Fletch and the Man Who

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Then Fletch said in a rush, “Ideology will never equalize the world. Technology is doing so.”

“Jeez.”

Fletch said nothing.

In the small stateroom in the back of the presidential campaign bus, The Man Who looked at Fletch as if from far away. “Technology is equalizing the world?”

Still Fletch said nothing.

“You believe in technology?” the governor asked.

“I believe in what is.”

“Well, well.” The governor gazed at the steamy window. “Always nice to hear from the younger generation.”

“It’s not a political theory,” Fletch said. “Just an observation.”

Gazing at the window, the governor said, “There are many parts to that observation.”

“It’s a report,” Fletch said. “I’m a reporter.”

Only dim light came through the steamed-over, dirt-streaked bus window. No scenery was visible through it. After a moment, the governor brushed his knuckles against the window. Still no scenery was visible.

“Run for the presidency,” The Man Who mused, “and see America.”

The stateroom door opened. Flash Grasselli stuck his head around the door. “Anything you want, Governor?”

“Yeah. Coffee. Black.”

“No more coffee today,” Flash said. “Fresh out.”

He withdrew his head and closed the door.

The Man Who and Fletch smiled at each other.

“Someday …” the candidate said.

“Why is he called Flash?”

“Because he’s so slow. He walks slow. He talks slow. He drives slow. Best of all, he’s very slow to jump on people.” The governor frowned. “He’s very loyal.” He then swiveled his chair to face Fletch more fully. “How are things on the press bus?”

“Could be better. You’ve got a couple of double threats there, that I know of.”

“Oh?”

“Fredericka Arbuthnot and Michael J. Hanrahan. Freddie’s a crime writer for Newsworld and Hanrahan for Newsbill. ”

“Crime writers?”

“Freddie is very sharp, very professional, probably the best in the business. Hanrahan is utterly sleazy. I would deny him credentials, if I thought I could get away with it.”

“Try it.”

“Newsbill has a bigger readership than the New York Times and the Los Angeles Times put together.”

“Yeah, but Newsbill’s readers are too ashamed to identify themselves to each other.”

“So has the Daily Gospel a huge readership, for that matter.”

“How did we attract a couple of crime writers? Did somebody pinch Fenella Baker’s uppers?”

“The murder last night, of Alice Elizabeth Shields, was the second murder in a week that happened on the fringes of this campaign.”

“‘On the fringes,’” the governor repeated.

“They may not be connected. Apparently, Chicago police don’t think so. There’s a strong possibility they are connected. Strong enough, at least, to attract the attention of Freddie Arbuthnot and Michael J.”

“‘Connected.’ To the campaign?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who was murdered in Chicago?”

“A young woman, unidentified, strangled and found in a closet next to the press reception area at the Hotel Harris.”

“And the woman at the motel last night was murdered?”

“Clearly.”

“You’re saying I should get myself ready to answer some questions about all this.”

“At least.”

“So get me ready.”

“All right. Tell me about your arriving back at the hotel last night.”

The governor swiveled his chair forward again. “Okay. Willy drove me back to the hotel after the Chamber of Commerce speech.”

“Willy Finn, your advance man?”

“Yeah. He flew in as soon as he heard James was out on his ear. We had a chance to talk in the car. After he left me last night, he flew on to California.”

“Any idea what time you got to the hotel?”

“None at all. I think Willy was to be on an eleven-o’clock flight.”

“You entered the hotel alone?”

“Sure. Presidential candidates aren’t so special. There are a lot of us around. At this point.”

“Go straight to the elevator?”

“Of course. Shook a few hands on the way. When I got to the suite and opened the door, I saw flashing blue lights in the air outside. Through the living room window. I turned on the lights and changed into my robe. I looked through things people had stuffed into that briefcase.”

“You weren’t interested in what caused the flashing blue lights, the sirens?”

“My life is full of flashing blue lights and sirens. I’m a walking police emergency.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t go out onto the balcony, lean over the rail and look down?”

“No.”

“Why weren’t you wearing your shoes when I got there?”

The governor grinned puckishly. “I always take my shoes off before I go to bed. Don’t you?”

“It wasn’t because they were wet from your being out on the balcony?”

“I wasn’t out on the balcony.”

“Someone was. The snow out there was all messed up.”

“As I said, a great many people were in that room earlier. I might have even gone out on the balcony myself earlier. That I don’t remember.”

“You didn’t stop at any point on your way to your suite? On another floor, to see someone? Anything?”

“Nope. What’s the problem?”

“It doesn’t work out, Governor.”

“Why not?”

“Time-wise. Either you passed a mob on the sidewalk gathered around a dead girl …”

“Possible, I suppose.”

“But not likely.”

“No. Not likely.”

“Or, while you were in the lobby, people—including Dr. Thom— rushed out of the bar to the sidewalk to see what had happened.”

“I didn’t see either thing.”

“One thing or the other had to be true, for you to see the flashing police and ambulance lights from your suite when you got there.”

The governor shrugged. “I bored the Chamber of Commerce people to death, but I don’t think I killed anybody after that.”