• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

At the gym, they watched Assistant FBI Director Jimmy Maitland on the big overhead TV, flanked by the local FBI field office people, local LAPD, and the press, in Los Angeles.

Savich said, “I told Mr. Maitland that we didn’t want to be part of the hoopla. He’s really good at handling that sort of thing.”

They watched the media pushing and shoving, all of them yelling questions at once. At least six reporters wanted to know where Dane, Sherlock, and Savich were. One even asked about the homeless woman—the supposed eyewitness—who hadn’t managed to identify Linus Wolfinger.

Nick booed the TV.

Jimmy Maitland said, fanning his hand, “Sorry, people, but the special agents in question are already involved in another case. As for the homeless woman, she did just fine. She put her life on the line for us. Next question.”

Delion had gone back to Los Angeles for the press conference, after being the main rep for a huge media ordeal in San Francisco at City Hall. Both Delion and Flynn were there now, standing together, smiling, Flynn’s hand moving up and down like he was dribbling a basketball, freely telling the main facts of the case. All questions about Captain DeLoach were referred to the DA.

A spokesperson from Premier Studios expressed owner Miles Burdock’s shock, surprise, and deep regret. He informed everyone that The Consultant would eventually be rescheduled. No one wanted the stars to be penalized for something they’d known nothing about.

He didn’t say it was just possible that everyone would want to watch the show now, that it would get its highest ratings ever. He didn’t say he was planning to use the profits the show generated to help cover the host of lawsuits the studio was sure to face from their scripts being used as models for murder by their own chief executive.

Belinda Gates and Joe Kleypas stood behind the spokesperson. It was obvious they were very pleased. The spokesperson announced finally that Frank Pauley would be assuming Linus Wolfinger’s position as president of Premier Studios.

The four watching at Hoolihan’s Gym in Chicago high-fived one another when the press conference was over. “Belinda was the only one who ever helped us,” Sherlock said, “but even she let us down.”

Savich said to his wife, “That reminds me. I haven’t pulled those rollers out of your hair yet,” and kissed her.

“I’ll buy some tomorrow,” Sherlock said.

THIRTY-SIX

An hour later the four of them were at Senator Rothman’s office on Briarly Avenue in downtown Chicago. Press were hovering about in herds. “I feel sorry for the poor soul who just happens to be walking near here today,” Nick said, and led them to the back of the building. “It looks like the reporters haven’t found out about this back entrance just yet.”

Savich said, “It won’t take them long. I saw security people in the lobby. At least they can keep the vultures out of the building.”

The secretary, Mrs. Mazer, jumped to her feet when she saw Nick and yelled, “Oh goodness me, you’re all right! Oh, Dr. Campion, the senator will be so pleased to see you. Even though he hasn’t said anything, I know he’s been dreadfully worried, particularly after we all saw you on television and realized you were involved in that horrible script murder case. We all thought you were visiting your family. Oh, come in, come in. Who are these folks with you?”

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Mazer. Is John free for a moment?”

“Oh, yes, certainly. He will be so pleased to see you.” She paused a moment, looking at Dane, Sherlock, and Savich, a gray eyebrow arched.

“It’s all right. They’re with me, Mrs. Mazer.”

Mrs. Mazer said nothing more, opened the senator’s door, then stepped aside.

Senator John Rothman was standing in the middle of his large office when Nick walked first into the room. She stopped, said, “Thank you for seeing me, John.”

He stood stiff as a lamppost. “Nicola,” he said politely. “Who are these people?”

Nick introduced each of them in turn. “Did you see the press conference?”