CHASE CALLED AT FOUR O’CLOCK, excited and exasperated: “We’ve got big trouble.”
“Who was shot?”
“Nobody. But all the local TV stations, plus thePost, theTimes, and theWall Street Journalare calling, asking if it’s true that Audrey Coil set up 1919 as a gag.”
“Ah, shit.”
“It gets worse: they’ve got that other kid’s name, Blake Winston. I called the Winston house and talked to Mrs. Winston, and as I was talking, she said a TV truck was pulling into their driveway.”
“Ah, shit.”
“We’re not going to be able to contain it,” Chase said. “You might want to hide out, because I suspect Senator Smalls will be coming your way.”
“Ah, shit.”
“Stop saying that. Say something intelligent.”
“I’m going home,” Lucas said.
“You can’t!” Chase said. “We collected those letters, interviewed the recipients, and we might be starting to unravel things.”
“You got an original?”
“No, but we got enough copies now that we’ve started asking people to name possible sources. There can’t be too many of them for what we think is the second generation of copies. When we cross-index the names, there’s a good chance we’ll get to the first generation, and that guy—or guys—should give us a lead to the original writer.”
“Good luck with that,” Lucas said. “I’m going to get in bed and pull the covers over my head. Smalls is gonna pee on my shoes.”
—
SMALLS DID THAT.
“One question,” he said when he called, two minutes after the beginning ofThe Situation Room with Wolf Blitzer, “Did you know about Audrey Coil?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you tell Elmer?” Smalls asked.
“Maybe.”
“You motherfuckers, you covered this up to protect Roberta Coil.”
“Actually, I did it to protect Audrey Coil. She could be in serious legal trouble, if somebody wants to give it to her—and she’s a kid. She’s seventeen.”
“She oughta be in jail, along with her mother for the cover-up,” Smalls said.
“Jesus, Porter, this whole thing was about a cover-up. You were there at the creation.”
“Things could be interpreted differently,” Smalls said. “But there’s no point in getting into all of that. What’s happening with the shooter?”
Lucas told him about the FBI analysts and the letters.
Smalls said, “Listen, Lucas, I’m pissed about the Coil thing, but that’s politics. I’m pissed but not surprised. I’m still counting on you to close this thing out.”
“I’m working on it,” Lucas said. “That hasn’t changed.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“In fact, there is. Could you get me a reservation at Steaks and Spirits? Seven o’clock tonight?”
