Power Play (29 page)

“Not everybody,” Jake said. “But enough. They’ve got the state in their control and Leeds is part of it.”

“I know that!” Glynis snapped. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Me?”

“You. Us. Whoever.”

“Nacho wants us to drop the whole business. That would be the safest thing for us to do.”

No reply. She sat beside Jake, her face profiled by the dim dashboard lighting. She looked tense, rigid—but filled with anger, not fear.

Jake gripped the steering wheel tightly, peering ahead into the darkness, and heard himself say, “I’m not going to drop it, Glyn.”

“You’re not?”

“All my life those wiseguys have pushed me around and I’ve let them do it. I ran away from them, tried to hide myself, buried myself in astronomy, as far away from them as I could go. And they’ve followed me. They’re here, still pushing me, still telling me what I can and can’t do.” He felt resentment boiling up inside him, a hot unreasoning anger that he had kept bottled inside himself since childhood. “Guys like Nacho and Monster, they think they can get whatever they want. Just crack a few heads and everybody lays down for them. Well, fuck that! I’m not letting them walk over me anymore.”

“But Jake, you said they could be dangerous,” Glynis said, suddenly cautious, worried.

“Yeah. I’ll have to deal with that.”

“
We’ll
have to deal with that.”

Shaking his head, Jake told her, “You’re going to West Virginia.”

“I am not!”

“I want you out of here, Glyn. I want you where you’ll be safe. Back with your family.”

“I most certainly will not run away from this, Jacob Ross. Any-more than you would.”

“There’s no sense in both of us getting hurt.”

“I’m staying,” Glynis said, iron-hard.

Jake sucked in a deep breath, then replied, “Let’s talk this over with somebody who can give us a better angle on the problem.”

“Somebody? Who?”

“An old friend of mine. He’s been like a father to me.”

LOVE AND WAR

Dr. Cardwell sat in stony silence as Jake told him what he and Glynis had learned. It was early morning; Cardwell’s office was bright with the newly risen sun. Jake had phoned him the night before, as soon as he had returned Glynis to her apartment.

Now they sat at the round table by the windows, Glynis on Jake’s left, dressed in a butter yellow short-sleeved blouse and dark green skirt, Cardwell on his right, in his inevitable gray suit and sprightly bow tie.

“So you believe Senator Leeds is part of this?” Cardwell asked, in his soft, curious voice.

“He has to be,” Jake said. “He’s fronting for them. Perez said as much.”

His high forehead furrowing, Cardwell suggested, “Perhaps he doesn’t know what’s really going on.”

Glynis snapped, “If he doesn’t, it’s because he doesn’t want to know.”

Cardwell took in a deep breath. “They murdered Arlan? And his wife?”

“And Dr. McGruder,” Glynis added.

“It’s all a cover-up,” said Jake.

“But what are they covering up?” Cardwell asked, almost pleadingly. “What’s the reason for it?”

Hunching closer to his old mentor, Jake said, “It’s narcotics. Got to be. Mrs. Sinclair must have been hooked and the professor was going to crack up over it.”

Cardwell shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. There’s got to be something deeper than that.”

Glynis said, “The MHD issue.”

Cardwell’s round eyes widened. “The MHD issue?”

“Professor Sinclair was forced to come out against Tomlinson’s plan to push MHD,” she explained. “But he didn’t want to. He wanted to support Tomlinson. He wanted all the support for MHD that he could get. But they wouldn’t let him.”

Jake looked at her questioningly. “Are you sure?”

Her voice lower, Glynis answered, “Arlan told me things that he wouldn’t tell anyone else … when we were together, alone.”

In bed, Jake realized.

Cardwell said, “I still don’t see…”

“They were holding his wife’s problems over his head,” Glynis continued. “But the professor was under terrific strain. It was tearing him apart. His wife, the MHD program … he was cracking.”

“So they got rid of him,” Jake said.

Shaking his head ruefully, Cardwell said, “It makes some sense, I suppose, but you don’t have a scintilla of evidence, do you.”

“No,” Jake admitted. “We don’t.”

“And we apparently have the whole state’s apparatus against us,” Glynis added.

“Not the entire state,” said Jake. “Just the police, the courts, and the district attorney’s office.”

“Plus Senator Leeds,” Cardwell added, with a wry smile.

“So what do we do, Lev?” Jake asked.

“Tell Frank Tomlinson about it,” Cardwell replied without hesitation. “I’m not sure what he can do, or even if he’ll want to do anything, but you’ve got to tell him about this.”

Jake nodded.

“At the very least,” Cardwell went on, “he ought to be able to provide you with some protection.”

*   *   *

It wasn’t until late that night that Jake was able to meet with Tomlinson. The candidate had spent the day on the campaign trail, giving speeches at rallies in three different towns across the state.

He looked tired when the butler ushered Jake into the mansion’s library. Tomlinson was sitting in one of the leather armchairs in his shirtsleeves, tie pulled loose, a whiskey in his hand, neat. Amy stood next to him, looking elegant in a knee-length black skirt and scoop-necked black blouse.

Tomlinson smiled wearily as Jake crossed the book-lined room and shook hands with him. “Pardon me for not getting up, Jake,” he said from his chair. “I’m pretty bushed. I’m putting in more flying miles these days than an airline pilot.”

“But ever since the Fourth of July your poll numbers have been climbing,” said Amy, smiling brightly.

“Not all that much,” Tomlinson said.

“But they’re climbing,” Amy insisted. “That’s what’s important.”

Turning back to Jake, Tomlinson asked, “What would you like to drink, Jake?” Then he added, “How’s the generator behaving?”

“Younger’s giving it an overhaul,” Jake replied. “In a few days he’ll start a five-hundred-hour run.”

“Sounds impressive.” Turning to look up at Amy, Tomlinson said, “See what Jake wants to drink.”

Jake shook his head and sat on the front few inches of the armchair facing Tomlinson’s. “I’ve got a lot to tell you, Frank.”

“About MHD?”

“About the drug traffic in this state and Leeds’s involvement in it.”

Tomlinson glanced up at Amy again. “Better get my father in here,” he said.

“He’s probably gone to bed by now.”

“Call him. He’ll want to hear this, I know.”

Amy went to the phone on the desk as Tomlinson asked guardedly, “Drug traffic?”

“We think it’s behind the murder of Professor Sinclair and—”

“Murder? I thought he committed suicide.”

“We think otherwise.”

“We? Who’s with you on this?”

“A grad student named Glynis Colwyn. She and Sinclair…” Jake found it hard to say, but he choked out, “They were lovers.”

Tomlinson’s brows went up. “The professor and the graduate student.”

His lips pressed tight, Jake nodded.

Alexander Tomlinson’s voice rang out, “What’s this all about?”

Turning, Jake saw the elder Tomlinson standing in the library doorway, his fleshless face set in a demanding scowl. He was in a floor-length maroon robe that accentuated his slim, rigid figure. Even his stiff bristle of hair looked angry.

“Narcotics, Dad,” said Tomlinson. “Jake here thinks Leeds is tied to organized crime.”

Eyeing Jake disdainfully, Tomlinson Senior said, “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

Jake felt resentment simmering inside him. Getting slowly to his feet, he said to the old man, “Leeds is involved in three murders, and I’ve been threatened myself.”

Still frowning, the elder Tomlinson turned to Amy. “You’d better fix me a single malt, on the rocks. Make it a big one. This sounds like a long night coming.”

Alexander Tomlinson brushed past Jake and sat in the armchair next to his son while Amy went to the rolling table in the corner that was set up as a portable bar and poured a stiff whiskey for the elder Tomlinson. Still on his feet, Jake started telling them what he and Glynis had found out.

Tomlinson Senior sipped his whiskey as they listened. Once he muttered, “Narcotics.” His son sat and watched Jake without comment. Amy sat on one of the Ethan Allen chairs near the bar as Jake ran through his story, pacing across the library floor the way he often did when lecturing students.

When Jake finished, Tomlinson Senior said to his son, “The casinos are a good way to launder drug money.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Tomlinson replied.

Looking up at Jake, the old man said, “You’ve just confirmed what we’ve known for a long time. The gambling interests are backing Leeds, and they’re into drugs as well.”

“So we can make organized crime a campaign issue,” Jake said.

With a worried glance at his son, Alexander Tomlinson shook his head. “That could be … risky.”

“I know it’s risky,” Jake snapped. “They’ve threatened me, and Glynis, too.”

“We can protect you,” Tomlinson said.

“It’s risky politically,” his father said. “It could boomerang on us.”

“The fact that Leeds is financed by organized crime?” Jake yelped. “How the hell could that boomerang?”

“You don’t have any evidence.”

“But you said you’ve known about this for a long time. Now they’ve murdered three people! What more do you want?”

“Jake, you’ve got nothing but hearsay,” said Tomlinson. “There’s no proof.”

“We can’t accuse Leeds of anything unless we have ironclad proof,” Tomlinson Senior said sternly. “Without proof Leeds could accuse us of a smear, a desperate politically motivated smear.”

From her chair by the bar, Amy said, “That could cost us votes.”

“And it could be dangerous for you personally, and the graduate student you told me about,” said Tomlinson, looking weary of the whole business.

“Graduate student?” his father demanded. “What graduate student?”

“The late Professor Sinclair’s mistress, apparently,” Tomlinson said.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake! You mean this is all built on the word of some kid the professor was shacked up with?” The old man looked thoroughly disgusted.

Feeling resentful of the elder Tomlinson’s dismissal, Jake said, “You make it sound smutty.”

“Well, isn’t it?” the elder Tomlinson snapped. “We’d look wonderful, wouldn’t we, making unproved accusations based on some lovesick student’s pillow talk.”

“So you’re going to do nothing about it?”

“There’s not much we can do,” said Tomlinson.

Amy said, “Franklin, you’ve got to get some rest. And start preparing for the debate.”

“That’s not for another two weeks,” Tomlinson said.

“But the first debate is the most important one. It fixes your image against Leeds’s in the public eye. It’s your big chance to jump past him in the polls.”

The elder Tomlinson, toying with the cut-crystal glass in his hand, murmured, “You know, there might be something else we can do.”

“Something else?” his son asked.

“You can’t come out openly and accuse Leeds of being involved in murder and dope dealing.”

“Of course not.”

“But we could start some rumors circulating around the state,” Alexander Tomlinson mused, almost smiling. “Just a few whispers here and there. Undermine Leeds’s image as an upright citizen.”

Tomlinson looked shocked. “I can’t do that!”

“You wouldn’t have to do it,” Amy said, enthusiastically. She got up from her chair and scurried to Tomlinson’s side. “You won’t have to say a word about it.”

“But it’s … unethical.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” his father pronounced. “You think about it. Think hard.”

“Three murders,” Jake muttered, feeling stunned at how they were ignoring him.

Tomlinson looked up at him, his eyes baggy with fatigue. “We’ll provide you with protection, Jake,” he said. “And your grad student, as well.”

“Thanks.”

The elder Tomlinson started for the door. “It’s been a long night. You think about what I said, son.”

Thanks for nothing, Jake thought. But he didn’t say it aloud.

As if he could hear Jake’s thoughts, the old man turned back toward him. “The head of the FBI’s regional office is the son of an old friend of mine. I’ll tell him about this. He might make himself a few brownie points with the Justice Department if he could bring in a few big-time organized crime people.”

Jake nodded. It wasn’t much, but it was better than whispers.

THE FIRST DEBATE

Jake could see that Tomlinson was nervous. The man had been holed up with his advisors and spin masters for two days, his campaign activities suspended, out of contact with everyone else while he prepared for this debate against Senator Leeds. Jake had handed a sheaf of talking points about MHD to Amy; he hadn’t been allowed to see the candidate himself.

Now, as the candidate and his closest aides walked down the concrete tunnel that led out to the arena, Tomlinson was fairly quivering with nervous energy. Jake remembered a classmate of his, Vince Tortoni, back in their freshman year at the university. Vince had been on the verge of failing their mandatory class in English literature, and had disappeared for several days before the final exam. Cramming, Jake knew. When Vince showed up for the exam he was bubbling with quotations from poetry. But as he grabbed his blue exam book and pencil, he turned to Jake and asked, agonized, “Dammit, what’s my name?”

Jake hoped that Tomlinson hadn’t overstudied the way Vince had.

The debate was staged at the university’s hockey rink, an arena big enough to hold more than a thousand spectators jammed in on tiers of benches. Jake knew that Amy had done her best to get Tomlinson supporters to pack the place. He supposed Leeds’s people had done the same.

The skating rink itself was covered with wooden flooring, yet the place still felt cold and clammy to Jake. The crowd was restless, impatient, voices buzzing in an expectant background hum. But as Tomlinson and his retinue stepped out of the tunnel and into the bright lights illuminating the arena, the throng got to their feet and applauded, cheered, whistled. Tomlinson turned on his gleaming smile and waved nonchalantly to them. The applause seemed to calm him, steady him.