The Twentieth Day of January

by Ted Allbeury

  She had cooled towards him when he gave up his university job and set up the business consultancy in Hartford. And the coolness became coldness from the moment when he was nominated for the State Governorship.

  He sat thinking, his drink forgotten as his mind went back to the night when the committee had nominated him as the Republican candidate. He had used the telephone in the hotel foyer and he had pressed the buttons and waited as the telephone rang and rang.

  It was just after ten o’clock so she wouldn’t be in bed. Finally, there had been a response.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Laura. Everything OK?”

  “Yes. Mother’s gone to hospital for a check-up. Dad’s up here with Sammy and me.”

  “I’ve got great news, kid. Guess what?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “I’ve got the nomination. It’ll be officially confirmed and announced tomorrow night.” He waited but there was no response from the other end.

  “Aren’t you pleased?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “Honey, at least you’ll be the Governor’s wife.”

  “Don’t be so childish, Logan. I shall just be me.”

  “You don’t think it’s an achievement?”

  Her voice had been cold, almost venomous. “You’ve gone a long way, Logan Powell—down. And now you’ll be right where it’s all at, and your new friends can get the road contracts, the building work, and the jobs they’re all hanging on for.”

  “You think that’s all it is?”

  “Why do you think it is? Your big brown eyes or your non-existent political experience? You’re kidding yourself my friend. But you’ll find out.”

  “You know, you said I wouldn’t make it when I started up the consultancy.”

  “Wrong, my dear, wrong. I didn’t say you wouldn’t make it. I said you shouldn’t try. You should have stayed at the university when you had the offer.”

  “Why, for heaven’s sake, why only that?”

  “Because you had something to say. Like your father had something to say.”

  “But the consultancy is successful.”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, Logan, you’re just a kind of business call-girl …”

  “… that’s not true, Laura, and you know it … the work I …”

  There was a click as she hung up and he crashed down the receiver in anger. “You lousy bitch,” he had said through clenched teeth. And as he turned he had seen Dempsey at the door. He knew that he must have heard the last few minutes.

  Dempsey had looked at Powell’s grim face.

  “No joy back at the ranch-house?”

  “I guess she’ll come round in time.”

  Dempsey had nodded and looked away.

  “Come back to my place and bed down in the spare bedroom and we’ll have a drink.

  “OK.”

  And he stayed at Dempsey’s apartment through the week-end.

  Dempsey had invited a girl down from New York and she was there when he and Dempsey had got back from the nomination meeting. He was now the official Republican candidate, and only death or disaster could prevent him from being State Governor in a few months’ time. Although he hadn’t known it, that had been the beginning of the end so far as he and Laura were concerned. It didn’t seem all that long ago. Jenny was younger than Laura and very beautiful, but that wasn’t all the story. She could always put the Band-aid on his bruised ego, and with her he felt safe. From what, he wasn’t sure.

  Like her name, Jenny Larsen was a Swedish-type blonde. A Hitchcock girl, but warm; and she had seemed either unaware or indifferent to the fact that her cleavage, as she leaned forward while they all talked, revealed most of the soft mounds of her breasts. And what had been almost as pleasurable, she was clearly impressed with his nomination and his plans.

  By midnight they’d had enough whisky for him to feel warm and pleased with life. And Dempsey had said to the girl, “Is Paula down here for the week-end?”

  She had nodded. “She said she would be. Shall I phone?”

  “I’ll check.” He stood up and walked to the study and closed the door.

  Powell had looked through a slight haze at the big blue eyes and the soft mouth.

  “Are you Andy’s girl?”

  She had laughed. “No. We’ve seen one another a few times in New York, that’s all.”

  Involuntarily his eyes had gone to her breasts and when he had looked back at her face she had been smiling. She looked up as Dempsey came back into the room. He was smiling.

  “Yes, she’s here. I’m going over to fetch her.” He picked up his suede jacket. “Give him a drink, Jenny, till I get back, then we’ll all celebrate.”

  Powell had been looking at the girl as the door clicked behind Dempsey and she had laughed softly as he moved over to sit beside her on the settee. Her mouth had responded as he kissed her and she had made no protest as his hand slid inside her cleavage to cup a full breast and lift it free of her dress. His fingers had kneaded the big mound as they kissed and only when his hand had slid back her skirt did she hold his wrist. She had looked at his face and said softly, “Is this how you want to celebrate?” She was smiling as he nodded, and she had said, “Let’s go in the bedroom.”

  “What about Andy and the other girl?”

  Her hand touched his cheek. “They’ll understand. They’re probably doing the same at her place.”

  And this time she made no move to stop him as his hand went between her legs. For long moments she watched his face as his hand explored her and then she kissed him gently, “Come on, let’s go.”

  He had scarcely noticed the bedroom in his awareness of her undressing, and then it was just a fevered vision of breasts and thighs, smooth, youthful, girl-flesh, and the sensations of being in her body.

  The room had been dark when he awoke and he had reached out, moving his hand slowly to find a light. The pink light cast a glow on the white walls and across the face of the girl. He looked at his watch; it was 4.30. He looked back at the girl’s face. She really was beautiful, her full lips barely meeting as she breathed deeply and regularly. For a moment he had a vision of Laura asleep in their bed at home, but it had gone as his hand reached for the sheet and gently rolled it down. Her head was on one side, the long blonde hair fanned out on the white pillow. He looked at her body. She lay on her back and the full breasts rose and fell with her steady breathing, their pale pink tips soft and innocent. Her belly was softly curved and muscled and he could see the blonde bush that covered the mound of her sex. When his hand moved on her, her eyes fluttered open and she said sleepily, “Love me. Love me some more.” And she had lazily opened her long legs and folded her arms round him as he lay on her.

  He turned and put down his glass on the bedside table and reached again for the telephone. His hand hovered over the instrument uncertainly. She could be here in three hours, and he wanted her. But he knew that Dempsey was right. An out-of-town girl, a New York girl, would be spotted in no time. And the press were watching his every move. They wouldn’t print anything. He’d get his hundred days but they would start putting two and two together about him and Laura, and that would be considered legitimate news. He’d get Andy to fix the little dark girl again. She was only 18 but she was enthusiastic.

  He reached for the file of “possibles” for the London and Moscow embassies, and wondered why he still felt lonely despite all the people around him.

  CHAPTER 12

  It was a bumpy flight in the Cessna and at LaGuardia they were stacked for fifteen minutes while the long distance planes, short of fuel, occupied the glide path. Snow came down, a thick white curtain that was wrenched aside continuously by the gale force winds. Steiner was waiting for him at the terminal entrance.

  “How’d you know I was coming up, Joe?”

  “I contacted Hartford. They gave me your ETA.”

  “You got a car here?”

  “Sure. But let’s grab a cup of coffee first.”r />
  Nolan stood still, the snowflakes melting on his face as he stared at Steiner.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Let’s talk in the coffee-shop, chief.”

  Nolan moved off, slapping the wet snow from his canvas travel bag. Until the coffee came he sat without speaking, but when the waitress left he looked at Steiner.

  “OK. What is it?”

  “We had to knock off one of the Russians.”

  “Go on.”

  “He pulled a gun on O’Hara. We checked it afterwards. The safety catch was off and there was one up the spout. O’Hara shot in self-defence.”

  “Where was this?”

  “In the yard at the back of Kleppe’s block in Sutton Place.”

  “When?”

  “Just after seven this evening.”

  “Which morgue is he in?”

  Steiner took a deep breath. “He’s not in a morgue, Mr. Nolan. I wasn’t sure you would want that.”

  Nolan watched the cream turning in slow circles on his coffee as he slowly stirred it.

  “Where is he?”

  “In the boot of my car.”

  “Jesus God. Where is it?”

  “Here. In the car park.”

  “Have you gone over him?”

  “Yes. His name is Pankov. Leonid Pankov. Based in the Soviet Consulate-General. Big fellow. Typical KGB hit man.”

  “What was the weapon?”

  “A standard Luger and special silencer. KGB pattern. We’ve been trying to get a bug on Kleppe’s windows. O’Hara was checking. This guy came out of a garbage can.”

  “What were you proposing to do with him?”

  “Dump him.”

  “Did you pay for the coffee?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Nolan was silent as they walked to the car park and as Steiner reached to turn on the ignition Nolan grabbed his hand.

  “You did what was best, Joe. Is there any chance of a witness?”

  “I’m pretty sure not, chief.”

  “OK. Dump him. And dump him good. I don’t wanna know anything about it.”

  “Right, chief.”

  “Take me to the Central Park safe-house.”

  Nolan stopped the car at the Chase Gallery and walked the rest of the way.

  He called for the evaluation file on the KGB teams at the Consulate-General, and stood reading it as he absent-mindedly eased off his wet coat. Still reading, his hand searched behind him for the chair, and he pulled it forward and sat down slowly.

  He was still there when the false dawn broke over the Park.

  CHAPTER 13

  When Nolan got back to the house at Hartford there was a message from Harper, instructing him to avoid any direct contact with Dempsey. As President-Elect’s putative Chief-of-Staff, Harper felt that Dempsey was too important to risk any reaction from the White House at this stage. Kleppe also should not be contacted directly until further information was available from the FBI and IRS records.

  Nolan telephoned police chief Henney at his headquarters but, apart from more detailed descriptions of the two suspects, there was little further information. They were checking Siwecki’s tax returns for the past five years and there were several sets of fingerprints but none identifiable. Local fingerprint records and New York records had already proved negative. It looked like Oakes and Haig were Nolan’s only hope for a fishing expedition.

  He phoned Haig, who was obviously reluctant to see him again but when he insisted Haig agreed to see him at seven that evening, at his office.

  The security guard at the factory gate phoned through to Haig’s office and then he was escorted across the yard past the stores to the main office block. There was frost sparkling in the lights from the big workshop windows, and a general air of busyness. Haig Electronics were obviously doing well.

  Haig called out for him to come in when the security man knocked at the door, and Nolan noticed that Haig’s desk was clear of all papers as he lifted himself grudgingly from his chair to take Nolan’s outstretched hand.

  “What can I do for you this time, Mr. Nolan?”

  “Well, much the same as before, Mr. Haig. I want to talk about that strike.”

  Haig looked across at Nolan.

  “Are you some stooge from the Democrats?”

  “Why should I be that, Mr. Haig?”

  “You obviously want to find out something to the President’s disadvantage.”

  “The President-Elect, Mr. Haig.”

  “OK. The President-Elect.”

  “I’m not a Democrat, Mr. Haig. I’m not political. And all I want are the facts. And maybe we should widen this chat a little.”

  “By all means.”

  “Mr. Haig. I know that the strike was phoney. I know that it was contrived to help Powell’s bid for nomination as Governor of this State. That doesn’t necessarily mean that you were part of this set-up.”

  “You say you know. D’you mean you guess?”

  “Not at all. One of the principal parties to the affair has told me. Told me also what he was paid to go along with it. And told me also who paid him. We are checking on bank records and tax returns right now.”

  “Why don’t you go ahead with whatever you intend on that evidence, Mr. Nolan?”

  “I think you know why I can’t do that, Mr. Haig. Or you can have a damn good guess.”

  “Siwecki being killed, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  Haig pushed his chair back so that he was parallel to his desk, still looking at Nolan.

  “I swear I didn’t know at the time, Nolan. It was two weeks before I knew.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I got a confidential phone call from the vice-president of production at one of our car customers. They were one of the complainants about our sub-assemblies and Powell had called down one of their inspectors. He had reported back to his management.”

  “What did he tell them?”

  “That the circuit boards had been deliberately damaged before they left here by scoring them with a sharp instrument.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I got Siwecki in and talked to him about it.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He denied it, and when I pursued it he threatened another strike.”

  “And you concluded that Powell had contrived the strike?”

  “No, I didn’t. I don’t think Powell knew any more about it than I did. He may have uncovered it when he was arbitrating, but even then he may have decided it was better to get the strike over. And he may have been right at that.”

  “Who do you think could have contrived it?”

  “It beats me, Nolan. I’ve thought about it a hundred times but it doesn’t make sense. Take Siwecki. He’s a Commie so he’d have no interest in helping Powell—a Republican. It couldn’t possibly be Powell, he couldn’t have influenced our work force in a thousand years. But let’s say he did. He couldn’t possibly have known we and the union would ask him to arbitrate. It was just chance that he was chosen.”

  “How did he get chosen?”

  “The board and I were thinking of going to a New York consultancy and we also considered using somebody from the Department of Labour. Then on the same day two people suggested Powell. The first was Siwecki and the second was Jim Oakes, who was the company’s legal adviser. He’s the new Senator.”

  “And that’s how Powell was chosen?”

  “Yes. Pure coincidence.”

  “Which of your customers tipped you off ?”

  “General Motors.”

  “That’s where the inspector came from who was called in by Powell?”

  “Yep.”

  “As I understand it your people went on strike because they lost substantial bonuses because of sub-assemblies manufactured here that were rejected by your Detroit customers.”

  “That’s it.”

  “And in fact, the sub-assemblies had been deliberately damaged
before they left these premises.”

  “Correct.”

  “And Powell was made aware of this during his investigation and arbitration because one of your customers showed him a sabotaged sub-assembly.”

  “Yes.”

  “So Powell knew, and so did Siwecki.”

  “I don’t know that Siwecki knew.”

  “I’m telling you, Mr. Haig. He told me he knew. The sabotage was deliberate. The strike was contrived so that Powell could be made into the local hero by settling it.”

  “Why should Siwecki, a union man, help a Republican?”

  “Money, orders, who knows, Haig.”

  Haig looked uneasy.

  “Are you suggesting that I gave such orders?”

  “I’m suggesting that at some stage you knew what was going on or had gone on. The very least you did was to cover up a criminal conspiracy.”

  “Why should I go along with something that damaged my company?”

  “You sold a substantial holding of your shares the week before the strike, Mr. Haig. And more after the strike was over. Why was that?”

  “I needed the money for other purposes.”

  Haig’s eyes looked down at his desk to avoid Nolan’s stare.

  “Your bank account shows a pretty healthy balance over that period, Mr. Haig.”

  The older man’s head came up quickly and for the first time since they had talked Haig looked scared.

  “You must have had a Federal warrant to get that information, Mr. Nolan.”

  “I have.”

  Haig shifted in his chair to face Nolan.

  “What the hell are you after? What is it you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  “Are you charging me with some offence?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Right. So get the hell out of my plant.”

  Nolan stood up. Haig was frightened now and one more small pressure would be enough to make him crack. But there was no point in giving any clue as to what they were investigating. The first arrests would have to be the top people.