"For openers, I'd say you are paranoid and that you've gone over the edge."
"Frank Lonergan just phoned in. He talked to Governor Houston, who doesn't believe that Paul Yerby killed her daughter. He talked to Paul Yerby's parents. They don't believe it either."
"I wouldn't expect them to," Matt Baker said. "If that's the only - "
"That's just the beginning. Frank went down to the morgue and spoke to the coroner. She told him that the kid's belt was so tight that they had to cut it away from his throat."
He was listening more intently now. "And - ?"
"Frank went down to pick up Yerby's belongings. His belt was there. Intact."
Matt Baker drew a deep breath. "You're telling me that he was murdered in prison and that there was a cover-up?"
"I'm not telling you anything. I'm just reporting the facts. Oliver Russell tried to get me to use Ecstasy once. When he was running for governor, a woman who was a legal secretary died from Ecstasy. While he was governor, his secretary was found in a park in an Ecstasy-induced coma. Lonergan learned that Oliver called the hospital and suggested they take her off life-support systems." Leslie leaned forward. "There was a telephone call from the Imperial Suite to the White House the night Chloe Houston was murdered. Frank checked the hotel telephone records. The page for the fifteenth was missing. The president's appointments secretary told Lonergan that the president had a meeting with General Whitman that night. There was no meeting. Frank spoke to Governor Houston, and she said that Chloe was on a tour of the White House and that she had arranged for her daughter to meet the president."
There was a long silence. "Where's Frank Lonergan now?" Matt Baker asked.
"He's tracking down Carl Gorman, the hotel clerk who booked the Imperial Suite."
Jeremy Robinson was saying, "I'm sorry. We don't give out personal information about our employees."
Frank Lonergan said, "All I'm asking for is his home address so I can - "
"It wouldn't do you any good. Mr. Gorman is on vacation."
Lonergan sighed. "That's too bad. I was hoping he could fill in a few blank spots."
"Blank spots?"
"Yes. We're doing a big story on the death of Governor Houston's daughter in your hotel. Well, I'll just have to piece it together without Gorman." He took out a pad and a pen. "How long has this hotel been here? I want to know all about its background, its clientele, its - "
Jeremy Robinson frowned. "Wait a minute! Surely that's not necessary. I mean - she could have died anywhere."
Frank Lonergan said sympathetically, "I know, but it happened here. Your hotel is going to become as famous as Watergate."
"Mr. - ?"
"Lonergan."
"Mr. Lonergan, I would appreciate it if you could - I mean this kind of publicity is very bad. Isn't there some way - ?"
Lonergan was thoughtful for a moment. "Well, if I spoke to Mr. Gorman, I suppose I could find a different angle."
"I would really appreciate that. Let me get you his address."
Frank Lonergan was becoming nervous. As the outline of events began to take shape, it became clear that there was a murder conspiracy and a cover-up at the highest level. Before he went to see the hotel clerk, he decided to stop at his apartment house. His wife, Rita, was in the kitchen preparing dinner. She was a petite redhead with sparkling green eyes and a fair complexion. She turned in surprise as her husband walked in.
"Frank, what are you doing home in the middle of the day?"
"Just thought I'd drop in and say hello."
She looked at his face. "No. There's something going on. What is it?"
He hesitated. "How long has it been since you've seen your mother?"
"I saw her last week. Why?"
"Why don't you go visit her again, honey?"
"Is anything wrong?"
He grinned. "Wrong?" He walked over to the mantel. "You'd better start dusting this off. We're going to put a Pulitzer Prize here and a Peabody Award here."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm on to something that's going to blow everybody away - and I mean people in high places. It's the most exciting story I've ever been involved in."
"Why do you want me to go see my mother?"
He shrugged. "There's just an outside chance that this could get to be a little dangerous. There are some people who don't want this story to get out. I'd feel better if you were away for a few days, just until this breaks."
"But if you're in danger - "
"I'm not in any danger."
"You're sure nothing's going to happen to you?"
"Positive. Pack a few things, and I'll call you tonight."
"All right," Rita said reluctantly.
Lonergan looked at his watch. "I'll drive you to the train station."
One hour later, Lonergan stopped in front of a modest brick house in the Wheaton area. He got out of the car, walked to the front door, and rang the bell. There was no answer. He rang again and waited. The door suddenly swung open and a heavyset middle-aged woman stood in the doorway, regarding him suspiciously.
"Yes?"
"I'm with the Internal Revenue Service," Lonergan said. He flashed a piece of identification. "I want to see Carl Gorman."
"My brother's not here."
"Do you know where he is?"
"No." Too fast.
Lonergan nodded. "That's a shame. Well, you might as well start packing up his things. I'll have the department send over the vans." Lonergan started back down the driveway toward his car.