Corruption of Blood kac-7

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  There was a side table with various awards and plaques on it, and the usual wall full of framed photographs showing Flores with people even more prominent than he, that or doing something notable, like posing in a hard hat digging a spadeful of earth with a silvery shovel. The three men exchanged pleasantries. Karp thought that he had already discovered one difference between New York and Washington: the social bullshit segment of meetings seemed to go on longer down here. Flores and Crane chatted on about some people Karp did not know and he felt his attention wander.

  On the surface of the desk in front of Karp, amid the commemorative medals, flag stands, and objects embedded in Lucite was a rough-looking tool, a dark, mattocklike blade attached to a stumpy handle. Flores caught him looking at it and smiled. "You know what that is?" he asked.

  Karp did not.

  "It's a short hoe. La cortita. The backbreaker. My grandfather used one of those all his life, migrant labor; when he was an old man he was bent over like a question mark. And my father, before he got out of it. And me too, a summer. I keep the goddamn thing there to remind me where I come from."

  There did not seem to be anything to say to this revelation, so Karp smiled politely and waited for what would come. In any case, the social preamble seemed to be over.

  Flores leaned back in his high-backed leather chair and laced his fingers. He had a large square face the color and texture of worn leather, set off by extravagant gray-shot sideburns and a thick Villista mustache. His hair was dark and swept back, and he had black, shiny eyes that seemed to be all pupil. These now bored in on Karp.

  "I've heard a lot about you," Flores began. "Bert here's filled me in and I've asked around. Y'all have quite a record. You seem to be a hard charger." He paused. "And that concerns me. I've already mentioned this to Bert when he brought up your name, and I'm going to have to say it to you. This investigation is not the same kind of thing as a New York street shooting. The whole country'll be looking at what you do. Every move you make'll be raked over by the press and squeezed to see if it's got any political juice in it. Not only that, y'all're working for the Congress now. It's a whole different branch of government. It has… different ways of doing things. Political ways. You following me?"

  The word "sure" formed on Karp's tongue, but he could not bring it into the air. There were limits, after all. He said instead, "No, as a matter of fact, I don't follow you at all. I'm a homicide investigator and prosecutor. I look at the evidence and shape a case. I don't see what politics has to do with it."

  Flores smiled at this statement as he might have at the burbling of a small child. "Son, this is Washington, D.C. Ain't nothing happens here doesn't have some political angle. You might think it don't when you do it, but there's sons-of-bitches make it their whole life's work to find some politics in it and beat you over the head with it." He paused to let this wisdom settle.

  "Now, the reason I'm telling you this is that if you want to work for me we got to get one thing straight from the get-go. Y'all work for Bert Crane here, and Bert Crane works for me. Not only do I expect to be kept informed about what you're doing, but I expect that you and the professional staff of the Select Committee will be, let's say, guided, by me in all of your work. That means one thing's more important than anything else: no surprises. Your chairman does not want to get a call one evening from the Post or CBS asking me what I think of the latest thing y'all've done and me not know what the hell they're talking about. You following me now?"

  Karp nodded. "Right. No surprises."

  The conversation then turned to the details of staffing and logistics. There was some confusion here and Karp could tell that Crane and Flores were fencing. Neither said anything solid about how much staff he could expect and what his budget was going to be. This was something of a shocker; Karp had supposed that it was all greased and ready to go.

  The two men got into an argument about parking spaces and then one about how the letterhead of the investigation staff was going to read. Karp felt he had nothing to contribute to this discussion and remained silent, growing ever more bored and irritated, and thinking that working with a short hoe was probably good preparation for this sort of work, although perhaps more stimulating.

  After twenty minutes of palaver over trivialities, a call came through and the congressman picked up the phone and snapped at the operator. Then he cradled the phone in his neck and said, smiling, "I got to take this one, boys." He extended a hand to each of them in turn, and Karp noted that this time Flores did not feel obliged to squeeze hard.

  "What the hell was that all about?" asked Karp when they were in the hallway again.

  Crane placed a hand on Karp's shoulder. "Welcome to Washington."

  "No, really. Did he mean that shit about running everything through him?"

  Crane laughed, the booming sound echoing in the hallway, drawing stares. "Oh, God, no! Let me translate. What he meant was, if things go well and we don't raise any flak, he gets the credit. If we raise any flak, we're on our own. There's no conceivable way he can oversee our investigation. He's got way too much on his plate, like all these jokers. Matter of fact, any involvement with government at all takes him away from his real occupation, which is getting elected every two years. That's the full-time job. He didn't really bear down on the staff issues, for which you can be grateful. That's why I kept him on the stationery and the rest of the horse puckey."

  "What about the staff?"

  "Well, you'll be lucky to hire the main people-your personal secretary, the head of research, the chief field investigator. The others… well, congressmen have folks to whom they owe jobs, besides which, everybody on the committee will want at least one personal spy in the organization."

  Karp was openmouthed. "You must be joking."

  "Not really. They're all worried, especially Flores. This Kennedy thing is a can of worms, with no real political payoff for anyone. The House leadership launched into it very reluctantly."

  "Yeah, you said that before. So why did they go for it at all?"

  "Well, there you have me. My own theory was that it was a payoff to the black caucus in an election year. Launching a King investigation is something they can sell at home, and it's kind of hard for the House Democratic leadership to buck something having to do with King. Once you're looking into King, Kennedy kind of follows. Plus the stuff about federal agencies not being forthcoming with Warren, the stuff that's turning up in the Church committee's work. And the assassination nuts keep yawping at their heels. A lot of people believe it and it has to be answered. O'Neill's the key player, of course, and he hates this kind of thing, and consented very reluctantly. Warren is gospel with Tip. The old 'protecting the family' business."

  "This is not good for us, right?"

  "Right, but meanwhile here we are." Crane checked his watch. "Look, I have to roll. Let me take you by Hank's place. If he's in, I'll introduce you; if not, we'll set up a date to get the two of you together."

  This, as it proved, was not necessary. As they entered the elevator, Crane greeted a tall, lean, sandy-haired man already in the car.

  "Hank! This is a piece of luck. I have to run off and here you are to take the pass. This is Butch Karp from New York."

  One of those Norman Rockwell kids grown up was Karp's first impression as he shook hands with Henry Dobbs, Democrat of Connecticut. As their eyes met he revised his take. Dobbs had the freckled skin, the even, understated features, the crisp short hair, but the cornflower eyes were not innocent ones. There was a careful intelligence there, a wariness, some complexity of character that was not ever seen on the covers of the old Saturday Evening Post.

  By the time the car had gone two floors, it was agreed that Karp and Dobbs would lunch together. Crane took his leave. Dobbs led Karp to his own office. It was like Flores's, with different flags, seals, and posters. Dobbs checked his messages, excused himself and made a short call, dealt with several matters pressed on him by staff, and then broke free. He seemed to run a happi
er and lower-keyed ship than Flores did.

  The Capitol has a restaurant reserved for members and their guests during the lunch hours, and Dobbs took Karp there on the little subway that connects the various congressional buildings.

  "I hear you met George," he said when they were seated. "What did you think?"

  "A great American and a fine public servant," Karp answered.

  Dobbs smiled. "You're learning. Keep that up and you'll be a big hit in Washington."

  "Well, about that-I'm starting to think this might be a major misunderstanding, me doing this job."

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah, I tried to explain to Bert about being politically impaired. It's a form of epilepsy. If I think an investigation is being screwed up because of politics, my eyes roll up, I foam at the mouth, and I become uncontrollable."

  Dobbs laughed but Karp went on, deadpan. "I'm serious. I don't want to mess things up and destroy lives and careers. I want to kiss ass, and go along to get along, and be one of the boys. I just… can't… do it. It's my personal tragedy, like being one of Jerry's kids. And now you know my shame."

  Dobbs wiped his eyes with his napkin. "Thank you for sharing. Actually, I think you're just what we need. Look, in all seriousness, here's the picture on Flores. Like the rest of us, he's got more committee assignments than he knows what to do with. Two things interest him, Hispanic affairs and migrants-to his credit he's sincere about helping out his people-and energy, because he's in the oil patch down there and that's how he stays elected. His interest in the Kennedy thing is twofold: first, if you do come up with something rich, it'll get him on TV in Dallas, and two… that's a bit more complex." Dobbs took a sip of water and continued.

  "One assumption some people have is that the mystery behind JFK is a Dallas mystery. Oswald's life there. Ruby and the cops. What really happened in the half hour or so after the first shots. George is connected to the people who run Dallas, and to the extent that the investigation might affect them, especially in a negative way, George has got to be on top of it. Does that make sense?"

  "Yeah, it does. But the question is, if it turns out that one of his associates needs to be leaned on, will he balk?"

  Dobbs grinned. "Oh, yeah. He might balk. He might do worse than that. Which is why you have me."

  Karp thought about this for a moment, and then, looking into the blue eyes, asked, "And why do we have you, Mr. Dobbs? Are the people of Connecticut burning to find out if old Earl Warren went into the tank on this one? Or what…?"

  The waiter came and they ordered. When the man left, Dobbs said, "That's the right question, all right. What's in it for Dobbs. I like you, Mr. Karp, or, if I may, Butch. I'm Hank. You get right to the point, which is sometimes like a dose of oxygen around here, although I should warn you it's a violation of the Federal Anti-Confrontation and Bullshitters' Protection Act of 1973, As Amended." He smiled at the small joke and Karp smiled too.

  Dobbs leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. "How to put it? Well, first, my constituents. The people of the great state of Connecticut are mainly interested in keeping the insurance industry happy and making sure that when ships and weapons get built, they get built in the great state of Connecticut, as a result of which I spend most of my time on the Banking and Armed Services Committees. In my spare time, I try to do an occasional favor for the United States. As far as personally goes, in 1963, I was at Yale. I'd worked on the presidential campaign in Hartford, and my family had some connections in the past with Jack Kennedy. I'd actually shaken his hand, once, when he was in the Senate. I remember I told him that I was interested in politics and that I was off to Yale that year, and he laughed and told me that if I worked hard I could overcome even that obstacle. I was in Dwight eating a sandwich when some kid ran into the dining room and yelled out that Kennedy'd been shot in Dallas. I went into shock-well, everybody did, really, but I guess I imagined mine was worse. My dad had just passed on that summer and I suppose I conflated the two losses in my mind. It was an extremely bad year for me; I nearly flunked out, as a matter of fact, and had to repeat the semester. Okay, that's personal aspects. There's a political aspect too. I think practically everyone understands that when Kennedy was assassinated, the country started on a downward slope. I think it had more of an effect on the country than Lincoln's did, because Lincoln had mainly finished his work and Kennedy had barely started his. Not that I'm comparing Kennedy to Lincoln-that's not the point. The point is that the country was tipped out of one track and into another, which we're still on and which is no good."

  "Because Kennedy died?" Karp asked.

  "Actually, as much as I mourn his loss, no, not exactly. It was mainly because of what happened afterward. The government didn't tell the truth about what happened. Some people decided that a higher national purpose would be served if the facts about the assassination were bent to prove a point. Have you read the Report?"

  "Not yet."

  "Then I won't say anything about it; make up your own mind. But give me the point for a moment. That lie was the forerunner of the lies in service of a higher national purpose that got us into Vietnam, and kept us there until the army and the country were nearly wrecked. It was the premise for all the stuff that Nixon's cronies did. The good of the country, as any bozo wants to define it, is more important than the truth. Hey, the good of the country demands that Nixon gets reelected? No problem, we'll burgle, we'll lie, we'll cover up the truth. After a while the people stop believing anything the government says. Hell, we've got a presidential candidate now whose main platform is 'I'll never lie to you.' Like it was a big thing. It's pathetic! And it all started in Dallas, and what we made of it in the Warren Report. If we're ever going to get the country back on the right track, we have to go back to the point when we ran off the rails. That's why I'm pushing this investigation, my little favor, as I said, for the United States of America. Does that answer your question?"

  Karp nodded. "Uh-huh," he said. It was a convincing speech. On the other hand, Dobbs was a politician; his profession was giving convincing speeches. Maybe he had even given this one before, like Flores with his hoe routine. Maybe it was even true. In any case, it was at least possible that Dobbs was prepared to support a serious investigation. Karp found himself liking the man, despite what Crane had said about Washington and dogs. Karp was himself a connoisseur of fine speeches, and lies, and his instinct told him that Dobbs at least believed what he was saying. Also, the contrast between the patronizing, overbearing Flores and the frankness of Dobbs, a man only two or three years Karp's senior, was gratifying. A congressman, after all.

  The food came and they began eating and resumed talking, the subject having been changed by unspoken agreement to fields less fraught with passion and consequence.

  Karp walked back down the Hill to the office on Fourth Street. When he entered, Bea Sondergard was sitting on the floor amid a chaos of file boxes, moving papers among file folders of various colors. She looked up at him over the rims of her spectacles.

  "How was lunch? I heard you dined with Congress."

  "I had the chicken," said Karp.

  "That's the first step. Chicken, then sirloin, then bribes and fancy girls. He's in his office. Oh, and I had some furniture moved into your place. I took the liberty of deciding on a color scheme."

  "Gosh, I had my heart set on something in rusting gray metal."

  She flashed teeth. "Then you'll be pleased."

  Bert Crane was on the phone when Karp walked in. The office had been tidied some and Crane now sat in a high leather chair behind a handsome new mahogany desk. And the phones obviously worked. Karp sat down on a new-smelling black leather couch, and waited.

  When Crane got off the phone and turned to him, Karp observed, "You guys work fast."

  "Yeah, it's great, if we stay out of jail. Bea sometimes cuts the corners in procurement. I think she paid for all this stuff with an account that's not quite authorized yet. How was your lunch?"

  "I had the chicken.
How was yours?"

  "As I said, I ate with the press. We just went out on the veldt and they found a dead zebra. But, really-how did you make out with Dobbs?"

  "Pretty good, I think. He seems like a straight shooter."

  "I agree. For a politician, anyway. What did you talk about?"

  "He filled me in on Flores, similar to what you said. And we exchanged boyish confidences. He told me a story about why he's serious about doing the Kennedy investigation right."

  "The one about JFK and his dad?"

  "Just hinted at it. I gathered they were political allies of the Kennedys in some way."

  "More than that. Richard Dobbs was with Kennedy in the Pacific during the war. He was some kind of operations or intelligence officer with Kennedy's PT boat squadron. They'd been at Harvard together, although Dobbs was a little older, and I think they were pretty close. He finished the war as a lieutenant commander and then went right into the Navy Department. When the shit hit the fan in the fifties, JFK was the only politician of any stature who stood by him. An unusual profile in courage for Kennedy, I might add. He was not prone to gestures that might have hurt him politically, and defending Richard Ewing Dobbs was sure as hell in that class."

  "Well, none of that got mentioned. He also talked about how bad it was for the country, the doubts about Warren and all. He sounded sincere."

  "No doubt. Sounding sincere is in his job description."

  "Is being cynical in mine?"

  Crane laughed enthusiastically. "Yes it is, the sine qua non, in fact. But seriously, Dobbs is solid on this investigation, and on most other things too. I didn't mean to denigrate the man. If things get sticky, and they will, I think we can count on him. All you have to remember with Dobbs is, his daddy didn't do it."