connected.”
“You indicated it could all be coincidence.”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe that?”
Freddie shrugged. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here. Also I had to say, as did Hanrahan, that the candidate has not made himself available for questioning on this matter.”
“Truly, he hasn’t anything to say.”
“Truly …” Freddie was stretched out in her chair, her head against the chair back. “Fletch, what does Wheeler really say about these murders?”
“He treats them like flies on his porridge. He keeps trying to brush them away. To him, this story is the story of the campaign itself. He doesn’t want it turned into a murder story.”
“It would ruin the campaign.”
“He’s talking about organizing the new technology to gather and disperse information, goods, and service for the betterment of people worldwide, and someone keeps dropping corpses on him.”
“Who?”
“Tell me.”
“Would he have any other reason for avoiding our questions? Inquiry? Investigation?”
“Isn’t the ruination of his campaign enough of a reason?”
“I suppose so.”
“You mean, like his own guilt?”
“Sally Shields was found on the sidewalk beneath his windows. As Hanrahan reported, and I didn’t, Doris and Caxton Wheeler have separate suites. Doris is a rich bitch. People tell me she can be real nasty. Who says he has to love her?”
“You think the candidate is using disposable women?”
“Who knows?”
“I don’t think he’d throw one out his own window.”
“Things get out of hand,” she mused. “Things can get out of hand.”
“There is an idea …” Fletch hesitated.
“Lay it on me. I can take it, whatever it is.”
“… that whoever, or whatever is doing this, is doing so to torpedo the campaign of Caxton Wheeler. To destroy him as a presidential candidate.”
“Whose idea is that?”
Again Fletch hesitated. “Caxton Wheeler’s.”
“I thought so. Even to you he tries to steer inquiry away from himself. Was he in his suite at the time Alice Elizabeth Shields landed on the sidewalk, or wasn’t he?”
Fletch shifted in his chair. “The timing doesn’t work out. He says he got out of a car, didn’t see anything like a crowd on the sidewalk, didn’t see the people leaving the bar, and yet when he got to his hotel room he says he saw the lights from the police cars and ambulance.”
“All that can’t be so,” Freddie said.
Fletch didn’t say anything.
“Is Wheeler pointing his finger at anyone else?”
“He’s mentioned Andrew Esty.”
“Esty?” Freddie laughed. “I don’t think his religion condones murder.”
“He’s been with the campaign three weeks. He left yesterday, came back, there was another murder. I saw him in the elevator last night. He was frustrated, angry—”
“Esty wouldn’t want to be caught as a murderer.” Freddie smiled. “The Supreme Court might prohibit prisoners from praying.”
“Bill Dieckmann,” Fletch said.
“Bill’s pretty sick, I guess.”
“Last night I found him in the corridor of the fifth floor of this hotel. He was having one of his seizures. When I came across him, he was leaning against the wall. He didn’t recognize me. He didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. He collapsed. I carried him to his own room on the ninth floor. When he came to, he didn’t know how he got there.”
“What was he doing on the fifth floor?”
“Who knows? But this morning I realized he was standing between the main elevators and the service elevators. The chambermaid was found in a service elevator, right?”
Freddie’s face was sad. “Poor old Bill. He’s got five kids.” Then she laughed. “Did you see Filby’s face yesterday when he realized he had missed the whole ‘New Reality’ speech? You’d think the doctor had just told him he’d have to have his whole stomach amputated.”
“That would be hard to swallow.”
“Joe Hall has an uncontrollable temper,” Freddie said. “I saw him lose it once. At a trial in Nashville. A courtroom marshal wouldn’t let him in. Said his press credentials were no good. Joe went berserk. He began swinging at people.”
“And you can’t tell me,” Fletch said, “that Solov is your normal Russian boy-next-door. If what you all say is true, he sits there watching pornography all night. He must build up a hell of a head of steam. Goin’ out and beatin’ women to death might be his way of fighting off a night of such entertainment.”
“Poor Russians,” Freddie sighed. “They have so little experience handling smut.”
“Are you listening to me?”
“He bears watching.”
“I think he’s a very good candidate. Might even oblige Wheeler’s theory of someone wanting to sabotage the campaign.”
“So where does Wheeler go when he disappears?” Freddie asked.
“You keep bringing the conversation back to Wheeler.”
“You keep steering me away from Wheeler. And his staff. You keep pushing it on the press. Have you forgotten yourself so easily? Really, how quickly one becomes a member of the establishment.”
“I’m trying to be honest with you. I trust you.”
“Now that you know I really am Freddie Arbuthnot.”
“Yes. Now that we both agree you’re Fredericka Arbuthnot.”
“There are plenty of kooks on staff. Dr. Thom, who clearly got his medical degree from Bother U.”
“He has his hatreds.”
“That Lee Allen Parke is a manipulator of women, if I ever saw one. And I’ve seen plenty. The governor’s driver—”
“Flash Grasselli.”
“—has the body of a brute, and the brain of a newt. Barry Hines is twitching so fast you can’t even see him.”
“I guess we’ve got kooks on this campaign.”
“Fletcher, dear, you’re almost beginning to seem normal to me.”
“You mean, next to Solov?”
“Next to Solov, Maxim Gorky would seem a fun date.”
Fletch glanced at his watch. It was twenty to twelve. “We’ve got a press bus to catch.” He went to the bed and closed his suitcase. “The rally at the shopping mall is at one o’clock. Tonight in Melville is the last big rally of this campaign.”
She hadn’t moved from her chair. “So where does the governor go when he disappears?”
“Oh, Flash gave me some cock-and-bull story about his going to some unnamed mountain cabin on some unnamed lake and going on a sleep orgy.”
“A sleep orgy?”
“He reads and sleeps for a few days.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I’m not sure I believe it.”
