Dev Conrad - 03 - Blindside (20 page)

He had one major failing, did ex-Governor Will Carney, and the press and political cartoonists had always enjoyed bringing attention to it. Once he started talking he never wanted to stop. You needed ten armed guards to drag him off the stage. And he'd still be talking as they dragged him.

Today was no different. He got so intensely involved in talking about the kind of debate this state deserved – he'd been a pretty good governor: honest and inventive and willing to work with our side – that the initial surge of surprise and pleasure he'd brought with him now became weary resignation. When was this old fart ever going to shut up?

I decided now was as good a time as any.

‘You're in a lot of trouble. And maybe I can help you. But I'm sick of chasing you around. You call me if you change your mind. But you don't have much time.'

I didn't give her a chance to say anything. I just stood up, my laptop under my arm, and started to walk out of the auditorium.

In the lobby a harried-looking Lucy Cummings was hanging up her coat. When she saw me she rushed over, breathless. ‘God, I'm sorry I'm late. I had to set things up with this caterer for the party after the debate tonight. He wanted all this fancy food. I told him there'd be a cross section of people there so to keep it simple.' She crossed her eyes. I appreciated her making me laugh. It felt good. ‘I think I offended him. He said that his clientele always wants sushi. I told him that most of the union guys would probably prefer little fried pieces of shrimp. He said maybe I should go to Red Lobster. Actually, that sounds pretty good to me. I love Red Lobster.' Then: ‘God, here I am running my mouth off and Jeff's in there alone.' She touched my arm. ‘Bye.'

TWENTY

W
hen I got back to my hotel Sylvia Fordham was sitting in the lobby in her best Audrey Hepburn pose. The lovely naïf lost in a world of sensationalism and sin. The dress was a simple blue number that modestly revealed the slender but comely body. She sat on a couch reading the
National Review
. I curbed my desire to take a match and set it on fire.

She pretended not to notice me when I sat down next to her.

‘You look very nice today, Sylvia. How about going upstairs with me?'

Her gaze rose from the magazine and settled on me. The smile was playful. ‘I knew you'd come around someday. Even as much as you hate me.'

‘I don't hate you, Sylvia. I just think you're a reprehensible threat to our republic.'

‘Well, if that's all—' The smile remained.

‘So what happened to last night's big announcement?'

‘You feel like a drink?'

‘It's early.'

‘Then you get Kool-Aid or something. I'm having a drink.'

And so she did. We were tucked away in a booth in the hotel bar. It was dark enough to get lost in. You needed a coal miner's lighted hat to get around. The waitress appeared out of the gloom as if she'd stepped from another dimension. I had coffee and Sylvia had a double Scotch straight up. If I didn't know her, it would be easy to have one of those eight-hour crushes on her. She really was beautiful and quietly sexual.

‘I can't believe this. Here I've got the best piece of evidence I've ever had against an opponent and I can't use it. This is really bullshit, Dev.'

‘I can say the same, Sylvia. Remember that. But you haven't told me about last night.'

The waitress must have been wearing track shoes. She reappeared out of the vortex in what seemed like seconds. After she was gone again, Sylvia said, ‘I'd usually go ahead on my own with something like this – I just assumed Rusty would be happy with taking Ward down this way. But when I went out to his place and told him about what I'd set up with the TV station he blew up at me. He finally told me the truth about the blackmail, how he was being shaken down the same way Ward was. He said absolutely no way did he want me to run the clip.' A sigh followed that Bette Davis would have considered too dramatic. ‘When I write my memoirs I'm going to mention this incident as the most perfect takedown I ever had – and couldn't use.' Then: ‘Now what I want to know, since we're sort of in this together, is who's blackmailing them?'

‘I'm not sure. I'm beginning to suspect who but I don't want to say anything until I know more.'

‘And you're still covering up the fact that Nolan's missing?'

‘You've got spies everywhere.'

‘Everywhere.'

‘Was Jim Waters one of yours?'

‘Wouldn't
you
like to know?'

‘That means he wasn't.'

‘If you say so.'

‘This is like third grade.'

‘I had a great time in third grade.'

She waved for another drink. ‘The debate tonight should be interesting. They're both up there going through the motions when the only thing either of them wants to talk about is how the other guy went to this whorehouse all the time.'

I'd never known her to be giddy but she was close to it now. She was a killer but at least she had a sense of irony. I'll bet neither Hannibal nor Genghis Khan had a sense of irony.

After she sipped her freshener, she said, ‘Our internals say we're neck and neck.'

‘Same here. Margin of error.'

‘Well, it's going to be interesting to see what you do next, Dev.'

‘I'm sure you'll come up with something that'll degrade all the standards of taste and decency.'

‘I'll try but doing it isn't as easy as it looks. I wish I was as much of a bitch as people think.' The way she was playing with her glass, twisting it around, I realized she was stalling. I'd wondered why she'd come to my hotel. I had pretty much surmised by now that Burkhart had been afraid to run the video of the prostitute talking about Ward because then Ward would run the video about Burkhart. It was nice that Sylvia had confirmed it for me but it was unlike her to be so friendly and offer so much information.

‘Well,' I said, ‘I need to get upstairs. Work to do, Sylvia. I'm sure you've got a lot of work, too.'

So of course she got down to it. ‘Why the hell are you chasing after Burkhart's wife?'

‘We've talked a few times, so what?'

‘About what?'

‘She's a nice woman. I like talking to nice women.'

‘She's a conniving bitch.'

‘Really? Gosh, I didn't get that impression at all.'

‘Look, asshole, what's really going on with you two?'

‘Ah, the Sylvia Fordham I know and love. “Asshole” is pretty mild for you.'

‘I have a right to know.'

My laugh penetrated the darkness like the beacon of a lighthouse. ‘You do? And by what right would that be?'

‘Because Rusty's my candidate and anything that affects him affects his wife. And it's very strange that you and his wife have been seen talking together at least twice.'

I wondered if she knew about Mrs Burkhart and David Nolan.
Their
meetings.

‘Why don't you ask Mrs Burkhart if you're so interested?'

‘Because I'm asking
you
.'

‘Look, Sylvia. I meant what I said. I have a lot of work to do and I know you do, too. Tonight's the big night for both sides. There's a lot of prep still to be done. There isn't much point sitting here trying to find out something from me when I don't have anything to tell you.'

‘Bullshit.'

‘I met her a few times completely by accident and we did our best to be civil about the campaign. That's all.'

‘You're already lying. The girl at campaign headquarters said that you came there specifically asking to see Mrs Burkhart.'

‘I remember asking if that was Mrs Burkhart. She's a good-looking woman. But I did not ask to see her.'

‘You're lying.'

I was on my feet. ‘Always pleasant to see you, Sylvia.'

‘You bastard. You're lying and you know it.'

The waitress materialized and said, ‘Will there be anything else?'

I smiled at Sylvia. ‘She'd like three more of what she's been having.'

Behind the waitress's back Sylvia flipped me off.

TWENTY-ONE

I
n my room I went through all my e-mails, most of which I deleted. That penis enhancer I'd ordered had worked so well that I'd had to buy all new trousers. If I bought another bottle of the stuff I'd have to start wearing trench coats even indoors to hide my new love powers. None of this was true but this was basically what some unnamed guy said in the advert that they e-mailed me. Apparently the guy was planking everything female that moved and the women were circling back for more twenty-four/seven. ‘Yes, I want to be a STUD!' Just check here and leave your credit card number. But the fun was over. I hit delete.

The phone calls came back to back. First I heard from Nan Talbot, Lucy's friend at the small-town newspaper. I'd asked her to see if she could find anything about the rift between Ward and Nolan back in '93.

‘I found three stories about their relationship. Two of the stories refer to the falling-out, but without any details. I asked one of the old-timers here and he said he'd been told by somebody who knew both of them that it was over a girl Nolan was dating in college. I guess Ward managed to get her into bed. Nolan didn't know this for a long time but one night the girl got drunk and told him everything. So he and Ward had this falling-out and didn't speak for a long time.'

No surprise. Ward's psychology was as mysterious as ever to me. Was having sex with his best friend's woman his way of showing that he was the superior of the two? Or was it just that he couldn't keep his hands off women and gave no thought to their relationship with other men? I remember a movie star of Golden Age Hollywood vintage saying that when you bedded a married woman you felt a real sense of accomplishment. Like climbing a mountain, I guess.

‘The most interesting thing is that Nolan's first client was a guy from the other party. A guy who was running in the primary. If he'd won he would have faced Ward. So it would have been Nolan versus Ward. That would have been interesting.'

‘No kidding. But then they got back together again later on, right?'

‘Yes. But there's no indication why. I guess just because they'd been friends for so long.'

‘Thanks, Nan. I really appreciate it.'

I was just starting across the room to the fridge for a cold V8 when the phone rang again. It was Matt Boyle, the whiz kid/oppo man from Silberman-Penski that I kept on retainer.

‘Now a lot of this was known the first time Burkhart ran for governor. But I've fleshed out some of it here. Teresa Burkhart, aka Susan Wallace aka Nicole Steele or Teresa Sievers, her real name. Sievers was born 1980, Billings, Montana. Father managed a lumberyard, mother a clerk at a dress shop. Teresa Sievers attended Montana State for two years then dropped out to go to New York. Did some minor modeling but no real success. Became the mistress of a prominent attorney. Moved to the West Coast after a few years and tried acting. Was in a few local commercials. Again only minor success. Hooked up with a reality show producer and was his mistress for two years. At this point she was Susan Wallace. It was under this name that she met Rusty Burkhart. The pattern here's pretty clear. A kept woman who really enjoys the good life, as they say. She has one problem. The rumors are that all of her affairs with rich men ended because she always had younger men on the side and eventually got caught so she got dumped. This might be the case with your Burkhart, but I have no way of knowing. But she's married this time so she should have a big payday in store if anything goes wrong. Oh, by the way, she went back to her real name, Teresa Sievers, when she married him. Hard to say if she wanted to start off being honest with him or if she didn't want to give him any legal grounds to avoid a big divorce settlement. Marrying under a false name would put her in some jeopardy.'

‘You were right. She gets her big payday.'

‘Less if he can nail her. From the little I know of him he probably had somebody do a background check on her before he married her so he's no doubt been keeping an eye on her. A guy his age and a trophy wife – especially after he dumps his wife of thirty-six years – he's got to worry about karma even if he doesn't know what it means.'

‘Yeah, they focus grouped the wife dumping. Even the conservative women who liked him otherwise had some doubts about him because of that.'

‘They were thinking about their own husbands dumping them for a young one.'

‘Exactly. Well, keep looking. You might turn up a little more.'

I shaved again, showered, put on the successful middle-aged guy gray pinstripe with the white tab-collared shirt, the red power tie, the black socks, and the dependable Midwestern black oxfords. Macho doesn't do much for me but I've never been able to figure out why some men like tassels on their shoes. Tassels should be reserved for strippers.

Then came the first of several surprises for the night.

She was downright prim in a royal-blue sheath dress, black cashmere coat, black heels, and black leather gloves. She presented me with a smile, a bit strained, true, but pleasant nonetheless, and a proffered hand, which confused me. Was I to kiss it? Thankfully, she just allowed me to shake it with my own hand.

‘May I come in?'

I thought of how well the Japanese were doing with robots. This one obviously came from their new line of Mrs Burkharts. The nasty ones had endured scrap metal death.

‘Something I can help you with?'

An injured tone. ‘I thought maybe we could be friends. You sound mad.'

‘Not mad. Just curious.'

‘Well, the least you could do is invite me in. I don't exactly like standing in the hallway.'

I stepped aside. She usually moved with a self-conscious sweep; tonight she was more modest. Smaller steps and no grand gestures. She said nothing until I closed the door.