“I may do that.”
He nodded, satisfied. “So what happened?”
He got the abridged version, the one without the chips, the memo, or Tracy’s story. I was getting pretty good at it. Robinson sat, listening intently. “And you couldn’t find Martinson?”
“No.”
“Think he’s hiding out with Lehman?”
“Christ, I hope not.”
Robinson shook his head. “I’m not used to this.”
“Who is?”
“What I can’t figure is why Lasko, who’s got serious problems with Justice on this antitrust suit, needs more with us.” Robinson pondered his own question, then switched tacks abruptly. “How much trouble are you in?”
“You mean how many intimations of mortality am I having?” He nodded glumly. “Well, I keep telling myself that killing me is like killing a cop. So I figure that they won’t unless they have to.”
“The corollary of that is if they have to they will.”
“Don’t depress me.”
“I’m trying to depress you.”
It was a conversational blind alley. I looked at my watch. “When do we see Green?”
“9:30.”
“Then you had better tell me what I should know.”
Robinson shrugged. “OK. Lasko owns 25 per cent of the stock of the First Seminole Bank. Actually he doesn’t own it. His companies do-Lasko Devices and its subsidiaries, through their various pension funds. Made it sort of hard to trace. Anyhow, the 25 per cent is effectively his. That makes him the largest single stockholder, not enough to control the bank itself, but enough to have real pull.”
“That’s nice. Talk to anyone at the bank?”
“No. I figured you’d worry that it’d get back to Lasko.”
“Anything else?”
“Just that I called up O’Hair, reminded him the subpoena was still good and invited Sam back. I didn’t say why.”
“OK.”
“How are you going to handle this?”
“I’ll give O’Hair a veiled offer of leniency, then threaten a perjury prosecution. He’s got to believe I’d do that, although I wouldn’t. Then, I’ll try to make him think we’ve gotten to the bank, which we haven’t. From there on, I’ll see what turns up.”
“Hope O’Hair buys it.”
“So do I. Listen, I’ve got a couple of things to do.”
He got up. “OK. I’ll see you down there.”
“Yeah.” I was feeling a little guilty. “Jim, thanks for your help. I mean it.”
“Sure,” he answered, and shut the door behind him.
I stared unhappily at the phone. Once I picked it up I was committed to going it alone. But I hadn’t left myself any choices. So I made the easy call first.
Greenfeld was in. “Lane, I’ve got a pure favor to ask you. No strings.”
“You can always try,” he answered in a dry tone. “What is it?”
“Do you have sources at IRS?”
“Sure.”
“If you can do it without getting them excited, check IRS for a list of any mental hospitals or sanitariums to which the Lasko Foundation has contributed. Especially around Boston. Can you do that?”
“Do I get to ask why?”
“Sure. You just don’t get answers.”
“Isn’t this something you can do through your channels?”
“No. Not this one.”
“What the hell is going on over there?”
“Can you do it?” I persisted.
“All right,” he said in an aggravated tone. “I’ll call you back.” The phone clicked off.
There was one more favor to ask. I readied myself to reach back in time, mix past with present. Then I made the call.
“Mr. Stansbury? Chris Paget.”
“Chris,” the vigorous voice answered, “where are you?”
“Here. Washington. I work here.” And have for three years, I didn’t add.
“That’s marvelous. You’ll have to visit.”
“I had that in mind. I think perhaps you can do me a favor.”
“I’d be delighted.” His voice warmed suddenly with old hopes. They had been my hopes too, and they had died hard. But I had buried them.
“It’s business, I’m afraid.”
His tone faded a bit. “Surely, Chris. What is it?”
“I remember you were an electrical engineer, before you went into the business end. How are your skills?”
“Pretty good still, I think.”
“I need an expert opinion on some computer chips. Can you look at them today?”
“Surely. Retirement has left me with nothing but time. Too much time. Can you find the place?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“Thanks much, Mr. Stansbury.”
“See you later then.” There was a question in his voice. I hung on for a second, but he didn’t ask it. I was just as glad. I rang off and felt absently for the chips in my pocket. Still there. Then I went off to question Sam Green.
Robinson was already sitting in the conference room, with Green, O’Hair, and my favorite reporter. She set up her machine next to the potted palm, still smiling like the Mona Lisa. Green was perspiring. The room was cool enough; the sweat was from wondering what we had. O’Hair was next to him, looking ostentatiously calm.
I moved to the head of the conference table and sat next to Robinson. Green stared at an empty corner, as if that would make me disappear. I shuffled some papers, to let him stew awhile.
O’Hair thrust forward. “On behalf of my client, I demand to know why he’s been recalled.”
I excused the reporter, then turned to O’Hair. “Because we’re interviewing mental defectives this week. We got Green for today’s special.”
“What kind of crap-”
“You can take your demand and shove it. Someone’s already dead, and your boy here has been horsing us around.”
O’Hair picked a lower key. “My client is aware of his constitutional rights.”
The bargaining had started. I asked Green to leave. He rose clumsily, almost tripping, and stumbled out. I looked after him. “I hope his constitutional rights console him at Danbury. With his record, he’ll do some time.”
“You said yourself you couldn’t prove perjury.” O’Hair tried sounding aggrieved, as if I had broken a promise.
“I’ve changed my mind. I figure no jury will believe that he can’t remember one month later who got him a $400,000 loan.”
“So why don’t you prosecute?”
That was tactic number one. Trying To Get The Prosecutor To Admit Your Client’s Importance. “Because Green is a piss-ant, of no importance. To be honest, I don’t much care what he does. If he talks, that’s another witness against Lasko. If he doesn’t, I just prosecute them both.”
“You haven’t shown me a thing.”
I shrugged. “It’s your choice, Mr. O’Hair. Green can take the Fifth, or he can cooperate. But he’d better not
