Private Moscow (Private 15)

Justine and I managed to get past the main front desk located on the first floor and made it to the Tribune’s lobby on the thirty-fifth floor. The paper’s editorial position was reflected in the décor of its office. A huge Stars and Stripes hung behind the lobby desk, alongside photos of every Republican president since Eisenhower. A six-foot-high sculpture of a bald eagle stood guard beside the secure double doors that led to the main office. The Tribune was a 24/7 operation, and beyond the doors there was no sign of reduced activity because it was a Sunday.

“Good morning,” the desk clerk said. He was a smartly dressed guy with the fresh face of someone just out of college. “How can I help?”

“My name is Jack Morgan. This is my colleague Justine Smith. We’re from Private, the detective agency, and we’d like to see Elizabeth Connor.”

“Do you have an appointment?” he asked.

His smile didn’t waver, but his demeanor shifted. Very few people got in to see the reclusive Elizabeth Connor and those who did probably didn’t come through the front door.

“We’re investigating the death of Karl Parker,” I replied. “She’s going to want to hear what we have to say.”

“Take a seat,” the clerk said, pointing us toward a long leather corner couch beneath framed front pages that were stuck to the lobby’s bare brick walls.

Justine and I walked over, but we didn’t sit; instead we milled around while the clerk made a phone call.

I got partway through a front page from 26 October 1983, broadly supporting President Reagan’s intervention in Grenada. The paper’s take on events was gentle and measured and a far cry from the partisan editorial of today’s editions, but the photo and headline helped sell the narrative that the Tribune had always been a deeply conservative newspaper. My reading was interrupted by a silver-haired man in a dark tailored suit that was cut a little too short for him.

“Mr. Morgan,” he called out as he stepped through the double doors.

I walked over, and Justine followed, and we exchanged greetings.

“My name’s Clancy Fairbourne,” the man said. He had a thick Texan drawl. His smooth, angular face looked as though it had been chiseled into shape by skilled plastic surgeons. Like a snake who knows no better, he had a permanent smile fixed to his face.

I disliked the man immediately.

“I’m general counsel for the Tribune. Is there something I can help you with?”

“We’re investigating the murder of Karl Parker. We’d like to talk to Miss Connor about—”

“Let me stop you there, Mr. Morgan,” Clancy said. “Miss Elizabeth Connor denies all knowledge of Karl Parker and if you or any of your associates assert otherwise, she will have no alternative but to take action.”

I took a step closer, just to make it clear I wasn’t going to be intimidated. “What kind of action?”

“She would be forced to take legal action,” he replied.

I smiled. I’d been threatened before, but never had a situation escalated so quickly and without any provocation.

“We believe her life is in danger,” Justine said.

“Miss Connor’s life is always in danger, little lady,” Clancy responded.

“My name is Justine Smith. I’m a forensic profiler with enough experience to spot a front man working hard to neutralize a potential scandal. What’s your boss hiding, Mr. Fairbourne?”

“Well, Miss Smith,” Clancy said, drawing close to Justine. “I apologize for assuming you were Mr. Morgan’s assistant, but it was understandable. You’re just so young and pretty.”

I felt Justine bristle and stepped between the two of them. This guy was testing my patience and it was clear he was hoping to provoke a response. I just couldn’t figure out why. As far as I could tell, Elizabeth Connor wasn’t under suspicion of anything.

“A group calling themselves the Ninety-nine has claimed responsibility for the murder of Karl Parker, and we have reason to believe that Miss Connor is next on their list of targets,” I said.

“Then I hope you’ve shared that information with the proper authorities,” Clancy replied. “Miss Connor gets threats from the liberal establishment every day, and we take great care to protect her from those. So I hope you won’t consider me impolite when I say we have nothing more to talk about.” Clancy fixed me with a look that was all daggers beneath his big smile. “Even if there was something to discuss, Miss Connor isn’t here. Now you’ll have to excuse me. The news never stops, not even on the Lord’s day. You know your way out, Mr. Morgan, Miss Smith.”

Clancy headed for the office and Justine and I watched him leave. Puzzled, I called an elevator.

“What just happened?” Justine asked as we stepped inside.

“He just waved the biggest red flag I’ve ever seen,” I replied.

“When we got here, I wasn’t sure Connor and Karl were connected, but I am now.”