Capital Offense

by Kathleen Antrim

  “If you have a minute to talk, I’d really appreciate it. I never did get to speak to Mort.”

  “Sure. I don’t know how much I can help, but I’m willing to try,” Rachelle said.

  “I understand that Mort and Carolyn Lane were in business together.”

  Rachelle looked at him, her smile fading. “You don’t mess around, do you?”

  “I’m not into wasting anyone’s time,” Jack replied.

  “Well, there are certain things I wasn’t privy to. Mr. Fields was a very private man, and certain aspects of the business were handled exclusively by him. What I can tell you is that we did receive a lot of phone calls from Mrs. Lane, but that could have been legal business. I believe he consulted her on several legal issues.”

  “But she was a county prosecutor, not a corporate lawyer. Doesn’t seem logical, does it?” Jack asked.

  Rachelle shook her head and said. “I have no idea. I wasn’t a party to those calls. The only thing I know is that it became apparent that a strain in the relationship had developed when Mark Dailey started calling on her behalf.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly. I think it was about the time Edmund Lane and Mort began spending a lot of time together. It coincided with a shake-up in the partnership. Mort was in a terrible mood for weeks. I would have been happy to look up the paperwork for you and tell you exact dates, but unfortunately I don’t have it anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Well, the night Mort died, we also had a break-in. Oddest thing, they didn’t take anything of value like paintings or state of the art business machines. Instead, they helped themselves to records, a bunch of files, and all of our computer disks that backed up the paper trail. Most of it pertained to the computer company.”

  “Did you tell the police?” Jack knew he looked shocked, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “Oh, sure. The minute I got to the office and saw that someone had broken in, I called them. It was before we knew about Mr. Fields. What a day.” Her serious expression accentuated the lines around her eyes. “It was really amazing that the thieves got around Mr. Fields’s security system. He was always a bit paranoid about security and had had an elaborate system installed. But whoever broke in marched right past it and never set off a single alarm. Boy, would that piss off Mort if he was still alive.”

  “What did the police say?” Jack asked.

  “Well, they did quite a bit of investigating after they found Mr. Fields’s body, but they determined the two events weren’t linked since Mort’s death was obviously an accident. The person most upset over the whole thing seemed to be Mark Dailey.”

  Jack frowned in confusion. “Mark Dailey?”

  “Yeah, he came to do some investigating right after Mort was found. He blew a gasket when he learned that files were missing. I never did understand why he wanted them. I guess it was just part of his job as a district attorney.”

  “Yeah,” Jack responded absently, “I guess so.”

  Jack half-listened to Rachelle go on about how Mort loved his Porsche, and what a shame his death was, but his mind was occupied elsewhere. He finally excused himself and left. He wanted to know who had taken those files? Why they were so important? And why had Mark Dailey wanted them?

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Jack sat in his room and reread his notes. All of his documentation rotated around Carolyn Lane. Mark Dailey, however, was a new piece to the puzzle. Dailey had worked with Carolyn Lane in the county prosecutor’s office for years and was now part of the White House staff.

  Jack lay back on his bed and rubbed his eyes. Could Dailey have the answers? He glanced at his watch, which read midnight. He doubted that Dailey would talk to him. “You’re not trying hard enough, Rudly.” He rolled onto his stomach to continue studying his notes.

  Where to go next? Jack wondered with a yawn. As he lay on his bed, he heard a light tapping on his hotel room door. At first, Jack thought he was imagining it and ignored the sound, but then he heard it again. Cautiously he stood. He silently slid to the door and checked the peephole. There in the late night shadows of the hallway stood Katherine.

  Jack threw the door open.

  “We need to talk.” Katherine said, entering his room.

  Jack stepped aside, afraid to crowd her, and not wanting to scare her away.

  “I need to apologize.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  She held up her hand. “Please. I need to finish. I’m moving to Washington to work with Carolyn, and I don’t want to leave without clearing this up.”

  Jack nodded.

  “I’ve been going over our time together, and I realized that you never once asked me about my job or Carolyn. I accepted your explanation of what happened before, and it’s unfair for me to drag that up again. I know you have an impeccable reputation in journalism, and I believe that you’ve never had to lie, cheat, or steal to get a story. It’s just that I got so stung the last time we were together that I lost it this morning. It was wrong of me to think the worst of you. I’m sorry. I believe that we can balance professional discretion with a personal life. So, what do you think? Can you forgive me?”

  He pulled her to him. “Can I forgive you?” He put his hand under her chin, tilting her face upward and looking into her eyes. “It’s my fault. I’ve been over this a million times in my mind, and I know I should have told you immediately. I’m the one who’s sorry. Kate.”

  “Can we start over? Again?”

  Jack kissed her lips. “We already have.”

  They spent the night together in his room. It was a reunion that fed both of their hearts.

  Jack was the first to wake up, and he sat contemplating the news Katherine had given him. She was moving to Washington to work for Carolyn. He should have guessed that it was the natural next step for her. And he’d love having her in D.C., but he feared that his investigation would somehow compromise her safety. It appeared that she worked for some very dangerous people. Jack decided to broach the subject as Katherine awoke.

  He nuzzled her neck, and she rolled over to kiss him. His intentions of speaking to her immediately about his concerns were good, but he found himself distracted as she snuggled close to him, kissed him passionately, and began stroking him.

  After they made love, they enjoyed a hot shower together.

  “Kate, are you sure you want to take this job in Washington?” Jack sat back on the bed, watching her brush her hair.

  “Why would you ask such a question? You should be happy for me. Besides. I’ll be closer to you.” She met his gaze in the mirror and smiled.

  “I know, but I doubt if your employer is going to be very happy about our relationship.”

  “Why would she mind? Carolyn and I are close friends. She knows she can trust me.”

  “I’d be careful about that,” he cautioned. “Don’t tell her about me right away, wait and get a feel for Washington first.”

  “You look so serious, Jack. What’s wrong?”

  He knew he couldn’t accuse Carolyn of anything illegal without proof. It would only jeopardize his relationship with Katherine. “I just don’t think Carolyn would be happy about you dating a journalist, particularly me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jack told her about the meeting at the Golden Gate Bridge with the drunk.

  “Jack, these people are my friends and you’ve got them all wrong,” Katherine stated, turning to face him. “I can understand that having someone tell you that your father was murdered would upset you, but this doesn’t make any sense. I’m sure the police investigated everything thoroughly. The guy you met in San Francisco was probably a disgruntled drunk with an overactive imagination. You probably know better than I do that the world is full of them.”

  “I also know the Lanes,” she added, setting her hair brush down. She walked over to him. “Carolyn is like the big sister I never had. She’s a wonderful, caring
person. I’ve worked with her for years, and yes, she’s an intensely driven, very focused person, but that’s only because she believes so strongly in what she’s fighting for.”

  “Just be careful.” Jack reached out and took her hand, pulling her into his lap. He could tell there was no changing Katherine’s mind. “And for now, don’t tell them about me. Not at first. I don’t want our relationship to adversely affect your career.”

  “I think you’re being overly protective.” She kissed him. “But I won’t say anything about our relationship if it’ll make you happy. The bad news is that Carolyn expects me immediately, which means I leave the day after tomorrow, and I have a ton of packing to do.”

  Jack frowned. He loved having her in Missouri with him. “I guess I’ll get more done with you in Washington, but I’m sure going to miss you.” He kissed her nose.

  The next two days with Katherine were frantic as he helped her pack and prepare to move. Most of her things she put into storage.

  On the last morning, Jack drove Katherine to the airport. He held her tight and kissed her as she was about to board the plane. “I’ll be back in Washington soon. Take care of yourself,” he whispered. Jack felt a profound sense of loss, and he didn’t understand why.

  “Hurry,” she said. “I like having you around.” Katherine kissed him once more, then turned and, without looking back, boarded the plane.

  ***

  Jack struggled to focus on the investigation, but Katherine’s image intruded on his every thought. How could he have fallen so hard? he wondered, smiling as he walked to a nearby drugstore to buy more three-by-five index cards.

  Not for the first time, he felt as if someone was watching him. Looking over his shoulder, he recognized a man he’d seen repeatedly. Jack scolded himself for being paranoid, and reasoned that Jefferson City was a small place with a population of about thirty-five thousand. It wasn’t unusual to see the same people in the same neighborhoods.

  Jack returned to his hotel room, knowing he was overdue to call Maureen. He’d now been out of touch with the magazine for over a week and knew there’d be hell to pay. Hopefully, they weren’t being too tough on Maureen.

  He placed the call from his room, and Maureen picked up immediately.

  “Jack, why haven’t you called?” Maureen asked.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy. Have you heard from the office?” Jack asked.

  “Have I heard from the office? Are you kidding? They’ve been ringing my phone off the hook for the last three days. Pat is convinced you’re in Missouri. I keep telling him I have no idea where you are and that you haven’t called. He doesn’t believe me, though.”

  “Did he say what was so urgent?”

  “No, but he sounded very stressed.” Maureen’s voice took on a worrisome tone. “And the last phone call was rather unpleasant.”

  “What do you mean, ‘unpleasant’?” Jack asked.

  Maureen hesitated a moment before speaking. “He said you were… fired.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Jack muttered. “Are they going to let me out of my contract?”

  Maureen paused, then said. “I’m sorry. Jack. You know I don’t know much about these things, but he did say that if you so much as tried to publish an article in a high school newspaper, they’d sue the shit out of you. Forgive my language, but that’s what he said.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Maureen. It’ll all come out okay. And don’t worry about your job. I’ll cover you financially.”

  “I’m not worried about my job. I’m worried about you.”

  “I’ll be fine. Just hang tight and I’ll stay in touch.” He replaced the receiver and stared out the window. The sun cast bright rays of light through the glass and warmed the room. He was definitely beginning to feel the heat, but it wasn’t the kind of heat that came from the sun. He slammed his fist against the desk. He’d be damned, he decided, before he’d stop his search for the truth about his father’s death.

  Throughout history, Jack realized, politicians had tried to influence the press. The Kennedy administration had been very accomplished at manipulating the media, successfully keeping JFK’s affairs far from the public eye. But this was different, he reflected. This situation brought to mind the Nixon White House and the intense pressure The Washington Post suffered during Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein’s pursuit of Watergate. The difference here, Jack thought as he laughed bitterly, was that The Post had stood behind Woodward and Bernstein.

  Was he so far off base that the magazine was determined to sabotage him? No, Jack decided, the pressure was coming from higher sources than the magazine. His employers, or former employers, were just succumbing to pressure. The magazine had no idea of what he was really onto. In fact, even he wasn’t sure about the true scope of this story. But somebody out there knew the stakes, and that somebody, or group of somebodies, was doing a hell of a job of trying to stop his investigation. The opposition alone was proof enough that he was onto a major scoop. Given the radical reaction he’d already evoked. Jack knew he must have been cutting too close to the truth.

  Maybe he was just being paranoid, but the words of an old mentor reverberated in his mind-“Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean that they’re not out to get you.” It was his old friend’s way of saying, watch your back.

  Well, Jack thought, I’m watching my back, and it looks to me like someone has successfully stuck a knife in it. Knife or no knife, he didn’t care. He’d never backed off before, and he wasn’t going to start now.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  First thing in the morning. Jack drove over to the Cole County Courthouse. With Mark Dailey’s White House position just recently confirmed, Jack knew that Dailey was probably in Washington, but he hoped to talk to someone about Mort Fields’s death and the missing files.

  Jack sat for over an hour on an uncomfortable. straight-backed chair in the lobby. When he had shifted his weight for the fifth time and finished thoroughly perusing the local newspaper, he rose and walked over to the receptionist’s desk. “Could you please check to see when I might be able to speak to someone?”

  The receptionist held up her index finger, signaling him to wait as she listened to her telephone headset. Then she dashed off a note in her message book before looking up at Jack.

  “Well, sweetie, if you want to make an appointment you won’t have to wait. But if you want to see Mr. Dailey, you’re just going to have to be patient. He’s only in town for a few hours today before flying out tonight, and with the amount of work he has to tie up before moving permanently to Washington, you’ll just have to stand in line.”

  Jack looked at her in surprise. “Mark Dailey is here?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Of course. That is who you’re waiting for, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I just wasn’t sure that he’d be here.” Jack sat back down with renewed enthusiasm. He’d wait all day to see Dailey. Jack couldn’t help but smile. His luck seemed to be turning around.

  Finally, a secretary appeared in the reception area and ushered him into a standard government office. “Mr. Dailey will be right with you,” she said as she left Jack standing alone in the room. He walked around, examining the decor. Contemporary prints hung on the walls, alternating with diplomas and certificates of achievement. One of the commendations was from the Supreme Court. Jack remembered his father telling him about Mark Dailey’s success with the case.

  “How can I help you?”

  Jack turned away from reading a plaque with a flash of recognition He knew that voice.

  “Nice artwork,” Jack stalled, pointing to a painting on the wall.

  “My wife picked it out for me,” Mark Dailey gestured to the seat across from him as he sat behind his desk.

  Jack noticed the empty oak shelves, once full of books now crated in boxes that cluttered the floor. A bottle of Glenlivet scotch sat surrounded by highball glasses atop the credenza behind Mark Dailey. Scotch. Oh, my God, the bridge. He was the man from the bridge. The
pieces fit.

  “Getting ready to move to Washington, I see.” Jack sat down.

  “Yes, and as I’m sure you can appreciate. I’m very short on time. So, how can I help you, Mr. Rudly?” Dailey blinked rapidly and clasped his hands in front of him

  Bingo, the way he rolled his r in Rudly was a dead give away. Dailey had been the man he’d met at the Golden Gate and, no doubt, the man on the tape. “I appreciate your agreeing to see me, although, I have to say I’m a bit surprised.”

  “My secretary told me that you wanted to discuss Mort Fields’s death.”

  Jack hesitated for a moment, determining the best course of action. Stay cool. Relax. “That’s right. I also want to know more about my father’s death.”

  Dailey blinked rapidly again and hesitated, then said quietly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. You called me in San Francisco and met me at the Golden Gate Bridge. I know it and you know it. So, let’s stop playing games. You wanted me involved. Now, I’m involved. I want answers.” Jack slammed his hand down on Dailey’s desk. “Who killed my father?” His body trembled with pent-up rage.

  Dailey jumped to his feet. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Not until I get answers. If you’re in danger I can help, but you have to tell me what’s going on?” Jack stared into Dailey’s eyes. He’d hit a chord, he could see it in Dailey’s expression. The atmosphere crackled with the undercurrent of unspoken words.

  “I’m very busy.” Mark did not back down from Jack’s stare.

  “Let me help you.” Damn it. Dailey had the answers. Jack knew he was right.

  Mark pressed the button on his intercom.

  “Don’t.” Jack said, feeling Dailey waver. “You came to me for a reason.”