Please. The tape!'
Finally, and only because she was desperate, and only because her husband, Patrick Xavier O'Reilly, had Mondays off because he worked the high-crime shift on Saturdays, she called the two-toilet Irish detective and told him that if he did not come down to help out she'd file a complaint against him for rape—which was only wishful thinking, she added. The only person she was unable to reach was the congressman from Colorado's ninth district.
'I am so very, very sorry, Mrs. O'Reilly,' said the Arab husband of the couple who took care of Kendrick's house, and who Annie suspected was probably an unemployed surgeon or an ex-university president. 'The congressman said he would be away for a few days. I have no idea where he is.'
'That's a lot of crap, Mr. Sahara—’
'You flatter me with dimensions, madame.'
'That, tool You reach that horned-toad servant of the public and tell him we're going ape-shit down here! And it's all because of his appearance on the Foley show!'
'He was remarkably effective, was he not?'
'You know about it?'
'I saw his name in the Washington Post's late listings, madame. Also in the Times of New York and Los Angeles, and the Chicago Tribune.'
'He gets all those papers?'
'No, madame, I do. But he's perfectly welcome to read them.'
'Glory be to God!'
The pandemonium in the outside office had become intolerable. Annie slammed down the phone and ran to her door; she opened it, astonished to see Evan Kendrick and her husband shoving their way through a crowd of reporters, congressional aides and various other people she did not know. 'Come in here!' she yelled.
Once inside the secretarial office and with the door closed, Mr. O'Reilly spoke. 'I'm her Paddy,' he said, out of breath. 'Nice to meet you, Congressman.'
'You're my blocking back, pal,' replied Kendrick, shaking hands and quickly studying the large, broad-shouldered, red-haired man with a paunch four inches larger than his considerable height should permit, and a vaguely florid face that held a pair of knowing, intelligent green eyes. 'I'm grateful we got here at the same time.'
'In all honesty, we didn't, sir. My crazy lady called over an hour ago and I was able to get here in maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes. I saw the brouhaha in the corridor and figured you might show up. I waited for ya.'
'You might have let me know, you lousy mick! We've been going crazy in here!'
'And be slapped with a felony charge, darlin'?'
'He really is two-toilet Irish, Congressman—’
'Hold it, you two,' ordered Evan, glancing at the door. 'What the hell are we going to do about this? What's happened?'
'You went on the Foxley show,' said Mrs. O'Reilly. 'We didn't.'
'I make it a point never to watch those programmes,' mumbled Kendrick. 'If I do I'm expected to know something.'
'Now a lot of people know about you.'
'You were damn good, Congressman,' added the DC detective. 'A couple of boys in the department called and asked me to tell Annie to thank you—I told you, Annie.'
'First, I haven't had the chance, and second, with all this confusion I probably would have forgotten. But I think, Evan, that your only clean way is to go out there and make some kind of statement.'
'Wait a minute,' interrupted Kendrick, looking at Patrick O'Reilly. 'Why would anyone in the police department want to thank me?'
'The way you stood up to Barrish and clobbered him.'
'I gathered that, but what's Barrish to them?'
'He's a Pentagon hustler with friends in high places. Also a
