand. He held it under his magnifier and tipped his head to peer at it through his thick bifocals. “Evening, Ed,” he said without looking up.
Ed checked his watch and was surprised to see that it was almost seven. “Bernie,” he said.
“Busy day. I haven’t had lunch yet, and here it is past dinnertime.”
Ed didn’t reply; he just watched Rosenthal work. The criminologist frowned at the bullet for several minutes before placing it on his desk in what appeared to be a discard pile. Then he picked up another one and repeated the process. “Hell of a thing, isn’t it?” Ed said after a while.
“Sure is.”
“Awfully young guy. He’s got a pregnant wife, too, did you know that?”
With a deep exhalation, Rosenthal discarded the next bullet and picked up another. “No, I didn’t know that,” he said.
“I guess he has a lot of enemies.”
Rosenthal turned the bullet, examining it from every angle. “That’s the thing about being a public figure. To some people you’re a god, to others you’re a target.” This bullet seemed to please him; he nodded to himself and placed it off to the side. “Where did I put it...?” he mumbled, shuffling through a pile of papers on the corner of his desk. Ed thought he recognized the large manila envelope Tom had given him, now empty, among the papers. Eventually Rosenthal found what he was looking for: a small evidence envelope. He removed a bullet from this envelope and replaced it with the one he’d been scrutinizing a moment earlier.
Forest of the Mind (The Book of Terwilliger 1) Page 25
