The Legacy (17 page)

Jeez, bite my head off, why dont you?

Sorry, Anita. Cole recognized the receptionists nasal tone. Im not in a great mood. Despite the fact that his portfolio had gained in the morning session as interest rates had decreased unexpectedly, he was still unhappy. He had already tried calling Nicki twice this morning in Duluth, but the Andersons answering machine had picked up both times. God, if he could just talk to her. Whats up?

Theres someone out here to see you.

Coles mood brightened. Maybe Nicki had taken an early flight back to New York this morning and was out front waiting for his apology, which he would be only too glad to give her. Or perhaps the people from the Blue Moon had decided to stop by. His spirits fell as quickly as they had risen. Who is it?

Some woman who isnt your type.

That didnt sound like a representative from the Blue Moonor Nicki. How can you tell she isnt my type, Anita?

Because Im the only type for you.

I see. He could hear Anita laughing at the other end of the line. Ill be right there.

Why dont you let me tell her youre too busy? Anita suggested. Let me take care of her.

If I let you take care of her, shed probably end up in the East River, facedown. Cole suddenly realized that Gebauer was listening intently to the conversation. Ill be right out, he said. See you in a minute. He put down the receiver and headed for the doors at the far end of the trading floor.

Anita nodded toward a couch in a far corner of the reception area as Cole came through the door. He turned and was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. The woman sat at one end of the sofa, legs crossed at the knees, perusing a magazine. Shoulder-length sandy brown hair was swept back off her tanned face by a black velvet hairband. Her features were sharpstraight dark brows above turquoise cat eyes, a slim nose over thin lips and two perfect rows of teeth. She wore an attractive lace blouse and high-waisted pants that clung pleasingly to her slender figure.

Im Cole Egan. He stood a few feet in front of her. Were you looking for me?

Without urgency she closed the magazine, placed it on the glass-topped table beside the sofa, looked up at Cole and raised an eyebrow. All my life, she said seductively. Her voice was gravelly and naturally tantalizing.

She was pretty, not breathtaking like Nicki, but she had an immediate and powerful sex appeal oozing from her cat eyes and her sinewy body. Nickis allure lay not only in her beauty but also in her innocence. She was demure and quiet, and the possibility of unlocking that innocence had always fascinated Cole. This womans allure came at him from the other end of the spectrum. She didnt appear to be that much older than Nicki, but something told Cole she knew what she wanted and would do anything to get it. Something Nicki wasnt capable of.

He grinned. I dont know quite how to take that.

Take it any way you want to, she said matter-of-factly. She stood up and offered her hand. My names Victoria Brown, but my friends call me Tori. Id like you to do that.

It was almost as if her vocal cords had been damaged, but the effect was sexy as hell. All right . . . Tori. Cole checked her hands quickly. Her fingers were long and her nails perfect, professionally glossed a subtle pink. And there was no wedding or engagement band on her left hand. What can I do for you? he asked.

Im with NBC News. She lowered her voice as she noticed Anita watching them carefully. I saw your fathers obituary in the New York Times. Im very sorry.

Thanks, but why did you bother coming here to give your condolences? Couldnt you have just called?

My office is in Rockefeller Center. It wasnt far to walk.

Its freezing outside.

And if I had just called, you might not have agreed to see me, she pointed out.

You knew my father? Cole asked.

No.

Then why are you here?

Lets go to lunch. My treat, Tori offered, avoiding the question. A restaurant would be a much better place to talk. And its about that time. She glanced at Anita again, then at Cole. Ill explain at the restaurant, she assured him.

Im a government securities trader, Cole said. Usually we eat lunch at the desk.

I guess the market might fall apart if you werent around for even a little while. The way it could every night after you leave, Tori said, alluding to the fact that government securities traded actively in Tokyo and London while traders in New York were home asleep. Unless of course the senior people only allow you to take intraday positions and you have to sell everything before your mother tucks you in at night, she teased.

No, Im a big boy. So Tori Brown knew her way around a trading floor. I take overnight positions when the markets right.

That sounds interesting. Maybe youll show me some of those positions.

Cole smiled. Tori Brown was quite a pistol. Mmm.

So come on, lets go, she urged.

I dont know. Cole was leery of people in the news business. They always wanted something and rarely had much to give in return. At least, that was his experience.

You mean youd rather hang around with a bunch of traders you see every day than me? She smiled provocatively.

The image of Gebauer gnawing off a huge bite of his daily two-thousand-calorie chicken parmigiana hero flashed through Coles mind. He could see the cheese and spaghetti sauce dripping out of either side of Gebauers mouth and splattering onto the foil wrapper he used as a plate. Okay, you convinced me. But how do you know so much about overnight positions?

I had a boyfriend who traded Eurobonds at Salomon Brothers.

I see. It was obvious from her tone that the breakup hadnt been amicable.

Where would you like to go? Tori asked.

How about La Reserve? Cole suggested. Thats over your way, toward Rockefeller Center.

She shook her head. Ive got a better idea.

Well, Im glad you asked me.

Welcome to my world. She smiled as she walked quickly toward the elevators.

Cole followed her, ignoring Anita, who was sticking her tongue out at him as he passed.

Fifteen minutes later Cole and Tori slipped into a booth at the Broadway Diner. It was loud and, instead of five-star French food, served hamburgers, sandwiches and malts.

Interesting. Cole glanced around. The restaurant was decorated with fifties memorabilia.

Whats the matter? she asked, grinning. Not stylish enough for a Wall Street trader?

No, its fine.

Most of us cant afford La Reserve lunches, Cole. We dont make what you do.

Dont be so sure, he muttered under his breath.

What did you say?

Nothing. He smiled at her. I assume NBC is picking up the tab for this.

Yes, she agreed. Of course it is. But our expense accounts are much smaller than Wall Streets.

What do you do at NBC? Cole asked, ignoring her pointed remark.

Im a producer.

Do you have a card?

She rummaged through her purse for a moment, then shook her head. Sorry, I left them at the office, but Ill make certain you get one.

Uh-huh. Likely story, he thought to himself.

A waiter with a bushy mustache sauntered toward the table. Are you two ready to order? he asked as he was still walking toward them.

Cole reached for the menus propped between the paper napkin dispenser and the wall. We havent

Were ready, Tori interrupted. Ill have a chicken salad on wheat with lettuce and tomato and a Diet Coke. She pointed at Cole. Hell have a cheeseburger, medium rare, with an order of french fries and a Pepsi. Give him the high-octane stuff. No diet for him.

Be just a few minutes, the waiter said gruffly as he moved off.

Youre a woman who doesnt wait around. Cole replaced the menus behind the napkin dispenser.

We dont have time to wait around in the news business.

How did you know what to order me?

What American male doesnt like a cheeseburger? Oh, they might say theyd rather have a salad, that greens are healthier, but they dont really mean it.

Cole laughed, watching her closely as she constantly surveyed the restaurant. She was like Bennett that way, always searching the perimeter with her cat eyes. How did you find me, Tori? I didnt mention myself in my fathers obituary.

I have a friend at the Times, she explained. When I became aware of the obituary, I called her. She gave me your name as the person who placed it.

I cant imagine thats standard practice at the Timesto give out names like that, I mean.

My friends are very loyal to me, and Im loyal to them. Youd never find out who my contact is, she said confidently.

Im sure I wouldnt. Tori Brown was tough and aggressive, and she didnt mind letting you know it.

Ill get to the point. Without awaiting Coles answer, Tori reached into her purse again and pulled out an old newspaper clipping stored inside a clear plastic envelope. She handed it to Cole. Treat it carefully.

Of course. He slid the yellowed paper from its sheath, carefully unfolded it and began to read.

Let me give you the Readers Digest version, she offered impatiently.

Okay. But he kept reading as she talked.

That is a back-page article from the November 26, 1963 edition of the Dallas Morning News. The story is about a young woman named Andrea Sage who claims she was in Dealey Plaza on November 22nd and filmed the assassination of President Kennedy with a Bell & Howell spring-wound movie camera she had purchased in Dallas the day before the shooting. Miss Sage was certain the film would be invaluable to the investigation. The trouble was, someone confiscated her camera and film just after the assassination occurred. The person she accused of taking her camera was

was Jim Egan, Cole interrupted. My father.

So Im not telling you anything you dont know?

No. Thanks to Bennett Smith, Cole thought to himself.

Good. Then you probably know why Im here, too.

He shook his head. Actually, I dont.

She lowered her head so that her chin was almost touching the formica tabletop. I want to buy the film, of course, she said in a low voice. And I have authorization to pay a great deal of money if we feel the footage is important.

How much is a great deal?

Eight figures.

But I thought the networks didnt pay for film footage.

Tori waved and shook her head. That was in the old days. Now we have to compete with everyone else to survive. ABC paid a freelance photographer for footage of the Pol Pot trial last year. It happens all the time now. She picked up her straw and removed the paper wrapper. Besides, all bets are off when it comes to a new recording of President Kennedys assassination. The Kennedys are as big as the British royals in terms of public interest. It would be a windfall for NBC to have an exclusive on the recording, and my executives know that.

What in the world makes you think I have it? Cole asked.

I figured that your father didnt want it to come to light while he was alive, for good reason. I assume he passed it on to you before he died.

Cole grimaced as he thought about the eight-figure authorization. And they would have gone higher if theyd seen it. Well, he didnt pass it on to me. Cole nodded at the yellowed page. It says right here my father denied taking the movie camera from Andrea Sage. He pointed to the third paragraph of the article. Andrea Sage was making the whole thing up. He couldnt have passed it on to me because he never had it in the first place. The Sage woman was just trying to create her fifteen minutes of fame out of thin air, he said, quoting Bennett. Cole didnt want to give Tori the impression he had ever had it.

I dont believe that for a second. Her strategy was to press him hard and watch his reaction carefully for signals. Do you?

Yes, why wouldnt I?

Tori shook her head. Youre quite an actor.

What are you talking about?

There were over five hundred photographs taken of Dealey Plaza the day of the assassination. I know of at least two that appear to show a man taking a movie camera away from a young woman on the south side of Elm Street. The pictures are a little blurry, but its obvious to me whats going on. You know he took that camera from Andrea Sage.

I dont know anything of the sort. It was possible that such pictures existed, Cole realized. It was possible she was bluffing, too. How did you just happen to see that obituary concerning my father? he asked.

I didnt just happen to see it. We run computer searches on old stories all the time at NBC. Thousands of them every day on all kinds of events. Unsolved murder cases, missing persons, historical events. She ticked them off. We input tickler words into our computers and the computers scan new editions of all publications every day searching for the ticklers, from the L.A. Times to the New York Times as well as every paper and magazine in between. If the computers locate the tickler, they automatically pull and print the story in which its contained. The JFK assassination is a perfect example. Its the same at the other networks, too. Every major news organization in this country is still trying to pry the top off that conspiracy can. Dont kid yourself. Your father is one of those tickler names in our computer. The network has been searching for him for years, ever since that story in the Morning News. Tori pointed at the article lying on the table in front of Cole. But we never found him. No one has, as far as I know, and Ive been working on the JFK thing off and on for almost ten years. She spotted the waiter heading toward the table with their food and moved her silverware, making room for the plate. After the assassination its as if your father disappeared off the face of the earth, except for one thing. He married a woman named Mary Thomas in a justice-of-the-peace ceremony a few weeks after JFK was killed. Tori watched him carefully as she conveyed that fact.