He flushed. “Who else could have them-unless that black reporter filched them. Because I sure as hell don’t have them.”

“Oh, it could be a black reporter or a Mexican orderly, but not a rich white guy?” I was thoroughly angry by now. “That’s the question, isn’t it: If you don’t have them, and Marcus Whitby didn’t take them, where are Olin Taverner’s secret documents?”

CHAPTER 40

Tangle,Tangle, Lives Entangled

The reporter must have taken them,” Edwards insisted. “Not because he was black, because he was a reporter. Just because I’m against affirmative action doesn’t mean I’m a racist, in fact, it’s quite the opposite. Affirmative-“

“Yes, I’ve read all those position papers,” I interrupted. “I understand how insulting it is for African-Americans if whites give up any privileges. Marcus Whitby didn’t take Taverner’s papers. When Whitby left, Taverner locked the documents back in his drawer: Mr. Rivas saw him do so.”

“He could have come back for them later. Olin called me on Fridayhe wanted me to know he was going to make his story public now, while he was still alive. I asked-begged him over the phone-to tell me what was in those papers, but he wouldn’t, not on the phone. He was obsessed about phone taps, about the liberal media listening in on his conversations. So I said I’d fly out. I was going to Camp David with the president for the weekend, but I told him I’d fly out first thing Tuesday. But Tuesday Olin was dead.”

“Camp David with the president. A rarefied life, augmented by a little housebreaking. But of course, there’s a precedent for that, isn’t theredidn’t the Watergate burglars pal around at Camp David on the odd weekend? Maybe you got away early on Monday, though, and took an evening flight into O’Hare.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Why do you say that?”

“Taverner had an unexpected visitor Monday night. It wouldn’t have been you, would it, trying to argue him out of going public, or knocking him off prematurely so you could collect his-“

He got to his feet. “I’ve had as much as I can stand of your innuendos. I wasn’t in Chicago on Monday, and it’s your word against mine that I was here on Thursday.”

“And the FBI’s,” I said lightly. “I think your pals in the justice Department are listening in on my conversations. At least, they sent in a couple of agents who knew how to bypass my alarm system and my locks. I don’t know whether they installed voice-activated bugs, but they might haveyou should ask them if they have a recording of our conversation today.”

He turned white, then red. “You taped this conversation without telling me?”

“No, Bayard. Do listen to what people are really saying to you. I’m letting you know that the attorney general whose methods you applaud may be taping my conversations. On account of they think I know where Ben jamin Sadawi is. Or because Marcus Whitby knew what was in Olin Taverner’s files and they’re hoping I’ll find out. Or because they care passionately about what the average citizen is thinking and doing. Take your pick.”