Like a terribly frightened child, she scrambled back into the far corner
of her office and slumped across the floor, her body quivering
uncontrollably, tears and moans spilling out of her, with absolutely no
sign of ever stopping.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Sawyer was still staring at the photo of Steven Page, the dead man’s
face looming larger and larger in his mind until he finally had to drop
the picture and turn away before it completely engulfed him.
“I just assumed it was a photo of one of Lieberman’s kids. They were
all on his desk together. I never thought to connect up that he has
two, not three children.” Jackson slapped his forehead. “It just didn’t
seem all that important. Then when the investigation shifted away from
Lieberman to Archer–” Jackson shook his head in obvious misery.
Sawyer sat on the edge of the table. Only those closest to him would
realize that the veteran FBI agent was more stunned than he had ever
been in his professional life.
“I’m sorry, Lee.” Jackson snatched another look at the photo and
cringed. Sawyer softly patted his partner on the back. “It’s not your
fault, Ray. Under the circumstances it wouldn’t have seemed important
to me either.” Sawyer stood up and started pacing. “But now it sure as
hell is. We’ll need to verify that it is Steven Page, although I really
don’t have any doubt about it.” He abruptly stopped pacing.
“Hey, Ray, NYPD could never figure out where Steven Page got all that
money, right?”
Jackson’s mind clicked into high gear. “Maybe Page was blackmailing
Lieberman. Perhaps over his affair. They were both in finance, same
professional circles. That would explain the money Page had.”
Sawyer shook his head. “A number of people seemed to know about the
mistress–not much opportunity for blackmail there. Besides, most
people don’t keep photos of their blackmailers on display, Ray.” Jackson
looked sheepish. “No, I think it cuts deeper than that.” Sawyer leaned
against the wall of the conference room, folded his arms and sunk his
head on his chest. “By the way, what did you ever get on our elusive
mistress?”
Jackson took a minute to consult a file. “A lot of nothing. I found a
number of people who had heard rumors. Unsubstantiated rumors, they
were quick to point out. They were terrified of being named or
involved. I had to do some quick soft-shoe to calm them down. It was
the damnedest thing, though: They had all heard about her, could
describe her pretty well, although each description I got was a little
different than the last. But–”
“But nobody could tell you definitively that they had ever actually met
the mystery lady.”
“Jackson’s face scrunched up. “Yeah, that’s right. How’d you know
that?”
Sawyer took a deep breath. “You ever play that game as a kid, Ray,
where somebody tells you something and you tell somebody else and they
tell somebody else? By the time it gets to the end of the line, the
information is nothing like it started out to be. Or how a rumor gets
started and spreads and everybody believes it to be the gospel, could
almost swear they had personally seen whatever it was, and none of it is
true.”
“Hell, yes. My grandmother reads the Star. She believes everything in
it and talks like she actually saw Liz Taylor getting it on with Elvis
on the space shuttle.”
“Right. It’s not true, not one bit of it, but people will tell you it
is, fervently believe that it is, simply because they’ve read about it
or heard it, especially if they’ve heard it from more than one person.”
“Are you saying…”
“I’m saying that I don’t think the blond mistress ever existed, Ray.
More to the point, I think she was created for a specific purpose.
“Like what?”
Sawyer took a very deep breath before answering. “To cover the fact
that Arthur Lieberman and Steven Page were lovers.”
Jackson dropped into a chair as he stared at Sawyer. “Are you serious?”
“The photo of Page at his apartment, next to his kids? Those love
letters you found at the apartment? Why not sign them? A week’s pay