‘I’m aware of the time. I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t a matter of urgency. It is my station, Miz Gunn.’
‘Right, Mr Howe, but it’s my career. Call me back at six thirty-one. Bye.’
She started back out the door. ‘Thanks, Sal.’
‘Sister, you got more guts than a gladiator,’ Sally said. Eliza headed for the studio.
III
It was out. He was going to fight. The Gunn interview would leave little doubt about that.
Caldwell stared out the window of his office, a bright, cheery room, its walls covered with abstract paintings, and watched the shells, thirty floors below and half a mile away, gliding across the placid Charles River, and his mind drifted back to one glorious day when he had helped row Harvard to an unexpected victory over Yale. But the dream passed quickly and he took off his suit jacket, pulled down his tie and wearily climbed the circular iron stairway that led to the penthouse apartment on the floor above.
He would write a statement and tell the whole story in his own words. For days he had been writing and rewriting it in his head. The allegations were false, but if the examiners dug deep enough, there were other things.
The penthouse was much warmer than Caldwell’s office. Two bedrooms, two baths, a small kitchen and a large living room, with floor to ceiling windows that gave him an unrestricted view to the north, east and south. The apartment had been decorated by Tessie Caldwell, who knew her husband’s taste well. The furniture was strictly antique, the drapes yellow and white. Plants abounded, and against the wall between the bedroom doors was the only painting iii the room, a six-foot- high Jackson Pollock, its dizzying colours dominated by yellow. A secretary dating back to Daniel Webster stood near the sliding glass doors leading out to a wraparound balcony.
Caldwell was so engrossed in deep inner conflict that he did not see the visitors until the older one spoke: Hello, Johnny, you had us worried.’
The voice was soft, textured by the South but not of the South, a voice that Caldwell knew could be reassuring one minute and patronizing the next. It belonged to Senator Lyle Damerest, a grandfather of a figure with white hair that flowed down over the collar of his tweed jacket, a bow tie and a gnarled shillelagh to support a game leg from a slight and unpublicized stroke. He was the senior Senator from Virginia and the country’s ranking congressman in terms of longevity. For thirty-one years he had represented his state. He had been on two Cabinets, was head of the Armed Services Committee, and had more back-room power than any living legislator. He was consulted on major issues by Democrat and Republican alike. Nobody, not even the President, would risk scorning Darner-
The man with him was virtually nondescript: medium tall, medium heavy, blond, crew-cut hair, dark-gray Suit, no distinguishing features. He held a zip-open briefcase under one arm.
Ya needn’t worry. We took the private elevator. No one saw us come up,’ the senator said.
What the hell are you doing here?’ Caldwell asked.
1 was a hop and a skip away. Somebody heard you’d surfaced and called me.’
No, I mean what’re you doing in Boston?’
Been up here for the last two days. On the q.t., been stayin’ with friends. We’ve been worried about you.’
You said that. And who’s “we”? And who are you?’ He looked at the nondescript man.
This is Ralph Simpson. Federal marshal.’
How d’ya do, sir,’ Simpson said.
Caldwell nodded to him.
‘He’s got the subpoena,’ Damerest went on.
‘What subpoena?’
‘You’ve been subpoenaed to go in for questioning. No charges, yet. If they come, it’ll be the Fed. Violation of the government banking statutes. What I’m tellin’ ya, laddie, it can be avoided.’
‘Really?’
‘All your friends are behind you, Johnny. I’ve talked to the boys on the banking committee and to the federal judge here. I think the way this can be handled, the judge will recommend that the entire matter be investigated by the House committee. The whole thing will blow over. Ya just need to bite the bullet for now.’ The old man smiled, but his flinty eyes narrowed.
‘I don’t think so,’ Caldwell said.
‘Oh? And why not?’
‘I don’t intend to be a whipping boy.’
“‘Whipping boy” is it!’
‘That’s the way it feels.’
Damerest stood with his hands thrust deep in his pants pockets, his shoulders hunched up under his ears, leaning slightly toward Caldwell, as if about to make a point to the Ways and Means Committee. ‘Shit, son, you just got on the wrong side of the old farts on Wall Street. We can unruffle their feathers.’
‘The hell with ‘em. They been down on First Common since my grandfather ran the show.’
‘I know, son. Your father and I were classmates together. He footed the bill for my first campaign. I couldn’t of raised scratch feed without him.’
