“Anything you want, Congressman,” Jacobs said. “Bourbon, scotch, rye, vodka, gin, tequila, rum, cognac, brandy, liqueurs, beer, white wine, red wine, rosé, and every mixer known to man—orange juice, pineapple juice, cranberry, lemonade, sour, margarita mix, Bloody Mary—”

Charlie peeked at Margaret, who was watching him with interest.

“Just a plain lemonade would be fine,” he said. “Margaret?”

“Water would be grand, George,” she said.

“And George,” Sinatra added. “Bring that present I have for him.” He pointed at Charlie.

Sinatra took a sip from his glass, then waited until Jacobs had gone back inside. Margaret looked up to the spectacularly blue sky, completely cloudless, with a lone hawk soaring in the distance.

“I learned some things, yes, although I don’t run Nightlife anymore,” Sinatra said. “Rosselli rewrote the original contract and took it over. There wasn’t much I could do about it. Soon the fellas realized that the hacks collected a lot of information that powerful people would pay to keep out of print. The business became much more about what wasn’t published. Catch and kill, they call it.”

“Do you know about everything they catch?” Charlie asked.

Sinatra took another swig. “No, not at all. Johnny promised to keep me out of it. But I knew enough to try to help you with your niece. I asked Charlotte to look into Itchy Meyer, to look into whatever rumors there were about Les Wolff, to get you whatever they’d compiled on these young girls through the years.”

“Was Rosselli sitting on the skinny on Les Wolff? For money?” Margaret asked.

“For money, for power, for real estate, for influence, for favors, for trade, for barter,” Sinatra said. “I don’t know what Rosselli has on this girl sex ring in terms of proof. I didn’t know Wolff killed Powell and Lola to shut them up until Charlotte told me she suspected as much.”

“So you knew her,” said Charlie.

“We talked on the phone sometimes,” he said.

“Who killed her?” Margaret asked.

Sinatra shrugged. “I dunno. Who killed her, who killed Powell, who killed Lola and stuffed her in your trunk? I gotta believe Wolff ordered it all but I don’t know if Rosselli did the deed or if those Scientology creeps did it.”

He clammed up and nodded as Jacobs reappeared with his refill, a water for Margaret, and a lemonade and a manila folder for Charlie. Jacobs handed over the drinks to the couple, but before he could give Charlie the folder, Sinatra stopped him.

“No, bring it to me, along with a smoke, if you got one,” he said.