Senate Cloakroom Cabal (28 page)

“He improved. I would see him during visits home. Dad wanted Johnny to learn how to drive and put Roper on it, but that was a disaster. Roper had no patience. That happened around the time I had come home to work on my doctorate in history. Dad asked me to teach him instead. I was flabbergasted, but forged ahead.”

“That had to be . . . I mean you and a healthy young man.”

“Yes, I thought about that, but Johnny didn't look at me that way, and believe me, I know
that way
.” She made a grotesque, leering expression.

I broke up. Her caricature was priceless.

“About a year and a half after Dad left the governor's office, he had a small car accident, nothing serious, but it was his fault. He felt it was time to see if Johnny could be his chauffeur. I suggested that he get used to riding in the back seat of his Town Car, while having Johnny drive him around places, never more than a mile from the house.

“Dad declared a week later that Johnny was ready for downtown and taking him to the club. That's when a good relationship became closer. Johnny adores Dad, and Dad reciprocates. Johnny's always with or around him, unless Dad has him off doing something, like picking you or me up at the airport.”

She looked at her watch. “Oh, to be a fly on Fred's wall.”

I was still absorbing Johnny, when my cell phone vibrated. “Excuse me, it's Max. Hi.”

“The FBI arrested our alleged killer on a federal warrant a little less than an hour ago in South Beach. They're bringing him directly to Washington.”

“Wow. I'm with Senator Dalton . . . may I share this with her?”

“Sure.”

“The FBI has arrested one of Mort's killers and is bringing him to DC.”

“That's wonderful news. Tell—” She was interrupted by her cell phone.

“Anything on the other guy?” I asked Max, as Roanne answered her call.

“No. We'll see what, if anything, our man gives up.”

Roanne placed her hand on my arm, whispering, “Gavin.”

“Max, I need to call you back.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Gavin has just left a very distraught, confused, frightened, but feisty Fred Pembroke. We'll meet him in my office.”

I remembered, too late again, that I hadn't told Max I'd played Mort's tape for Crawford, and now Pembroke has heard it, too. I wasn't worried either would make it public, but it did mean more people knew about it.

When we arrived at Roanne's office, I excused myself and went off to call Max. I felt uneasy and worried that I'd done something that could be harmful.

“That was fast,” Max said.

I felt my throat tighten and cleared it. I told him what had transpired and that I was about to hear how it went with Pembroke.

“It doesn't appear to me that either will want to go public, so you haven't blundered badly. However, I would keep that tape under wraps. It could be dangerous for you if the wrong people found out where it came from.”

65

C
rawford was with Roanne when I rejoined her. I was still stinging from the ramifications of what Max had just said to me.

“Fred ranted,” Crawford said. “He accused Stroble of telling a C pack of lies. According to Fred, neither he nor Kelly had a Swiss, Cayman Island, or any other offshore account.”

Roanne looked at him softly. “I'm so sorry you had to go through that.”

Crawford paced. “I knew he was killing the messenger. He had to vent. Finally, in sheer exhaustion, he collapsed into a chair, mumbling about his wife, children, and his long-term status as a senator. He demanded to know how I got the tape. I said I couldn't say. He wasn't happy with that, but after he mulled things over, he calmed down and apologized for his temper.

“He then said, ‘I can't imagine what I ever did to Mort for him to say lies like that about me.'”

That blew my mind.

“What's next?” he asked.

I looked at Roanne and asked, “May I?

She nodded.

“Tomorrow, the
Star
will be running an exclusive report out of Frankfurt, Germany, on a miracle cancer drug.”

“Where'd this come from?”

I told him the story.

“Is Rogers aware of this?”

I nodded. “He's the brains behind it. The patients have been in treatment for three and four months . . . long before Tutoxtamen was turned down by the FDA.”

66

W
hen I joined Jerry and Tyler for breakfast, my husband held up the
Star
's front page. The headline read: MIRACLE CANCER CURE UNCOVERED IN GERMANY!

Travis's interviews and quotes gave a vivid picture of German cancer patients being treated with a powerful, new cancer-curing drug.

Jerry read Travis's story out loud while I ate my breakfast. When he put the paper down, he said, “This ought to stir up a hornet's nest.”

An understatement
, I thought, but still very true.

Jerry took Tyler upstairs for a cleanup, and I reread Travis's piece. I had already planned to stay home and review the journal I'd begun after my first meeting with Roanne Dalton. I wanted to revisit our thinking from early on and compare that to where we were now. Had we skipped over something, a person? I have always found this type of reflection a useful exercise whenever I moved deeply into a case.

Jerry returned with Tyler, who was reaching out for me to hold him. As I took my giggling son, I said to Jerry, “I was thinking about asking Roanne to join us on
Scalawag
this weekend.”

“Fine with me. From what I've heard and seen—”

“Down, boy. She's not flaky enough for you.” I put Tyler into his crib, got him interested in his toys, and then sat with my husband.

“Can you imagine what must be going on in one hundred Senate offices this morning?” I said, reaching for the last piece of toast. “Want this?”

Jerry declined the toast. “No, I'm watching my figure.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Mine is doing very well, thank you.”

“You get no complaints from me.” He put the Business section down. “Where is Senator Dalton in all of this? Eh, not the toast, Tutoxtamen.”

“She wants it approved. She likes Barton's plan of running hard-hitting prescription drug stories. It should gain enthusiasm for her cosponsored bill. Michael will like the pressure they create on Kelly and the pharmas.”

“And you?”

“My story on the conspiracy to dump Tutoxtamen is building, as we tie Kelly and Pembroke to Horowitz in bribery, corruption, and Mort's killing.” I ate the last morsel of toast and chased it with coffee.

“Travis looking for a lost aunt was a bit of genius,” Jerry said. “Something you'd do.”

I smiled, puckered my lips, and blew him a kiss. “The beauty is I'm not openly involved. Travis has put a fresh face on it, and my cover is—”

Jerry interrupted. “There won't be enough hotel or hospital beds in all of Germany for the hordes of Americans who will be flying there. Cancer patients with passports are probably making reservations, as we speak, while their doctors are calling the hospital. Do you think the Germans are manufacturing it?”

“No, Rogers is. That was what Rufus sort of told us, and probably why he flew to some island in the Caribbean last night. Rogers Pharmaceuticals probably supplied the Germans from their pre-
not approvable
stock. Harley had the Germans testing Tutox long before the FDA rejected its being manufactured here.”

“Do you know if Rogers's new offshore operation is up and running?”

I shook my head.

“I mean, he's going to have to restock awfully fast or . . .”

“Our discovery may not rest well with Rogers,” I said. “Although, who knows? This could all be part of his strategy. I'm sure Kelly and the pharmas believe it's Rogers. The question now is what will they do about it?”

67

R
oanne called late that afternoon. “Nancy told Michael that the HELP staff is under the gun to connect the German hospital with Rogers Pharmaceuticals. Fred wants Justice to investigate Rogers for illegal manufacturing and distribution of the drug.”

“How will all this affect your new alliance?” I asked.

“I convinced Al that we should all want to know if it is Rogers.”

“That'll rattle some cages. I like your thinking, though.”

“And fortunately, it worked perfectly. When Fred convened his committee, Al asked for a minute that Fred begrudgingly granted. Al announced that the minority unanimously supported the chairman. After the shock wore off, Fred was elated, put off the meeting, and asked Al to join him on a call to the attorney general.”

“That's awesome,” I said enthusiastically. “Have you heard from your father?”

“He and Johnny are taking underwater diving lessons.”

“Sounds like they're making a stay out of it.”

“Dad's very adventurous, especially when he's away from Mom. It wouldn't surprise me if they stayed a week. It would be great for both of them.”

“Speaking of being adventurous, I realize this is short notice, but Jerry and I would like you to join us on
Scalawag
. . . for a day over the weekend.”

She paused a moment. “Is there a day you prefer over the other?”

68

R
oanne preferred Saturday. Jerry suggested that we could take a run down to Mount Vernon. “Give our senator with a PhD in history a little history.”

Roanne arrived at the marina's gate exactly at 10:00. On board, she met Tyler, and I showed her the galley, head, and salon. Jerry was in seventh heaven having two women to boss around. Once into the channel, Roanne went below to change. She had come on board wearing dress-up casual. She changed into a two-piece bathing suit and a light, long-sleeved, baby-blue cover-up.

Jerry pointed out all of the navigational and communications equipment, going over what to do in the event of an emergency. He demonstrated a life jacket and self-inflating raft in the manner of a flight attendant with an oxygen mask. Now that we had Tyler, I felt I needed the indoctrination session too. I had never sailed without Jerry and had never given survival much of a thought beyond where these items were stowed.

Jerry powered us out onto the Potomac River where we picked up a light breeze and hoisted the mainsail and headsail, or jib. We set out downstream. Roanne enjoyed seeing Reagan National Airport from the water, the coastline of southeast Washington, and the mild confluence with the Anacostia River.

“This is glorious,” she exclaimed, sitting aft with us.

We sailed under the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, the main north/south traffic artery that carried Interstate 95 travelers on the easterly bypass around Washington. As we neared Mount Vernon, we hauled in the sail and converted over to motor.

Ro—she asked us to call her that—and I started below to fix lunch, as

Jerry said, “Once we anchor, Tyler and I will work on the principles of navigation.”

As we reached the galley, Ro said, “Your husband has quite a sense of humor.”

“What? Oh, the navigation. I admit, at eight months, Tyler's a very inquisitive, energetic child, but not a phenom. At least, I don't think so.”

We laughed. “Jerry seems very attentive to Tyler. Does he help out a lot?”

“If I'd let him, he'd hog Tyler—cleaning, feeding, the whole works. He has two teenage boys and sadly admits he never did much of that with them. Beth had been a stay-at-home mother, and he'd been working long hours as a criminal defense attorney.”

Ro cut celery sticks while I cleaned the lettuce.

I broke the silence. “I'm living a life I had never dreamt about having before I met Jerry.”

Ro nodded and smiled. “I've wondered whether I might ever have a relationship or get married again. It would take a man with extreme patience, understanding, and strong self-esteem to fit into my life.”

“Jerry and I clicked immediately. After our first date, I knew I was with a very special man. The first time we made love was right here.” I indicated the V-bunk forward. “I didn't want to leave
Scalawag
Sunday night for fear it would all turn out to be a dream.

“That Monday morning was the pits. I normally couldn't wait for Mondays so I could get back to work. Jerry had to go out of town for two days, and I was crazy.
Would he ever call? Would I ever see him again?
He called Monday afternoon and asked if we could have dinner Tuesday. We were both smitten. He lived on board, and I had a one-bedroom apartment in Cleveland Park, just north of the National Zoo. We wintered in the apartment and summered on the water.

“We courted eight months before tying the knot. It could have been sooner, but I put it off. I'd been on my own for seventeen years from when I left home for college. Jerry didn't rush me. He cut down his asking to only once a day.”

We giggled.

“H.T. and I started out more old-school. Our wedding night was our first time. We came close several times, but . . . well, I didn't want anything to go wrong. We had a huge June wedding. My mother did everything she could to turn it into a royal ball.

“H.T. had been Dad's attorney general. I helped in his campaign and in Dad's reelection. That's when we met, but we didn't date. I liked him, but my interests then were getting my master's and teaching. In the middle of H.T.'s four-year term as AG, Dad wanted him to run for the US Senate; the incumbent was retiring. He also wanted me to run H.T.'s campaign. We naturally began spending considerable time together.”

I joked, “He'd have to have been a monk not to feel something.”

She smiled shyly. “The heat of the battle turned up our emotional heat as well. It took great willpower not to jump into bed with him. We agreed to concentrate on the election, and then we'd talk about our future.

“After H.T. won, we announced our engagement and Mom set out to have a coronation. You've seen the country club. It's a perfect setting. It was also another wedge in my relationships with my brother and sister. Neither received the same treatment . . . although under normal circumstances, you'd have thought their weddings lavish.”