“They were holding his wife’s problems over his head,” Glynis continued. “But the professor was under terrific strain. It was tearing him apart. His wife, the MHD program … he was cracking.”

“So they got rid of him,” Jake said.

Shaking his head ruefully, Cardwell said, “It makes some sense, I suppose, but you don’t have a scintilla of evidence, do you.”

“No,” Jake admitted. “We don’t.”

“And we apparently have the whole state’s apparatus against us,” Glynis added.

“Not the entire state,” said Jake. “Just the police, the courts, and the district attorney’s office.”

“Plus Senator Leeds,” Cardwell added, with a wry smile.

“So what do we do, Lev?” Jake asked.

“Tell Frank Tomlinson about it,” Cardwell replied without hesitation. “I’m not sure what he can do, or even if he’ll want to do anything, but you’ve got to tell him about this.”

Jake nodded.

“At the very least,” Cardwell went on, “he ought to be able to provide you with some protection.”

*   *   *

It wasn’t until late that night that Jake was able to meet with Tomlinson. The candidate had spent the day on the campaign trail, giving speeches at rallies in three different towns across the state.

He looked tired when the butler ushered Jake into the mansion’s library. Tomlinson was sitting in one of the leather armchairs in his shirtsleeves, tie pulled loose, a whiskey in his hand, neat. Amy stood next to him, looking elegant in a knee-length black skirt and scoop-necked black blouse.

Tomlinson smiled wearily as Jake crossed the book-lined room and shook hands with him. “Pardon me for not getting up, Jake,” he said from his chair. “I’m pretty bushed. I’m putting in more flying miles these days than an airline pilot.”

“But ever since the Fourth of July your poll numbers have been climbing,” said Amy, smiling brightly.

“Not all that much,” Tomlinson said.

“But they’re climbing,” Amy insisted. “That’s what’s important.”

Turning back to Jake, Tomlinson asked, “What would you like to drink, Jake?” Then he added, “How’s the generator behaving?”

“Younger’s giving it an overhaul,” Jake replied. “In a few days he’ll start a five-hundred-hour run.”

“Sounds impressive.” Turning to look up at Amy, Tomlinson said, “See what Jake wants to drink.”

Jake shook his head and sat on the front few inches of the armchair facing Tomlinson’s. “I’ve got a lot to tell you, Frank.”

“About MHD?”

“About the drug traffic in this state and Leeds’s involvement in it.”

Tomlinson glanced up at Amy again. “Better get my father in here,” he said.

“He’s probably gone to bed by now.”

“Call him. He’ll want to hear this, I know.”

Amy went to the phone on the desk as Tomlinson asked guardedly, “Drug traffic?”

“We think it’s behind the murder of Professor Sinclair and—”

“Murder? I thought he committed suicide.”

“We think otherwise.”