COPS SPIES & PI'S: The Four Novel Box Set

by David Wind

  Savak started to say something, but stopped. “You’re right, Steven. I set this up last week, before Ellie...I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sure Pritman will be able to work it out on his own. He’s more than capable. How’s the final draft coming?”

  Strangely, there was no sense of relief at escaping the unpalatable task. “I’ll have it ready for Pritman tomorrow morning.”

  “Good. It’ll give the senator time to get it down pat for the party meeting.”

  “I think you’re pushing things, letting Pritman and Xzi talk in public,” Steven said, unable to let the thought go.

  “I know you do, Steven. I guess I knew it even when I made the arrangements. But part of the reason we’ve been successful together is because we complement each other. You’ve always been the slow and cautious type, and I’ve always opted for boldness. The combination works.”

  Savak leaned back in his chair. He gazed up at Steven, his eyes searching his friend’s face. “Right this minute, we’re involved in a presidential campaign. Slow and cautious doesn’t win this race. Slow and cautious merely survives. Besides, Pritman’s intelligent. He wouldn’t be where he is if he wasn’t.”

  “It’s appearances, not intelligence, that counts right now, which you knew already, didn’t you?” Steven asked, his temper flaring with the realization that Savak was pushing him further than he was ready to go.

  “Arnie, don’t pull a stunt like this again. You came to me thirteen years ago with an abstract concept. You asked me to come to Washington with you to help turn all the things we talked about into reality.”

  “Steven, I’ve already apologized.”

  “No. You apologized because of what happened to Ellie, not for setting this up without talking to me. Damn it Arnie, what we’re doing is too dangerous to be playing games.”

  “It’s no game,” Savak shot back.

  “It sure as hell looks like it to me. Arnie, we’re supposed to be a team. Either we work together or I’m gone. And if I’m gone, Entente goes with me and it goes public.”

  Savak stood defiantly. “You took off for a week! You left specific instructions you weren’t to be disturbed. When the opportunity to get Pritman into the Embassy party came, I took it!”

  “But you won’t go yourself.”

  Steven watched pain replace the defiance in his friend’s eyes. “You, more than anyone else, know why.”

  Steven exhaled sharply. The problem was that he did. “All right, Arnie. But don’t do this again, not without talking to me first.”

  “Agreed,” Savak said. “Oh, I spoke to some people at Justice, about the situation with the FBI. They’re going to look into it for me.”

  “They’ll keep it close?”

  “Count on it. Join me for lunch?”

  “Sorry, I’ve got a meeting with Collier, Lerman’s legal counsel. He wants to go over the bill Lerman and Pritman are sponsoring for the steel people. They’re introducing it next week and they want to make sure the senator doesn’t have a problem with the changes,” Steven said as he walked toward the door.

  Savak laughed. “Which he does. Just remember that we’ll need Lerman’s backing when the time comes, and I don’t want to alienate him because of some minor disagreements with the bill.”

  “Arnie,” Steven said, turning back to Savak and controlling his annoyance at his friend, “the bill will be taken care of exactly the way the senator wants. He won’t go along with those added tariffs Lerman tagged on. You know that.”

  “All I’m asking is that you handle the situation tactfully,” Savak reiterated.

  “Which is my intention,” Steven stated as he left Savak’s office and returned to his own to review the changes in the steel bill.

  All too soon came a sharp knock on his door, followed by Simon Clarke’s unexpected entrance.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  Steven pointed to the chair across from his desk. “What’s on your mind?”

  Clarke ran a hand through his primly combed hair before saying, “Pennsylvania, the primaries, and the nomination.”

  Although he should have expected it, Clarke’s answer took him by surprise. “And?”

  “Steven, you’ve given us a situation that is potentially harmful to the senator.”

  “Simon, every situation is potentially harmful. Even the most innocuous of things can be construed as something dubious by people who want to look at it that way.”

  “I don’t see torture and attempted murder as innocuous. I don’t equate manhandling an FBI agent with the actions of someone who has nothing to be concerned about. Steven, I don’t know what happened in Pennsylvania, other than what I’ve been told, but, I do know what it looks like.”

  “Exactly what does it look like?” Steven’s his anger grew at the press secretary’s thinly veiled insinuation.

  “Bad press. Steven, we’re closing in on our target date. You damn well know, from the moment Pritman announces his candidacy, the press is going to swarm over us like maggots on a carcass. They’ll look into each staff member’s present life, past history, and pick through him or her for any newsworthy item. They look for the dirt too…it’s always the dirt.”

  Steven leaned back in his chair to stare at Clarke. Then he leaned forward, clasped his hands together, and rested his elbows on the table. “Simon, do you think I tried to kill Ellie?”

  Clarke shifted in his seat. His face remained expressionless. “I certainly hope you didn’t. But whether you did or not isn’t the issue. Two members of soon to be presidential hopeful Philip Pritman’s staff are involved in a criminal situation. That’s news. How long do you think we can keep this quiet?”

  “Is that what you care about, keeping it quiet?” Steven’s voice was barely audible.

  “In light of what we’ve been doing for the past several years, what else is there?” Clarke said bluntly.

  “Get out Simon, I have work to do. And Simon,” Steven added as the press secretary stood, “if the senator feels I’ve become a liability to him, I’m quite sure he’ll let me know.”

  <><><>

  The meeting with Congressman Lerman’s legal advisor ended just before five.

  After straightening out his desk, Steven went to the building’s garage. As Savak had promised, his car was in his reserved space. He drove to the hospital, and by six, was sitting next to Ellie.

  He discerned no change in her. Her eyes were closed. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically. Her color was good, but she was as unmoving as ever.

  Behind him, he heard footsteps.

  “Mr. Morrisy—Steven?”

  Releasing Ellie’s hand, Steven turned to Joshua Raden. “Have the results come back yet?”

  Raden nodded. His expression was not encouraging. “I’m afraid Doctor Skolnick’s diagnosis, although accurate, is not conclusive. The CAT scan confirmed the areas of damage; we still have to determine the full extent of injury to the motor and memory functions.

  “I’m also very concerned about the damage to the motor functions. The scan shows the splinters pushed into the brain didn’t go straight in. It was more of a slicing penetration. With a little luck, the brain itself will sort things out.”

  “Is that really possible?”

  “There have been enough documented cases of regeneration to make me hopeful.”

  “Can the same thing happen with her memory?”

  Raden put his hand on Steven’s shoulder. “I doubt it. It’s not a matter of the brain being able to shift the work function to a different area, or even to regenerated cells. Memory is a stored commodity. Memory cells are made up of an individual’s life experiences. It’s not a genetically implanted function. When the memory areas of a brain are destroyed, the information in those cells is lost forever.”

  Raden paused. “I’m sorry, Steven, there’s not more than a ten percent chance of Ellie retaining anything more than poorly fragmented memories.”

  The finality of Raden’s words to
re at his heart. He blinked back his emotions and, between clenched teeth, said, “She won’t remember anything at all, or if she does, it will only be bits and pieces is what you’re saying, yes?”

  “Pray that her memory is completely gone, or that it’s all there. A fragmented memory is the worst. Partial glimpses into what once was your life, without having enough of the memory to make that little portion of the past seem real, produces horrible psychological torment.”

  “Without the fragmented memory, will she have a better chance for a normal life?”

  Raden glanced away, but not before Steven saw the sadness in his eyes. “What?”

  “When thirty years of memories, of life, are wiped away, can there be a normal life?”

  <><><>

  Steven poured his third scotch of the evening, and wondered why he wasn’t feeling anything. Even his anger at Simon Clarke had abated dramatically since they’d talked. Steven understood the press secretary’s motivations, even if he didn’t like the man or his methods. But he knew, even when Clarke joined the staff, he worked with a single minded drive and ambition, and nothing deterred him from his objectives.

  Steven rested his head on the back of the couch. The stereo played Simon and Garfunkel singing about being a rock. Steven wished he were one too.

  The doorbell rang its plaintive lyrics. He set the scotch on the coffee table and went to the door, where he found Carla Rogers standing.

  “Forget my key?”

  She laughed nervously. “Is there any news about what happened to Ellie?”

  “Nothing. Come in.”

  He motioned Carla to the couch, while he went to the bar and made her a drink. Simon and Garfunkel finished their song, and the news came on.

  Steven handed Carla the glass and sat down next to her, just as the news announcer’s voice took on an ominous tone.

  “Late this afternoon, the Pentagon announced that Soviet troops have been moved to the Manchurian border. Political analysts see this as a response to the increased Chinese border troop buildup.”

  Carla looked at Steven. “It never ends, does it? First, one of them goes on maneuvers, then the other stages war games. Only this time, it’s getting out of hand. Do you think one of them will pull back before the fighting begins?”

  Steven studied her eyes for a moment. The dark blue irises almost blended into the black pupils. “Yes, they’ll back off. But it will happen again. The two countries are like squabbling siblings. Hopefully, they won’t end up like Cain and Abel.”

  He became aware of the funny expression she favored him with. “The Morrisy theory of hostile inter communistic relations?”

  He laughed. Then, strangely, he felt almost as if he were betraying Ellie by enjoying himself with Carla. “Common sense mixed with a little knowledge. But who the hell knows anything for sure. I’m not a political analyst.”

  “Me either,” Carla said, her voice changing. “Steven, I’ve done a lot of thinking since last night, but I’m still not any clearer about what happened to Eleanor. Could it all be a mistake, an accident everyone is reading too much into? Maybe she really was coming to see you.”

  He didn’t have to think about it. He knew. “No. The lake is northeast of my house. She would have had to be coming from Jersey, not Washington. She didn’t know the area very well. It’s a summer and weekend getaway place. And...”

  He stopped, belatedly realizing why Carla had asked the question. “No one told you?” he said, his voice grave.

  “Told me what?” she asked, her features turning anxious.

  He watched her carefully, trying to judge how she would react. He swallowed hard. “Ellie was tortured.” Her mouth went slack. Steven saw her try to form the words, stop, and take a deep breath. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Why?”

  “The answer is in the missing week. Where was she from Monday night until the night they put her into the lake? Everyone takes it for granted that she was coming to see me. That damn note—”

  He cut himself off abruptly, seeing the obvious thing he had overlooked. “God damn it! That’s what I’ve been missing! Ellie wouldn’t leave a note if she was going away for a week. No, she would never leave without telling Pritman, personally, and making sure he had everything he would need while she was gone.”

  Carla’s brows knitted together, forming a cloud above her eyes. “I’m not following you.”

  “Whatever happened to Ellie, happened the day I left. She supposedly went to Pennsylvania that night.” Feeling the need for movement, he stood and began to pace. “But she didn’t, not of her own will.”

  He stopped pacing and looked at Carla. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Ellie’s apartment.”

  They took two cars. Carla drove a Ford Taurus; Steven used his Bronco.

  Ellie’s apartment was in a renovated trendy condominium five blocks from American University. There was no doorman, and Steven used the set of keys Ellie had given him. They took the elevator to the fifth floor, and went inside the apartment.

  Walking through the empty rooms, Steven felt more like a peeping Tom than her fiancé. But he set aside his feelings and, working silently with Carla, began a thorough search.

  They started in the bedroom. He stared at the picture of himself and Ellie on the mahogany dresser. It had been taken two days after they’d become engaged. She was smiling, holding her hand in front of her so the camera would catch the ring.

  She looked so full of life, so happy and content.

  He shrugged off the lethargy produced by the picture and went to the closet.

  Opening the door, he stepped back and looked at the rack of clothing. On the left, where she always hung them, was her casual clothing. The jeans and tops she preferred when not working.

  He dug into the corner of the closet and came up with her winter boots. “She wasn’t coming to see me. Or if she did, it wasn’t to stay with me.”

  “Because she didn’t take boots? Maybe she had another pair?”

  Steven shook his head. “Boots to go out in the city, yes, not heavy outdoor boots. She only wore these when we went to Pennsylvania.”

  He put the boots back where he’d found them, and left the bedroom. Carla followed him to the hall closet.

  “Her suitcases are still here.” He pointed to two burgundy leather bags.

  He went into the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator. A partially used half gallon of milk was on the top shelf. The date on the carton was the previous Tuesday. He picked it up and sniffed.

  The sharp sour jolt filled his nostrils, making him jerk back. Behind the milk was a plate holding a chicken breast wrapped in brown paper. Beneath the paper was a pool of congealed blood.

  “Ellie had no intention of leaving. She’s too fastidious.” He motioned to the refrigerator. “That chicken breast was Monday night’s dinner. She wouldn’t leave milk sitting for a week. She’d have given it to a neighbor.”

  Steven continued looking around the kitchen, seeing everything he’d always taken for granted. The little things that marked this as Ellie’s. The flowered paper napkins she always used were in the center of the small Formica table. Her grandmother’s tarnished silver salt and pepper shakers were next to the napkins. A brown and orange kitchen witch hung from the brass knob of a cabinet door.

  Ellie’s spare keys hung on the clear acrylic key rack above the toaster. He took them down and turned to Carla. “Would you get Ellie’s mail?”

  While she was gone, Steven walked through the apartment, trying to ignore the heavy sense of loss settling over him. Why did this happen to her?

  He went to the oak wall unit in the living room. On the second shelf were a series of pictures. He’d never looked at them closely. Now he did. There was a picture of Ellie and her parents, at her high school graduation. Next to that was the picture of Ellie and Carla, their arms were wrapped around each other’s waists. He stared at the photograph, and at Carla’s upturned face. The picture put to rest any o
f Steven’s lingering suspicions about Carla not being Ellie’s sister.

  Carla returned with an armful of mail. They sat down at the dining room table and sifted through it. Most of the envelopes were bills. There were several sales flyers, and three magazines. At the bottom, Steven found the letter he’d mailed to Ellie last Wednesday.

  “Nothing,” he said in disgust as he fingered the envelope. “Tomorrow you should get the mail forwarded. Have it sent to me. I’ll make arrangements for her bills to be paid.”

  Carla’s eyes searched his face. “No,” Carla said, “that’s on me. We have a trust fund that pays for our apartments and little things.”

  He nodded absently, not questioning her statement. He was beginning to realize how many things there were that Ellie had never told him about.

  Suddenly, once insignificant things were becoming very important to him. He looked around, missing Ellie intensely, and knew he could no longer wait passively. He had to find out why Ellie had been hurt.

  He gazed at Carla, studying the planes of her face. “That friend of yours at Treasury—can you arrange a meeting with me?”

  Carla moistened her lips with her tongue. “Are you sure you want to do that? You are a suspect.”

  “Only to the FBI. Carla, I think you’re right. Ellie found out something she wasn’t supposed to know.”

  “Steven...”

  “It’s the only explanation. I don’t know what it was, but I’m damn well going to find out.”

  “Steven, I want to help you. What can I do?”

  “Set up the meeting.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Steven was in his office at eight. After returning home from Ellie’s apartment, he’d gone straight to bed. He’d slept fitfully, dreaming of Ellie tortured by shadow figures, and of his inability to stop her from being hurt.

  His dreams still weighed down his mind when he sat down at his desk and removed the white plastic lid from the coffee container. He took a sip of coffee, letting the hot drink jog him back to reality, and then looked at the neatly typed papers on his desk. For a moment, he was annoyed with himself for not telling her to lock it in the cabinet, but the offices were secure.