He wasn’t quite sure what won out—his sense of honesty or his lack of imagination. “My name’s Loving. I work for Senator Kincaid.”
“I don’t believe I know—”
“Don’t sweat it. No one does. I’m lookin’ for Trudy.”
“Really?” Her nose wrinkled. “Do tell.” She gave him the once-over. “Who would’ve guessed? You seem so—well, I shouldn’t stereotype. Takes all kinds, right?”
Loving stared at her dully. “Huh?”
“It’s none of my business—”
“Look, lady, I’m a private investigator. I’m tryin’ to get a lead on the woman who was killed at Judge Roush’s press conference.”
All at once, Nadya’s face became serious. “I’m sure Trudy had nothing to do with that.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I just—I just know it’s not something Trudy would go in for.”
Loving grunted. “I appreciate your vote of support, but I’d still like to talk to her. Could you please tell me where I might meet her?”
Nadya backed away from him. “No…No, I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think I want anything to do with you. And I don’t think Trudy will, either.”
“Please,” Loving said, grabbing her hand. “Help me find her.”
“No.” She shook her hand loose. “And if you touch me again, I’ll scream.”
Well, I’m handling this masterfully, aren’t I? Loving thought. He released her hand. “Just tell me where Trudy is.”
Nadya continued retreating. “No.”
“I know you’re going to meet her later tonight.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. Where are you meeting?”
The woman bumped backward into a small Toyota hatchback. “I’m warning you. Leave me alone.”
Loving noticed that the stack of books she carried contained a small Filofax calendar. He considered making a grab for it, but doubted he would be successful. “Please tell me where you’re going to meet.”
“I’ll scream! If you don’t stay back, I’ll scream!” She jammed a key into the car door, threw all her belongings in the backseat, then locked the car again. “I’m going to get my coffee now. I have a cell phone. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll call the police.”
“Are you meeting Trudy at Starbucks?”
“No! I’ve got maybe an hour to myself, for once in my life, until I have to pick up my boy. I do not expect to be disturbed.”
“But all I want to know is—”
“See?” she said, holding up her cell phone. “All I have to do is punch one button and the police are on their way.”
“But all I want—”
“Leave me alone! Me and Trudy both!” Nadya turned and ran down the sidewalk, then disappeared into the coffee shop.
Loving stood on the sidewalk berating himself for his stupidity. He’d handled that like a prize chump. If only they’d been sitting around a bar or something—that was more his natural milieu. He understood those people. Neurotic moms who take their tots to yoga class he didn’t know.
He stared at the Filofax calendar in the backseat, probably containing the vital information about the rendezvous he wanted. He could break the window, but it was a crowded street and that would undoubtedly attract attention, possibly even set off a car alarm. He could wait until Nadya emerged from the coffee shop and try her again, maybe follow her, but that was risky, especially given her excitability. He’d do it if he must, but there had to be a better way.
All he had to do was figure out what that better way was.
23
Ben was not surprised to hear that the first person to question Roush would be Senator Matera, who had decided to grace the committee with her presence once more. The opposition knew what Gina Carraway knew: the biggest audience, and thus the opportunity to make the biggest impression or do the greatest damage, would come on the first day of questioning, before most of the home audience switched their attention back to The View or General Hospital. During the break, Ben visited Senator Keyes’s chambers to try to persuade him to select a more neutral initial interrogator, in the name of “dignity and justice,” but Keyes’s AA told Ben he was “unavailable.”
The second Ben and Roush passed through the gabled double doors, the bright lights came on and Ben’s sweat glands kicked into overdrive. He still couldn’t believe he had been chosen for this high-profile role—he, the least experienced senator in Congress. Even Beauregard seemed to support Ben’s involvement as Roush’s advisor, despite the information he was getting from his polls. Did that make any sense?
Christina, just a step behind him, whispered into his ear. “The big red is on. Don’t look.”
Meaning the big red light, the one that informed the gallery that their image was being broadcast from coast to coast, and for that matter, throughout a sizeable chunk of the rest of the world. They had been coached to never look directly into the camera. As with actors in a sitcom, a direct stare broke the fourth-wall illusion that was the fundamental assumption of television programming, even purportedly nonfiction programming like this. Viewers wanted to believe they were flies on the wall, watching while their subjects were unaware—when in reality no one could forget for a moment that they were being televised.
After the committee had retaken their seats, Ben pulled the microphone closer. “Before we begin,” he announced, “I want to remind the committee that Judge Roush will not entertain any questions—”
“You have not been recognized, sir,” Keyes said. “If you wish to speak, you must be recognized by the chairman of the committee.” He paused. “That would be me.” A tittering of laughter from the gallery ensued.
Ben took a deep breath. “Very well. May I be recognized to speak, Mr. Chairman?”
“No. You are not a member of the committee, and you are not the nominee. Your function here is simply to advise the nominee.”
“Nonetheless,” Ben said, undeterred, “in the interests of saving time, I would remind the committee that any questions posing hypothetical cases or probing into his personal life—”
His voice went dead. Or more accurately, his microphone went dead. Ben’s voice became a whisper of what it had been before.
Senator Keyes smiled. “I control the microphones, sir. I will turn that one back on when you are recognized to speak. I must remind you again that this is not a courtroom, and you are not here to perform as an advocate. We have rules designed to help us get at the truth with a minimum of fuss, and I will enforce them.”
Ben sat in his chair and glowered. Two options presented themselves to him, neither of them good. He could continue to insist on making a statement, perhaps instructing Roush not to speak until he had, but that would only make them appear obstreperous and suspect to the television audience. Or he could cave and let Keyes bulldoze by, at the risk of looking a total wimp to the television audience and setting a precedent that would make him worse than useless for the remainder of the proceeding.
While Ben pondered what to do, Senator Keyes recognized the distinguished senator from Wyoming to lead the questioning of the nominee. Looks like the die is cast, Ben thought. I’m a wimp on national television.
“Judge Roush,” Senator Matera said, pulling the microphone closer, “I’ve reviewed the cases you’ve handled on the Tenth Circuit and I have a few questions.”