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“This is total speculation, Gi
“The police are convinced that Clarence Little killed Laurie Erickson. They’d look bad if it turned out it was someone else, so they’re not going to give us the time of day. And can you just see the reaction if we marched into Central Precinct and demanded that a detective investigate the president of the United States for murder? No one is going to listen to us without rock solid proof.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying.”
“So we have to get some,” Gi
“Hey, I hear there’s a sale on rock solid proof at Wal-Mart. Let’s head over.”
Gi
“I’m just being realistic. I know you’re all excited about proving Little didn’t kill Laurie Erickson, but we’d become laughingstocks if we told anyone that we suspect Christopher Farrington is a serial killer.”
Gi
They both fell silent. Gi
“We could try to find Laurie Erickson’s mother and ask her if she was bought off by Farrington,” Brad said after a while.
Gi
Brad relaxed, pleased that Gi
“That’s exactly what we’ll do,” Gi
Gi
“I can’t let you work with me on this, Gi
“What are you talking about?”
“Tuchman doesn’t know you helped me find the bodies and the pinkies. She thinks I’m the only one involved in Little’s case. It’s my job that’s hanging by a thread. I don’t want her angry at you, too.”
Gi
“I’m not so certain about the way people would react, Gi
Gi
“I’ll follow up. I’ve got nothing to lose. With the way Tuchman feels about me I’ll never make partner even if the firm doesn’t fire me right away. I’d feel awful if I got you in trouble.”
Gi
“How do you think I’d feel if you were fired and I kept my job? I say we’re in this together, pardner. Think Titanic. I’m Kate Winslet and you’re Leonardo DiCaprio. If we go down, we go down together.”
“Uh, I don’t think you picked the right movie. Kate lived and Leonardo drowned.”
“Oh. Well I never was any good with movie trivia.”
“That’s okay. I get the point.”
Gi
“I think it’s your turn to pay the bill,” she said. “Then I think we should go to my apartment and talk about this some more…or not.”
Brad wished he could think of some witty repartee that would show Gi
Chapter Twenty-seven
Exposed was under siege. Arrayed behind barriers erected by the D.C. police were representatives of every branch of the media, foreign and domestic, screaming questions at anyone unfortunate enough to enter or leave the building. As Keith Evans drove by at a crawl to avoid ru
A ma
“I wish I had some raw steak to toss at them,” Maggie said as they got out of their car.
Gorman and another man were waiting in Gorman’s office on the second floor of the converted warehouse. The office walls were decorated with framed front pages displaying Exposed’s most outrageous headlines. Gorman stayed seated when the FBI agents were shown in, but his companion walked over and shook hands. He was a distinguished, white-haired gentleman in his midsixties. If his black pinstripe Ermenegildo Zegna suit and gold Patek Philippe watch were any indication, he was doing quite well.
“I’m Harvey Lang, Mr. Gorman’s attorney.”
“Keith Evans and Margaret Sparks. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lang.” He nodded toward the newspaper owner. “Mr. Gorman. Thanks for taking the time to see us.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“Actually, yes. You could have refused. But then we’d have to come to your house in the middle of the night and make you disappear into one of our secret prisons.”
Gorman’s eyes grew wide, and Evans laughed.
“That was just a little FBI humor. Actually, my partner and I left our rubber truncheons and cattle prods in the car. This whole conversation is off the record. You have enough people bugging you. I just want a minute of your time. Then we’re out of here.”
“What exactly do you want?” Lang asked.
“The name of the person who gave you the photographs you printed in your story about Charlotte Walsh and President Farrington,” Evans said, directing his answer at Exposed’s owner.
“I’m sorry. Those photographs were provided by a confidential source,” Lang said. “I’m sure you’re aware that such information is protected by the Freedom of the Press provision of the First Amendment.”
“What I’m aware of are the reporters who were sentenced to jail for contempt for taking that position, but I don’t think we have to resort to mortal combat for both of us to get what we want. I’m almost certain I know who took those pictures and I think she’s in great danger.”
Gorman’s features flickered from blank regard to concern and back in a heartbeat.
“None of us want to see this person hurt,” Evans continued, “so I have a plan that will let everyone get what they want.”
“Let’s hear it,” Lang said.
Evans focused on Patrick Gorman. “I’ll tell you the name of the person I think took the pictures. All I want you to do is confirm the name if I get it right. I also need to know where she might be. I wasn’t kidding when I said she’s in danger. I think someone may already have tried to kill her for those pictures.”