Caldwell had heard the stories many times since he was a kid. ‘The bastards were after him, now they’re after me. Besides, I didn’t always agree with Dad, you know that. I won’t put up with any heat right now. None of us can afford it.’
The old senator smiled, that warm, grandfather smile that hid the heart of a vulture. Caldwell had watched him smile his way out of more than one tight spot. Now the old bastard was using it on him. Easy,’ the senator said quietly. ‘They got your balls in the doorjamb for the moment.’
‘Bullshit. Why did it happen?’
‘It got by me.
Nothing gets by you, Lyle. Nothing this big.’
‘What can I say.’ The old man took out a red bandanna and wiped his forehead. ‘Good God, it’s hot in here. You always keep it like this?’
‘The housekeepers do that,’ Caldwell said. He slid open one of the glass partitions and a gust of cold air shook the drapes.
‘Ah, better,’ the senator said. ‘Look, just take a peek at the papers Mr Simpson brought along. It will be handled very quietly. You two can just go down to the Federal Building and...’
Simpson walked over to the antique secretary, opened his briefcase and reached inside.
‘And how about you, Lyle?’ Caldwell said.
‘Hardly appropriate, me goin’ along ‘with ya. I can do a lot more, stayin’ in the background.’
Simpson had both hands in the zip-open briefcase. He unscrewed the cap of a small bottle and tipped its contents into a large ball of cotton he held in his other hand.
Damerest said, ‘I talked to Tessie. She seems to be handling it all very well.’
Simpson took his hands out of the briefcase. The cotton ball was in one hand. He was directly behind Caldwell, who said, ‘She’s used to character assassination. They did everything but burn her father at the stake.’
Simpson stepped close to Caldwell, the hand with the cotton ball behind his back. The senator moved up close to Caldwell.
‘I was very reassurin’,’ he said.
He moved suddenly, wrapping his arms around Caldwell, pinning the banker’s arms to his sides and squeezing him sharply. Air rushed out of Caldwell’s nose and mouth.
‘What in hell—’ Caldwell gasped, but he never finished the sentence. Simpson jammed the cotton against Caldwell’s nose. As he gasped, the acrid odour of chloroform flooded through his head and dulled his brain. He began to thrash, to hold his breath.
The senator clutched him again, harder. Caldwell’s breath gushed out. He gasped again. His brain was paralysed, Damerest could feel him growing limp. He squeezed him again. Caldwell’s eyes bulged and stared over the cotton swab, like those of a terrified animal. Then they went crazy, crossing, uncrossing, finally rolling up under the lids. As Caldwell sagged, Simpson grabbed him around the waist, twisted him sideways and dragged him through the open door to the balcony.
IV
The show was three minutes old when the hot-line phone began flashing. Chuck Graves, the unflappable anchor man, was in the middle of the opening news segment. Eliza picked it up.
‘This is Sid down in the news room. We got a hot flash — Jonathan Caldwell just took a Brodie off the First Common Bank building. He’s all over Market Street. . . We got the Live
Action truck on the way.. . that’s all I know for now.’ The line went dead.
Liza sat like a statue with the phone frozen in her hand. She cradled the receiver quietly for a moment, then she slipped away from the set and ran out to the hallway, grabbed the hotline phone on the wall and dialled the editing room.
‘Is Eddie still there? It’s Eliza, tell him it’s important... Eddie, listen to me — Caldwell just jumped off the bank building... I know, I know... Is it on the chain? Can you get it back long enough to drop those two thirty-second segments back in?. . . Don’t worry, I’ll take full responsibility. . . Eddie, you’re a love...’ She hung up and returned to the set.
They finished two more segments and were into sports before the news room called back and confirmed that it was definitely Caldwell. She gave it to Graves, who made that announcement at the end of the sports segment but he had little else to go with.
Perfect. She had all she needed.
In the booth, the assistant director was counting out of the sports slot. ‘Okay... ready Max ... and three, two, one... and roll tape and kill camera three, kill Wally’s mike ... and camera three on Liza. Jeez, look at her — she’d look great in a garbage bag...’
‘She’s got the best ass in Boston,’ Tubby said wistfully.
‘I’m talking about her face, Tubby — Thirty seconds, get in a bit tighter on Jackson . . . camera one on the weather map.
lookin’ good— You can’t even see her ass, she’s sitting down.’
‘You can sure see it when she stands up,’ Tubby said.
Liza was still scribbling notes to herself, changes she would make from the crib sheet she had already rewritten
