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“Then it comes as no surprise to you that she saw my story on TV and decided to call.”

“Doesn’t surprise me a’tall. What was the story about?”

“Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.”

“Hmm. I thought you might’ve touched on a subject dearer to her heart. She’s pretty outspoken about corruption in the government, police brutality, legalizing dope, issues like that.”

“What was her crime?”

“She and her husband held up a liquor store. For less than fifty bucks, he shot a sixteen-year-old clerk and three customers in the head. The state executed him a while back. Because Charlene didn’t actually pull the trigger, and she swore her old man made her go along or else, she wasn’t given the death penalty.”

“None of that relates to SIDS, does it?”

“Not that I can figger.”

“Well, thank you very much for your time. I apologize again for calling you at this hour, Mr. Foote.”

“Graham, Foote Graham. No problem. Glad to’ve been of service.”

Barrie was about to say goodbye when Gray nudged her, triggering her memory. “Oh, Warden Graham, one last question. I don’t suppose Charlene has any ties, no matter how remote, to Senator Armbruster or President Merritt?”

“The President? Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Her heart seemed to stop. Everything in the universe shrank small enough to be concentrated into the grimy telephone receiver she was gripping with fingers that had turned as white as chalk.

“What’d he say?” Gray asked, inching closer.

She motioned for him to be quiet. The warden was saying, “It’s entirely possible that Charlene has some connection to both our senator and President Merritt.”

“How so?” Barrie asked huskily.

“Any number of ways. You see, Charlene gets around.”

“I thought you said she was a lifer.”

“That’s true. But if you’re to believe Charlene, she led a colorful life before her incarceration. For starters, she was Robert Redford’s college sweetheart. That came on the heels of her fling with Richard Nixon. Somewhere in there she had Elvis’s love child, and engaged in one of those French threesomes with Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio while they were married. Charlene takes credit for inspiring him to invent the Mr. Coffee.”

Barrie slumped against the wall of the phone booth. “I get the picture. She’s a loony tune.”

“As loony as they come,” he said, filling her ear with laughter that was much more melodious than the guard’s. After a moment, he said, “I’m sorry to be laughing at your expense, Miz Travis. Was this real important to you?”

“Yes.”

“Awful sorry, ma’am. Guess you’ve wasted your time.”

“Not altogether,” she said with chagrin. “I’ve never met anyone named Foote before.”

Once she and Gray were in the car again, she ripped the slip of paper bearing Charlene’s name and number into tiny pieces and let them flutter from her hand to the floor. “Responding to a crank caller,” she said with self-derision. “That ought to be some indication of how desperate I am. I’d hate for Howie or Jenkins to know that I’d sunk that low.”

“It could’ve turned out different.”

“Don’t patronize me,” she said crossly. “It was a stupid impulse, and I’m ashamed I acted on it. Problem is, I’m fresh out of ideas. If Howie doesn’t produce, what then?”

“What about your sources?”

“You haven’t heard my pager beeping, have you?”

“Checked the batteries?”