* * *
'Tell me about Leo Weller,' Kerry asked.
Clayton smiled grimly. 'It's even worse than we thought. For Leo, that is. And for quite a few of his constituents.
'The problem is a vermiculite mine in Libby, Montana. Vermiculite is a material used to make pottery . . .'
'Then what's this about asbestosis?'
'Vermiculite,' Clayton answered, 'turns out to be a form of asbestos. But the company, Montana Mines, assured the workers it wasn't harmful. So they were bringing it home on their clothes, also exposing their wives and children. Essentially, the entire town was infected with asbestosis. The death toll's over fifty, with a lot more folks on respirators, fixing to breathe their last.'
Angry, Kerry shook his head. 'Stories like this give the lie to
'Worse than nothing. When a victims' group from Libby asked to see him, he sent an aide. Now he's put a clause in Fasano's tort reform bill, immunizing Montana Mines from liability.' Clayton's tone became sardonic. 'To my complete surprise, the CEO is one of Leo's chief supporters—and fund-raisers.'
'I always knew,' Kerry said disgustedly, 'that Weller was one of the dumbest men in the Senate. But to be so callous, and such an obvious whore, suggests that Leo still has room for growth.'
Clayton nodded. 'As you say, Leo's a prime subject for TV spots.'
'No one,' Kerry agreed, 'can say he's not deserving. I wonder how Bob Lenihan's group of trial lawyers might react to Leo's blunder.'
Clayton studied him. 'Who would tell them? If our fingerprints are on the ads, you'd be accused of coordinating your own political operation with outside groups. Which, as you'll recall, may well violate the law.'
Kerry smiled. 'Do you really think that our man Robert can't get there on his own? If so, I'll have to pray that he's telepathic.'
There was a buzz on Kerry's intercom. 'The First Lady's calling,' his assistant said.
Clayton chose to leave. Picking up the telephone, Kerry said, 'I just heard something you need to know.'
'So did I,' Lara replied. 'But you go first.'
* * *
'Bowden's gun was stolen?' Kerry repeated the next morning.
Clayton nodded. 'After the murders, Lexington told the ATF it had no record of shipment. But within forty-eight hours of a theft, the law requires licensed dealers to report it to the ATF—complete with the serial number of any and all guns taken. When the ATF went back and pushed the right button, Bowden's P-2 came up. It turns out the gun was part of a batch of fifty or so P-2s stolen from a major gun dealer in Phoenix, Arizona.'
'When?'
'About six months ago. With fifty more stolen P-2s out there, it's a fair bet that some of them have already popped up in crimes—or soon will. If so, it may be possible to trace one back to the seller of Bowden's gun.'
'Then push the ATF on that,' Kerry ordered. 'Whoever sold to Bowden may be trafficking in stolen guns. Where better than a gun show?'
Clayton folded his arms. Quietly, he said, 'I assume this is for the lawsuit. So I can only hope you're being careful.'
Silent, Kerry felt the painful memory of the murders flooding back to him, as fresh in his mind and heart as the faces of Inez and Joan, the moment of dancing with Marie. Now he might know who put the gun in Bowden's hands—and where.
'Just get the ATF to do it,' he directed. 'I'll worry about the rest.'
* * *
'It's a start,' Lara told Sarah Dash. 'If I find out any more, I'll call.'
Grateful, Sarah thanked her, and got off.
Elbow propped on her desk, Sarah rested her forehead against tented fingertips. The migraine had intensified, throbbing from the cords of her neck to her eyes, turning her stomach to a persistent pit of nausea. But through the pounding in her head she tried to focus on what Lara Kilcannon had just told her: that, for good or ill, they might finally know the truth of Bowden's trip to Las Vegas.
Her telephone rang again. Sarah reached for it, trying to summon a veneer of crisp professionalism. 'Sarah Dash.'
There was silence. 'Is this a secure line?' her caller finally asked.
It was a man's voice—high, and almost screechy. But it was the oddity of his inquiry that caused Sarah to sit up. 'Yes,' she answered. 'Who is this?'
'I visited your web site.' The caller paused, and then the timbre of his voice fell. 'I work at Lexington Arms. I know things.'
Tense, Sarah tried to ignore the throbbing in her temples. 'What things?'
There was another pause. 'Information damaging to the company,' the man answered. 'Covered up by my supervisors.'
'By Callister?'
The man's voice remained tight. 'If I tell you, I may lose my job. Or worse.'
Sarah tried to think swiftly, searching for what was best to say. Some whistleblowers are paranoid, Lenihan had told her, some are on a mission from God, some see wrongdoing where there is none. But some— the ones you pray for—can turn a case upside down.
'I can offer you absolute security,' Sarah assured her caller. 'Unless you authorize it, I won't use whatever you tell me.'
The man hesitated. 'How can I be sure of that?'
'I'm a lawyer. If you're coming to me for legal advice, even if you don't retain me, the state ethics rules require me to keep this in strict confidence. I could lose my license if I don't.'
'Because if I come to you,' the man persisted, 'I don't want you outing me. Now what about my job?'
Involuntarily, Sarah thought of Bresler, her own fear of having yet another witness flip. 'There's a risk,' she acknowledged. 'Did Lexington make you sign a confidentiality agreement, promising to protect internal corporate information unless you're under oath?'
'Yes.' The man's voice fell off. 'Everyone had to sign.'
Skull pounding, Sarah rubbed her eyes. 'That only goes so far. Lexington can threaten you with a lawsuit. But under Connecticut law, you can bring a wrongful termination action if Lexington fired you for reasons which violate public policy. If you tell me what you know, I can advise you.'
Her last statement, Sarah realized, had the desperate tone of a plea. Perhaps in response, her caller fell silent. 'Can you at least tell me your name?' she urged. 'Or a number where I can reach you?'
