Dev Conrad - 03 - Blindside (4 page)

The café was busy with people who had decided that the food here was what they wanted instead of the more dramatic feast awaiting them in the hotel restaurant. I found a copy of the day's
Chicago Tribune
and took one of the few empty booths.

Tuning out the clamor took a few minutes. Dishes clattering, waitresses calling out orders to the cooks, laughter, the occasional shout of ‘We're over here!' and the hostess asking me if I was sure all I wanted was coffee. This was how she let me know that she didn't like the idea – not at all – that I was taking up a booth for a lousy two-dollar cup of coffee. It wasn't worth explaining that I would have been happy to sit at the counter but all the stools were taken.

The
Trib
did an extensive rundown of state races. According to their numbers we were only four points behind Burkhart. They noted that we'd been down but were struggling back now. This was the best kind of press and I hoped the local TV news people would pick it up. As much as they liked Burkhart, they liked the horse race even more. This was the kind of story they could lead with, even though public polls generally aren't as reliable as our own internals.

The other story that interested me was about a Montana man who'd announced for governor saying that there were some who thought that this country would be better off if we tried the president for treason. It was too easy to claim, as too many Beltway media stars insisted, that what we were experiencing was just a silly season of nut jobs. But as I'd seen this afternoon, handguns and assault weapons made this season anything but silly. Insurrection was in the air. People came close to saying that the president should be murdered. And by now there was enough such talk that the mainstream media took it all in their stride.

‘You look angry.'

I raised my head to stare into the ice-blue eyes of Kathy Tomlin, Jeff Ward's media buyer.

‘Not any more so than usual.' She was nice enough to match my smile.

‘Mind if I sit down?'

‘Not at all.'

I've learned that when a pretty girl, and by God she was, offers to sit with you, the idea of turning her away rarely crosses your mind. She was a bit tousled and worn from the day but that only meant she worked hard and took things seriously.

‘I'm almost afraid to ask you what you thought of our staff. We're all a little wasted.'

‘I've seen worse.'

‘That bad?'

‘Are you kidding? I once spent three days with a staff that had fist fights right in the office. The campaign manager got his nose smashed in the last day I was there. And three of the women were planning on filing sexual harassment suits.'

‘Wow. Could you give me their address? That sounds like fun.' Very white teeth. You could fall in love with those teeth.

‘They've disbanded. The campaign manager went to the slammer for embezzling, one of the single girls got pregnant, two of the married women got divorced and one of the tough guys got punched out by a guy half his size.'

‘They were all on our side, of course.'

‘Of course.'

This time the smile was wan. ‘I used to be so idealistic.'

‘My father was a political consultant for most of his life. Jeff's father saved his life, in fact. They worked together. I've always had the fever but I lost the idealism by the time I was fifteen or so.'

‘Your virginity.'

‘In a way, I suppose.'

A waitress hovered. Kathy ordered. She had just made the hostess happy. The booth was now occupied by at least one person who was ordering food. ‘They have the best cheeseburgers in town. That's why I always come here after work. Especially nights when I have to go back to the office. My little treat.'

I sat back. ‘What's wrong with Nolan?'

‘That's a strange question.'

‘He was there in body only today. One minute he looked sad, the next he looked like he was having an out-of-body experience.'

‘I'm sure he's just worn out like the rest of us. We've worked so hard. We planned on being six or seven points up by now. David was the only one who kept saying we weren't taking Burkhart seriously enough. Jeff just laughed him off, said he was a freak. Turns out David was right. As usual.'

‘So you don't know of any major personal problem he's having?'

I had the sense she was holding something back from me. ‘No, no. He's just a very serious guy. He works very hard mentally and sometimes he's just off in his own little world. You aren't eating?'

The transition closed off further questions. ‘I need to catch some sleep. I've had about four hours in the last thirty hours and it's starting to take its toll. I'm supposed to look things over and see if I can come up with any ideas for improvement.'

‘So you're really not going to suggest firing people?'

‘Yes, I am. And I'm thinking of starting with you.'

She said, ‘I think you like me. I don't think you'd do it.'

‘I'd like you even more if I wasn't falling asleep.'

‘I must be fascinating company.'

I stood up. ‘I think you know better than that.'

The dreams I had disturbed me. When the call came on my cell phone I had to claw my way through the afterbirth of the people and images I'd created. In that instant when I was free again I felt depressed, even a bit afraid.

Lucy Cummings was half shouting. ‘You need to get down here right away.'

‘Lucy?'

‘Oh God, Dev. Were you asleep? I'm sorry. The police are here and everything.'

‘The police?'

‘Somebody killed Jim Waters and left him in his car. I found him about half an hour ago.'

I almost said that Waters was supposed to have called me about dinner. But that was useless and pointless information now.

I was on my feet. ‘Is Jeff there?'

‘He was out at the local college for a talk tonight. But he canceled and rushed back here.'

‘All right. I'll be there in a few minutes.'

In the bathroom I splashed water on my face. I kept thinking of the things Joan Rosenberg had told me about Waters. A lost soul for sure. I also thought about how he didn't fit into the group around Congressman Ward. They were sleek pros. He was an awkward loner without any polish at all.

I grabbed a fresh shirt and pair of chinos and then worked into my dark blue suede jacket. I felt sorry for Waters the more I played back some of the things he'd said and the way he'd looked. But those feelings only made me wonder about what he'd been going to tell me at dinner.

FIVE

E
mergency lights of red and blue played across the night sky like tracers in a war. Traffic was down to one lane east and west. The crowd was already formidable. TV people lugging cameras and camera packs surged against the cops who pushed them back into the crowd.

I got as close as I could – three-quarters of a long block away – and tried to figure out which would be the fastest way to get to a cop. The night air was chill and fresh, that autumn briskness that can revive the dead. All too soon I was working my way with elbows and nudges through knots of people who'd gathered to be terrified and spellbound by death. Aromas of perfume, aftershave, cigarettes, sweat, booze.

I was pretty sure the last guy I squeezed by wanted to punch me but then he looked at my face. I was at least five inches taller than he was so he decided against it. I was never especially tough but I'd learned how to look and act tough without getting all John Wayne about it. (I read a piece of movie criticism lately that set forth the notion that John Wayne and Clint Eastwood were a boy's notion of what tough guys were whereas Lee Marvin was the real thing. I agreed.)

Even before I opened my mouth the uniformed woman standing sentry said, ‘Get back in line there!'

I shoved my wallet at her.

‘Am I supposed to be impressed?'

‘I'm a consultant working with the Ward campaign. They called me at my hotel and told me to get over here right away.'

She flipped the wallet open. ‘Dev Conrad.'

‘That's right. You can check me out.'

She waved me back then went to work on her communicator. She turned away as she spoke. She was probably saying that there was this loser here who was trying to crash the crime scene. Then she was in my face again. ‘They're checking you out. Just stay where you are.'

She started walking her side of the line. A male uniform worked the rest of it.

From the conversations around me nobody but the cops had any idea what had happened here. The word ‘terrorist' sliced the air though I wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. If a terrorist of some kind had killed Waters he must have been one of Burkhart's crazier followers.

Several feet away the female officer started talking to her shoulder again. She studied me as she listened. As she walked up to me she said, ‘I guess you're all right. You can walk up to the front door and the sergeant there will tell you what to do then.' Her tone said she still didn't like me or trust me.

A half-dozen voices started whining behind me. They didn't know who I was but they sure as hell didn't like me anyway. I could have been a priest, rabbi, or even doctor. It didn't matter. I was some jerk-off who got to go inside.

The sergeant was a burly middle-aged black man with gray hair and gray mustache. He was at least as skeptical about me as the female cop had been. ‘You belong in here, huh?'

‘I'm working here for a few days.'

‘This is a crime scene.'

I didn't say anything.

‘That means you don't touch anything and I mean anything. You walk along that wall to the back where you'll ask for Lieutenant Neame. She's a lady. She'll take it from there.'

We stood just outside the entrance. He pointed to the wall I was to follow. ‘I'm going to be standing here watching you. You go straight back and you make it fast. I got other problems I need to attend to.'

I shrugged and started my walk. I wasn't alone. Four cops with flashlights were scanning the ground looking for anything worth bagging.

Lieutenant Neame was big and dark-haired. I imagined she was something of an athlete. With her gray pantsuit and snappy voice she had the intimidation thing down just right. She dispatched her troops with blunt force trauma. God help you if you disobeyed. Part of this, I assumed, was for show. She needed to hold her own with all the macho guys who didn't like taking orders from a woman.

‘And you would be Dev Conrad, I guess, huh?'

‘That's what they tell me.'

‘Cute.' Then: ‘Did you know James Francis Waters?'

The back of the headquarters was filled with an ambulance and three squad cars. A dusty, dull, ten-year-old Volvo sat in the center of the parking lot. The hood and the trunk were up. All the doors were open. Three different officers in suits worked over the interior.

‘I met him this afternoon. We were supposed to have dinner tonight.'

‘What time?'

‘We left that open. I went back to my hotel to have a nap. He had my cell phone number. He was supposed to call me. Then we were supposed to eat in the hotel restaurant.'

‘That's the Royale?'

‘Right.'

‘Any special reason you were having dinner with him?'

Before I could answer, two of the cops working on the car came up to her. The three of them had one of those football-like huddles meant to exclude the ears of outlanders. Namely me.

When they were done she was all mine again. ‘So why were you having dinner with him?'

‘I'm just here for forty-eight hours. He was under the impression – the wrong impression – that I was here to suggest shaking up the staff.'

‘Meaning firing people?'

‘Right.'

‘Just why
are
you here?'

‘Every campaign needs to be assessed from time to time. Congressman Ward's father was a close friend of my father's. Tom Ward thought I might have a few ideas about improving things here. Streamlining them.'

‘He's not going to win. Burkhart is.'

‘Is that a paid political announcement?'

She was very good at hiding how much she cared for me.

‘Ward and three of his staffers are inside being interviewed by two of my officers. I want them to interview you, too.'

‘I don't know much. I didn't meet the staff until a few hours ago.'

‘The back door is standing open. Don't touch anything or speak to any of the officers. They're busy. Just go straight inside. One of the officers in uniform will take you to where the interviews are being conducted. This place is going to be hell within another twenty minutes or so. We need you all to cooperate because we're going to get state press here right away. And maybe even national press, too. And that's going to make our job one hell of a lot harder.'

‘I understand.'

The downturn of her lips said she doubted it.

She was right about the uniformed officer waiting for me just inside the opened back door. He was young, tall, scrawny, and had an Adam's apple the size of a baseball.

‘Follow me, please.'

The police were using the conference room for the interviews. Two offices down sat Lucy Cummings and Kathy Tomlin.

The officer escorted me inside the office and then pointed to the sole empty chair on the visitor's side of the desk. Nobody said anything. I sat down next to Lucy.

‘He's dead,' Kathy said. Big tears loomed on the lower edges of her blue eyes. ‘At least he died in that Captain America jacket he loved so much. It sounds crazy, but it meant a lot to him.' Then: ‘I wish I would have been more of a help to him.'

Enough of remorse. There would be time for that later. The big problem now was managing the press. ‘What the hell happened, anyway?' All I knew was that he'd been found murdered in his car. This would be the most predictable kind of story – a mystery inside a political campaign. Was some sleazy secret being kept from the public? Was this poor young man killed because he knew too much? Burkhart would hire extra PR flacks to push this story twenty-four/seven.