Richard Patterson - The Lasko Tangent

He stood and stuck out his hand. “I’ll contact you if we discover anything.” He paused. “I’m sorry that we were not more helpful.”

He probably was. I shrugged and took his hand. His eyes turned back to Juliana. I said good-bye and drove to the airstrip.

The airstrip had one building, the naked cinderblock shelter that housed customs and baggage. There was a telephone inside. I used it to call Robinson. His long-distance voice was fuzzy. “How is it down there?”

“Lousy. I got beat up last night. And I can’t find Martinson.”

“Christ. What happened?”

I made my decision. “I struck out. No information. No nothing. Listen, did you find out anything about Green?”

“One thing. Lasko controls a substantial interest in the First Seminole Bank.”

I thought. “We’d better get Green back in, quick.”

“I’ll do that. You all right?”

“I think so.”

“Well, that’s something.”

I thanked him and hung up. It was a long wait and a long trip to Washington. It was night when I got there. The Capitol dome was spotlit against a black sky. St. Maarten seemed very far away.

I sat alone in my office early next morning, trying to make sense of it all. The thing was: I couldn’t trust anyone. If I showed them Lehman’s memo, Lasko would find out. If they knew I’d stolen the computer chips, Lasko could see where I was headed. And if I said I was tracking Martinson, he might end up dead. If he weren’t already. The one way to be sure was not to talk much-even to Robinson. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him. But I couldn’t ask him to hide the ball. If he went along, it could be trouble for him. If he let it slip, it could be trouble for me. I fingered my skull gently. It still hurt.

The isolation was oppressive. I was the only one who held the pieces-the sham company, Lehman’s memo, Martinson’s disappearance-even if I couldn’t fit them together. And I couldn’t let the pieces go. It would have helped to level with someone. Preferably someone who nodded when I mentioned murder and leaks in the agency, and cheered when I lied and hid things in my desk. But that wasn’t going to happen. I was wondering about Martinson when Robinson opened the door.

He blinked at the sunlight which came through my window. “How are you, Chris? Hurt any?”

I reached for the blinds. “My head, some.”

“You’re a little white. Seen a doctor?”

“I may do that.”

He nodded, satisfied. “So what happened?”

He got the abridged version, the one without the chips, the memo, or Tracy’s story. I was getting pretty good at it. Robinson sat, listening intently. “And you couldn’t find Martinson?”

“No.”

“Think he’s hiding out with Lehman?”

“Christ, I hope not.”

Robinson shook his head. “I’m not used to this.”

“Who is?”

“What I can’t figure is why Lasko, who’s got serious problems with Justice on this antitrust suit, needs more with us.” Robinson pondered his own question, then switched tacks abruptly. “How much trouble are you in?”

“You mean how many intimations of mortality am I having?” He nodded glumly. “Well, I keep telling myself that killing me is like killing a cop. So I figure that they won’t unless they have to.”

“The corollary of that is if they have to they will.”

“Don’t depress me.”

“I’m trying to depress you.”

It was a conversational blind alley. I looked at my watch. “When do we see Green?”

“9:30.”

“Then you had better tell me what I should know.”

Robinson shrugged. “OK. Lasko owns 25 per cent of the stock of the First Seminole Bank. Actually he doesn’t own it. His companies do-Lasko Devices and its subsidiaries, through their various pension funds. Made it sort of hard to trace. Anyhow, the 25 per cent is effectively his. That makes him the largest single stockholder, not enough to control the bank itself, but enough to have real pull.”

“That’s nice. Talk to anyone at the bank?”

“No. I figured you’d worry that it’d get back to Lasko.”

“Anything else?”

“Just that I called up O’Hair, reminded him the subpoena was still good and invited Sam back. I didn’t say why.”

“OK.”

“How are you going to handle this?”

“I’ll give O’Hair a veiled offer of leniency, then threaten a perjury prosecution. He’s got to believe I’d do that, although I wouldn’t. Then, I’ll try to make him think we’ve gotten to the bank, which we haven’t. From there on, I’ll see what turns up.”

“Hope O’Hair buys it.”

“So do I. Listen, I’ve got a couple of things to do.”

He got up. “OK. I’ll see you down there.”

“Yeah.” I was feeling a little guilty. “Jim, thanks for your help. I mean it.”

“Sure,” he answered, and shut the door behind him.

I stared unhappily at the phone. Once I picked it up I was committed to going it alone. But I hadn’t left myself any choices. So I made the easy call first.

Greenfeld was in. “Lane, I’ve got a pure favor to ask you. No strings.”

“You can always try,” he answered in a dry tone. “What is it?”

“Do you have sources at IRS?”

“Sure.”

“If you can do it without getting them excited, check IRS for a list of any mental hospitals or sanitariums to which the Lasko Foundation has contributed. Especially around Boston. Can you do that?”

“Do I get to ask why?”

“Sure. You just don’t get answers.”

“Isn’t this something you can do through your channels?”

“No. Not this one.”

“What the hell is going on over there?”

“Can you do it?” I persisted.

“All right,” he said in an aggravated tone. “I’ll call you back.” The phone clicked off.

There was one more favor to ask. I readied myself to reach back in time, mix past with present. Then I made the call.

“Mr. Stansbury? Chris Paget.”

“Chris,” the vigorous voice answered, “where are you?”

“Here. Washington. I work here.” And have for three years, I didn’t add.

“That’s marvelous. You’ll have to visit.”

“I had that in mind. I think perhaps you can do me a favor.”

“I’d be delighted.” His voice warmed suddenly with old hopes. They had been my hopes too, and they had died hard. But I had buried them.

“It’s business, I’m afraid.”

His tone faded a bit. “Surely, Chris. What is it?”

“I remember you were an electrical engineer, before you went into the business end. How are your skills?”

“Pretty good still, I think.”

“I need an expert opinion on some computer chips. Can you look at them today?”

“Surely. Retirement has left me with nothing but time. Too much time. Can you find the place?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Thanks much, Mr. Stansbury.”

“See you later then.” There was a question in his voice. I hung on for a second, but he didn’t ask it. I was just as glad. I rang off and felt absently for the chips in my pocket. Still there. Then I went off to question Sam Green.

Robinson was already sitting in the conference room, with Green, O’Hair, and my favorite reporter. She set up her machine next to the potted palm, still smiling like the Mona Lisa. Green was perspiring. The room was cool enough; the sweat was from wondering what we had. O’Hair was next to him, looking ostentatiously calm.

I moved to the head of the conference table and sat next to Robinson. Green stared at an empty corner, as if that would make me disappear. I shuffled some papers, to let him stew awhile.

O’Hair thrust forward. “On behalf of my client, I demand to know why he’s been recalled.”