"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."
FOUR
"I don't see what's so funny," said Karp to the ceiling. He was in his office at the New York DA, his soon-to-be-former office. On a nearby chair, a chunky, milk chocolate-skinned man in a tan, pin-striped, double-breasted suit was bent over with helpless laughter. It was the hiccupping kind of laughter, nearly soundless, the infectious kind, and Karp himself felt it tickling his own face.
"It's a good opportunity-," he added.
The laughter increased in intensity, and the other man, who was a detective lieutenant in the New York Police Department, started to lose control of his limbs and slide off his seat.
Karp started to laugh too, as the thought of trying to convince a hysterically laughing man to take charge of the field investigation of the death of John F. Kennedy suddenly struck him as hilarious.
Several minutes passed in this way, and when the lieutenant, whose name was Clay Fulton, and who was Karp's oldest and best friend in the cops, had advanced to the stage of gasping "Oh, God" and wiping his eyes with his lemon silk handkerchief, Karp took up his case again.
"Seriously, Clay…"
"Oh, God, don't start," Fulton groaned. "My heart can't take much of this anymore."
"Seriously," Karp persisted. "I think it's a good deal. You were set to retire from the job anyway."
"You are serious about this," said Fulton, sitting up again.
"I keep saying."
"You're going to go find out who aced JFK, and you want me to help you?"
"You got the picture. What's your problem?"
Fulton let out a whoosh of breath and scratched the side of his heavy jaw. He regarded Karp through narrowed eyes. "Well, I got a couple. One, what makes you think we're gonna do any good on a thirteen-year-old investigation, that the guys who were there when the corpse was still warm couldn't've done?"
"Maybe they didn't want to. Maybe they were incompetent. Besides, it was Texas. You ever been in Texas?"
"Yeah, in the army. Why?"
"Well, so you know what it's like. Do they have food? Do they have shows? Do they have clothes? They're hicks, face it. So, get a couple of sharp New York kids like us in there, a little hustle-it'll be a whole different story."
Fulton laughed again. "So what you're saying is because you can't get a knish in Texas, we'll make it happen thirteen years later, where they drew a blank?"
"That's it. I rest my case."
Fulton stared at him for a moment and said, smiling, "You need professional help, not a cop."
"Come on, Clay. You're a homicide investigator. Investigate the homicide of the century! What're you gonna do when you retire? Security for department stores? Teach at John Jay? You'll go batshit."
"This is for me, right? You're doing me a favor? Just a minute, let me make sure my wallet's still here." He patted at his suit coat pocket. "Okay, wise guy, how long you figure this gig is going to take? Months? Years?"