Harrison sorted through it one more time. He felt like dog shit and he was getting sleepy again. “Nine guys.”
“Nine?”
“Think so. It’s pretty confusing.”
He was drifting again, back toward the porch and the swing and the bright, hot days when he heard Freddy say, “You sleep now. We’ll talk later.”
“Yeah,” he said, and tackled the problem of why his grandmother had white hair even back then. She was small and wiry and her hair was white as snow. It had been that way as long as he could remember.
“Senator Hiram Duquesne to see you, Mr. Hooper.”
The secretary rolled her eyes heavenward and stepped clear so that Senator Duquesne could enter. He was fat — not plump, not overweight, but fat — in his middle sixties. His double chin swung as he walked. Embedded in the fleshy face were two of the hardest eyes that Tom Hooper had ever stared at. They swept him now.
The senator dropped into a chair and waited until the door was closed behind him. “I’ve just come from a conference with the director,” he announced.
“Yessir. He called me.”
“I want to report an incident. I want a report made and an investigation done. I want it all in writing and dated and signed and I want a copy.”
Hooper grunted noncommittally. If FBI reports were going to be handed out the director would do the handing, not Hooper.
Just as Duquesne opened his mouth, the telephone rang. “Excuse me a second, Senator.” He picked up the instrument. “Yes.”
“Freddy is on the other line. Harrison is awake.”
“Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
As he cradled the phone Duquesne said, “You could ask her to hold your calls.”
“I don’t have that luxury, Senator. Tell me about this incident.”
Duquesne told him. From the first approach by T. Jefferson Brody several years ago to the incident last night in the parking garage of the Senate office building, he gave Hooper every incident and the details on every check. Hooper made notes and asked questions to clarify points. It took fifteen minutes.
Finally Duquesne announced, “There it is,” and Hooper leaned back in his chair and reviewed his notes.
“I want this pimp Brody arrested,” Senator Duquesne said. “I’ll take the heat.”
Hooper laid the legal pad back on the table. “What do I arrest him for?”
“Attempted bribery, extortion, I don’t know.”
“I don’t know either. Assuming that all the contributions to the PACs he controlled were made according to law, and you have given me no information to suggest otherwise, there’s nothing illegal about a notorious criminal making a political contribution. And people ask you to take positions on public issues twenty times a day.”
“Brody didn’t ask. He threatened me. I’m sure you can grasp the distinction between a request and a threat.”
“Threatened you with what? You said he said he would call a matter of public record to the attention of the media if you didn’t do what he wanted. I don’t think that qualifies as a threat.”
Duquesne’s face was turning a deep brick hue. “Listen to me, you little badge toter. Don’t give me one of those pissy nothing-can-be-done hog-crap sandwiches! I’m not going to listen to that!”
The expression on Hooper’s face didn’t change. “Senator, you have been had by a pro. Now listen carefully to what I’m going to say. By your own admission the man has done nothing illegal. He was the only other witness to this conversation, and believe me, he will deny everything that even throws a shadow on him.”
Duquesne was taking it hard. His throat worked as he sat and stared at the desk between them.
“Now, here is what we can do. We can look into the accounting and see if he obeyed all the rules on his PACs and his contributions. That will take time but might turn up something. Brody sounds cute, but the law in this area is a minefield.”
“That asshole wouldn’t slip up like that,” Duquesne said softly.
“The other thing we can do is put a wire on you and let you have another conversation with Brody. Maybe he’ll say something this time that does compromise him.”
“And me!”
“Perhaps. That’s a risk you’ll have to take.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Who else has this man approached? How many other members of Congress has he tried to influence?”
“I don’t know. But I seem to recall that somebody said he was giving money to Bob Cherry and three or four others.”
“That’ll be in their financial statements, right? We’ll look and see if we can find these names.”
“Where does that get us?”
“I’ll be frank, Senator. It may take someone someplace they don’t want to go. Freeman McNally is dead. He was killed last night.”
Duquesne was speechless. “Who did it?”
“We’re investigating. This information is confidential. We have not released the news of McNally’s death and would like to hold on to it for a while.”
Duquesne’s color faded to a ghastly white. Out of the clear blue sky he had just supplied the FBI with a motive for the murder of a man who had just been killed.
Hooper watched the senator with an expressionless face. He well knew what Duquesne was thinking and it didn’t bother Hooper a bit that he was thinking it.
“The good news,” the agent said after he had let Duquesne twist a while in the wind, “is that Freeman has made his last political contribution. In the fullness of time, probably fairly soon, T. Jefferson Brody will hear of Mr. McNally’s unfortunate demise. Of course he will still have a hold on you, but I doubt that he’ll be foolish enough to try to use it. He impresses me as a very careful fellow.”
“Cute. The bastard thinks he’s cute.”
“Ah, yes, don’t they all?”
Freddy was standing beside the nurses’ station listening to a man sitting in a wheelchair with his head swathed in bandages tell the cop all about his recent hair transplant. “You don’t know how demoralizing it is to lose your hair. It’s like you’re visibly deteriorating, aging, you know?”
Hooper came through the door, took the scene in at a glance and led Freddy toward the waiting area, which was empty. Behind him the man was explaining, “It was male pattern baldness all the way. My God, I felt so—”
“How is he?” Hooper asked as he pulled the door to the lounge closed.
“Sleeping again. The nurse said he’ll probably wake up in a little bit and we can talk to him then. She’ll come get me.”
“We found a body over at McNally’s house. Vinnie Pioche, I think. And the place had been shot apart. Someone just stood inside the door of each room and sprayed lead everywhere. It’s a real mess.”
“Probably Harrison. He said Pioche came with Anselmo to get him. And he said he thinks he killed nine men, but it’s real confusing.”
Hooper fell into one of the chairs.
“Did he say why?”
“Because. He said he did it because.”
“That’s real helpful. Just what I need to feed to the sharks in the U.S. attorney’s office.”
“He’s still under the anesthetic, Tom. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying.”
Hooper grunted and stared at his toes. Then he took off his shoes and massaged his feet. “We should have wrapped this one up in September.”
“We didn’t have enough in September,” Freddy said.
Hooper eyed him without humor, then put his shoes back on.
Fifteen minutes later the nurse opened the door and stuck her head in. “He’s awake. Don’t stay more than five minutes.”
Harrison Ronald had his eyes closed when the FBI agents stepped up to his bed, but the nurse nodded and left them. Freddy said, “Harrison, it’s me, Freddy. Tom Hooper is with me. How you feeling?”