They were seated at the dining table. Senator Embry took a sip of his second martini. “I want to thank you for the fund-raiser, Leslie. That’s a nice gesture.”
She smiled warmly. “It’s my pleasure. I’ll do everything I can to help you beat Oliver Russell.”
“Well, I think I stand a pretty good chance.”
“I think so, too. The people are getting tired of him and his scandals. My guess is that if there’s one more scandal between now and election, they’ll throw him out.”
Senator Embry studied her a moment. “Do you think there will be?”
Leslie nodded and said softly, “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
The lunch was delicious.
The call came from Antonio Valdez, an assistant in the coroner’s office. “Miss Stewart, you said you wanted me to keep you informed about the Chloe Houston case?”
“Yes…”
“The cops asked us to keep a lid on it, but since you’ve been such a good friend, I thought—”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be taken care of. Tell me about the autopsy.”
“Yes, ma’am. The cause of death was a drug called Ecstasy.”
“What?”
“Ecstasy. She took it in liquid form.”
“I have a little surprise for you that I want you to try… This is liquid Ecstasy… A friend of mine gave me this…”
And the woman who had been found in the Kentucky River had died of an overdose of liquid Ecstasy.
Leslie sat there motionless, her heart pounding.
There is a God.
Leslie sent for Frank Lonergan, “I want you to follow up on the death of Chloe Houston. I think the president is involved.”
Frank Lonergan was staring at her incredulously. “The president?”
“There’s a cover-up going on. I’m convinced of it. That boy they arrested, who conveniently committed suicide…dig into that. And I want you to check on the president’s movements the afternoon and evening of her death. I want this to be a private investigation. Very private. You’ll report only to me.”
Frank Lonergan took a deep breath. “You know what this could mean?”
“Get started. And Frank?”
“Yes?”
“Check the Internet for a drug called Ecstasy. And look for a connection with Oliver Russell.”
In a medical Internet site devoted to the hazards of the drug, Lonergan found the story of Miriam Friedland, the former secretary to Oliver Russell. She was in a hospital in Frankfort, Kentucky. Lonergan telephoned to inquire about her. A doctor said, “Miss Friedland passed away two days ago. She never recovered from her coma.”
Frank Lonergan put in a telephone call to the office of Governor Houston.
“I’m sorry,” her secretary told him, “Governor Houston is on her way to Washington.”
Ten minutes later, Frank Lonergan was on his way to National Airport. He was too late.
As the passengers descended from the plane, Lonergan saw Peter Tager approach an attractive blonde in her forties and greet her. The two of them talked for a moment, and then Tager led her to a waiting limousine.
Watching in the distance, Lonergan thought, I’ve got to talk to that lady. He headed back toward town and began making calls on his car phone. On the third call, he learned that Governor Houston was expected at the Four Seasons Hotel.
When Jackie Houston was ushered into the private study next to the Oval Office, Oliver Russell was waiting for her.
He took her hands in his and said, “I’m so terribly sorry, Jackie. There are no words.”
It had been almost seventeen years since he had last seen her. They had met at a lawyers’ convention in Chicago. She had just gotten out of law school. She was young and attractive and eager, and they had had a brief, torrid affair.
Seventeen years ago.
And Chloe was sixteen years old.
He dared not ask Jackie the question in his mind. I don’t want to know. They looked at each other in silence, and for a moment Oliver thought she was going to speak of the past. He looked away.
Jackie Houston said, “The police think Paul Yerby had something to do with Chloe’s death.”
“That’s right.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Paul was in love with Chloe. He never would have harmed her.” Her voice broke. “They—they were going to get married one day.”