‘He’s not on Ron?’
Pause. ‘It’s not Ron.’
He’d almost said that Glitsky was affirmatively saying it wasn’t Ron, which wasn’t true. But if that’s what Jeff Elliot heard, he wouldn’t correct the impression.
‘So who’s your guess? You got one?’
In his chair, Hardy drew a deep breath. He’d gathered a lot of information. But in spite of feeling as though he’d gotten somewhere in his investigation, he realized that he couldn’t precisely define where that was. When he asked Elliot to tell him about Damon Kerry, it surprised him almost as much as it did Jeff. Where had that question come from?
Jeff was shaking his head. ‘That’s got to be a big negatory, Diz.’
‘Maybe. But I’d sure like to know more than I do about the two of them, Bree and the good candidate.’
For a response, Jeff sat all the way back in his wheelchair behind his desk. He pulled at his mustache, scratched his beard, and brushed at the front of his shirt.
‘No hurry,’ Hardy prodded, shooting Jeff a hopeful grin. ‘It’s only Frannie doing hard time for keeping a promise.’
Finally, the reporter sighed. ‘You know, the connections,’ he said. ‘You don’t put them together.’ But Jeff wasn’t quite ready to spill anything, not yet. The impish smile from his youth fleetingly appeared as he came forward, his hands together on the desk. ‘You know that off-the-record thing we do? This is one of those, private and personal.’
‘Done. Understood.’ Hardy was beginning to feel a little like a Catholic priest in a confessional. A couple more days like the last few and he’d know every secret in the world and wouldn’t be able to tell any of them. But if that was the price for knowledge, he had to pay it.
Eve’s bad trade. He could only hope it wouldn’t turn out as badly for him as it had for her.
Jeff underscored it. ‘So this is personal, your ears only. If it doesn’t directly help Frannie, it stays here.’
‘Deal.’ Hardy got up and they shook hands over the desk. ‘So what connections?’ he asked.
‘What you just said. Frannie in jail. Kerry in another file in the brainpan – the election, the water poisoning today, all that. I didn’t put them together.’ His eyes shone with interest. ‘But they are together, aren’t they? They’re all Bree.’
‘That’s my guess.’
Jeff fidgeted in his chair, came to his decision, and nodded.
‘Have I mentioned the off-the-record thing?’
Hardy was dying to learn what Jeff knew, but it never helped to show it. He broke an easy smile. ‘Once or twice.’
He waited.
‘The thing about Kerry is that he’s really a good guy, especially for a politician. I’ve been with him more than a few times, in press rooms, after the odd banquet, off the record -much like you and me right now, and he’s decent. Plus he plays straight with us.’
‘Us?’
‘Reporters, media, like that.’
‘OK.’ And…?
‘OK, so a guy like that, sometimes a guy like me finds out a fact and kind of unofficially decides it doesn’t have to be in the public interest.’
Hardy’s eyebrows went up. ‘Excuse me. I thought I just heard you say that the media could show some restraint.’
Jeff acknowledged the point with a wry face. ‘I’m talking personal here. Me. It’s not something I brag about, but it happens. Sometimes.’ At Hardy’s skeptical look, he spread his palms wide. ‘OK, rarely. But the point is, Kerry’s not married, he can date anybody he wants. As our President has pointed out, it’s his private life. It’s not news.’
‘But Bree was married.’
‘And maybe they didn’t do anything let’s say carnal. Maybe she just hung around a lot and it was purely the campaign and business.’
Hardy leaned forward. ‘But you know otherwise?’
‘Did I catch them inflagrante? No. But I know. My opinion is they were in love with each other.’
This took a minute to digest, although Hardy had come to suspect it.
But Jeff was going on. ‘She only lived a half-dozen blocks from him, both of ’em up on Broadway, you know.‘
‘No, I didn’t know about him. I knew she did.’
‘Well, Kerry, too. His place is that little thirty-room shack just up from Baker. You’d remember it if you saw it, and you have.’ Jeff seemed almost relieved to be able to let his secret out. If he’d promised not to print it, telling somebody who in turn couldn’t tell was next best. ‘Anyway, couple of months ago I was pushing Damon for an interview – as I said, we go back a ways, too – and he said meet him at his place after hours, he’d dig up something for me. He was coming in from Chico or someplace, and was going to be alone, which meant without Valens. Except when I got there, who opens the door but Bree Beaumont.’
‘Dressed?’
Jeff chuckled. ‘You’ve got a dirty mind. Let’s go with casually attired. Casually and very, very attractively.’ He paused, remembering, then blew out a rush of air. ‘Very. Low green silk blouse, linen pants, barefoot. I distinctly remember she forgot her underwear on top. Believe me, it was the kind of thing you noticed, especially on her, even if you weren’t a trained reporter like me, alive to every detail.’
Hardy wanted to keep him going. ‘I keep hearing how pretty she was.’
‘A couple of miles beyond pretty, Diz. In any event,’ he continued, ‘here’s a bottle of champagne in a bucket on the coffee table, and otherwise the house is empty. So ask me, do I feel like I’m intruding? Moi?’
‘So what was it?’
‘Evidently she was planning to surprise him with a little welcome homecoming after the road trip. So he shows about ten minutes after I arrive, opens the door and it’s like, uh, “Hi, Bree, fancy you being here. Now, how ’bout them gas additives?” Call me a genius, but I saw right through it.‘
‘You’re a genius.’
Jeff nodded. ‘Somebody has to be. So anyway, they were together, and I knew it, and they knew I knew it. And I told them I’d keep a lid on it.’
‘I’m just curious, but why would you do that?’
He shook his head as though mystified himself. ‘I don’t know, Diz. I like the guy. I like his politics. It meant a lot to them.’ He met Hardy’s eyes. ‘Bottom line is I just decided. It shames me to say it, but I might even do the same for you.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Hardy replied. ‘I wasn’t sleeping with Bree. But after she was killed, weren’t you tempted to talk to the police?’
‘Why? Nobody’s saying Damon’s a suspect.’
Hardy looked a question. ‘At the least, Jeff, she’s murdered and you know he’s her lover. That’s got to be relevant to the homicide investigation. Maybe even crucial.’
‘It’s also relevant to Damon’s campaign, maybe even crucial. He didn’t kill her, Diz. There is no way. Plus, I want to see him get elected, and I sure as hell don’t have to tell the cops what I know. Maybe if some inspector had come and made some connection, asked me directly… I don’t know, I might have been tempted. But nobody did. Nobody has.’
‘But as you say, Jeff, it is all connected. It’s got to be.’ For emphasis, Hardy patted the desk between them. ‘So today’s bonus question is who did the water? What’s the Clean Earth Alliance?’
Jeff shifted again in his wheelchair, brought a hand to his tired eyes and rubbed them. Glancing at his watch, he looked up suddenly to see that outside a sepia dusk had settled. ‘When am I going to learn not to work on weekends? Why did I come in here on a Saturday?’
Hardy leaned forward. Jeff knew something else and was wrestling with how much to reveal. Hardy kept it low affect. ‘You were going to write some graphs on Frannie.’
Which brought it all back home. Jeff sat still a moment, then wheeled himself around to a low file cabinet. Back at the desk, he laid open the thick file folder and began turning pages. ‘The Yosemite Militia. The Valdez Avengers. Earth Now.’ He looked up. ‘And today’s Clean Air Alliance. Get the picture?’