Twisted Hunger (9 page)

She smiled back without responding aloud. Regardless of how things worked out for him, she hoped to be working on her own campaign by next year, not being an invisible drone for someone else. “I also wanted to apologize for being late with the interruption. I was on the phone with the catering manager again—”

“
Another
problem?”

“Yes, but I took care of it.”

“Thank you… again.” He shook his head. “I wish we had more options available, but there aren’t many facilities that can serve such a large crowd. There was this woman who catered a few of Vivian and my parties at our home in Sausalito. What I wouldn’t have given to have her on my staff full-time.”

Ellery’s heart leapt against her rib cage. He had finally given her an opening to discuss her mother! “Really?” she asked as casually as possible. “Wasn’t she interested?”

He frowned and shook his head. “I never got to ask her. She had a heart attack and passed away.” His expression saddened even more. “It happened at our house. We were devastated. I swear, she was incredible, a real jewel.”

His use of the same flattering description that he’d written on the thank-you card jarred her a bit, but now that the door was open, she had to find out whatever she could. “A heart attack during one of your parties? How terrible. Was she elderly?”

“Not at all. And apparently there was no history of heart disease either. She was simply walking down the stairs to the wine cellar, like she’d done numerous times, and she collapsed.”

Ellery had to bite her lip to keep from questioning that statement. The report she had been given was that her mother had been climbing back
up
the stairs, and that there had been a broken wine bottle on the floor, suggesting that she’d already made her selection but dropped it when her heart seized.

“Was there anything else?” he asked when she took too long coming up with another question.

“Oh yes. You’ll have the revised unemployment figures within the hour, and Mrs. Jones, er, your
wife
, called. The dry cleaners delivered your tuxedo this morning.”

He laughed. “Well, thank goodness for that. It might have been a bit comical if I had shown up tomorrow night in a rented monkey suit.”

“You know your wife would never let that happen,” she said, smiling at his little joke. She started to walk out then remembered the other item on her list. “Did you want me to call Sheriff Patterson for you now?”

“Yes, that would be fine. And if he has any kind of news about that horrible murder, I’ll want to pass it on to Gregory right away.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll cross my fingers,” she said, smiling as she left his office.

* * *

Abraham put his socks and shoes back on while he waited for Ellery to reach the head of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. He had met Frank Patterson more than twenty years ago, when Frank was just a street cop, and had maintained the acquaintance on a hunch that had since paid off on several occasions. At the moment, he needed some sort of bone, even a crumb, to throw out at tomorrow night’s affair. It was vital that he show how closely he was watching this matter and how very much he cared.

He owed that much to men like Gregory Yates, who had helped get him into his senatorial seat and keep him popular. However, those same men could become an albatross around his neck when it came to getting into the White House. The voters in the Midwest and the Bible Belt rarely interpret freedom in quite the same way as Californians do.

It was clearly time to begin extricating himself from the more extreme liberals he had previously befriended. Almost simultaneously with that realization came an idea of how to do it… and take care of another sticky matter at the same time.

“Sheriff Patterson is on line one,” Ellery told him over the intercom, and he quickly picked up the phone.

“What’s the matter, Frank? No golf game this afternoon?”

“Haven’t you heard the news? It’s finally raining down here.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Let’s hope it keeps up long enough to hold the fires off. And speaking of fires, I just had Gregory Yates in my office, and he’s really raising Cain over that murder in Beverly Hills. It’s bound to come up tomorrow night too. What have you got for me?”

The sheriff hesitated long enough to let Abraham know he had nothing substantial. “There are several angles being investigated. The killer could be a homophobic, as was suggested by Yates. That would tie in with the other incidents of violence against gays in the Los Angeles area recently, but no distinct message was left behind. The detective on the case has been talking to his informants inside some of the groups that might perpetrate such an extreme act, but no one’s taking credit for it yet.”

“Detective Harris?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“He sounds like a smart man. I’m looking forward to meeting him tomorrow night. He is coming up for the banquet, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he confirmed that he would be one of our representatives.”

Abraham relaxed back into his chair. “Has he had any more thoughts about it being some sort of serial killing?”

“I don’t think he’s ruling anything out yet.”

“Did you warn him not to express that opinion to the press?”

“No problem. Harris is an old hand at dealing with the media. He knows better than that.”

“That’s good to hear. And the same goes for keeping the FBI out of this. If they enter the picture, there’s no way we’ll be able to hide that from the press. This is a local homicide, and I don’t want it turned into fodder for Dennis Miller.” Abraham paused for a moment. “I’m not sure it bears consideration, but something Gregory Yates said to me earlier got me thinking of another possibility.” He paused again. “Never mind. It’s probably too far out in left field to even suggest.”

“Tell me, please. If it occurred to you, I’d want to make sure we at least looked into it.”

“Well, I’m not implying that Yates would do such a thing himself, but what if another gay rights extremist was behind the incidents of violence as well as this murder? Not because of a hatred of homosexuals, but because he was desperate to bring national attention to his cause?”

Patterson let out a soft whistle. “That could cause some pretty serious damage to the homosexuals’ peaceful image.”

“As I said, it was just a thought.”

“What exactly did Yates say anyway?”

“Let’s see, it was something about Neuman being a martyr, and how it sometimes takes something as gruesome as this to get people to take notice of an injustice. He also made some reference to the holocaust, but I was distracted by the look in his eyes. It was almost like there was a fire behind them.”

“I’ll definitely pass your thoughts along.”

“Oh,
please
don’t attach my name to it, not even off the record. You know how something like that could get misinterpreted.”

“I understand perfectly. I’ll be glad to take credit for coming up with the new angle.”

Abraham smiled. He could always depend on good ol’ Frank to rise to the occasion. “You mentioned other angles…”

“It’s weak, but there
is
an ex-lover whose alibi for the time hasn’t been verified yet. Those who know him don’t believe he’s violent enough to kill, but we’ve heard that before.”

“I see. At any rate, I could still say, with complete honesty, that the police have a new lead that they are following. Do you agree?”

“Absolutely, but I thought you wanted a tight lid kept on this case.”

“I still do. Other than a mention of the lead, I want it kept quiet until your men catch the killer. Murder never makes good press unless someone is arrested for it, and the suggestion of a serial killer on the loose is the worst. You and I go back an awful long way, Frank. And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that a sheriff who gets bad press would stand little chance of ever filling that soon-to-be-vacant commissioner’s seat. Solve this one, Frank, or make it go away… quickly and quietly.”

Satisfied that the diversionary seed had been planted in fertile ground, he allowed himself a moment to ponder over the other seed he had planted that afternoon. He had made himself wait until she was comfortable with him, but it had been worth it when he saw the way Miss Winters snapped at the bait he’d dangled before her.

He gave her credit for the way she kept herself from questioning the misinformation he’d purposely given her, but the fact remained that her initial reaction, combined with her failure to mention that the late, great caterer was her mother, indicated that she probably had a hidden agenda for working in his office.

The big unanswered question was still whether she had merely taken advantage of a golden opportunity to advance her career and possibly learn something about her mother’s unfortunate demise, or had she somehow bribed his former aide to create the opportunity to play detective? If it was the latter, exactly what did she suspect, and why?

He had learned of her relationship shortly after he interviewed her for the position. Naturally, he could have rejected her at that point, but it seemed much better to bring her into the fold and let her personally discover what a good man he was.

Meanwhile, she was turning out to be a true asset to his office, a real jewel in a time when good help was so hard to find.

* * *

“I know I told you it was a draft copy,” Ellery told the new stenographer. “But I can’t give it to the senator with all these typos. You’ll need to make all the corrections I’ve noted then bring it back immediately. He needs to take it with him when he leaves today.” Ellery shook her head as the young man walked out. She didn’t know what was going on today, but no one seemed to be able to do anything right the first time. On top of that, the telephone had not stopped ringing for more than a few seconds all day. As if to punctuate that thought, it rang again.

Before she could recite her greeting to the caller, a man’s voice said, “I’d like to make a reservation for dinner for five at six this evening.”

“I’m sorry. You have the wrong number. This is an office, not a restaurant.” She hung up and pulled her address book out of her purse. Carefully inserted amongst names and addresses was the transcription of the code Carl Brevowski used when contacting her.

A “dinner reservation for five” meant he would meet her near the fountain in the Yorkshire Hotel courtyard. “Six” actually meant nine-thirty.

The fact that she had just made an appointment at that same hotel for eight o’clock seemed too perfect for this to be a mere coincidence. There were dozens of other public locations for which he had given her codes. Could Brevowski really be watching her that closely without her noticing him? As unlikely as that was, she also found it very hard to believe that he could get away with tapping the senator’s telephone lines, but she didn’t have a more logical explanation for Brevowski’s uncanny insight.

Her reply of “I’m sorry” indicated that she would be able to meet him as requested. If she had not been able to make it, she would have said, “You must be mistaken”, in which case he would have offered an alternate arrangement.

It all seemed like such a waste of time and effort. She had met with Brevowski once a week, on different days and at different places, since she’d started working for the senator, and not once had she had anything negative to tell him.

The first week of May, she had spent every minute attached to the hip of Jones’ departing aide. That woman had granted her boss sainthood, as had most of the other staff members Ellery met. That certainly dashed Mr. Brevowski’s hope that she would quickly uncover some juicy secret about Jones. The second week, the aide was too occupied with farewells to be much help and it was all Ellery could do to keep up with her new job.

Last week, she went into the office an hour early each day to familiarize herself with the files kept in her office. As she expected, none contained any surprises.

She was pleased to note that, between her previous experience and the training session, she was quickly operating as though she’d worked there for years instead of weeks.

At least this week she had something specific to tell Brevowski, although it wasn’t what he was hoping for. Senator Jones had spoken before a group of librarians in San Diego this past Monday morning and, to her amazement, he had
instructed
her to go through every drawer in his office while he was out and make sure she knew where everything was kept… including his change of socks in case he stepped in a puddle outside.

If the senator was involved in anything unethical, illegal or unpatriotic, there was no evidence of it in the office.

She would also tell Brevowski about Jones’ mention of her mother. The senator’s expression had been sincerely sad as he spoke of her tragic heart attack and he truly seemed to have admired her. He couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with her mother’s death.

Then why would he say she was going down the stairs instead of coming up?
It was a small mistake, but she couldn’t dismiss it from her mind. She also wondered if that spaced-out expression she had seen on his face was what had spooked her mother. It was strange, but hardly frightening.

The worst thing she could say was that on one or two occasions she had the feeling that the senator was looking at her
too
intently. Not in a sexual way, but as though he was studying her. But then he would smile at her as he did today, and she knew it was only her imagination trying to figure out what had bothered her mother about him.