“I don’t understand. The man is running for the president of this country, he’s got to be used to questions.”
“Oh, he’s used to questions. It’s just that they need to be the right questions, coming from the right people. Since your father’s death, there’s been very little opposition here, and what little there is, gets crushed before they can get a foothold. I can tell that you aren’t part of the Lane crowd, so I’m just warning you to be careful. These are powerful people.”
“If it’s risky to speak to me, then why are you doing it?” Jack asked.
“Well, there’s nothing they can really do to hurt me anymore.” Erma said, pouring the tea. “Except, of course, to kill me. But once I’ve spoken to you that’d be a little obvious, don’t you think? In a way, speaking to the press is a sort of insurance policy. Besides, they can always claim that I’m senile.” She laughed at herself. “I’m not batty, I assure you.”
Jack grinned. “Hardly.”
“So, you’re wondering why my husband went to your father.”
“Indeed.”
“Adam and Edmund Lane had been friends for over thirty years. They made their fortunes together, always backed each other up. They were inseparable. Once Edmund had accomplished his goals in business, he became obsessed with politics, especially where his son’s concerned.”
She sipped her tea. “For years, my Adam supported Edmund and Warner. When Adam semi-retired he moved further into the world of politics, although he still sat on the boards of some local corporations. He became what the pundits call a political advisor. The fact was that Adam and Edmund had enough money and political pull to enforce their will. That’s what your father objected to. But Adam objected to abusing his power. That’s when the friction began between him and Edmund.”
Jack sipped his tea. “Go on.” Adam’s visit to his father was starting to make sense.
“Unfortunately. Adam kept most of this to himself He didn’t believe in bringing his problems home. But from what I gathered Adam felt Edmund had changed. He became power hungry and ruthless. Then, there was that plane crash with Ron Spietzer and his family. Adam was extremely distressed about it, but he refused to say why. After that, he and Edmund spent less time together. In fact, toward the end. Adam only saw Edmund at meetings for a political group they both stalled.”
“What kind of political group? What did they meet about?”
“They were secretive. I used to think that it was funny, these old men sneaking around. I don’t think Adam ever realized that I knew about the group. But I pay attention, and occasionally I’d overhear a telephone conversation, or Adam and Edmund talking on the porch after supper.”
“Why do you think they were secretive?” Jack knew Edmund liked to work in the shadows, but this seemed strange, too cloak and dagger, even for Edmund.
“I don’t follow.”
“Think hard. Maybe a conversation or a phase will come back to you. This group had to be important if Edmund and Adam founded it.”
Erma paused for a moment, tapping her index finger against her lip. “Now that I think about it, I’m sure that group caused the big fight between Adam and Edmund. It was formed in order to influence Missouri politics. But I think that changed. I know Adam wasn’t interested in going beyond the borders of Missouri, and I think Edmund wanted a national agenda. That makes sense, seeing as how he wanted Warner in the White House.”
“Do you know what they planned to do to influence politics?”
“I just assumed it would be through contributions.”
“But that wouldn’t require any secrecy.”
“I suppose not.”
“Did this group have a name?” Jack asked.
“The only thing I ever heard Adam say on the phone was the ‘Council.’ Understand, this is nothing official. You won’t find anything about them at party headquarters.”
Council! Bingo. Jack smiled. “Did you do your own investigating?”
“A little. I just wanted to make sure my Adam wasn’t unhappy at home. At times, he spent hours away. One hears of old men chasing young women. But I felt bad and confessed to Adam what I’d done. He said he was flattered that I’d think some young thing would be interested in an old geezer like him. I miss my Adam.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“You know, the living always betray the dead.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” Tears formed in Erma’s eyes.
Jack grasped her hand lightly. “Tell me.”
Erma sank lower into her chair. “Do you have a good soul, Mr. Rudly?”
Taken aback, Jack hesitated. “I like to believe so.”
“I hope so, too.” She looked around the room before continuing. “I was speaking of myself. You see, I’ve stayed silent since Adam’s death, and I feel my silence has betrayed him. My husband was a man of honor. And I don’t believe he died of natural causes. I believe he was viewed as an obstacle that needed to be removed.”
“Who do you think removed him? And why?”
“I don’t know, but about a week before his death, he and Edmund Lane had a serious fight.” Her voice was low.
Jack’s jaw flexed in concentration. Would Edmund Lane kill a friend? If so, as an adversary, his own father may have been in danger. No, that’s ridiculous, Lane’s a prominent businessman. And from his father’s notes it appeared Carolyn was the problem.
“Adam was so upset over the fight that he woke me up when he returned home late that night.
He didn’t give me many details, but he talked more than usual. Something about a business deal that involved Carolyn Lane.“
Carolyn? That fit.
“Also, Edmund had brought in men from Washington. Men who, Adam felt, were dangerous. He didn’t want to be associated with them. I knew Adam was referring to his political group, but he never said so. He just said that Edmund was selling his soul to the devil with these new ‘friendships.’”
Jack felt his pulse jump. “Do you know what type of business deal involved Carolyn? Could it have been with Mort Fields?”
“I wish I knew.” Erma sighed. “All I do know is my Adam wouldn’t do anything illegal. He was very principled.”
“Who were these men from Washington? And why do you think their activities were illegal?”
“I don’t know their names. Adam refused to say.” She wiped a tear off her cheek. “He said that Edmund told him, ‘If you’re not with me, you’re against me.’ Adam just kept repeating that phase. After thirty years, it crushed him that his friend would say such a thing. Adam said he just didn’t know who Edmund was anymore,” she sniffed.
“I think that’s what finally sent Adam to talk to your father. He said there was going to be a bloody feud in the party, because he wasn’t going to let the Lanes have their way. I didn’t know who the other members were, so I had no idea how bad it could be. I just knew that Edmund was powerful. He doesn’t sidestep obstacles; he bulldozes through them.” Her voice broke, but she continued. “One week later, my husband was found dead in his office.”
A bloody feud? Not too uncommon in politics. His father, however, never mentioned a fight in the party “How did he die?”
Erma shrugged. “They told me that his heart stopped. ‘It must have been his time,’ the doctor at the hospital said.”
“And you don’t believe it was his time?”
Erma’s gaze met his, “No. I don’t believe it for one minute. He’d just had a physical. ‘Fit as a fiddle,’ his physician had said. I should have spoken up then, but I was shocked and frightened. Edmund handled everything for me. And I let him. He was a good friend in that manner. Later, I learned that an autopsy would have been standard procedure, but the doctor had already signed the death certificate and there were no questions raised. I didn’t know what to think. I was just so devastated… so weak.” Jack could see she was fighting for composure.
He reached across the table and took her hand. “You did the best
you could do under the circumstances. No one would ever fault you for that.”
They both sat in silence as he gave her a moment to calm herself.
“Do you think Edmund Lane killed your husband?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous. I just don’t believe Adam died of natural causes.” Sadness hung in the air. “I hope our talk helps you find whatever you’re looking for.”
“I hope so, too. Did Adam ever talk about Mort Fields?” Jack asked as they both stood.
“Yes, now and again. I assumed Mort was part of the Council. And Adam mentioned that he, too, spoke to your father about his concerns.”
“I see.” Adam and Mort were part of the so-called Council, and both had gone to his father. Their visits had to be related.
Erma walked him to the door. “If you need any further assistance, call me.” she said.
“Thank you. And please, if you think of anything else, I’m at the Best Western.”
***
Walking back to the hotel after dinner at a restaurant down the street. Jack felt as if he were being watched. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He turned quickly, taking a few steps backward, only to find the sidewalk behind him vacant.
I must he getting paranoid, he thought, tossing his keys on the dresser. It was seven o’clock in the evening, and he had left his room at five.
He noticed his computer and frowned. He was sure he’d left his laptop in his briefcase. Now it sat in plain view on the desk, plugged in. Son-of-a-bitch, someone had been in his room. The maid? No. She had made up the room earlier that afternoon.
Jack went through his computer files. Nothing seemed to be missing. But why would someone break in and not take anything? The bastards were looking for something. He was getting too close. Somebody was getting nervous.
He wondered if his own employer was checking up on him. That was crazy. But was it? He’d seen crazier. And he’d never bothered to find out how the magazine knew he’d been to Missouri before.
He unscrewed the phone and disassembled the light fixtures, hunting for listening devices. Then he tore the room apart looking for anything dangerous. He’d seen bombs planted under toilet seats, toothpaste laced with poison, and a multitude of maiming weapons.
Three hours later, sweat dripping from his brow, he had the room reassembled as if nothing had happened. He flopped down on the bed. Shit, I’m paranoid.
He called the switchboard for messages. The operator told him that Mort Fields’s assistant had phoned to schedule an appointment. A smile lit Jack’s features. Fields was back in town. He could put the pieces of the puzzle together. While Erma had certainty given him interesting information, it was all second hand and speculative. He needed Mort to fill in the blanks.
FORTY-THREE
The dimly-lit parking garage was all but vacant. A small Asian woman dressed in a janitorial suit and carrying a large purse approached the last remaining car. Pausing, she glanced around to assure herself that she was alone. She moved to the side of the vehicle and looked in through the driver’s-side window. The car was unlocked, the alarm disarmed. No surprise, she thought, given the amount of security she’d had to circumvent in order to gain access to the private garage.
With a slight click, the door opened. Silently. she moved around it, dropped to her knees, and leaned into the car, examining the steering column. Finding the standard construction, she set her large bag on the seat and removed her tool pouch. She unscrewed the bolts securing the steering column, and removed the structure, exposing the wiring harness for the airbag.
She found the termination of the wiring harness, made a splice, and inserted a small electrical switch completing the circuit. She threaded it to the speedometer needle, setting the strike point to seventy-five miles per hour.
This was one of her cleverest ideas, she mused. Without the benefit of a Porsche expert directly comparing factory wiring to her revision, no one would ever notice her handiwork.
Her job complete, she replaced the steering column, stuffed her tools back into her purse, and moved out of the car, closing the door behind her. As she stood beside the vehicle, she removed her gloves, shed the janitorial suit, and shoved the items into her bag. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, smoothed her hair, and straightened her dress. Then, she backtracked, making her way out of the garage the way she’d come in.
FORTY-FOUR
Mort Fields folded his small frame into his new Porsche Carrera Cabriolet, started the engine, and put the top down. As he drove out of the underground garage, he glanced at his watch: 11:16 P.M. He’d missed the benefit dinner given to support The Airoyo Del Yalle Camp for children with life-threatening illnesses.
“Damn.” Mort muttered. He was always running late by this time of the evening, especially when he’d been out of town. He’d hoped to at least make an appearance.
On the freeway, he pushed the accelerator down, enjoying the feel of power and speed as the vehicle responded. The speedometer registered seventy-three miles per hour as he accelerated into a mild curve. His mood lifted as the balmy, summer night air rushed over him, and the highway stretched vacant ahead. Pushing the pedal to the floor, he let the engine roar.
The air bag exploded.
The Jefferson City Democrat
August 12, 2000
Tycoon Killed in Cur Clash
JEFFERSON CITY – Local businessman, Mortimer Fields, died last night when he lost control of his Porsche Carrera Cabriolet. Apparently, the victim was not wearing a seatbelt at the time of the crash and was thrown from the car.
Recently divorced, Mr. Fields was not reported missing until the next day when he failed to make his morning appointments. His car was found in a ravine off a remote section of Highway 50. An investigation is underway to determine the circumstances of the crash.
FORTY-FIVE
August 12, 2000
Jack stood at the edge of the ravine. The mangled frame of the Porsche was crushed between two trees. Yellow crime scene tape corded off the area.
He identified himself as a member of the press. “Do you have any idea what time the crash occurred?” Jack asked the officer posted at the sight.
“After eleven last night.” the police officer responded. “Real shame, too.”
Jack nodded toward the yellow tape. “Do you suspect foul play?”
The officer adjusted his gun belt.
“This is off the record.” Jack said.
The man shrugged. “Doubt it. But with him being a bigwig and all, we’ve got to cover the bases.”
“You ever hear of him being in business with Carolyn Lane?” It was a long shot, but why not?
“Naw, but he was supposed to fly to New York to speak at the convention. That’s how he was discovered. He missed some appointments, then didn’t show up for the plane. I suppose that was for the Lanes.”
Fields was speaking at the convention? Why? And on what topic? Jack didn’t recall seeing him listed on the schedule. Who wouldn’t want Fields to be there? Was someone eliminating Warner’s obstacles, as Erma had suggested? If so, who? Attending the convention suddenly sounded appealing.
It seemed no coincidence that his father was dead along with the men who’d spoken to him about the Lanes. But the deaths were either from natural causes or an accident. Explain that, Rudly.
FORTY-SIX
Jack ran for the gate. He never wasted time. scheduling appointments up to the last moment, and stepping onto the airplane as the door shut behind him.
“Please grab any available seat. We want to take off on time,” the gate attendant called as Jack darted down the ramp to the aircraft.
The plane was congested. Jack made his way down the aisle, spotting two free seats. Quickly, he sized up his options. With his long legs, the empty aisle seat was the most comfortable choice, but then he spotted her. Katherine Seals.
What was she doing in Jefferson City? Jack’s heart quickened. How long had it been? Years. Would she even
speak to him? She sat in the window seat, the center seat was open. Jack stored his laptop in the overhead bin, then excused himself and slid into the seat next to her.
Katherine glanced at him. Her face flushed with recognition, but before he could speak, she deliberately turned back to her work.
So much for warm reunions, Jack thought. But what did he expect? As far as she was concerned, he’d shown himself to be the lowest life form ever to inhabit the earth. She’d never allowed him to explain. He understood why she hated him. He decided to say nothing. Chicken. No, he assured himself, only a brave man would have chosen to take this seat – or a man set on self-torment.
After take-off, someone doused his head with Coca-Cola. “Son of a…” Jack said.
He shot a look upward to see a woman giggling, her hand over her month. Standing behind him, talking to friends, she had spilled her drink.
Katherine was drenched as well.
“She got you too?” Jack asked unbuckling his seat belt.
“I’d say so. Damn! My computer.”
Jack pressed the overhead button for service. “Here, let me help. I’ll hold your computer, and you can wipe off the tray with this.” Jack handed her a drink napkin. They both looked at the four-inch square tissue.
“Somehow I don’t think it’s quite adequate.” Katherine laughed.
After a moment, the flight attendant brought them a towel.
“I’m impressed by your ability to concentrate through all this noise.” Jack said, holding her computer aloft as she did her best to blot the liquid on her tray.
“I was just getting some odds and ends done, nothing that requires much brain power.”
“It’s good to see you.”
“Let’s leave it at that.”
They dried everything off as best as possible.
“We need to talk.” Jack said.
“No.” Katherine clarified. “You may need to talk, but I’ve already learned more about you and your methods than I care to know.”
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