Shadows and Lies (11 page)

"I wish I could be sure. God I hate playing the martyr. It makes me feel nauseous. You know what I think? This damn country enjoys building people up just so the masses can have the pleasure of tearing them down. They are a bunch of idiots. All of them." After a while she shuddered then said, "I feel like I'm on a tightrope. One misstep and I'm finished."

"It will work. Believe me. It's perfect."

"I just wish..."

"What?"

"I don't know. I just wish it didn't have to be him, that's all."

            
 
MONDAY, August 13

United Wire Service, New York, N.Y.

FLASH   FLASH   FLASH

Former President Jimmy Carter will address the Democratic National Convention in New York City tonight. He will be followed by Senate Minority Leader, Russell Owens. While Carter will speak on traditional Democratic themes and values, Owens is expected to launch a blistering attack on the Republican presidential nominee, Virginia Congressman Hugh Guthers. The First Lady, Rebecca Gordon Tufts, will be the keynote speaker at tomorrow night's gathering.

MORE TO FOLLOW....

NINE

Cleveland Park, 7:17 a.m
.
             

It had been an early winter in St. Louis the previous year. By October an icy wind blew from Canada through the Mississippi River Valley, portending a long, bone-numbing five months. The days were divided between freezing rain or wet snow.

Four months earlier Powers was wrapping up the final report for a joint city, state and federal task force on which he had spent three years, given the benign name of Operation Petal. During his review of wiretap summaries by the various law enforcement agencies he noticed that several close associates of the vice mayor participated in telephone calls to crime targets. Powers reported his observation directly to the chief of police, who, in turn, met with the mayor who expressed his own suspicions concerning his esteemed colleague. Powers was directed to personally read every transcript of the taps or listen to the tapes, if they had not been transcribed, and report his findings orally to the chief and mayor.

Powers had been assigned a small office in the basement of the courthouse and, since he was already there, was also given the court detail. This meant he tracked high profile prosecutions and those pending from Petal’s local indictments to make certain the evidence and officers needed for court were where they were supposed to be.

After three years of field work out-of-state, Powers welcomed the change of pace. His son, Brian, named for his wife's father, was soon to be ten years old and Powers was especially glad to have regular hours since his wife, Gloria, still worked as a nurse and occasionally pulled the swing shift. But, both of them were usually home in the evenings, and for the first time since his son had been born, Powers felt as if he was part of a real family. He completed his review by the end of summer and delivered the report, after which the chief advised the mayor to ask the feds to open an official investigation.

That freezing October night, Powers took the call at court. A rookie cop had stumbled on a Russian mob protection shakedown and done an exceptional job. When the muscle he’d arrested was convicted, the prosecutor was confident they’d role over on their higher ups, men already under indictment from Petal. This case would seal their fate. Though the jury was expected to deliver a quick verdict, the rookie cop was nervous about the outcome, so Powers had called home and told Gloria he'd be late. He was standing by to hold the cop's hand in case the verdict went against him.

The jury was filing in when Power's received word that his house was on fire. He raced across the city's slippery streets in his unmarked car, but by the time he arrived the flames had reached their peak. In the driving sleet, his home was a surreal mass of fire and smoke. A narrow funnel of flame gathered over the house then rose more than a hundred feet into the night. The firefighters were by now attempting to save his neighbor's houses and not having much luck.

Fire Chief Clarence Bayless spotted Powers and hurried over, weighted down with his heavy turnouts. There was soot covering his face and he smelled of charcoal. "Easy, Danny. Take it easy, son." He was a powerfully built man with heavy dark features. Powers could see the pain in the man's eyes.

"Where's Gloria? My son?"

"We got here fast but the place went up like a struck match. Neighbors said they saw movement inside so we went after 'em. I was in there three times, Danny. I got one firefighter I drug out, in the hospital. It's not looking good for him. We knew it was your place, Danny. We knew, but there was nothing we could do, son. It was too late by the time we got here."

"What are you saying? Where is my family?"

Bayless was on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry. I wish the hell I didn't have to be the one to tell you. They didn't make it. They just didn't make it."

The house burned until three in the morning and by then the sleet had turned to wet snow. Mrs. Atkinson who lived across the street had taken Powers in but he had been unable to remain indoors and stood on her porch watching his house. As the fire crew gathered its gear and rolled hoses, Chief Bayless approached Powers. He collapsed on the steps, his features drawn in anguish. "You remember Bobby Murphy?" he said after drawing several deep breaths.

"Sure, Chief. The redhead kid. Freckles."

"That's the one. I just got word that he died at hospital. I never should've let him go in alone that last time. It's my fault."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. We all are. You'll be wanting to know what happened. The arson investigator's on it now but he won't learn anything more than what I can tell you. Here's the way I make it, then I've got to get outta here. I'm too old for this shit. About eleven o’clock, I'd say someone spread gasoline around your house then used two-by-fours to block the doors closed. They lit from at least two places at the same time so I make it as two perps. By the time Gloria woke up the house was surrounded in flames. She never got off the second floor."

"You're certain they're in there?"

The look Bayless gave was world weary. "Yeah, Danny, I'm sure. I saw the bodies myself not ten minutes ago. She was holding Brian when they died. I know it's no consolation but it was the carbon monoxide and smoke that got 'em. They were gone before the flames reached the middle of the house." With some effort Bayless stood up. "Now I've got to see Bobby's widow and break the news to her. I'm putting in for my time. I can't take this anymore. Don't go crazy, Danny. Gloria still loves you and wants you to have a good life. You'll be with her again soon enough. You call if you need anything."

In 23 years as a cop Powers had made several thousand arrests, seen hundreds prosecuted, sent his share to prison and received his measure of threats. In all that effort were dozens of men who could have done this, but he had no doubt where this had come from. It was an act of revenge from an imprisoned dying Russian mobster. The arson investigation led nowhere but by then Powers was retired. He didn’t care if the men who’d set the match were caught or not.

He ignored several job offers and instead moved back to Shalom the afternoon of the funeral. His parents were dead and as the only child he'd inherited their house near the center of town, the one they bought after selling the garage. The fire had taken not just the lives of the two people in the world he loved but also everything else he owned. The blue Brooks Brothers suit he'd been wearing in court that day and a tan raincoat he'd left at the office were all that remained. The only photographs of his family that survived were those in his wallet and on display in his parent's house.

Powers had been emotionally numb and withdrawn since the death of his family. He had no idea what he was going to do with his life. In fact, he could not bear the idea of continuing alone. He spent the rest of that winter ignoring entreaties to join this or that agency, consumed with remodeling the interior of the house, and the next summer with nailing on a new roof. He was rebuilding his '56 Chevy, which his dad had kept stored all those years in the shed in back of the house, when Becky Gordon's telephone call had summoned him to Washington.

Powers had once read an interview with legendary Scottish race car driver Jackie Stewart, in which he'd described the heightening of senses he experienced driving a car at 200 miles an hour. If the grass nearby was freshly cut, its fragrance was perfume to the driver. A single butterfly resting on the smallest flower was seen as if magnified. All the senses were enhanced and it was, Stewart said, this intoxicating experience that race drivers craved even more than sex or their love of life.

Since coming to Washington, Powers had experienced something very like that. He had not been an especially excitable cop but then no one would have called him laid back either. But these past eight months in Shalom had so narrowed the focus of his existence, that his powers of observation were enlarged beyond anything he'd ever experienced. Unlike Stewart's description, it was the world that was racing around Powers, while he participated as if slightly removed from what was taking place. He had never experienced anything like it. It was as if life about him was a movie and he was the spectator.

~

As it often did, the sight of Powers' house burning awakened him. He eased out of the bed so as not to disturb Alta, slipped on the robe, and went to the kitchen where he scrambled eggs, poured juice, and made toast and coffee. His mind had churned during his brief hours of sleep. There were any one of a number of explanations for what he had seen in Marei’s apartment. Both Becky and Alta had implied that no one knew about the blackmail effort except themselves, and of course Marei. But if they were mistaken, and someone at the White House knew of the approach, then it was not out of the question, not after seeing Shanken and Lily, that someone decided to get rid of a presidential embarrassment permanently. Removing the body left a measure of doubt that anyone had been killed as long as the body wasn’t discovered. If that were the case, then someone unknown to Becky associated with the White House already had the tapes.

But why limit his speculation to the White House just because he didn’t like the looks of two men? It was just as likely Marei had told
someone
what she was up to. Everyone trusts someone, and the someone you trust, trusts someone else. He might not like Karp much, but assuming he’d told the truth about Marei’s background, that someone she trusted was as likely to be Arab as not, it
was
Arabs who attacked them. In that case, Marei’s attackers would have been looking to question her and taking whatever they could find that was of use. The blood made no sense if they had been after information unless the situation had spun very out of control. Better to apply pressure that would force her to talk, and if you wanted privacy to do it right, then take her somewhere remote, don’t slice her up in her living room. No, it didn’t appear logical that...

Powers sighed. This was pointless. He could speculate like this all day without resolution. The truth was, he simply didn’t have enough information to know who had attacked Marei and what their motives were. He turned the kitchen radio on low as he sat to eat. The announcer pronounced his words in the solemn, distinct and reassuring manner of all National Public Radio broadcasters.

"...wife of downed Air Force pilot, Major Jeffrey Wolf, demanded again last night that President Tufts secure the release of her husband and his three fellow prisoners being held somewhere in Iraq. Speaking before a gathering of the Vietnam Prisoners of War Society in New York City, she condemned the President's inaction and vowed to lead her crusade into the general election."

A woman's voice now spoke. "Why are were afraid of a tin-pot dictator like Saddam Hussein? Since when must Americans die for the price of oil? Haven't we learned anything? When will President Tufts make good on his promise that he would not tolerate the abuse of my husband and his flight crew? Where are you, Mr. President? Why have you fallen silent?"

The announcer returned. "In Baghdad, Saddam Hussein threatened to execute his American prisoners if coalition forces make a hostile move against him or continue violating Iraqi air space. There is no word as to when military action might take place, but a vote by the UN Security Council authorizing aggressive measures is expected sometime next week. Military experts predict nothing will take place prior to November, the earliest time for favorable weather.

“Tonight, the nation's First Lady, Rebecca Gordon Tufts, will address the Democratic National Convention at Madison Square Garden in New York City. Though her remarks have not been provided to the media it is expected that she will continue her attack on the tobacco industry and call for a moral regeneration of the country, themes she has struck in limited appearances over the summer. Recent polls show Mrs. Tufts popularity now exceeding that of her husband.

"Estelle continues its violent trek northward up the Atlantic seaboard but has been downgraded..."

"Would you like breakfast?" Powers asked as Alta entered the kitchen.

"Just coffee please." She was already dressed and nothing in her manner suggested they had spent the night together. "I need to leave before the Monday morning rush hour traffic sets in. Thanks." She regarded his face before continuing. "How's your cheek?"