Paul Robertson - According to Their Deeds

“All right, Charles. I see that we need to work cooperatively here. I think we’re working toward the same goal, and we’ll need each other’s help to get there.” He leaned forward for a more intimate discussion. “Yes, I was aware of Derek’s activities, but only slightly. I did see his drawer once and I knew what he had in it. I didn’t ask for specifics. I only knew that he had some leverage over Karen Liu.”

“So, it was unexpected when Patrick White began accusing you of blackmail?”

“Absolutely. I hadn’t known that Derek also had incriminating evidence about him. It didn’t take me long to realize what had happened, though. Derek engineered his downfall and made him think it had been me who did it.”

“And that made it imperative for you to get the rest of his papers,” Charles said.

“Exactly. Absolutely. I had to know what other schemes he had going.”

“Couldn’t you have gone to the police?”

“No. Not until I knew myself what was in the papers.”

“And what was?” Charles asked.

“Too much.” John grimaced. “And not enough. There were files on more people than I would have imagined, but the specific ones I was looking for were missing. Charles, my guess is that you have the papers that I don’t.”

Charles nodded. “I do have some papers.”

“They were in one of the books?”

“Yes.”

“So I was right,” John said. “And that’s how you became involved. Well, Charles, I would like to see them.”

“You should, John. And I’d like to see the papers you have.”

Their solidarity was shaken. John frowned.

“That would worry me,” he said. “The papers concern a number of people. I’m sure they wouldn’t want you to see them.”

“They will never know that I have.”

“It makes me wonder how you will use the information in them.”

“I won’t.”

“Then why even look, Charles? It would be better if you didn’t. You don’t know most of them. They are his colleagues at work and people he knew socially. I have compelling reason to know, because I need to understand what damage has been done, and how it can be repaired. That’s my responsibility as Derek’s superior in the Department. I don’t understand why you need to see them.”

“John, it isn’t that I want to. I also have my own compelling reason, but I can’t tell you what it is.”

John was not pleased. “A compelling reason?”

“I can’t cooperate further until I’ve seen them.”

John Borchard would have been a poor poker player. It was obvious he was going to fold, even as he tried to bluff.

“Tell me what you’re looking for. I can tell you if you’d find it.”

“I don’t know. I have to look for myself.”

“Oh, very well!” For the moment, they were not friends. “I’ll ask you to excuse me for a moment.”

“Of course.” Charles stood to leave. “I’m sorry, John. I really don’t want to see them. But I have to.” He stepped outside.

The brief passage of the hall earlier had been enough to appreciate it. Now he had a much longer opportunity as three minutes passed. It was surprising how poor the Borchards’ taste was; everything was expensive, but nothing was valuable. There was no feel to any of the house. The only consistency to any of the furniture was how soft the seats were, and the severe hardness of everything else.

The door opened.

“Please, come in.”

A stack of folders was on the desk, about two inches high.

“It isn’t as many as it looks,” John said. “Each one is in its own folder. But there are still forty-six in all.”

The folders were unmarked. Charles took the first and set it down off the stack onto the desk’s surface. The wood was dark and heavily grained. He pushed a brass penholder out of the way.

Then he glanced up at a curtained window behind the desk chair.

“Need more light?” John said. “I sometimes do.” He opened the curtains.

Charles looked out into the backyard. The black windows of the house behind them looked directly down and in.

Charles turned back to the folder. It held only a single page: a hotel bill from a Las Vegas resort, with a name and date.

“Nothing illegal,” John Borchard said. “That is my peer, the other Deputy Assistant A.G. for Legislative Affairs. But he wouldn’t want it known that he frequents casinos. He’s quite a straight arrow.”

Charles opened the next folder.

“And that is illegal,” John said.

“I don’t know what it is. A prescription?”

“For a steroid. That is our secretary. Her son is a college football player.”

He opened the third folder. It was a two-thousand-dollar car repair bill.

“That is our personnel manager’s wife. I casually asked him if he’d had any automobile problems lately, and he hadn’t.”

“So she wrecked her car and hid it from her husband. That’s hardly blackmail material.”

“Most of them aren’t. And there isn’t much need to blackmail your own secretary.”

Charles opened another folder.

“Oh, dear!” The page had a dozen credit card charges from a hamburger restaurant.

“I didn’t know that name,” John said. “So I looked it up. He is the owner of a vegetarian restaurant that Derek frequented.”

“That’s absurd,” Charles said.

“That is probably the most so. It’s quite a collection. Some are illegal, some immoral.”

“And some merely fattening.” Charles sighed. “What a strange collection.”

“The papers?”

“The people. You were right, John. He did collect people. Is this all the folders?” Charles asked.

“That’s all of them.”

“I need to look at each one.”

“Then go ahead.”

One by one he looked at the single pages, some for only a few seconds, some longer. John was silent, and the clock ticked. Fifteen minutes later he closed the last folder.

“Well,” he said.

“Not a pretty picture,” John said.

“Not at all. Of course, I don’t know what many of them mean.”

“Many of them, I did know. Most of the others I’ve found out what they mean. There are five that are still unclear.”

“John, are there any people in your office that you’ll have to take action about?”

“There may be. That will take a great deal of judgment.”

“Their careers are in your hands,” Charles said, pushing the stack of folders back toward John.

“They’ve made their own decisions. My judgment will have to be what is best for the Department. And now, Charles, did you find what you were looking for?”

Charles considered. “I think I did.”

“Then I would like to show you something else that was in the hidden drawer of the desk.” He took a small wrapped package from a desk drawer. He undid the tape and brown paper and held out an antique book.

“It’s a Critique of Pure Reason by Immanuel Kant,” he said. “But I’m sure you knew that.”

“Yes, I know the book.” Charles held the book closed.

“Which brings us to the subject of books. At first, when you came to me, I thought you might have been supplying Derek with some of his information, and you were offering to do the same for me. Then I went through the papers and I realized there were some missing. You’ve obviously noticed there is no mention among these of Karen Liu or Patrick White.”

“Or you.”

“Yes. Or me,” John said. “So I had to assume those papers were elsewhere. If you open that book, you’ll understand why I finally guessed that you had them.”

Charles kept the book closed. “I really had no inkling there was anything in the books when I bought them at the auction.”

“If I had known,” John said, “you can be sure that you would not have bought them. But please, open it.”