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“He’s the brains behind the whole thing.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” Charley said. “See if you can borrow an office with a phone. I want to get Calhoun on the phone, talking to Washington, before he changes his mind.”
Although he scanned the lobby for her carefully, Matt Payne did not see Susan Reynolds when he returned to the Penn-Harris Hotel a few minutes after twelve.
As he got on the elevator, he decided he would call her at the Department of Social Services. Even with her line tapped, it would raise no suspicions on the FBI’s part if he telephoned and asked her if she was free for lunch.
As he put the key in the door of Suite 612, he sensed movement, and glanced down the corridor. Susan was trotting toward him, obviously distraught.
“Hi!” he said. “I was just about to call you.”
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Calm down,” he said, opened the door, and waved her inside ahead of him.
He closed the door and put his arms around her.
“Where the hell were you?” she asked, her voice muffled against her chest.
“I was out arresting a dirty cop,” he said. “My boss just told me I was at the head of his good-guy list.”
She pushed away from him and looked up into his face.
“Say what you’re thinking,” she said.
“I’m not thinking anything,” he said.
“Yes, you are.”
“There was a certain irony in that, wouldn’t you think?”
“In other words, what you’re going to do for Jennie makes you feel dirty?”
“Whatever I wind up doing, honey, it’s not going to be for your pal Jennie.”
“I could meet her by myself, Matt, and try to reason with her. I really hate what this is going to do to you.”
“That’s very tempting, but for several reasons, it wouldn’t work,” Matt said. “And I’m a big boy. I know what I’m doing.”
“Why wouldn’t it work?”
“Well, I think it’s entirely possible that the FBI has got somebody on you—besides that woman in your office, I mean. If they see you leaving town, they’ll follow you—keeping track of a Porsche isn’t hard. And the minute you meet poor Jennie, surprise, surprise! Go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred bucks. I don’t want you to go to jail, honey.”
“You don’t know the FBI is watching me. Watching me that close, I mean.”
“They’re tapping your phones twenty-four hours a day. Your pal keeps calling—it doesn’t matter what name she gives, I told you that, they know who it is. They’re under pressure to put the arm on Chenowith and Co
mpany. They may not have the manpower to do it twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but whenever they can find the people, they’re on you, Susan. Believe me.”
“Jennie called,” Susan said. “This morning.”
“And?”
“I told her I would meet her.”
“She called you at your office?” Matt asked. Susan nodded. “And you went to some pay phone and called her back? Or she called you at a pay-phone number you gave her?”
