“Would you care for a drink, gentlemen?”
Shuttleworth ordered a martini.
“Nothing for me,” Ben Cohn said.
Alfred Shuttleworth was a sallow-looking middle-aged man who worked in the European section of the State Department. A few years earlier, he had been involved in a drunk-driving accident that Ben Cohn had covered for his newspaper. Shuttleworth’s career was at stake. Cohn had killed the story, and Shuttleworth showed his appreciation by giving him news tips from time to time.
“I need your help, Al.”
“Name it, and you’ve got it.”
“I’d like the inside information on our new ambassador to Romania.”
Alfred Shuttleworth frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Three people called to tell me that she got so stoned at the Romanian ambassador’s party last night that she made a horse’s ass of herself in front of Washington’s who’s who. Have you seen the morning papers today, or the early editions of the afternoon papers?”
“Yes. They mentioned the embassy party, but there was no mention of Mary Ashley.”
“Exactly. The curious incident of the dog in the nighttime. ‘Silver Blaze.’ ”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sherlock Holmes. The dog didn’t bark. It was silent. So are the newspapers. Why would the gossip columnists skip over a juicy story like that? Someone had that story killed. Someone important. If it had been any other VIP who publicly disgraced herself, the press would have had a Roman holiday.”
“That doesn’t necessarily follow, Ben.”
“Al, there’s this Cinderella who comes out of nowhere, is touched by the magic wand of our President, and suddenly becomes Grace Kelly, Princess Di, and Jacqueline Kennedy rolled into one. Now, I’ll admit the lady is pretty—but she isn’t that pretty. The lady is bright—but she isn’t that bright. In my humble opinion, teaching a political science course at Kansas State University doesn’t exactly qualify anyone to be the ambassador to one of the world’s hot spots. I’ll tell you something else that’s out of kilter. I flew to Junction City and talked to the sheriff there.”
Alfred Shuttleworth drained the remainder of his martini. “I think I’d like another one. You’re making me nervous.”
“Join the club.” Ben Cohn ordered a martini.
“Go on,” Shuttleworth said.
“Mrs. Ashley turned down the President because her husband couldn’t leave his medical practice. Then he was killed in a convenient auto accident. Voilà! The lady’s in Washington, on her way to Bucharest. Exactly as someone had planned from the beginning.”
“Someone? Who?”
“That’s the jackpot question.”
“Ben—what are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. Let me tell you what Sheriff Munster suggested. He thought it was peculiar that half a dozen witnesses showed up out of nowhere in the middle of a freezing winter night just in time to witness the accident. And do you want to hear something even more peculiar? They’ve all disappeared. Every one of them.”
“Go on.”
“I went over to Fort Riley to talk to the driver of the army truck that killed Dr. Ashley.”
“And what did he have to say?”
“Not much. He was dead. Heart attack. Twenty-seven years old.”
Shuttleworth was toying with the stem of his glass. “I assume there’s more?”
“Oh, yes. There’s more. I went over to the CID office at Fort Riley to interview Colonel Jenkins, the officer in charge of the army investigation as well as being one of the witnesses to the accident. The colonel wasn’t there. He’s been promoted and transferred. He’s a major general now, overseas somewhere. No one seems to know where.”
Alfred Shuttleworth shook his head. “Ben, I know you’re a hell of a reporter, but I honestly think this time you’ve gone off the track. You’re building a few coincidences into a Hitchcock scenario. People do get killed in auto accidents, people do have heart attacks, and officers do get promoted. You’re looking for some kind of conspiracy where there is none.”
“Al, have you heard of an organization called Patriots for Freedom?”
“No. Is it something like the DAR?”
Ben Cohn said quietly, “It’s nothing like the DAR. I keep hearing rumors, but there’s nothing I can pin down.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“It’s supposed to be a cabal of high-level right-wing and left-wing fanatics from a dozen Eastern and Western countries. Their ideologies are diametrically opposed, but what brings them together is fear. The Communist members think President Ellison’s plan is a capitalist trick to destroy the Eastern bloc. The right-wingers believe his plan is an open door that will let the Communists destroy us. So they’ve formed this unholy alliance.”