“I have this.”
He leaned forward to take his wallet from his back pocket. He extracted a sheet of paper, folded small.
Charles took the paper and unfolded it.
Mr. White. Stop your efforts concerning the Sentencing Reform Act. University of Virginia Honor Court 1974.
“That was the first note,” Mr. White said.
“What is the Sentencing Reform Act?”
“That’s the proof it was Borchard. That was his project to strip every heartbeat of mercy out of the courts and replace them with his own hammer of stone.”
“But how do you know the note is from Mr. Borchard?”
“Who else would it be? It was his bill from the start. He lives to punish. He always has. His veins flow with vengeance.”
“What were you doing that he didn’t like?”
“I was going to stop it. Karen Liu knew it was wrong, but they made a deal. I showed her how terrible it was. She was changing her mind-she was so close-and then this came.”
“What happened?”
“I was ruined. And Karen Liu gave up. Borchard got to her! He was too strong. She had no choice. She let it through her committee and it went on and on, and now it’s law.”
“But what does the law do?”
Patrick White only shook his head. “It’s too late now. All I have left is bringing Borchard to justice.”
Charles handed the paper back. “You’re sure this was from John Borchard?”
“He was the one who forced it through Congress. He was like a fiend-pushing, threatening, bribing.” Then suddenly, he froze, off again to his other world.
“Mr. White?”
“How did you get involved in this?” The question was a sudden spotlight out of the dark.
“I would really rather not be.” The spotlight stayed directly on him. “Derek Bastien was a friend. That’s where it started. I don’t like where it’s gone.”
“Karen Liu told me you were asking about Derek Bastien. That’s how I knew you were suspicious of his death.” The ferocious intensity of his stare was nearly blinding.
“I wasn’t.”
“Then you can’t see.”
“What would I even be able to do, Mr. White? What do you want?”
“I want revenge on John Borchard.”
“I will not help you with that. I cannot, and I would not.”
“He’s killed once. He could do it again.”
“Who would he kill?”
“Anyone who knows too much.”
“I passed Patrick White in the showroom,” Dorothy said. Charles looked up from his reverie.
“A moment sooner and you would have found him in your chair.”
“What did he say this time?”
“Mostly the same. He accused John Borchard of being vengeful-rather ironic. Although he had a certain florid articulacy.”
“I hope he doesn’t make a habit of coming here,” Dorothy said.
“They aren’t pleasant visits.” He returned to his meditation. “But I have to understand him. And what happened to him. And how it happened.”
Dorothy began opening mail.
“It had to be Derek,” Charles said.
“Derek who told the Washington Post about Patrick White?”
“It had to be.”
Dorothy opened another few envelopes.
“And Patrick White says he went to Derek and told him about it.”
“But Derek would already have known?” she asked.
“What a game he was playing.”
Dorothy waited.
“And rather ruthless concerning John Borchard,” Charles said.
“How did that work?”
Charles returned his full attention. “I don’t know what Derek expected at first, but somehow Mr. White got the idea that John Borchard was the blackmailer. From then on, Derek apparently encouraged him in that. I wonder what John even knew.”
“That does sound rather ruthless.”
“But no more than the original attack on Patrick White. And now I wonder about Karen Liu.”
“Do you think she was part of it, too?”
“She seems likely to be an additional victim,” Charles said. “And Mr. White finally described more of what his original conflict with John Bor-chard was. It was some bill he was pushing through Congress, and which Mr. White didn’t like. It was called the Sentencing Reform Act.”
“What was it reforming?” Dorothy asked.
“Sentences. Perhaps they were simplifying English grammar. I wouldn’t mind legalizing run-ons and comma splices, they’re quite useful sometimes.”
“That would not be a reform. That would be a travesty.”
“That’s what Mr. White considered it to be. He said it would remove every drop of mercy from the heart of the courts. And in a similar vein, he said John Borchard’s blood flowed with vengeance.”
“Mr. Borchard seems to be rather ruthless himself,” Dorothy said. “We know he had some kind of problem back in Kansas.”
“He seems to have intimidated Karen Liu enough to get the bill through her committee,” Charles said. “So I wonder what form that intimidation took.”
“It must have been the copy of her checks.”
“That does seem likely, doesn’t it? And she has a very negative opinion of John Borchard. But it was Derek who had the paper, and we don’t know if John Borchard even knew that he did.” Charles glanced at his telephone. “I think I need to talk to her.”
“She might be back sometime soon to return the book you loaned her.”
“I don’t think I’ll wait. I’ll just call her.”
“What if she won’t talk to you?”
“I’ll leave a message. It will be a test to see how anxious she is to hear what I have to say.”
“My name is Charles Beale. I’d like to get a message to Congresswoman Liu.”
“I’ll take a message, Mr. Beale.”
“Thank you. Please tell her I asked if she was enjoying the Wisdom Garden I loaned her and I had a question about Derek Bastien and a man named Patrick White.”
“Yes, Mr. Beale. I’ll give this message to her chief of staff.”
“Thank you.”
Charles leaned back in his chair.
“And now, dear, if you aren’t too busy,” Dorothy said.
“I’m never too busy for you, dear.”
“We really should spend a few minutes discussing business.”
“Business. Business? Oh, of course. The bookshop! How is that doing these days, anyway?”
“It is feeling neglected. I would like to discuss the fall catalog with you.”
“Fall catalog. What did we say? We’re featuring European literature, and travel literature, plus the usual.”
“Yes.”
“So I need to pick some.”
“We need the pictures and the text to the designer by Monday.”
“Monday. All right. We have sixty pages?”
“Sixty.”
“Mr. Beale?” Alice chirped. “You have a phone call. Congresswoman Karen Liu.”
“That was fast,” Dorothy said.
Charles shook his head.
“Too fast. She is too anxious, Dorothy.”
“Go ahead, dear. That is probably more important than catalog text.”
He picked up his telephone.
“Well, Mr. Beale.”
“Ah, Congresswoman. Thank you so much for calling back-I hardly expected it.”
“I had to,” she bubbled. “I’ve been looking through this garden book and I had to tell you how much I’ve been enjoying it.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.”
“I think I might even buy it.”
“Whatever you like! Please don’t feel at all obliged.”
Charles waited.
“And, Mr. Beale,” she said finally, with many fewer bubbles, “did you have a question about Pat White?”
“Well, I did. The only reason I’m bothering you with it is that he’s mentioned you now a couple times. I wanted to make sure that you knew he had been.”
“And what has he been saying?” There was no expression. Her voice had gone completely flat.
“I suppose you know what he’s been saying about John Borchard?” Charles asked.
“What has he said to you, Mr. Beale?” Still flat.
“Some very serious things. I don’t want to repeat them unless you’ve already heard them from him yourself.”
“I have.” The voice tried to perk up. “Mr. White has been under a great deal of pressure.”