Steve Martini - Shadow of Power

“One person’s misery is another’s relief,” he says. “But so that there’s no misunderstanding, I have no problem talking with you. I talked to the police, I’ll talk to you. Fair is fair,” he says. “So how can I help you?”

“I suppose you knew Mr. Scarborough as well as anyone. Do you know anyone who might have wanted to kill him?”

“Besides your client, you mean?”

“My client had no reason to kill Mr. Scarborough.”

“Of course.” He smiles at me. “Well, as to the issue of potential suspects, you might say that you have an embarrassment of riches. As you may have guessed by now, Terry was a man who went out of his way to collect enemies, most of them anonymous. I’m told that more than a little of his fan mail included death threats, though I suspect that most of these were from cranks who had no intention of carrying them out. Still, it may be grist for your mill,” he says. “As for me, the long and short of it is, I don’t have a clue as to who killed Terry or why. If you don’t mind my asking, why are the police saying your man did it?”

“Based purely on circumstantial evidence that places him in the hotel room at the wrong time,” I tell him.

“That’s it?”

“As far as I know.”

“I have to assume they have something to go on. Of course, I make no judgments,” he adds.

“Good. Do you mind if I take a few notes?”

“Not at all. Let me ask you,” he says. “Have you talked to your client about the possibility of a book?”

I take out a small notebook and pen from the inside pocket of my coat. “No.”

“You might want to think about getting the rights,” he says. “Depending on what happens, the level of publicity.” He’s looking at me from across the table over the top of his coffee cup. “From what I see in the papers, he doesn’t have a lot of money. It could help in defraying your fees.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You should,” he says. “And feel free to call me if you need any help.”

“You said that except for the killer you were the last person to see Mr. Scarborough alive?”

“As far as I know.”

“Do you recall arriving at Scarborough’s hotel room that morning?”

He nods.

“Did you let yourself into the room, or did Mr. Scarborough let you in?”

“I didn’t have a key. He had to let me in.”

“The door wasn’t open?”

“No.”

“Did you try it?”

“Why would I do that? It was a hotel room. They’re always locked.”

“But you didn’t push on it to find out, or turn the doorknob?”

“No. I told you.”

“And when you left the room, after your meeting with Mr. Scarborough, do you recall, did he accompany you to the door, or did you let yourself out?”

On this he ponders for a moment. “As I recall, he had finished up shaving, in the bathroom. We talked. He was tired, said he wanted to get some rest. You know, I can’t remember, but I think I let myself out.”

“Can you recall when you left, did you hear the door close behind you?”

“I don’t know. How do you remember something like that? You realize that the cops asked me the same question. Why is it important?”

“I’m sure they did.” I don’t answer his question.

“Are you sure that it latched all the way closed?”

“I didn’t check it, if that’s what you mean.”

“Did you hear it close?”

“I can’t remember. I wasn’t paying that much attention. Sometimes I check my own door when I’m staying in a hotel, but I don’t usually check anybody else’s.”

“Can you tell me what the two of you talked about, you and Scarborough in your last meeting?”

“What do authors and agents always talk about? Book sales, how his tour was going. The usual,” he says.

“As I recall, Scarborough’s book was doing pretty well at that time.”

“‘Well’ is an understatement,” says Bonguard. “It was flying off the shelves. It’s high on the bestseller list even now. I believe Terry would be astounded that the book is doing so well even after his death.”

“Perhaps because of the death and the controversy surrounding it?” I say.

“It’s possible. When it comes to books, controversy usually sells.”

“Was there any talk of a follow-up book?”

He smiles at me. “You saw the tape of Leno. Yes, he was preparing to write another book.”

“Based on the historic letter you mentioned during your interview with Leno?”

“That’s what he told me. You have to understand that at the time of the Leno appearance I was still trying to flog the current book. I was standing in for Terry. He was supposed to have appeared on the show the night he was killed. You can’t believe everything you hear on television,” he says.

“So you’re saying there was no letter?”

“No, I’m not saying that. It’s just that it was the last chance we were going to have to push sales. You know how it is?”

“And the letter?”

Before he can answer, the door behind me opens. It’s the secretary with a tray bearing a carafe of coffee, three cups, and accoutrements-sugar, cream, teaspoons-and two bottles of water.

He pours himself a cup of coffee-black, no sugar. I take one of the bottled waters and look at Sarah. She declines. “I’m waiting to hear about the letter,” she says.

“So you’re a history buff?” Bonguard turns the question on her.

“I like history. Better yet, I like a good mystery.”

“Well, there was a letter, at least that’s what Terry told me. He led me to believe he was holding it for a sequel. With books as with most things in life, when you’re successful, it’s always good to have a second act.”

“So he had this letter in his possession?” I make a note.

“What he said was that he had a copy. Mind you, I never saw it. Whatever he had, he was keeping it close to the vest. Now, let me ask you a question,” he says. “Did the police find such a letter when they searched Terry’s apartment? Or in the hotel room?”

I shake my head. “Not according to their notes and the list of items they seized.”

“I’m not a lawyer,” he says, “but I assume that if they found it, a letter like this, it is something they would have to disclose to you?”

“Assuming they knew its significance, yes.”

“And by now they would know its significance?” he asks.

Bonguard may not be a lawyer, but he knows the rules of the road when it comes to discovery. I nod. “By now they would know.”

Harry and I have nailed the state’s feet to the floor over the issue of any missing letters. If they are holding back, it would have dire consequences for their case at trial, creating prosecutorial misconduct that even if they can get a conviction could bury them on appeal.

It is now clear why Bonguard has agreed to talk to me. He wants to know where the letter is.

“And I suppose they didn’t find it on your client when they arrested him?” he asks.

“No.”

“One point for your side.” He settles back in his chair again and runs one hand through his blond hair while he thinks.

“If all he had was a copy, wouldn’t that be problematic, assuming he tried to publish based on it?” I ask.

“You mean authentication?” says Bonguard.

I nod.

“That’s true. A publisher could be taking a real chance going forward with a book unless the letter could be established as authentic.”

“And without the original there’s no way to analyze the paper and ink.”

“Right. And as you know, handwriting can be copied, and it’s hard to be sure sometimes, experts all disagreeing,” he says. “Before you know it, people are crying fraud and the author is looking at jail time.”