"Wait a minute! What vans? What are you talking about?"
Lonergan stopped and turned. "Didn't your brother tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
Lonergan took a few steps back toward the house. "He's in trouble."
She looked at him anxiously. "What kind of trouble?"
"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss it." He shook his head. "He seems like a nice guy, too."
"He is," she said fervently. "Carl is a wonderful person."
Lonergan nodded. "That was my feeling when we were questioning him down at the bureau."
She was panicky. "Questioning him about what?"
"Cheating on his income tax. It's too bad. I wanted to tell him about a loophole that could have helped him out, but - " He shrugged. "If he's not here..." He turned to go again.
"Wait! He's - he's at a fishing lodge. I - I'm not supposed to tell anybody."
He shrugged. "That's okay with me."
"No...but this is different. It's the Sunshine Fishing Lodge on the lake in Richmond, Virginia."
"Fine. I'll contact him there."
"That would be wonderful. You're sure he'll be all right?"
"Absolutely," Lonergan said. "I'll see that he's taken care of."
Lonergan took 1-95, heading south. Richmond was a little over a hundred miles away. On a vacation, years ago, Lonergan had fished the lake, and he had been lucky.
He hoped he would be as lucky this time.
It was drizzling, but Carl Gorman did not mind. That's when the fish were supposed to bite. He was fishing for striped bass, using large minnows on slip bobbers, far out behind the rowboat. The waves lapped against the small boat in the middle of the lake, and the bait drifted behind the boat, untouched. The fish were in no hurry. It did not matter. Neither was he. He had never been happier. He was going to be rich beyond his wildest dreams. It had been sheer luck. You have to be at the right place at the right time. He had returned to the Monroe Arms to pick up a jacket he had forgotten and was about to leave the garage when the private elevator door opened. When he saw who got out, he had sat in his car, stunned. He had watched the man return, wipe off his fingerprints, then drive away.
It was not until he read about the murder the following day that he had put it all together. In a way, he felt sorry for the man. I really am a fan of his. The trouble is, when you're that famous, you can never hide. Wherever you go, the world knows you. He'll pay me to be quiet. He has no choice. I'll start with a hundred thousand. Once he pays that, he'll have to keep paying. Maybe I'll buy a chateau in France or a chalet in Switzerland.
He felt a tug at the end of his line and snapped the rod toward him. He could feel the fish trying to get away. You're not going anywhere. I've got you hooked.
In the distance, he heard a large speedboat approaching. They shouldn't allow power boats on the lake. They'll scare all the fish away. The speedboat was bearing down on him.
"Don't get too close," Carl shouted.
The speedboat seemed to be heading right toward him.
"Hey! Be careful. Watch where you're going. For God's sake - "
The speedboat plowed into the rowboat, cutting it in half, the water sucking Gorman under.
Damn drunken fool! He was gasping for air. He managed to get his head above water. The speedboat had circled and was heading straight for him again. And the last thing Carl Gorman felt before the boat smashed into his skull was the tug of the fish on his line.
When Frank Lonergan arrived, the area was crowded with police cars, a fire engine, and an ambulance. The ambulance was just pulling away.
Frank Lonergan got out of his car and said to a bystander, "What's all the excitement?"
"Some poor guy was in an accident on the lake. There's not much left of him."
And Lonergan knew.
At midnight, Frank Lonergan was working at his computer, alone in his apartment, writing the story that was going to destroy the President of the United States. It was a story that would earn him a Pulitzer Prize. There was no doubt about it in his mind. This was going to make him more famous than Woodward and Bernstein. It was the story of the century.
He was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. He got up and walked over to the front door.
"Who is it?"
"A package from Leslie Stewart."
She's found some new information. He opened the door. There was a glint of metal, and an unbearable pain tore his chest apart.
Then nothing.
Chapter 20
Frank Lonergan's living room looked as if it had been struck by a miniature hurricane. All the drawers and cabinets had been pulled open and their contents had been scattered over the floor.
Nick Reese watched Frank Lonergan's body being removed. He turned to Detective Steve Brown. "Any sign of the murder weapon?"
"No."
"Have you talked to the neighbors?"
"Yeah. The apartment building is a zoo, full of monkeys. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Nada. Mrs. Lonergan is on her way back here. She heard the news on the radio. There have been a couple other robberies here in the last six months, and - "
"I'm not so sure this was a robbery."
"What do you mean?"
"Lonergan was down at headquarters the other day to check on Paul Yerby's things. I'd like to know what story Lonergan was working on. No papers in the drawers?"
"Nope."
"No notes?"
"Nothing."
"So either he was very neat, or someone took the trouble to clean everything out." Reese walked over to the work table. There was a cable dangling off the table, connected to nothing. Reese held it up. "What's this?"