magistrate on the day they were brought in, and he’d arranged for a District Court judge to review his bail amounts. The hearing was set for 1000.
‘‘Why aren’t they all waiting at the courthouse?’’ I asked.
‘‘Better photo ops as they come down the jail steps,’’ said Hester, taking a swallow of coffee and continuing to look out the window. ‘‘Our man has a camera around his neck. With,’’ she continued slowly, ‘‘a pretty long lens.’’
George, naturally, rethought his position.
‘‘Well,’’ he said hesitantly, ‘‘we might want to be a bit more circumspect here.’’
‘‘Maybe for more reasons than you’d think,’’ said Hester. ‘‘If we go out and just scarf him up right now, your bosses are gonna wonder just how on God’s green earth we knew it was him.’’
‘‘Good point,’’ said George. Quickly.
‘‘Well,’’ I said, gently mocking George, ‘‘we might just come up with a reason to suspect him of something without having to use the e-mail stuff.’’
‘‘Not likely,’’ said George.
‘‘I didn’t say it’d be quick,’’ I answered. ‘‘Anyway, I want to see whom he reports to.’’
‘‘He owns his own paper,’’ said George.
‘‘I said ‘to,’ not ‘for.’ He was relaying a message to Herman at one point. For my money that was a message from the ‘masked man’ Hester and I saw running away…’’
‘‘We could watch him forever,’’ said Hester, still not turning toward us, ‘‘and we’d never know that.’’
‘‘Not us,’’ I said. ‘‘Can you see if Nancy Mitchell’s out there?’’
‘‘She’s not,’’ said Hester. ‘‘She’d be at the courthouse anyway. She does words, not pictures.’’
‘‘Ah.’’
The phone call to the clerk’s office took only a few seconds. Then Nancy was on the line, and curious as to why we wanted to see her, to say the least. I told her to say it was in regards to Rumsford, in her capacity as a witness.
‘‘It’ll be later this afternoon, after the hearings and all that,’’ she said.
It was time for another favor. Which she knew, of course.
‘‘Look, make it in the next five minutes, and I’ll see to it that you get to talk with one of them as they go through the building.’’ She agreed, readily, but without noticeable surprise. She was getting used to the preferential treatment.
George, as usual, was a bit nervous. ‘‘I don’t know that we should be dealing with this woman…’’
‘‘Oh, George,’’ said Hester, sounding exasperated, ‘‘the FBI probably wouldn’t. Those of us without resources, however, have to punt once in a while.’’
‘‘Once in a while?’’
‘‘Frequently,’’ I said. ‘‘Very frequently.’’
As it turned out, George was sufficiently bothered by the whole business that he decided to be taken off the kicking team. While Hester and I met with Nancy in the booking office, George stayed in the back room, poring over the papers from last night.
Nancy was wearing olive slacks, a white blouse with short sleeves, and a gray vest. She looked a little warm already, and it was supposed to be in the middle nineties until Sunday.
‘‘So,’’ she said, bustling into the room, and smiling at both of us, ‘‘when do I get to see ’em?’’
‘‘One of them,’’ I said. ‘‘And not for at least an hour.’’ I indicated an old wooden office chair. ‘‘Just have a seat. They have to walk right by you.’’
She sat, and Hester and I did the same. All three of us in the same heavy old wooden chairs. We’d gotten them from the courthouse when they remodeled the courtroom. We liked to say we had a matched set of thirty- seven. We were clustered around a heavy old wooden table. Guess from where. Only two of those, one for the prosecution, one for the defense.
‘‘So what can I do for you?’’ she asked.
‘‘We’ve got a problem,’’ said Hester. ‘‘You’re going to have to be our scout for a little while, with a guy…’’
‘‘Who is probably not my type,’’ said Nancy.
‘‘Probably not,’’ said Hester. ‘‘At least, I hope not.’’
‘‘I think you know him,’’ I said. ‘‘The man who runs the right-wing paper up north?’’
‘‘Borcherding? Oh, not Borcherding! No way!’’
‘‘Jesus, dear,’’ said Hester. ‘‘You don’t have to sleep with him.’’
‘‘The hell,’’ said Nancy. ‘‘That son of a bitch thinks he’s God’s gift to women… always tries to talk his way into your pants, grabs a feel whenever he thinks nobody’ll notice… and he’s a creepy asshole to boot.’’
We didn’t say anything.
‘‘He’s a real nutzoid, always trying to come on to you with some bullshit about taking over the country, about killing the Zionists.. .’’ She began to slow. ‘‘Wouldn’t put it past him to get somebody.. . killed…’’
Silence. We just looked at her.
‘‘You’re kidding,’’ she whispered.
I shook my head.
‘‘How could he be involved?’’
‘‘That’s where it begins to get a little more than Confidential,’’ I said. ‘‘Up past Restricted, and all the way to Secret.’’
‘‘Is there a story in this?’’ she asked.
‘‘Oh, absolutely,’’ I said. ‘‘Probably one of the bigger ones.’’
‘‘Exclusively?’’
‘‘That,’’ said Hester, ‘‘remains to be seen.’’
‘‘Right. But if I do what I have to do with Borcherding? Other than screw him?’’
‘‘Probably.’’ Hester grinned.
Nancy unbuttoned her vest. ‘‘It’s getting a little warm in here,’’ she said. She pulled out a small tape recorder from the pocket, and showed it to us, making sure we could see it wasn’t turned on. ‘‘Can I tape this?’’
‘‘We’ll just give you access to ours later,’’ I said.
She gave me a questioning look.
‘‘The alarm clock radio on the cabinet,’’ said Hester, who knew all about it. ‘‘Picks up everything in the room.’’
‘‘And the video camera,’’ I said, gesturing at the little box in the corner of the ceiling that was smaller than half a cigarette pack, ‘‘catches most of the action.’’
‘‘Oh.’’
‘‘You could take notes,’’ said Hester, ‘‘but we don’t want them leaving the room.’’
‘‘Right.’’ She eased back in her chair. ‘‘If you want me to get close to this geekhead, I assume you have a good reason.’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ I said.
‘‘Well, fill me in…’’
‘‘What we want,’’ I said, ‘‘is to know who he hangs around with. Who he talks to. That sort of thing.’’
‘‘Oh, no,’’ she said. ‘‘That’s a Freedom of the Press issue, I’m sorry.’’
I glanced at Hester; she nodded.
I reached into a drawer under the desk and took out a black marker. I unfolded a copy of the crucial Bravo6 e-mail, and crossed off the FROM line. I pushed it over to Nancy. ‘‘Look at this…’’
She did, and her eyes narrowed, and her face got noticeably pale for a second.
‘‘Your basic kill order, in the flesh,’’ said Hester.
‘‘Who sent this?’’ asked Nancy.
Neither Hester nor I said a word.
‘‘You crossed that off…’’ She hesitated. ‘‘You’re sure?’’
We still said nothing.
‘‘You are, aren’t you?’’ She stared at the sheet. ‘‘You know, and that’s why you want…’’
She looked at the sheet again. ‘‘But,’’ she said, her voice getting louder, ‘‘that motherfucker is just outside in
