case, why tell me about it at all?”
“Because I can’t lie to you.”
“Tommy,” she said. “Have you been fucking somebody else?”
“I have not, and I have no intention of doing so.”
She stared at him. “You’re waiting for me to insist that you tell me,” she said.
“Something like that.”
“All right, Tommy, tell me, and I’ll forget I ever heard it.”
“You can’t say that lightly,” he replied. “This is the equivalent of swearing under oath that you don’t know this.”
She looked around her suspiciously. “Have you had the house wired? Are we being recorded?”
“Good God, no! If I can’t tell you about this, why would I want a bunch of tech guys at the Bureau to know about it?”
“All right, I’m ready to forget I ever heard it. Go.”
“The worst part first.”
“I’m ready.”
“I have to have lunch, maybe even dinner, with Peg Parsons.”
“You tricked me!” she shouted.
“What?”
“You tricked me into giving you permissions to fuck Peg Parsons! Again!”
“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” he said, shaking his head. “And, for the record, I haven’t fucked Peg Parsons for more than twenty years.”
“Some things are timeless,” she replied.
“Do you want to hear why I have to see her?”
“I’m dying to hear it.”
“I have to ask her to write a column using information I’m going to give her that could be construed as against the national interest.”
“Do I want to know what that information is?”
“No, certainly not.”
“Tell me!” She stamped her foot. This was something akin to a Spanish bull pawing the dirt in the ring.
“Many years ago Holly Barker was a police officer in a Florida town, and she was, briefly, considered a suspect in the murder of her chief, who had, some time before, drugged and raped her.”
Amanda’s jaw was working, but nothing was coming out. Holly Barker was her idol.
“Make me understand,” she said, finally.
“Someone who is bitterly opposed to her politically intends to give this information to that creep of the airwaves, Jake Wimmer, who will fashion it into a conspiracy theory that could haunt her for years.”
“Surely this was investigated at the time,” Amanda said.
“It was investigated at the time by the internal affairs department of her police force, by the Florida state police—and later by the FBI and the CIA. Ms. Barker is as clean as a hound’s tooth.”
“But that won’t matter, will it?”
Tom shook his head sadly. “No. Not to these people.”
“And how does the awful Peg Parsons come into this?”
“We want her to publish the story, after having investigated it thoroughly herself. We want her to review the four earlier investigations during that process, then write a column about it. Then Wimmer’s conspiracy theory will be blunted, maybe even spiked.”
“Tommy,” Amanda said, “I think that’s just wonderful!”
“Then I can see Peg, and you’ll forget about it?”
She shrugged, and one loop of her apron fell off a shoulder. “Eventually.”
“Not eventually, now .”
“All right, now.”
“And you have no memory of being told?”
“None. Who do I have to fuck to prove it to you?”
“That would be me,” Tom said, working on his buttons.
Amanda slithered out of the apron and met him on the kitchen island. He made the gong sound only once.
24
Bess Potts turned down the long dirt road that led to Colonel Sykes’s compound. It was a winding and very pretty drive, climbing a couple of hundred feet from the highway. She pressed the down button on her window and let the sweet air in. She also let in an unexpected sound: the muffled crack of what sounded like a silenced rifle.
She pulled into the parking area outside Sykes’s house, which was set in a notch of the hillside. She switched off the engine and sat in the car for a moment, waiting to hear the sound again, so she could track its location.
Her arm was resting on the car
“Because I can’t lie to you.”
“Tommy,” she said. “Have you been fucking somebody else?”
“I have not, and I have no intention of doing so.”
She stared at him. “You’re waiting for me to insist that you tell me,” she said.
“Something like that.”
“All right, Tommy, tell me, and I’ll forget I ever heard it.”
“You can’t say that lightly,” he replied. “This is the equivalent of swearing under oath that you don’t know this.”
She looked around her suspiciously. “Have you had the house wired? Are we being recorded?”
“Good God, no! If I can’t tell you about this, why would I want a bunch of tech guys at the Bureau to know about it?”
“All right, I’m ready to forget I ever heard it. Go.”
“The worst part first.”
“I’m ready.”
“I have to have lunch, maybe even dinner, with Peg Parsons.”
“You tricked me!” she shouted.
“What?”
“You tricked me into giving you permissions to fuck Peg Parsons! Again!”
“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” he said, shaking his head. “And, for the record, I haven’t fucked Peg Parsons for more than twenty years.”
“Some things are timeless,” she replied.
“Do you want to hear why I have to see her?”
“I’m dying to hear it.”
“I have to ask her to write a column using information I’m going to give her that could be construed as against the national interest.”
“Do I want to know what that information is?”
“No, certainly not.”
“Tell me!” She stamped her foot. This was something akin to a Spanish bull pawing the dirt in the ring.
“Many years ago Holly Barker was a police officer in a Florida town, and she was, briefly, considered a suspect in the murder of her chief, who had, some time before, drugged and raped her.”
Amanda’s jaw was working, but nothing was coming out. Holly Barker was her idol.
“Make me understand,” she said, finally.
“Someone who is bitterly opposed to her politically intends to give this information to that creep of the airwaves, Jake Wimmer, who will fashion it into a conspiracy theory that could haunt her for years.”
“Surely this was investigated at the time,” Amanda said.
“It was investigated at the time by the internal affairs department of her police force, by the Florida state police—and later by the FBI and the CIA. Ms. Barker is as clean as a hound’s tooth.”
“But that won’t matter, will it?”
Tom shook his head sadly. “No. Not to these people.”
“And how does the awful Peg Parsons come into this?”
“We want her to publish the story, after having investigated it thoroughly herself. We want her to review the four earlier investigations during that process, then write a column about it. Then Wimmer’s conspiracy theory will be blunted, maybe even spiked.”
“Tommy,” Amanda said, “I think that’s just wonderful!”
“Then I can see Peg, and you’ll forget about it?”
She shrugged, and one loop of her apron fell off a shoulder. “Eventually.”
“Not eventually, now .”
“All right, now.”
“And you have no memory of being told?”
“None. Who do I have to fuck to prove it to you?”
“That would be me,” Tom said, working on his buttons.
Amanda slithered out of the apron and met him on the kitchen island. He made the gong sound only once.
24
Bess Potts turned down the long dirt road that led to Colonel Sykes’s compound. It was a winding and very pretty drive, climbing a couple of hundred feet from the highway. She pressed the down button on her window and let the sweet air in. She also let in an unexpected sound: the muffled crack of what sounded like a silenced rifle.
She pulled into the parking area outside Sykes’s house, which was set in a notch of the hillside. She switched off the engine and sat in the car for a moment, waiting to hear the sound again, so she could track its location.
Her arm was resting on the car
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