He felt a tug at the end of his line and snapped the rod toward him. He could feel the fish trying to get away. You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got you hooked.
In the distance, he heard a large speedboat approaching. They shouldn’t allow power boats on the lake. They’ll scare all the fish away. The speedboat was bearing down on him.
“Don’t get too close,” Carl shouted.
The speedboat seemed to be heading right toward him.
“Hey! Be careful. Watch where you’re going. For God’s sake—”
The speedboat plowed into the rowboat, cutting it in half, the water sucking Gorman under.
Damn drunken fool! He was gasping for air. He managed to get his head above water. The speedboat had circled and was heading straight for him again. And the last thing Carl Gorman felt before the boat smashed into his skull was the tug of the fish on his line.
When Frank Lonergan arrived, the area was crowded with police cars, a fire engine, and an ambulance. The ambulance was just pulling away.
Frank Lonergan got out of his car and said to a bystander, “What’s all the excitement?”
“Some poor guy was in an accident on the lake. There’s not much left of him.”
And Lonergan knew.
At midnight, Frank Lonergan was working at his computer, alone in his apartment, writing the story that was going to destroy the President of the United States. It was a story that would earn him a Pulitzer Prize. There was no doubt about it in his mind. This was going to make him more famous than Woodward and Bernstein. It was the story of the century.
He was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. He got up and walked over to the front door.
“Who is it?”
“A package from Leslie Stewart.”
She’s found some new information. He opened the door. There was a glint of metal, and an unbearable pain tore his chest apart.
Then nothing.
20
Frank Lonergan’s living room looked as if it had been struck by a miniature hurricane. All the drawers and cabinets had been pulled open and their contents had been scattered over the floor.
Nick Reese watched Frank Lonergan’s body being removed. He turned to Detective Steve Brown. “Any sign of the murder weapon?”
“No.”
“Have you talked to the neighbors?”
“Yeah. The apartment building is a zoo, full of monkeys. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Nada. Mrs. Lonergan is on her way back here. She heard the news on the radio. There have been a couple other robberies here in the last six months, and—”
“I’m not so sure this was a robbery.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lonergan was down at headquarters the other day to check on Paul Yerby’s things. I’d like to know what story Lonergan was working on. No papers in the drawers?”
“Nope.”
“No notes?”
“Nothing.”
“So either he was very neat, or someone took the trouble to clean everything out.” Reese walked over to the work table. There was a cable dangling off the table, connected to nothing. Reese held it up. “What’s this?”
Detective Brown walked over. “It’s a power cable for a computer. There must have been one here. That means there could be backups somewhere.”
“They may have taken the computer, but Lonergan might have saved copies of his files. Let’s check it out.”
They found the backup disk in a briefcase in Lonergan’s automobile. Reese handed it to Brown.
“I want you to take this down to headquarters. There’s probably a password to get into it. Have Chris Colby look at it. He’s an expert.”
The front door of the apartment opened and Rita Lonergan walked in. She looked pale and distraught. She stopped when she saw the men.
“Mrs. Lonergan?”
“Who are—?”
“Detective Nick Reese, Homicide. This is Detective Brown.”
Rita Lonergan looked around. “Where is—?“
“We had your husband’s body taken away, Mrs. Lonergan. I’m terribly sorry. I know it’s a bad time, but I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
She looked at him, and her eyes suddenly filled with fear. The last reaction Reese had expected. What was she afraid of?
“Your husband was working on a story, wasn’t he?”