Fletch's Fortune Part 12

"Nothing?"

"You can't sue talent."

"You didn't buy him off?"

"Of course not."

"Legal fees?"

"There were some."

"Grief?"

"A lot. I'll never forgive him. Frankly, I'll never forgive him. Never."

"Then immediately he started nudging, saying if your column was going to run, it had to run in his newspapers. Right?"

"The b.a.s.t.a.r.d threatened about every contract I've had with every newspaper in this country."

"This has been going on for years and years. Right, Oscar?"

"What are you doing, playing cards or working on a story?"

"I don't get it," another voice said. "So Walter March has been biting your tail all these years. Why all the grief? Lawyers are for grief. You can't afford lawyers, Oscar?"

"You don't know how Walter March operated?"

"Look at that. Nine, ten, Queen."

"Tell me."

"If you don't know how Walter March operated, you never worked for him."

"Yeah, I only need one."

"A little blackmail. Always a little blackmail."

Someone else said, "That son of a b.i.t.c.h had more private eyes on his payroll than he had reporters. Paid 'em better, too."

"And they didn't have to write."

"A cute man. Real cute."

"s.h.i.+t. Son of a b.i.t.c.h. I'm out."

"You mean Walter March has been blackmailing you, Oscar?"

"No. Just trying to find a way to. Pair of eyes behind every bush. I'm flying first cla.s.s-there's always the same son of a b.i.t.c.h flying coach. No matter what city I'm in, there's always someone waiting for me in the hotel lobby to see if I go up in the elevator alone. Nuisance value, you know?"

"Dear old saintly Walter March operated like that?"

"Dear old saintly Walter March. The president of your American Journalism Alliance. You voted for him? Give me one card, so long as it's the King of Clubs."

"I'm very grateful to him," said Oscar Perlman. "Kept me straight all these years. I've never had the opportunity to lie to my wife."

"Oscar, you don't think dear old saintly Walter March getting a scissors up the a.s.s is funny?"

Oscar Perlman said, "Not worth a column."

"I take it we're not sleeping together?"

Fletch said into the phone, "Who is this?"

It was 1:20 A.M A.M. He had been asleep a half-hour.

"d.a.m.n you!" said Freddie Arbuthnot. "d.a.m.n your eyes, your nose, and, your c.o.c.k!" The phone went dead.

It wasn't that Fletch hadn't thought of it.

He knew she'd washed her knees.

Twelve.

Tuesday8:30 A.M A.M. Prayer BreakfastConservatory

And in the morning, the phone was ringing as he entered his room.

He took off his sweaty T-s.h.i.+rt before answering.

"Have you seen the papers?" Crystal asked.

"No. I went for a ride."

"Ride? You're unemployed and you rented a car?"

"I'm unemployed and I rented a horse. They use less gas."

"A horse! You mean one of those big things with four legs who eat hay?"

"That's a cow," Fletch said.

"Or a horse."

It took Crystal a moment more of exclamations before accepting the idea that someone would get up before dawn, find the stables in the dark, rent a horse, and ride over the hills eastward watching the sun rise, "without a thought for breakfast."

It had been a pleasant horse and a great sunrise.

And taking the horse from the stables and bringing it back, Fletch had not seen the man in the blue denim jacket, with tight, curly gray hair, who had approached the ma.s.seuse, Mrs. Leary, in the parking lot two mornings before and asked her about the arrival of Walter March.

"I want to read you just one'graf from Bob McConnell's story in March's Was.h.i.+ngton newspaper regarding the old b.a.s.t.a.r.d's murder."

"Pretty extensive coverage?"

"Pages and pages. Two pages just of photographs, going back to and including a shot of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d at the baptismal font."

"He deserves every line," said Fletch. "Dear old saintly Walter March."

"Anyway, Bob nailed you."

"Yeah?"

"I'll just read the paragraph. First he names all the big names here at the convention. Then he writes, 'Also attending the convention is Irwin Maurice Fletcher, who, although never indicted, previously has figured prominently in murder trials in the states of California and Ma.s.sachusetts. Currently unemployed, Fletcher has worked for a March newspaper.'"

Fletch was pulling off his jeans.

He had listened to McConnell phoning in his story the night before.

"A pretty heavy tat for t.i.t, Fletcher. Methinks you'll not jokingly accuse Bob McConnell of first-degree murder again. At least, not in his presence."

"Who was joking?"

"There are some pretty vicious people around here," Crystal said.

"You didn't know?"

"Breakfast?"

"Got to shower first."

"Please do."

Thirteen.

9:30 A.M A.M.IS G G.o.d D DEAD, OR J JUST D DE-PRESSED?Address by Rt. Rev. James HalfordConservatory10:00 A.M A.M.Is ANYONE O OUT T THERE?Weekly Newspapers Group Discuss...o...b..bby-Joe Hendricks c.o.c.ktail Lounge

Fletch had breakfast in his room, listening to Virginia State Police Captain Andrew Neale questioning Lydia March and Walter March, Junior, in Suite 12.

There were the preliminary courtesies-Captain Neale saying, "I know this must be terribly difficult for you, Mrs. March"; Lydia saying, "I know it's necessary"; his saying, "Thank you. You have my sympathy. I would avoid disturbing you at this point if it were at all possible"-while Fletch was spooning his half a grapefruit.

Junior had to be fetched from his bedroom.

"Junior's a little slow this morning," Lydia said. "Neither of us is getting any sleep, of course."

"h.e.l.lo, Mister Neale," Junior said.

His voice was not as clear as Lydia's or Neale's.

"Good morning, Mister March. I've told your mother that you have my sympathy, and I hate to put you both through this...."

"Right," Junior said. "Hate to go through it. Hate to go through the whole shabby thing."

"If you would just go over the circ.u.mstances of your husband's.... You don't mind my using a tape recorder, do you?"

Junior said, "Tape recorder?"

"Of course not, Captain Neale. Do anything you like."

"As an aid to my memory, and hopefully, so I won't have to disturb you again. It's most important that we fix the timing of this ... incident precisely."

"Incident!" said Junior.

"Sorry," said Neale. "All words are inadequate...."

"Apparently," said Junior.

"We're particularly interested in...."

"I'll do my best, Captain," Lydia said. "Only it's so...."

"Mrs. March, if you can just describe everything, every detail, from the moment you woke up yesterday morning?"

"Yes. Well, we, that is, Walter and I, were scheduled to have breakfast at eight o'clock yesterday morning with Helena and Jake Williams-Helena is the Executive Secretary of the Alliance-to go over everything a final time before the mobs arrived, you know, discuss any problems there might have been...."

"Were there any you knew of?"

"Any what?"

"Any problems."