says the handwriting matches Steven Page’s. And last but not least,
Page being a millionaire on a working man’s salary? Very doable if
you’re by chance sleeping with a guy who’s made lots of people
millionaires.”
“Yeah, but why invent a story about a mistress? It could’ve blown
Lieberman’s chairmanship bid.”
Sawyer was shaking his ‘head. “In this day and age, Ray, who knows? If
that were the criterion, a big chunk of the political leadership in this
country would have to pack up and go home. And the fact is it didn’t
stop him from getting the Fed’s top post. But do you think the outcome
would’ve been the same if it was discovered Lieberman was homosexual and
had a male lover less than half his age? Keep in mind that the
financial community in this country is one of the most conservative
you’ll find anywhere.”
“Okay, he would’ve been screwed, that’s for damned sure. But talk about
your double standards. It’s okay to commit adultery, so long as it’s
with someone of the opposite sex.”
“Right, you invent a phony heterosexual affair to cover the true
homosexual one. They used to do that out in Hollywood with leading men
who weren’t attracted to the opposite sex. The studios would
orchestrate phony marriages. All a complicated sham to preserve a
lucrative career. Lieberman’s scam wasn’t a perfect fix, but it gets
him the brass ring. His wife may or may not have known the truth. But
she gets paid off big-time, so she’s not going to talk. And she’s six
feet under now. So no loose lips there.”
Jackson wiped his brow. “Jesus.” He looked at Sawyer, puzzled.
“If that’s the case, then Steven Page’s death was a suicide; there would
be no reason to kill him.”
Sawyer was shaking his head. “There would be every reason to kill him,
Ray.”
“Why?”
Sawyer paused for a moment, looked down at his hands and spoke quietly.
“Want to make an educated guess as to how Steven Page contracted HIV?”
Jackson’s eyes bulged. “Lieberman?”
Sawyer looked up. “I’d be real interested to find out whether Lieberman
was HIV-positive.”
Jackson’s confusion suddenly cleared. “If Page knows he might be
terminal, he’d have no reason to keep quiet.”
“Right. Getting a terminal illness from one’s lover doesn’t normally
inspire loyalty. Steven Page held Arthur Lieberman’s professional
future in his hands. I think that equals sufficient homicidal motive,
in my book.”
“So it looks like we need to approach this case from an entirely new
angle.”
“Agreed. Right now we have a lot of speculation, but not really a damn
thing we can take to a prosecutor.”
Jackson got out of his chair, started to tidy up the files. “So you
really think Lieberman had Page killed?”
When Sawyer didn’t answer, Jackson turned to find him staring off into
space.
“Lee?” Sawyer finally looked over at him.
“I never said that, Ray.”
“But–”
“I’ll see you in the morning. Get some sleep, you’re going to need it.”
Sawyer got up and walked to the door leading out of the conference room.
“I’ve got somebody I need to speak to,” Sawyer said.
“Who?”
Sawyer turned back momentarily. “Charles Tiedman, president of the San
Francisco Federal Reserve Bank. Lieberman never got a chance to talk to
him. I think it’s about time somebody did.”
Sawyer left Jackson bent over the stacks of files, his mind reeling.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Sidney Archer picked herself up off the floor. As the twin feelings of
hopelessness and fear faded away, they were slowly replaced with an even
stronger impulse: survival. She unlocked one of her desk drawers and
pulled out her passport. She had been called overseas on a moment’s
notice more than once in her legal career. But now the reason would be
about as personal as one could get: her life. She went to the office
next to hers. It belonged to a young associate who happened to be a
rabid Atlanta Braves fan; a good portion of one of his shelving units
mirrored that loyalty. She snatched the baseball cap off the shelf,
bobby-pinned her long hair up, and pulled the cap down tight over her
head.
She thought to check her purse. Amazingly, her wallet was still full of