“That’s right. Very astute, Mr. Heller. We can put sensitive facts on the record, by the questions we pose…even though those questions invariably go unanswered. ‘Isn’t it true that…?’ We can put what we’ve uncovered on the record—and reveal the corrupting influence of organized crime on American society…. That’s the purpose of our traveling circus.”
The son of a bitch was close to having my vote. “I gotta admit it’s good show business, at that.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’ve set a dangerous goddamn precedent—Senator McCarthy is protected from libel suits by that same privilege.”
Now, as if a switch had been thrown, his expression turned troubled. “I know…the potential for witchhunting is great…and grim. To misuse this tool, as McCarthy is bound and determined to—”
“That’s what he feels you’re doing, Senator. He thinks you’re the witch-hunter.”
“Is this something you’ve gathered, following the press…?”
“No, I talked to Joe McCarthy last week, in D.C. I’ve done my share of work in your second home.”
Nodding, he said, “For Drew Pearson. Yes—and he speaks well of you.”
“And he of you—he’s your most ardent cheerleader.”
Kefauver heaved a deep breath, seemed to be searching for words. Finally, he found them: “Mr. Heller—I would like to ask you about a certain matter…confidentially.”
“You can ask.”
“You were Bill Drury’s friend—and he worked for your detective agency, in his last months. He promised us extensive materials—notebooks, diaries, files, tapes…do you have them?”
“No.”
“Do you know who does?”
“All I know is Bill took them with him, the day he was murdered. They’re gone by now, anyway.”
“Gone?”
I nodded. “If that stuff’s in Outfit hands, it’s been destroyed.”
He frowned. “What if Charles Fischetti got hold of those books, to keep his Mafia brethren from finding certain things out?”
“Then Fischetti’s burned them. But I
“Please.”
“You have a leak on your staff.”
He said nothing; he tented his fingers and his eyes tightened behind the circular lenses. “Are you certain of that?”
“Oh yeah—it comes from an Outfit source. A high-up Outfit source. Lee Mortimer also suspects as much.”
Kefauver worked up a smirk. “I’m afraid Mr. Mortimer is something of a spurned lover, where this committee is concerned.”
“Nonetheless, the guy knows his beans. He suspects Halley—”
“Ridiculous!”
“I tend to agree with you, Senator. But you would be dismayed if you knew how quickly your confidential information is getting into the hands of the competition—the Outfit, I mean.”
He just sat there, mulling that over for a minute; then he said, “I do appreciate this, Mr. Heller. I’ll try to quietly locate the leak on my own. Thank you.”
“That’s okay, Senator. Just don’t say where you heard it.”
He managed a smile; halfhearted though it was, it was still a mile wide. “That’s the nature of confidential sources, Mr. Heller.”
“Swell…and I might be able to help you regarding another matter.”
“By all means.”
“Charley Fischetti.”
Kefauver lifted both eyebrows. “Mr. Fischetti is a witness we would very much like to have sit before our committee. We’re very interested in his brother Rocco, as well.”
“Rocco doesn’t know much—he’s just a thug with an important brother. But I might be able to put Charley’s ass in your chair, so to speak.”
“Really. And how would you manage that?”
I didn’t tell him that I was trying to angle a way to cause Charley trouble, without doing what Giancana strongly implied I should do—flat-out killing the bastard. Which I would have relished, at this point, but was uncomfortable doing Mooney’s dirty laundry. I’d had a feeling I was being played, last night, at the Silver Palm….
I asked, “Does the United States have a friendly relationship with the Mexican government, where extradition is concerned?”
He shrugged matter-of-factly. “If we knew Fischetti’s whereabouts, and those whereabouts happened to be in Mexico, we could get him brought home to us, yes.”
