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“The senator?”

Charlene screwed up her wizened features in disgust. “He’s the crookedest politician ever to walk the face of the earth, and that’s saying something.”

“He knows about Becky Sturgis?”

“Knows? Hell, girl, who do you think made the problem go away?” Charlene exclaimed. “Merritt went to him that very night. The senator took care of it.”

“Senator Armbruster is a powerful man, but even he couldn’t make two bodies disappear,” Barrie argued. “Wasn’t there a criminal investigation?”

“If you want to call it that,” Charlene said with a contemptuous flick of her cigarette in the general direction of the ashtray. “Armbruster’s pockets were crowded with city and state officials. He called in favors, is all. Becky and her little baby didn’t mean shit to them good ol’ boys down to the courthouse.”

Barrie shook her head in disbelief. “Armbruster couldn’t have been involved. He wouldn’t have allowed Vanessa to marry David Merritt, knowing that he was capable of—”

“What planet you been living on? Course he would have allowed her to marry him. He fancied his daughter being First Lady.” She hocked up a glob of phlegm and spat it on the floor. “Sons of bitches. All of ’em. They think they can do anything they want and get away with it. Folks like me and my old man, we had to pay for our crimes. But not people like Merritt and Armbruster.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Barrie said. “If everything you’ve told me is true, it took place, what, twenty years ago? If Armbruster successfully covered a double murder, he would have covered his tracks equally as well. There’s no way to prove it ever happened.”

Charlene slapped the tabletop, startling Barrie and causing her to jump. “You’re the stupidest gal the good Lord ever gave breath to. You think I’d spend my money calling you up there in Washington, D.C., and put my scrawny neck on the line if I didn’t have no proof?”

Chapter Forty-Five

“It’s better than you deserve.” Bill Yancey leaned over the table, placing his hands flat on its smooth surface. “Provide us with evidence that the President smothered Vanessa’s baby and was attempting to kill her, and you’ll be granted immunity from prosecution.”

Spencer Martin maintained his silence. Throughout the interrogation, he’d been admirably stoic, staring straight ahead, remote as a statue, as though detached from the circumstances in which he found himself.

The office was now cluttered with rubbish from several carryout meals and empty coffee cups. It was almost steamy with the tension generated during the long night and following day. Despite his protests, Daily had been taken to a hotel. Two FBI agents had accompanied him and were ordered to stay with him and see to his needs until further notice. William Yancey and Gray Bondurant had spent all day in that office, anxiously awaiting word from Barrie.

When she’d finally called from the Mississippi prison and recounted for them her conversation with Charlene Walters, Yancey had said, “We can’t proceed without some inside help, and Spencer Martin is as inside as you can get.” He’d ordered that Spence be brought in for questioning. Spence had come peaceably but had not yet cooperated.

Gray, who was against Spence’s getting immunity, was being vindicated by Spence’s stubborn silence. He had warned the attorney general that he’d have better luck getting statements from a turnip, and he’d been right.

“I told you this would be an exercise in futility,” he said now. “That’s why he declined your offer to call an attorney. He knew he wasn’t going to say a goddamn word. You could torture him to death before he’d rat on David Merritt.”

But Yancey wasn’t yet ready to give up. “Mr. Martin, some of your former operatives are willing to testify against you to avoid prosecution themselves. You’re implicated in several serious crimes, good for years in federal prison.”

Nothing.

“Howard Fripp? That name strike a bell, Mr. Martin? It should. You’re a suspect in his murder case.”

Spencer didn’t even flinch.

“He’s not going to tell you a thing,” Gray said. “He won’t even tell you that I shot him and locked him in a root cellar. If he did, he would have to explain what he was doing out there. You’re wasting your time.”

Yancey ran a hand over his balding head. “Very well, M

r. Martin. This offer is good only for the next thirty seconds. If you reject it, you’ll be subjected to a congressional investigation the likes of which will be unrivaled in American history.”

Spencer Martin came to his feet. “If you had evidence of any wrongdoing on my part, I’d be under arrest. Don’t try to strong-arm me again, Bill. It doesn’t dignify either of us.”

Yancey grumbled a curse.

Spence gave him a smirking smile, then headed for the door.

“Yancey, all right with you if I have a private word with him?”

It was clear that Yancey didn’t like the idea, but he granted permission. Gray followed Spence out into the hallway.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Spence’s nonchalance vanished. He grabbed Gray by the throat and slammed him against the wall. His face was ugly and flushed with fury. “I’d like to kill you for putting me in that fucking cellar.”