let the anger simmer. When I spoke it came out dry and precise. “I don’t need to tell you that this meeting is worse than worthless, do I, Joe? I mean, you do know that?” He stared back at me, looking both trapped and outraged. I went on. “With no transcript, we’ll never prove perjury. He’ll lie to us anytime it suits him.”
“He’s the President’s friend. Remember that. And he’s coming to us voluntarily.”
“Little wonder. You know damned well why he’s coming. In return for lies that will never hurt him, he’ll find out exactly what I know. He’ll listen to the questions. If I ask him about Sam Green, he’ll find out about that. If he’s tied with Green somehow, he’ll get to Green before we do. If I know something from Lehman, my questions will tell him that. If he lies to me about fact ‘X’ and I can’t follow it up, he can figure I don’t know about fact ‘X.’ That’s the way it works. Maybe I should just start reporting to Lasko direct.”
“The man has influence, damn it. And you don’t have a fucking thing on him.”
“I think Lasko had Lehman killed.”
His eyes flashed. “Look, I don’t want you talking that kind of irresponsible garbage.” He spoke with the emphatic contempt of a drill sergeant. “I’ve put up with your shit around here, for the time being. But you start smearing anyone else and you’re out on your ass.” His voice held a sort of submerged dread beneath the anger, as though silence would make murder less real.
So I said it again, very slowly. “I think Lasko killed Lehman.”
He flushed. “Say that outside this office and you’re fired.”
“Does that include to the Boston police?”
“Especially the Boston police.”
I stood up, not trusting myself to continue. “Is that all?”
His voice rose in anger. “No, it isn’t. You horsed around at Lehman’s house without authority. You’ve gone over my head on the Lasko subpoena. Now you’ve appointed yourself a detective. If you think Woods is going to keep covering your ass, forget it. When I fire you, I’ll have all the reason in the world. And no law firm will hire you to run coffee.”
It was almost out in the open, I thought. I balled my fists in my pockets to steady myself. “I wouldn’t fire me just yet, Joe. It would stink too much.” Our eyes locked. “Are we through now?” I asked.
McGuire’s gaze broke. He nodded, his eyes angled away from me. An uneasy mix of anger and chagrin haunted the gesture. Against the bare wall, he looked as solitary as the last tenant in a condemned building.
I picked up my case and walked to the door. I opened it, then leaned back. “By the way, Joe, have you started making funny phone calls?”
I was looking for recognition in his eyes. All I got was anger—and puzzlement. I slammed the door and left.
Suppressed rage overcame me. I moved half-blind through the corridors, back to my section. It was still there, the clatter and greyness, as if nothing had changed. A mail boy delivered a stack of memos and the agency newsletter. Three of the girls sat at Debbie’s desk, talking and stirring their coffee with the serene complacency of civil servants. It was a big day. One of the girls had won the ECC bowling championship.
I looked around the fringe of offices, feeling like a visitor from Botswana. Feiner stared out of his office, saw me, and looked away. A strange face brushed by me, attached to a flying shirttail. They had hired someone new. I went toward my office.
Debbie glanced up and followed me inside the office. She just looked at me for a while. “Are you all right?” she finally asked.
“I guess.”
Her eyes were still and serious. “I’m sorry about your witness,” she said simply.
Somehow, it was the most normal reaction I’d seen in three days. Then it struck me that Mary had said much the same thing. I tried to puzzle out the difference. I couldn’t. “Thanks,” I finally said.
She nodded. “If you’d like
“He’s the President’s friend. Remember that. And he’s coming to us voluntarily.”
“Little wonder. You know damned well why he’s coming. In return for lies that will never hurt him, he’ll find out exactly what I know. He’ll listen to the questions. If I ask him about Sam Green, he’ll find out about that. If he’s tied with Green somehow, he’ll get to Green before we do. If I know something from Lehman, my questions will tell him that. If he lies to me about fact ‘X’ and I can’t follow it up, he can figure I don’t know about fact ‘X.’ That’s the way it works. Maybe I should just start reporting to Lasko direct.”
“The man has influence, damn it. And you don’t have a fucking thing on him.”
“I think Lasko had Lehman killed.”
His eyes flashed. “Look, I don’t want you talking that kind of irresponsible garbage.” He spoke with the emphatic contempt of a drill sergeant. “I’ve put up with your shit around here, for the time being. But you start smearing anyone else and you’re out on your ass.” His voice held a sort of submerged dread beneath the anger, as though silence would make murder less real.
So I said it again, very slowly. “I think Lasko killed Lehman.”
He flushed. “Say that outside this office and you’re fired.”
“Does that include to the Boston police?”
“Especially the Boston police.”
I stood up, not trusting myself to continue. “Is that all?”
His voice rose in anger. “No, it isn’t. You horsed around at Lehman’s house without authority. You’ve gone over my head on the Lasko subpoena. Now you’ve appointed yourself a detective. If you think Woods is going to keep covering your ass, forget it. When I fire you, I’ll have all the reason in the world. And no law firm will hire you to run coffee.”
It was almost out in the open, I thought. I balled my fists in my pockets to steady myself. “I wouldn’t fire me just yet, Joe. It would stink too much.” Our eyes locked. “Are we through now?” I asked.
McGuire’s gaze broke. He nodded, his eyes angled away from me. An uneasy mix of anger and chagrin haunted the gesture. Against the bare wall, he looked as solitary as the last tenant in a condemned building.
I picked up my case and walked to the door. I opened it, then leaned back. “By the way, Joe, have you started making funny phone calls?”
I was looking for recognition in his eyes. All I got was anger—and puzzlement. I slammed the door and left.
Suppressed rage overcame me. I moved half-blind through the corridors, back to my section. It was still there, the clatter and greyness, as if nothing had changed. A mail boy delivered a stack of memos and the agency newsletter. Three of the girls sat at Debbie’s desk, talking and stirring their coffee with the serene complacency of civil servants. It was a big day. One of the girls had won the ECC bowling championship.
I looked around the fringe of offices, feeling like a visitor from Botswana. Feiner stared out of his office, saw me, and looked away. A strange face brushed by me, attached to a flying shirttail. They had hired someone new. I went toward my office.
Debbie glanced up and followed me inside the office. She just looked at me for a while. “Are you all right?” she finally asked.
“I guess.”
Her eyes were still and serious. “I’m sorry about your witness,” she said simply.
Somehow, it was the most normal reaction I’d seen in three days. Then it struck me that Mary had said much the same thing. I tried to puzzle out the difference. I couldn’t. “Thanks,” I finally said.
She nodded. “If you’d like
Similar Books
