Shadow of Power

It wasn’t a label but rather a yellow Post-it, a two-inch-square note, stuck under the clear plastic cover of the DVD’s jewel case. The Post-it had two names pe

Harry has been fielding text messages from her since two-thirty this afternoon, three of them, telling us there was something urgent waiting for us back at the office.

By the time we get there, it is almost seven. Je

“You’re go

We dump our briefcases on the floor just inside the door and follow her to the conference room, where the lights are on and there are voices. One of the secretaries and another paralegal are seated at the conference table hunched over legal pads and holding pencils. As soon as they see us, one of them says, “Start it over,” and the secretary punches a button on the remote.

A second later, just before the screen flickers to blue, I see the image and recognize the face.

I look at Je

She nods. “But there’s more,” she says. And now she does cry.

“What?”

Both of the paralegals and the secretary know that Harry, Herman, and I have been on a hunt for the Jefferson Letter for more than eight months, since before the trial started, wondering if it existed and, if it did, who had it and where it was.

She wipes away the tears and teeters on her tiptoes, wringing her hands in front of her like she’s going to break her knuckles. “We think it’s there, on the video,” she says.

“Punch it up,” says Harry.

For the next twenty-six minutes, the five of us sit around the table, our eyes glued to the television screen, watching the image of Arthur Gi

This is what they’ve been working on since midafternoon, the three women with pencils and pads, listening to the video over and over again, trying to write down words, partial sentences, trying to work out a rough transcript of what is being said on the video.

The curved end of Gi

Every once in a while, he will laugh, and the intelligible few words that follow can be heard, but it’s just idle chatter. At one point he’s buttered a piece of bread when he laughs, throws his head back, and says, “I know. It was hilarious. I saw that on CNN.” Then his voice drops again, and his words are swallowed up in the surrounding noise.

Several times he leans with his elbows against the table and talks fervently to whoever it is on the other side. We can’t see the face of this person, just his right hand, the sleeve of his suit coat, and the starched cuff of his shirt where it sticks out.

Each time Gi

We are just over nine minutes into the tape when the camera shakes a little and the hand on this side of the table disappears from view. When it reappears a second or so later, it is holding a sheaf of paper, folded in thirds.

“There it is.” Je

The hand comes back into view, and the papers are unfolded. They are stapled together at the top left-hand corner, what appears to be four pages. This is obvious because the forefinger of the other hand idly fans them at the bottom as if to show the camera the individual sheets.

“What do you think it’s worth?” The man holding the letter is speaking, and with the elevated volume of his voice you can hear it clearly. “The original, I mean.” This is even more audible.

Harry looks at me and mouths the words, The firebug.

We have both heard Scarborough’s voice enough times from videos of appearances on his final book tour to recognize it.

The look from Gi

For almost fifteen seconds, you can see the reduced image of elegant handwritten script, something from another age, on the open page in front of the camera. If you froze the picture with the proper equipment, you could read it. Just on the inside margins of the page, you can see the shadowed line from the edge of the original document that was copied.

He tries to hand the letter to Gi

“We think he said, ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’” says Je

There is some wobble with the camera, and when Gi

“When can I have the original? I need it before I can deliver.” Over the din of laughter and the clatter of dishes, you can hear this clearly. It is obvious now that not only is the volume of Scarborough’s voice elevated but that he is much closer to the concealed microphone.

Across the table Gi

“Have you finished it?” Gi

We ca

Just like that, he is affable once more. He wipes the butter off both edges of his knife. Then he reaches out with the knife and lifts the letter just enough so that it slides back across the table toward Scarborough. He smiles. Nods a few times and says, “Put it away. You’ll have what…”

“‘Put it away. You’ll have’ what?” says Harry.

“What you need,” says Je

Both hands come out once more, and the letter is folded. Within seconds it disappears, back where it came from, probably into the inside breast pocket of Scarborough’s coat.

Gi

The video ends, and we turn off the set.

“It’s yeoman service,” I tell them. “Bonuses all around.” Even if I have to pay them out of my own pocket. “And you.” I look at Je