Hard News (Rune 3)

"Sorry."

"I got out of shipping. I could see what would happen to oil. I could see the balance of trade shift. I didn't want to leave my ships; oh, that hurt me. But you have to think ahead. Did you hear about the buggy-whip manufacturers who went out of business when autos were developed? You know what their problem was? They didn't think of themselves as being in the accelerator business. Ha!" He loved the story, had probably told it a thousand times. "So what did I go into?"

"Airlines?"

Frost laughed derisively. "Public transportation? Regulations ad nauseam. I thought about it but I knew that it would take one Democrat, two at the most, to ruin the industry. No, I diversified--financial services, mining, manufacturing. And I became the fourth-richest man in the world ... You're skeptical. I can see that. You've never heard of me. Some old crackpot, you're thinking, who's lured me in here for who knows what nefarious prospects. But it's true. In the seventies I had three billion dollars." He paused. "And those were the days when a billion meant something."

He sat forward and Rune sensed he was getting to his long-awaited point.

"But what could I do with money like that? Provide for my wife and children. Buy comfortable shoes, a good set of golf clubs, a warm coat, an apartment where the plumbing worked. I don't smoke; rich food makes me ill. Mistresses? I was contentedly married for forty-one years. I put my children through school, set up trust funds for the grandchildren, though not very fat ones, and ..." He smiled, significantly. "... I gave most of the rest away. Hence, you."

"Me? What exactly does all that have to do with the Lance Hopper killing?"

Frost considered this for a moment. "I'm confessing."

She blinked.

"But," he said, "you have to understand. It didn't make any difference, you know."

"Uh, like, how exactly do you mean?"

"They had the other witness. You can't blame me really."

"Could you explain please."

"At the time, when he was killed, I had my fortune. I was giving money away. I had people who worked for me who depended on me for their livelihood. Their families ... You people in the media--a man never has any privacy around you." He pronounced it with a short i, privacy. Like "privileged."

He continued. "I was simply scared back them. I was afraid to tell the police that I'd seen Hopper killed. I'd be on news programs. I'd be in court. There'd be stories about my wealth. Kidnappers might come after my family or me. Do-gooders would start hounding me for money for their causes. I felt guilty at first but then I heard that that Breckman woman downstairs saw the whole thing and told the police about the killer. It took the pressure off me."

"But now you don't mind telling me what you saw? What's different now?"

Frost walked to the window and looked into the gloomy courtyard. "I have a different attitude toward life."

Oh, please, Rune was praying, do it now. Tell me what you saw. And, please, make it good. "May I?" She gestured toward the camera.

A pause. Then he nodded.

The lights clicked on. The camera hummed. She aimed it at Frost's long face.

&n

bsp; "It's odd," he said wistfully, "what giving away your fortune does. It's a marvelous thing. I don't know why it hasn't caught on." He looked at her seriously. "Let me ask you, you know anybody else giving away a billion dollars?"

"None of my friends," Rune said. "Unfortunately."

chapter 19

RUNE AND PIPER SUTTON SAT IN FRONT OF THE ANCHORwoman's desk, watching the monitor. Out of it came two tinny voices.

"Mr. Frost, did you see the shooting?"

"Plain as the nose on my face. Or your face--however that expression goes. It was horrible. I saw this man come up to Mr. Hopper and pull out this little gun and shoot him, just push the pistol at him. It reminded me of the pictures of Ruby, you know, Jack Ruby, when he shot Oswald. Mr. Hopper held his hands out like he was trying to catch the bullet...."

Sutton stirred but didn't say anything.

"Could you describe him?"

"He was a fat man. Not fat all over but with a beer belly. Like a timpani."