Finally, and only because she was desperate, and only because her husband, Patrick Xavier O’Reilly, had Mondays off because he worked the high-crime shift on Saturdays, she called the two-toilet Irish detective and told him that if he did not come down to help out she’d file a complaint against him for rape—which was only wishful thinking, she added. The only person she was unable to reach was the congressman from Colorado’s ninth district.
‘I am so very, very sorry, Mrs. O’Reilly,’ said the Arab husband of the couple who took care of Kendrick’s house, and who Annie suspected was probably an unemployed surgeon or an ex-university president. ‘The congressman said he would be away for a few days. I have no idea where he is.’
‘That’s a lot of crap, Mr. Sahara—’
‘You flatter me with dimensions, madame.’
‘That, tool You reach that horned-toad servant of the public and tell him we’re going ape-shit down here! And it’s all because of his appearance on the Foley show!’
‘He was remarkably effective, was he not?’
‘You know about it?’
‘I saw his name in the Washington Post’s late listings, madame. Also in the Times of New York and Los Angeles, and the Chicago Tribune.’
‘He gets all those papers?’
‘No, madame, I do. But he’s perfectly welcome to read them.’
‘Glory be to God!’
The pandemonium in the outside office had become intolerable. Annie slammed down the phone and ran to her door; she opened it, astonished to see Evan Kendrick and her husband shoving their way through a crowd of reporters, congressional aides and various other people she did not know. ‘Come in here!’ she yelled.
Once inside the secretarial office and with the door closed, Mr. O’Reilly spoke. ‘I’m her Paddy,’ he said, out of breath. ‘Nice to meet you, Congressman.’
‘You’re my blocking back, pal,’ replied Kendrick, shaking hands and quickly studying the large, broad-shouldered, red-haired man with a paunch four inches larger than his considerable height should permit, and a vaguely florid face that held a pair of knowing, intelligent green eyes. ‘I’m grateful we got here at the same time.’
‘In all honesty, we didn’t, sir. My crazy lady called over an hour ago and I was able to get here in maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes. I saw the brouhaha in the corridor and figured you might show up. I waited for ya.’
‘You might have let me know, you lousy mick! We’ve been going crazy in here!’
‘And be slapped with a felony charge, darlin’?’
‘He really is two-toilet Irish, Congressman—’
‘Hold it, you two,’ ordered Evan, glancing at the door. ‘What the hell are we going to do about this? What’s happened?’
‘You went on the Foxley show,’ said Mrs. O’Reilly. ‘We didn’t.’
‘I make it a point never to watch those programmes,’ mumbled Kendrick. ‘If I do I’m expected to know something.’
‘Now a lot of people know about you.’
‘You were damn good, Congressman,’ added the DC detective. ‘A couple of boys in the department called and asked me to tell Annie to thank you—I told you, Annie.’
‘First, I haven’t had the chance, and second, with all this confusion I probably would have forgotten. But I think, Evan, that your only clean way is to go out there and make some kind of statement.’
‘Wait a minute,’ interrupted Kendrick, looking at Patrick O’Reilly. ‘Why would anyone in the police department want to thank me?’
‘The way you stood up to Barrish and clobbered him.’
‘I gathered that, but what’s Barrish to them?’
‘He’s a Pentagon hustler with friends in high places. Also a ball-breaker if you’ve spent a few sleepless nights on stakeout and instead of being thanked you’re dumped on.’
‘What stake-out? What happened?’
‘Mister Kendrick,’ broke in Annie. ‘That’s a zoo out there! You’ve got to show yourself, say something.’
‘No, I want to hear this. Go on, Mr—may I call you Patrick, or Pat?’
‘”Paddy” fits better.’ The police officer patted his stomach. ‘That’s what I’m called.’
I’m Evan. Drop the “Congressman”—I want to drop it completely. Please. Go on. How was Barrish involved with the police?’
‘I didn’t say that, now. He, himself, is cleaner than an Irish bagpipe, which actually isn’t too lovely inside, but he’s purer than a bleached sheet in the noonday sun.’
‘Men in your line of work don’t thank people for clobbering clean laundry—’
‘Well, it wasn’t the biggest thing that ever went down; truth be told, by itself it was minor, but something might have come out of it if we could have followed up… The boys were tracking a mozzarella known to launder cash through Miami and points southeast like the Cayman Islands. On the fourth night of the stake-out at the Mayflower Hotel, they thought they had him. You see, one of those Bally shoe types went to his room at one o’clock in the morning with a large briefcase. One o’clock in the morning—not exactly the start or the shank of the business day, right?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Well, it turned out that the Bally shoes had legitimate investments with the mozzarella, and the Pentagon logs showed that he’d been in a procurements conference until almost eleven-thirty and, further, he had to catch a plane to Los Angeles at eight in the morning, so the one o’clock was explained.’
‘What about the briefcase?’
‘We couldn’t touch it. Much offence was taken in high dudgeon and lots of national security was thrown around. You see, someone made a phone call.’
‘But not to a lawyer,’ said Evan. ‘Instead, to one Colonel Robert Barrish of the Pentagon.’
‘Bingo. Our noses were shoved in dirt for impugning the motives of a fine, loyal American who was helping to keep the great US of A strong. The boys were reamed good.’
‘But you think otherwise. You think a lot more than legitimate investments happened in that room.’
‘If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck and looks like a duck, it’s usually a duck. But not the pair of Bally shoes; he wasn’t a duck, he was a slap-tailed weasel whose name was stricken from our list of ducks.’
Thanks, Paddy… All right, Mrs. O’Reilly, what do I say out there?’
‘Whatever I suggest our boy Phil Tobias will probably object to, you should know that. He’s on his way here.’
‘You called off his Monday morning tennis? That’s courage beyond the call of duty.’
‘He’s sweet and he’s smart, Evan, but I don’t think his advice can help you now; you’re on your own. Remember, those vultures out there are convinced you’ve been grandstanding all last week—running a parlay from the committee hearing to the Foxley show. If you had ciphered out no one would give a damn, but you didn’t. You took on a heavyweight and made him look like a fast-talking thug and that makes you news. They want to know where you’re going.’
‘Then what do you suggest? You know where I’m going, Annie. What do I say?’
Ann Mulcahy O’Reilly looked into Kendrick’s eyes. ‘Whatever you want to, Congressman. Just mean it.’
‘The plaint of the swan? My swan song, Annie?’
‘Only you’ll know that when you get out there.’
The undisciplined uproar in the outer office was compounded by the sudden eruption of strobe flashes and the shifting, blinding floodlights of the television crews swinging their lethal mini-cams in the crowd. Questions were shouted and outshouted. Several of the more prominent newspeople were arrogantly demanding their rights for the closest, most prominent positions, so the congressman from Colorado’s ninth district simply walked to his receptionist’s desk, moved the blotter and the telephone console aside, and sat on top. He smiled gamely, held up both hands several times, and refused to speak. Gradually the cacophony subsided, broken now and then by a strident voice answered by the silent stare of mock surprise on the part of the shocked representative. Finally, it was understood: Congressman Evan Kendrick was not going to open his mouth unless and until he could be heard by everyone. Silence descended.
‘Thanks very much,’ said Evan. ‘I need all the help I can get to figure out what I want to say—before you say what you want to say, which is different because you’ve got it all figured out.’
‘Congressman Kendrick,’ shouted an abrasive television journalist, obviously upset by his status in the second row. ‘Is it true—’
‘Oh, come on, will you?’ broke in Evan firmly. ‘Give me a break, friend. You’re used to this, I’m not.’
‘That’s not the way you came over on television, sir!’ replied the erstwhile anchorman.
‘That was one-to-one, as I see it. This is one against the whole Colosseum wanting a lion’s dinner. Let me say something first, okay?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘I’m glad it wasn’t you last week, Stan—I think your name is Stan.’
‘It is, Congressman.’
‘You would have had my head along with your brandy.’
‘You’re very kind, sir.’
‘No kidding? It is a compliment, isn’t it?’