Guilty Minds

“It’s just like my beer and the Russkies. You’ll see I’m right.”

“Really.” She smiled again, but this time it was an unpleasant, sardonic smile. “And what, Heidi L’Amour doesn’t exist either?”

“Well, strictly speaking, you’re right, Heidi L’Amour doesn’t exist. She’s Kayla Pitts, from Tupelo, Mississippi.”

“You are an investigator.” She said it archly. “And I suppose you think Kayla is lying.”

“Most certainly. Though she’s very good at it. She’d probably fool most people. I’m sure she’s good on camera. You guys are obviously paying her a lot.”

“Nothing illegal about paying a source.”

“I’m not talking about illegal. But a big payday is a good incentive to lie.”

“And what makes you so sure she’s lying?”

“For one thing, I can tell. It’s called trusting your gut. I’ve learned to look for a thousand tiny signals and reflexes. How to read body language. People speak a whole lot when they’re silent.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“I’m sure you pay close attention to your gut instinct when you’re reporting a story.”

“I do, and my gut tells me this is for real. So do the facts.”

“Then you’ve got a problem with your gut instinct. Also, with the facts. Like the fact that she’s not familiar with certain intimate details about the justice.”

“Oh yeah?” She meant to sound sarcastic, but her curiosity was getting in the way. She couldn’t help sounding intrigued.

“Yeah.”

“And are you going to share these details with me?”

“Sure. She doesn’t know whether he’s circumcised or not.”

That silenced her for a beat. Then she laughed dismissively. “She may not want to tell you. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t know.”

“Yeah, maybe she’s just too well bred a girl to discuss such impolite topics. So you’re certain about that, huh? Certain enough to stake your entire hard-earned journalistic reputation on it?”

“I’ve got Kayla on tape, I have hotel records, and I have a horny middle-aged Supreme Court justice, separated from his wife and in need of company. And an escort paid for by Tom Wyden. Who had a case before the court, conveniently decided in his favor.” She took another sip of her Diet Coke. “It’s a huge story. And it’s going to explode. I understand why you’d like to talk me out of it. Or discourage me, or intimidate me. Or whatever. Believe me, I’ve been threatened with probably forty lawsuits and have never been sued, not once.”

“I’m not threatening you with a lawsuit. Let’s be clear about that. I’m not a lawyer and never wanted to be one.”

“I did, once upon a time.”

“I’m here to tell you there are holes in your story. Let’s take one little detail. If Kayla really saw Jeremiah Claflin on three occasions, where do you think they met?”

“The Monroe. He stayed there on three different dates.”

“Sure, because you have records from the hotel guest registry.”

She smiled, nodded.

“Which tells you that someone with a credit card in Jeremiah Claflin’s name checked into the hotel.”

“And Claflin’s driver’s license.” She took a long swig of her Diet Coke, finished it off.

Something in the back of my mind bothered me, but I couldn’t quite grab hold of it. “Sure,” I said. “But whoever they were, they never entered the room. Not one time.”

“And you know this how?”

I paused. Ordinarily I wouldn’t give away operational details like that. But this wasn’t an ordinary circumstance. She had to be convinced I was right so she’d back off the story.

“The Monroe uses software that keeps track of room keys electronically. How many keys are issued. When keys are used. Every time a hotel room is opened from the outside, the system records it. So someone posing as Claflin checked into the hotel but never, not once, entered the room.”

There was a spark of something in her eyes. “Oh, and of course a hotel’s computers can’t be tampered with, right? You’re going to have to do a lot better than that. Kayla told me about your little ruse. Tricking her into thinking she was meeting me. You people, you’ll stop at nothing.”

“I’ve only been at this a couple of hours, and already I’ve punched a serious hole in your story.”

“Look, uh, Nick, I’ve got a heap of evidence, and the best you can come up with is some easily manipulated piece of computer data? I don’t think so. You’re going to have to do better than that. This isn’t going to move my editor at all.”

“Your editor is…?”

“His name is Julian Gunn. And he’s as battle-hardened as they come. He’d laugh in my face if I brought this to him.”

“You know, I think you’re missing the real story. It’s right in front of your face.”

She was starting to look annoyed now. “And what’s that?”

“The fact that someone’s setting Jeremiah Claflin up to damage him, to discredit him. Who would do something like that? You see, I think you’re being used. The question is, by who?”

“By whom.”

“If you prefer.” I waited.

“Well, Nick Heller. Nice try. Thanks for playing.”

There didn’t seem to be much more to say, so I put down some cash and said, “Drinks on me.”

“You can expense it,” Mandy said.

19