I sat in my small home-office alcove Monday morning, incorporating the Pembroke tape into the body of my article. I needed it to be as up-to-date as possible when the FBI and MPD made their move on Kelly or Horowitz.
I took a short break when Anna and Tyler returned from their stroll and played with my son while Anna got a snack and drink for him. The reality of the pharmaceutical conspiracy and my moment with my son could not have been starker. My ringing cell phone jolted me from my bliss. I picked it up. It was Max. Could this be it?
“Good morning,” I said cheerily.
“There have been better Mondays,” he said darkly.
An ominous shiver ran through me. “What’s happened?”
“Sherman Rogers is dead.”
“Oh no!” He was in a New York City hospital.
Max explained he had been discovered not breathing when the nurse went in to prepare him for breakfast. “There were no evident signs of foul play, according to NYPD’s medical examiner, who is probably conducting an autopsy as I speak. Harley Rogers was livid, saying his son had been murdered.”
“Max. The two mercenaries told the FBI that both Rogers were targeted, remember—”
“That’s news to me.”
“Didn’t Reed tell you?”
“No.”
“Oh no,” I said, kicking myself. “That’s my fault. Reed told me.” I felt crappy. It hadn’t been urgent, but I always tried to keep Max in the loop as he did me. “The FBI was thinking of protecting both of the Rogers men because—”
“I best call Reed.” The line went dead.
Now I felt doubly awful. I needed to get busy. I called Barton to tell him about Sherman. However, his secretary told me he couldn’t be disturbed. I was on edge, and my intensity must have come out when I told her, “I have to talk to him immediately.”
She paused a few seconds. “Just a minute,” she said curtly and put me on hold.
I breathed deeply, hoping to reduce my anxiety level.
Barton came on. “Laura?” He was not happy. “What is so—?”
“Sherman Rogers is dead, possibly murdered,” I said sharply.
“When? Where?”
I repeated what Max had told me, including that the FBI had said both Rogers had been targeted in the attack. “Sherman wasn’t on life support, because the nurses would have known when he straight-lined. He was in recovery. Death was not a concern.” I realized I’d not been told all that exactly, but from the pieces, I deduced it.
“What about the old man?”
“He’s saying it’s murder.”
“Anything on Senator Pembroke?”
That startled me. My head was still wrapped up in Sherman’s death.
“Actually, I have been working on that piece this morning.”
“I’ll see what we can find out in New York,” he said. “Thank you, Laura.”
“Ah, Barton. I apologize for my rudeness to your secretary. I didn’t handle that very well,” I said, putting it as humbly as I could.
“Yes. I’ll tell her.” He hung up.
I can do the stupidest things. Maybe I should send her some flowers. Lassiter’s used to me, but I know better than— A squeal of joy from Tyler interrupted my thoughts. I found him on the back deck with Anna, playing. Anna looked at me and frowned.
I must have looked over-anxious, judging by her questioning look. “It’s about work. A sad thing happened. Everything here . . . aqui . . . okay?”
She smiled. “Si . . . yes.”
I went back to my writing. The pharmas must have had a big hurt on the Rogers to kill Sherman. I wondered if Pembroke was in any danger because he’d shown what some might construe as weakness. I called Crawford’s office, but he wasn’t in. I called his home, and a young, female voice answered. “Hi. I’m Laura Wolfe. Is Senator Crawford home?”
“The real Laura Wolfe?” the little voice squeaked.
“The reporter, yes.”
“My father told us all about you. Wow!” she giggled. “I’m sorry, it’s just—”
“Not a problem. Is your father home?”
“Oh sure. He’s out in the yard. I’ll get him.” The phone thumped down on a table, and I heard a door squeak open and the girl calling out, saying I was on the phone. I guessed she might be one of the ten-year-old twins. The door slapped closed, like a screen door on a spring. The phone was picked up. “He’s coming.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh sure.”
I heard the door, then Crawford saying, “Thank you, sweetheart.” He got a giggle in response. “Laura?”
“Sorry to bother you at home. Captain Walsh just called. Sherman Rogers is dead.” I gave him the details. “Do you know if Senator Pembroke is still at home?”
“He and Sally left yesterday for Greenbrier, West Virginia, for a couple of days. They had no definite plans after that.”
“Can you reach him?”
“I have his private cell phone. Is there . . . have you heard something?”
“There’s a good possibility it was a professional hit on Sherman.” I explained what Reed and Max had told me. “I’m concerned for the Senator . . . his family.”
“Fred?” He asked excitedly.
“If somebody wanted to, they could find him the minute he used his credit card or cell phone.”
“I know the FBI . . . police can, but how . . .”
“Don’t underestimate . . . their money can buy many things. They thrive on control. A credit card trace would not be a problem,” I said resolutely.
“Should I call him?”
“They need to check out of wherever they are, and then they should use only cash and public phones. Tell them to cash a check, if they can. Tell him to buy a phone card and to call you at a prearranged time twice a day.”
“This sounds a little cloak-and-dagger . . .”
“Maybe, but it could save their lives.”