Jean Valette looked across at Carlyle as if he were seeing for the first time how young he was, and how eager to get this story right, the story that any reporter would have killed to get. That was what struck Hart as he watched: how conscious Jean Valette was of the effect the story was going to have on everyone, not only those directly involved in the events, but those who were going to tell the story, and who would, immediately upon the telling, become the new subject of other people’s stories, the center of attention for everyone who wanted to know more about the secret interview with Bobby Hart and the anonymous and enigmatic source that somewhere in France had first revealed the involvement of The Four Sisters and provided the documentary evidence necessary to prove it. Hart could not quite rid himself of the feeling that everything that was happening, everything that had been said in that room, was exactly what Jean Valette had expected. It was a feeling that immediately became more pronounced.
“Mr. Hart already knows what it is,” said Jean Valette with perfect confidence. “And so, Mr. Carlyle, do you. You said it at the beginning, what your friend Quentin Burdick first told you: everything leads to The Four Sisters. That’s the secret they shared, the secret none of them could afford to have anyone learn: that millions, tens of millions of dollars, had passed into their hands, money provided through one means and another by companies in which my firm had an interest.”
Inspector Dumont got to his feet.
“Perhaps this would be a good time for me to leave. I don’t think I should-”
“No, it’s all right, Marcel. We weren’t involved in any criminal wrongdoing; certainly nothing that broke the laws of France. There is a difference, after all, between bribery and extortion. I didn’t-The Four Sisters didn’t-offer to give Constable or any of his friends and associates money in exchange for any help we needed. He came to us, explained that he wanted better trade relations, and that the only way to do that was to help elect people who wanted the same thing. He was really quite ingenious, when it came to working out a scheme for his own advantage, ingenious and quite corrupt. Everything with him was a maneuver, a way to get around whatever obstacles stood in his path. Foreigners could not contribute to American political campaigns? Give money for other things-a foundation, a library-or move money into an American company, a subsidiary, and get the money into the right hands that way.”
“Some of that money came from foreign interests that weren’t supposed to be doing any business in the United States,” added Hart with a sharp, accusatory glance. “And in exchange, because of what you did, some of those same interests were able to get control of companies that have a direct effect on what Americans think.”
“It’s a global economy, Mr. Hart. The point is that Robert Constable had taken millions-forced us to give him that money-and so had several others.”
“Frank Morris, who changed his mind and got sent to prison because of it, and then, after he talked to Quentin Burdick and told him what he knew, got killed,” said Hart, growing more agitated by the minute.
“Yes, I’ve heard this,” said Jean Valette, who seemed almost amused. “That would have been something Constable would have arranged.”
“Constable was already dead!” Hart reminded him forcefully.
“Exactly.”
“Exactly?”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it? Who other than Constable could have set the wheels in motion? Who else could have had the congressman charged with a crime, turned out of office, and sent to prison? Do you think he wouldn’t have given orders that if it became necessary, if Morris started talking about what he knew, he should be eliminated? But if Morris was killed to protect the secret, why wouldn’t Constable have been killed for the same reason? This gets us back to the same two people, doesn’t it?”
Carlyle slammed the ballpoint pen on the notebook and let out an expletive.
“Russell was one of those taking money?” His eyes brightened with a new intensity. “Morris, chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee; Russell, chairman of the Senate Finance Committee. Constable had to be able to use them both.” He looked sharply at Jean Valette. “You-The Four Sisters-would have needed the help of both, if-”
“If we had played an active part in this. But we only did what Constable said we should, what, as he explained, was the only reasonable way to obtain the changes that would be good for everyone.”
“Changes that made you a great deal of money!”
Jean Valette almost laughed.
“It depends, doesn’t it, on what you consider a great deal of money?”
Hart bent forward, following intently everything that was said, and, in the case of Jean Valette, the meaning of every look and every gesture. A picture was beginning to form, but there were still a few blank spaces that needed to be filled in.
“Russell was taking money, too. He shared the secret; he knew what Constable was doing. But he didn’t change his mind, like Frank Morris. He was not concerned with what any of this might do to the country. He became vice president, instead. Is that what you were trying to say, that it was not what Constable wanted; it’s what Russell decided was the price of his silence?”
With slow precision, Jean Valette lifted an eyebrow, his face fixed again in the attitude of someone playing at a game, or rather, watching one, measuring with an expert’s practiced judgment the feeble attempt of amateurs.
“Perhaps that is to give your new president too much credit. It may be that it was Constable’s idea instead, a way to ensure himself that Russell would not be tempted by a suddenly resurrected conscience into such an inconvenient confession.”
“And Hillary Constable-what motive…? Oh, I see,” said Carlyle, nodding his head. He picked up his pen and scrawled a few short, abbreviated sentences. “Quentin Burdick. He was onto the story. He had an appointment with… She would not be able to run for anything, much less the presidency, if all of this came out.” With a puzzled glance, he turned quickly to Hart. “She asked you to look into it, see what you could find out about-?”
“The murder, and The Four Sisters,” said Inspector Dumont, who had been sitting, almost forgotten, for the last half hour. “That way she finds out what someone might find out about the secret they share, and because, by putting you, Mr. Hart, in direct connection with everything that has happened, the accusation against you acquires the credibility of proximity. Why else would you be so close to all of this, if it weren’t because you were trying to cover your own tracks? And then, whatever you may have uncovered about the murder and The Four Sisters, no one will believe it. Especially,” he added with a humorous glint in his eye, “if you were to wind up dead.”
Hart did not entirely agree.
“I don’t believe she’s behind this. I wouldn’t have believed it about Irwin Russell, either; but I didn’t know he was a crook, as big a crook as Constable. So they both had a motive, but he’s the one who ends up being president, at least for a while. She can still beat him, and the election is only a year away.” Suddenly, he remembered. He looked at Carlyle. “Neither one of them will be running for anything, will they?”
Carlyle folded his notebook.
“If those documents prove that Constable and Russell were taking money, tens of millions, then I imagine the only thing either one of them will be thinking about is how to stay out of prison. It does explain what just happened, though. Everyone thought what you thought, Senator: that Hillary Constable would run against Russell for the nomination.”
“It seems like I’ve been gone for years, even though it’s only been a couple of days. What happened? Did she announce that she was not going to run after all?”