“What is it you want to know about Jim Oakes?”
“I don’t know. Just tell me about him.”
“He’s just short of fifty. Married. Senior partner in a respected law firm that’s not as financially successful as he gives out. Owns 40 per cent of a real-estate development by the river. Leading political figure for years. Was Chairman of Connecticut Republican Party before the election. Newly elected Junior Senator.”
She smiled as she finished, and Nolan nodded.
“That’s the image. What’s behind it?”
“He was desperately short of money until this real-estate deal came up. Now he’s got plenty. He’s a man with money. And he’s a randy bastard.”
“Where did he raise the money for the real-estate deal?”
“A New York outfit called Gramercy Realtors. The guy he writes to is named de Jong. He also gets separate payments from an outfit called the Halpern Trust.”
“What amounts are we talking about?”
“He’s got two New York accounts, both at least a hundred grand. And the payment from Halpern Trust is a thousand a month.”
“What account is that paid into?”
“At First National here in Hartford.”
“How d’you know this, Maria?”
She looked at him calmly. “You know how I know. I’m sure Gary told you that Oakes screws me.”
He looked down to avoid her eyes and stirred his coffee. Then he looked back at her face.
“D’you know a guy named Siwecki?”
“Yeah. I know the family.”
“Tell me about the union one.”
“That’s the father—Tad Siwecki. He was union organizer at Haig Electronics. There was a strike and a few months afterwards he left to run the AFL-CIO local. He retired about a couple of years ago. He lives in one of the houses on Oakes’s development.”
“Must have a pretty good pension.”
“He gets a monthly payment from Oakes.”
“How much?”
“Last time I heard it was five hundred a month.”
“What’s the payment for?”
“I’m not sure. It’s some sort of deal with a guy named Dempsey. The one who’s alongside Powell.”
“Tell me about Dempsey.”
She smiled. “Real dishy, heir to a few millions, something to do with art in New York. Not married, but not for lack of opportunity, I’d guess. Only got mixed up in politics when Powell first ran for Governor. Nice guy.”
“Is Oakes out of town very often?”
“Not much. He generally takes a family holiday in Miami, and apart from that it’s mainly New York.”
“How often does he go there?”
“Once a week generally.”
“Where does he stay?”
“At the Waldorf Astoria unless I’ve been with him, then we stay at an apartment on 38th. It belongs to some friend of his.”
“Are you fond of him?”
“Not the slightest, or I wouldn’t be talking to you.”
He looked at her intently. “Why the relationship, then?”
She shrugged. “Way back I was impressed that he was interested in me. Now I guess it’s habit and money. I guess I’m like my Daddy, too. I like what he does.”
“Can I give you a lift home?”
“Sure.”
He pulled up on the forecourt of the block of flats where she lived, and her eyes caught the lights from the foyer as she turned to look at him.
“Where are you going to now?”
“To see Siwecki.”
“And afterwards?”
“Back to my place.”
“Where’s that?”
“Just out of town.”
Her face was lifted to his and she said softly, “Come back and see me after Siwecki.”
And instinctively, unbelievably, his mouth was on hers. The soft lips responding, and the soft warmth of her breasts against his arm. He pulled away gently.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be silly. I wanted you to. Say you’ll come back later.”
“I’m married to a gal like your momma, Maria.”
“You want me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, you’re beautiful.”
She took his hand and slid it up to her breast, and as they kissed again his fingers squeezed the firm mound and she pulled her mouth away from his.
“Have me now. Quickly.”
“That’s crazy, Maria. People would see us, for God’s sake.”
“So come back later and have me. You don’t have to stay, or say you love me. Just do it to me.”
“We’ll see, honey. We’ll see.”
As she opened the car door she leaned back to kiss him.
“I’ll wait,” she whispered.
He turned the car at the hotel entrance and joined the traffic heading out of the city centre, and two cars waited in line behind him. When he turned off the main road towards the river the second car was a long way behind.
There were lights on in Siwecki’s house as he walked up the drive and there was the sound of music inside as he reached up to ring the bell. A woman answered the door. She was black-haired and handsome in a gipsyish sort of way. Her eyes were suspicious, but he guessed that they always were.
“I’d like to talk to Mr. Siwecki.”
She turned away and shouted in Polish, and a man’s voice shouted back. The woman looked back at him.
“He say who are you an’ what you want?”
“My name is Nolan, I’m from Washington.”
She shouted again, and a few seconds later a man appeared at an inner door, a newspaper in his hand.
“Come in,” he called. And he held the door open for Nolan to go through.
There was a three-seater sofa in front of the TV set. And John Wayne was giving one of his closing sermons to a small boy who was holding the hand of a beautiful but unlikely mother. Siwecki leaned over and switched off the set.
He waved the paper at the sofa. “Sit down, mister.”
He waited while Nolan took off his coat.
“The old lady say you from Washington. I don’t believe that.”
Nolan smiled. “I am, Mr. Siwecki, and I need your help.”
The big man snorted his disbelief but said nothing. A legacy from years of hard bargaining.
“I’d like to go back to when you were at Haig Electronics and you had a strike.”
The Pole’s eyes half-closed. “What about it?”
Nolan looked at him calmly. “Who fixed that strike, Mr. Siwecki?”
“You mean who was the arbitrator?”
“No. I know that was Mr. Powell. I mean who arranged the strike?”
“Nobody arranged it, mister. It happened.”
“Why do you live here, Mr. Siwecki?”
Siwecki looked surprised. “Why not? Why does anybody live anywhere?”
“I mean
