“No,” John said, “we are trying to tell you that we didn’t know anything about it. We learned about the murders for the first time on NewsFlash the other day.”
“And you never knew about them beforehand?”
“That’s right.”
Sara shook her head. “Then tell me, Senator, what did you make of Bradley’s murder?”
“The same as everyone else,” Jenkins said slowly. “I thought Bradley was the random victim of some homophobic psychopath. I had no idea that his murder was connected to the Sidney Pavilion until the newscast.”
John nodded his agreement. “All we did was try to pressure the people in Washington to take back the grant. We went so far as to falsify reports to make it look like the Sidney Pavilion was illegally usurping funds.”
Sara almost smiled. “So while Raymond Markey accused Harvey of falsifying reports, you four were the ones who were really tampering with the evidence.”
“Yes,” her father said. “In many ways the NewsFlash report almost buried the clinic. By revealing that Bradley was a patient at the clinic, you left Harvey wide-open to charges of purposely misrepresenting the facts. Theoretically, Markey could have taken away the clinic’s grant.”
“So why didn’t he?”
“Because we live in the real world, not a theoretical one. Can you imagine the outcry if Markey had tried to close the clinic after the show? The media would have had him for lunch. A full investigation would have ensued, and none of us wanted that—”
“So,” Sara interrupted, “all of you decided to stall the clinic for a couple of years by using Michael as a guinea pig.”
“It was Sanders’ plan,” John corrected, “and frankly speaking, it was a damn good one. Michael would be able to receive treatment, and the cure would be delayed until Sanders could think of another way of destroying them.”
“Then what went wrong?” Sara asked. “Since Sanders got his way, why did he have Michael kidnapped?”
“That’s just it, honey. We don’t know. Markey and Sanders both swear they have nothing to do with the Gay Slasher or Michael’s kidnapping. Sanders says he’s as unhappy with the development as we are.”
“And you believe him?”
“I don’t know what to believe. I was just in Washington, screaming at him like crazy. He continues to swear he had nothing to do with it. In fact he says that the Gay Slasher and all the publicity has actually strengthened the clinic, not hurt it.”
Sara shook her head. “But don’t you see? Without the cured patients, there is no proof that SR1 works. By killing the cured patients, the Gay Slasher is doing your work for you.”
Neither man responded.
“Are you going to expose the conspiracy?” Sara asked.
“If only it were that simple,” John replied.
“It is that simple,” Sara said coldly. “All you have to do is stop worrying about yourselves.”
“Sara,” John continued, “I know you are angry with me. I know that a part of you even hates me right now. I would feel the same way if the situation was reversed. Believe me, I have learned my lesson. I don’t care anymore about my personal reputation—you have to believe that. But if I go out now and tell the world what I have done, it could destroy the Cancer Center. Charities cannot survive scandals nowadays—you know that. You did a story on that house for teenage runaways—a fine institution destroyed by one man’s indiscretions. I’m sorry, Sara. I cannot risk the Cancer Center. It’s too important.”
Sara just stared. “Then you are not going to do anything, are you, Father?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Sara grabbed her cane and stood. The silent Cassandra stood with her. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to find the truth behind this whole mess. And I don’t give a shit if I have to drag down my own father, half of Washington, and the damn Cancer Center to do it.”
She stormed out of the room.
JENNIFER picked up the phone on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Jen.”
She recognized Harvey’s voice instantly. “Hello, Harvey. How are you?”
“Been better.”
“I can imagine. How is Sara holding up?”
“As well as can be expected, I guess.”
“Give her my love, will you?”
“Sure. How is everything out in Los Angeles?”
“Good.”
“You’re doing okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Pause.
Harvey cleared his throat. “Listen, Jen, I hate to rush you off the line—”
“I have a package from Bruce,” she interrupted.
“What?”
“On the day he died,” she continued slowly, “Bruce sent himself a package to his post office box at the main branch of Los Angeles’ post office.”
“Did you open it?”
“Yes. There were medical files in it.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
“Do you have them right there?”
“Yes.”
“Can you read me the names?”
She picked up the files. “Krutzer, Leander, Martino, Singer, Trian, and Whitherson.”
Another pause. Then a whisper: “Jesus.”
“Harvey, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice still sounded dazed. “Was there anything else in the package?”
“Blood samples. Two vials for each patient, labeled A and B.”
Harvey thought for a moment. “Listen to me very carefully, Jen, okay? I need you to send me the entire package here by overnight mail.”
“Does this have something to do with Michael’s kidnapping?”
“I can’t say for sure until I see the entire package. Jen, you have to send me that package right away, okay?”
“It’s after six. The post office is closed.”
Harvey looked at the clock, realized the hour, and cursed himself out loud.
“I tried to reach you earlier,” Jennifer added.
“I know. It’s my fault.”
“I can send it to you special delivery first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks, Jen.”
“Will you let me know what happens?”
“Sure.” He paused. “I hope you’re happy, Jen. I still care about you, you know.”