AUTOPSY PROTOCOL

NAME OF DECEDENT: JANE DOE FILE No: C-Ix6l ANATOMIC SUMMARY

I. DILATED AND HYPERTROPHIC CARDIOMYOPATHY

A. CARDIOMEGALY (750 GM)

B. LEFT VENTRICULAR HYPERTROPHY, HEART

(2.3 CM)

C. CONGESTIVE HEPATOMEGALY (2750 GM

D. CONGESTIVE SPLENOMEGALY (350 MG>

II. ACUTE OPIATE INTOXICATION

A. ACUTE PASSIVE CONGESTION, ALL VISCERA

III. TOXICOLOGY (SEE SEPARATE REPORT)

IV. BRAIN HEMORRHAGE (SEE SEPARATE REPORT) CONCLUSION: (CAUSE OF

DEATH)

DILATED AND HYPERTROPHIC CARDIOMYOPATHY ACUTE OPIATE INTOXICATION

Nick Reese looked up. "So if you translated this into English, she died of a drug overdose of Ecstasy?" "Yes." "Was she sexually assaulted?" Helen Chuan hesitated. "Her hymen had been broken, and there were traces of semen and a little blood along her thighs." "So she was raped." "I don't think so." "What do you mean you don't think so?" Reese frowned. "There were no signs of violence." Detective Reese was looking at her, puzzled. "What are you saying?" "I think that Jane Doe was a virgin. This was her first sexual experience.

Detective Reese stood there, digesting the information. Someone had been able to persuade a virgin to go up to the Imperial Suite and have sex with him. It would have had to be someone she knew. Or someone famous or powerful. The telephone rang. Helen Chuan picked it up "Coroner's office." She listened a moment, then handed the phone to the detective. "It's for you." Nick Reese took the phone. "Reese.

His face brightened.

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Holbrook. Thanks for returning my call. It's a class ring from your school with the initials P. Y. on it. Do you have a female student with those initials?... I'd appreciate it. Thank you I'll wait." He looked up at the coroner. "You're sure she couldn't have been raped?" "I found no signs of violence. None." "Could she have been penetrated after she died?" "I would say no." Mrs Holbrook's voice came back on the phone. "Detective Reese?" "Yes.

"According to our computer, we do have a female student with the initials P. Y. Her name is Pauline Young." "Could you describe her for me, Mrs. Holbrook?" "Why, yes. Pauline is eighteen. She's short and stocky, with dark hair...." "I see." Wrong girl. "And that's the only one?" "The only female, yes." He picked up on it. "You mean you have a male with those initials? "Yes. Paul Yerby. He's a senior As a matter of fact, Paul happens to be in Washington, D. C." right now." Detective Reese's heart began to beat faster. "He's here?

"Yes. A class of students from Denver High is on a trip to Washington to visit the White House and Congress and " "And they're all in the city now?"

"That's right."

"Do you happen to know where they're staying?"

"At the Hotel Lombardy. They gave us a group rate there. I talked with several of the other hotels, but they wouldn't "

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Holbrook. I appreciate it."

Nick Reese replaced the receiver and turned to the coroner. "Let me know when the autopsy is complete, will you, Helen?"

"Of course. Good luck, Nick."

He nodded. "I think I've just had it."

The Hotel Lombardy is located on Pennsylvania Avenue, two blocks from Washington Circle and within walking distance of the White House, some monuments, and a subway station. Detective Reese walked into the old-fashioned lobby and approached the clerk behind the desk. "Do you have a Paul Yerby registered here?" "I'm sorry. We don't give out Reese flashed his badge. "I'm in a big hurry, friend." "Yes, sir.

The clerk looked through his guest register. "There's a Mr. Yerby in Room 315. Shall I ?" "No, I'll surprise him. Stay away from the phone." Reese took the elevator, got off on the third floor, and walked down the corridor. He stopped before Room 315. He could hear voices inside. He unfastened the button of his jacket and knocked on the door. It was opened by a boy in his late teens.

"Hello." "Paul Yerby?" "No." The boy turned to someone in the room "Paul, someone for you." Nick Reese pushed his way into the room. A slim, tousle-haired boy in jeans and a sweater was coming out of the bathroom. "Paul Yerby?" "Yes. Who are you?" Reese pulled out his badge. "Detective Nick Reese. Homicide." The boy's complexion turned pale. "I what can I do for you?" Nick Reese could smell the fear. He took the dead girl's ring from his pocket and held it out. "Have you ever seen this ring before, Paul?" "No," Yerby said quickly. "I " "It has your initials on it." "It has? Oh. Yeah." He hesitated. "I guess it could be mine. I must have lost it somewhere." "Or given it to someone?" The boy licked his lips, "Uh, yeah. I might have.

"Let's go downtown, Paul." The boy looked at him nervously. "Am I under arrest?" "What for?" Detective Reese asked. "Have you committed a crime?" "Of course not. I..." The words trailed off.

"Then why would I arrest you?"

"I I don't know. I don't know why you want me to go downtown."

He was eyeing the open door. Detective Reese reached out and took a grip on Paul's arm. "Let's go quietly."

The roommate said, "Do you want me to call your mother or anybody, Paul?"

Paul Yerby shook his head, miserable. "No. Don't call anyone." His voice was a whisper.

The Henry I. Daly Building at 300 Indiana Avenue, NW, in downtown Washington is an unprepossessing six-story gray brick building that serves as police headquarters for the district. The Homicide Branch office is on the third floor. While Paul Yerby was being photographed and fingerprinted, Detective Reese went to see Captain Otto Miller. "I think we got a break in the Monroe Arms case." Miller leaned back in his chair. "Go on." "I picked up the girl's boyfriend. The kid's scared out of his wits. We're going to question him now. Do you want to sit in?" Captain Miller nodded toward a pile of papers heaped on his desk. "I'm busy for the next few months. Give me a report.

"Right." Detective Reese started toward the door. "Nick be sure to read him his rights."

Paul Yerby was brought into an interrogation room. It was small, nine by twelve, with a battered desk, four chairs, and a video camera. There was a one-way mirror so that officers could watch the interrogation from the next room.

Paul Yerby was facing Nick Reese and two other detectives, Doug Hogan and Edgar Bernstein. "You're aware that we're videotaping this conversation?" Detective Reese "Yes, sir." "You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to represent you." "Would you like to have a lawyer present?" Detective Bernstein "I don't need a lawyer." "All right. You have a right to remain silent. If you waive that right, anything you say here can and will be used against you in a court of law. Is that clear?" "Yes, sir." "What's your legal name?" "Paul Yerby." "Your address?

"Three-twenty Marion Street, Denver, Colorado. Look, I haven't done anything wrong."

"No one says you have. We're just trying to get some information, Paul. You'd like to help us, wouldn't you?" "Sure, but I I don't know what it's all about." "Don't you have any idea?" "No, sir." "Do you have any girlfriends, Paul?" "Well, you know..." "No, we don't know Why don't you tell us?" "Well, sure. I see girls ..." "You mean you date girls? You take girls out?" "Yeah." "Do you date any one particular girl?" There was a silence. "Do you have a girlfriend, Paul?" "Yes." "What's her name?" Detective Bernstein "Chloe.

"Chloe what?" Detective Reese "Chloe Houston." Reese made a note "What's her address, Paul?" "Six-oh-two Oak Street, Denver." "What are her parents' names?" "She lives with her mother." "And her name?

"Jackie Houston. She's the governor of Colorado." The detectives looked at one another. Shit! That's all we need!

Reese held up a ring. "Is this your ring, Paul?" He studied it a moment, then said reluctantly, "Yeah." "Did you give Chloe this ring?

He swallowed nervously. "I I guess I did." "You're not sure?" "I remember now. Yes, I did." "You came to Washington with some classmates, right? Kind of a school group?" "That's right." "Was Chloe part of that group?" "Yes, sir." "Where's Chloe now, Paul?

Detective Bernstein "I I don't know." "When did you last see her?

Detective Hogan "I guess a couple of days ago." "Two days ago?

Detective Reese "Yeah." "And where was that?" Detective Bernstein "In the White House." The detectives looked at one another in surprise "She was in the White House?" Reese asked. "Yes, sir. We were all on a private tour. Chloe's mother arranged it." "And Chloe was with you?" Detective Hogan "Yes." "Did anything unusual happen on the tour?" Detective Bernstein "What do you mean?" "Did you meet or talk to anyone on the tour?

Detective Bernstein "Well, sure, the guide." "And that's all?

Detective Reese "That's right." "Was Chloe with the group all the time?" Detective Hogan "Yes " Yerby hesitated. "No. She slipped away to go to the ladies' room. She was gone about fifteen minutes. When she came back, she " He stopped. "She what?" Reese asked. "Nothing She just came back." The boy was obviously lying. "Son," Detective Reese asked, "do you know that Chloe Houston is dead?" They were watching him closely. "No! My God! How?" The surprised look on his face could have been feigned. "Don't you know?" Detective Bernstein "No! I I can't believe it." "You had nothing to do with her death?

Detective Hogan "Of course not! I love ... I loved Chloe." "Did you ever go to bed with her?" Detective Bernstein "No. We we were waiting. We were going to get married." "But sometimes you did drugs together?" Detective Reese "No! We never did drugs." The door opened and a burly detective, Harry Carter, came into the room. He walked over to Reese and whispered something in his ear. Reese nodded. He sat there staring at Paul Yerby. "When was the last time you saw Chloe Houston?" "I told you, in the White House." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair Detective Reese leaned forward. "You're in a lot of trouble, Paul Your fingerprints are all over the Imperial Suite at the Monroe Arms Hotel. How did they get there?" Paul Yerby sat there, pale-faced "You can quit lying now. We've got you nailed." "I I didn't do anything." "Did you book the suite at the Monroe Arms?" Detective Bernstein "No, I didn't." The emphasis was on the "I." Detective Reese pounced on it. "But you know who did?" "No." The answer came too quickly. "You admit you were in the suite?" Detective Hogan "Yes, but but Chloe was alive when I left." "Why did you leave?" Detective Hogan "She asked me to. She she was expecting someone." "Come on, Paul. We know you killed her." Detective Bernstein "No!" He was trembling. "I swear I had nothing to do with it. I I just went up to the suite with her. I only stayed a little while."

"Because she was expecting someone?" Detective Reese "Yes. She she was kind of excited." "Did she tell you who she was going to meet?

Detective Hogan He was licking his lips. "No." "You're lying. She did tell you." "You said she was excited. What about?" Detective Reese Paul licked his lips again. "About about the man she was going to meet there for dinner." "Who was the man, Paul?" Detective Bernstein "I can't tell you." "Why not?" Detective Hogan "I promised Chloe I would never tell anyone." "Chloe is dead." Paul Yerby's eyes filled with tears. "I just can't believe it." "Give us the man's name." Detective Reese "I can't do that. I promised." "Here's what's going to happen to you: You're going to spend tonight in jail. In the morning, if you give us the name of the man she was going to meet, we'll let you go. Otherwise, we're going to book you for murder one.

Detective Reese They waited for him to speak. Silence. Nick Reese nodded to Bernstein. "Take him away."

Detective Reese returned to Captain Miller's office. "I have bad news and I have worse news." "I haven't time for this, Nick." "The bad news is that I'm not sure it was the boy who gave her the drug. The worse news is that the girl's mother is the governor of Colorado.

"Oh, God! The papers will love this." Captain Miller took a deep breath. "Why don't you think the boy's guilty?" "He admits he was in the girl's suite, but he said she told him to leave because she was expecting someone. I think the kid's too smart to come up with a story that stupid. What I do believe is that he knows who Chloe Houston was expecting. He won't say who it was." "Do you have any idea?" "It was her first time in Washington, and they were on a tour of the White House. She didn't know anyone here. She said she was going to the ladies' room. There is no public rest room in the White House. She would have had to go outside to the Visitor's Pavilion on the Ellipse at I5th and E streets or to the White House Visitor Center. She was gone about fifteen minutes. What I think happened is that while trying to find a ladies' room, she ran into someone in the White House, someone she might have recognized. Maybe someone she saw on TV

Anyway, it must have been somebody important. He led her to a private washroom and impressed her enough that she agreed to meet him at the Monroe Arms." Captain Miller was thoughtful. "I'd better call the White House. They asked to be kept up-to-date on this. Don't let up on the kid. I want that name."

"Right."

As Detective Reese walked out the door, Captain Miller reached for the telephone and dialed a number. A few minutes later, he was saying, "Yes, sir. We have a material witness in custody. He's in a holding cell at the Indiana Avenue police station.... We won't, sir. I think the boy will give us the man's name tomorrow.... Yes, sir. I understand." The line went dead.

Captain Miller sighed and went back to the pile of papers on his desk.

At eight o'clock the following morning, when Detective Nick Reese went to Paul Yerby's cell, Yerby's body was hanging from one of the top bars.

Eighteen.

DEAD 16-YEAR-OLD IDENTIFIED AS DAUGHTER OF COLORADO GOVERNOR BOYFRIEND

IN POLICE CUSTODY HANGS HIMSELF POLICE HUNT MYSTERY WITNESS

He stared at the headlines and felt suddenly faint. Sixteen years old She had looked older than that. What was he guilty of? Murder Manslaughter, maybe. Plus statutory rape. He had watched her come out of the bathroom of the suite, wearing only a shy smile. "I've never done this before." And he had put his arms around her and stroked her "I'm glad the first time is with me, honey." Earlier, he had shared a glass of liquid Ecstasy with her. "Drink this. It will make you feel good." They had made love, and afterward she had complained about not feeling well. She had gotten out of bed, stumbled, and hit her head against the table. An accident. Of course, the police would not see it that way. But there's nothing to connect me with her. Nothing.

The whole episode had an air of unreality, a nightmare that had happened to someone else. Somehow, seeing it in print made it real.

Through the walls of the office, he could hear the sound of traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue, outside the White House, and he became aware again of his surroundings. A cabinet meeting was scheduled to begin in a few minutes. He took a deep breath. Pull yourself together.

In the Oval Office were gathered Vice President Melvin Wicks, Sime Lombardo, and Peter Tager. Oliver walked in and sat behind his desk "Good morning, gentlemen." There were general greetings. Peter Tager said, "Have you seen the Tribune, Mr. President?" "No." "They've identified the girl who died at the Monroe Arms Hotel. I'm afraid it's bad news." Oliver unconsciously stiffened in his chair. "Yes?" "Her name is Chloe Houston. She's the daughter of Jackie Houston."

"Oh, my God!" The words barely escaped the president's lips. They were staring at him, surprised at his reaction. He recovered quickly "I I knew Jackie Houston ... a long time ago. This this is terrible news. Terrible." Sime Lombardo said, "Even though Washington crime is not our responsibility, the Tribune is going to hammer us on this.

Melvin Wicks spoke up. "Is there any way we can shut Leslie Stewart up?" Oliver thought of the passionate evening he had spent with her "No," Oliver said. "Freedom of the press, gentlemen." Peter Tager turned to the president. "About the governor ... ?" "I'll handle it.

He flicked down an intercom key. "Get me Governor Houston in Denver.

"We've got to start some damage control," Peter Tager was saying. "I'll get together statistics on how much crime has gone down in this country, you've asked Congress for more money for our police departments, et cetera." The words sounded hollow even to his own ears. "This is terrible timing," Melvin Wicks said. The intercom buzzed. Oliver picked up the telephone. "Yes?" He listened a moment, then replaced the receiver. "The governor is on her way to Washington." He looked at Peter Tager. "Find out what plane she's on, Peter. Meet her and bring her here."

"Right. There's an editorial in the Tribune. It's pretty rough.

Peter Tager handed Oliver the editorial page of the newspaper PRESIDENT UNABLE TO CONTROL CRIME IN THE CAPITAL. "It goes on from there."

"Leslie Stewart is a bitch," Sime Lombardo said quietly. "Someone should have a little talk with her."

In his office at the Washington Tribune, Matt Baker was rereading the editorial attacking the president for being soft on crime when Frank Lonergan walked in. Lonergan was in his early forties, a bright, street-smart journalist who had at one time worked on the police force He was one of the best investigative journalists in the business.

"You wrote this editorial, Frank?"

"Yes," he said.

"This paragraph about crime going down twenty-five percent in Minnesota, that's still bothering me. Why did you just talk about Minnesota?"

Lonergan said, "It was a suggestion from the Ice Princess."

"That's ridiculous," Matt Baker snapped. "I'll talk to her."

Leslie Stewart was on the telephone when Matt Baker walked into her office. "I'll leave it to you to arrange the details, but I want us to raise as much money for him as we can. As a matter of fact, Senator Embry of Minnesota is stopping by for lunch today, and I'll get a list of names from him. Thank you." She replaced the receiver "Matt." Matt Baker walked over to her desk. "I want to talk to you about this editorial." "It's good, isn't it?" "It stinks, Leslie It's propaganda. The president's not responsible for controlling crime in Washington, D. C. We have a mayor who's supposed to do that, and a police force. And what's this crap about crime going down twenty-five percent in Minnesota? Where did you come up with those statistics?

Leslie Stewart leaned back and said calmly, "Matt, this is my paper, f'll say anything I want to say. Oliver Russell is a lousy president, and Gregory Embry would make a great one. We're going to help him get into the White House." She saw the expression on Mart's face and softened. "Come on, Matt. The Tribune is going to be on the side of the winner. Embry will be good for us. He's on his way here now Would you like to join us for lunch?" "No. I don't like people who eat with their hands out." He turned and left the office. In the corridor outside, Matt Baker ran into Senator Embry. The senator was in his fifties, a self-important politician. "Oh, Senator! Congratulations." Senator Embry looked at him, puzzled, "Thank you. Er for what?"

"For bringing crime down twenty-five percent in your state." And Matt Baker walked away, leaving the senator looking after him with a blank expression on his face.

Lunch was in Leslie Stewart's antique-furnished dining room. A chef was working in the kitchen preparing lunch as Leslie and Senator Embry walked in. The captain hurried up to greet them. "Luncheon is ready whenever you wish, Miss Stewart. Would you care for a drink?" "Not for me," Leslie said. "Senator?" "Well, I don't usually drink during the day, but I'll have a martini." Leslie Stewart was aware that Senator Embry drank a lot during the day. She had a complete file on him. He had a wife and five children and kept a Japanese mistress His hobby was secretly funding a paramilitary group in his home state None of this was important to Leslie. What mattered was that Gregory Embry was a man who believed in letting big business alone and Washington Tribune Enterprises was big business. Leslie intended to make it bigger, and when Embry was president, he was going to help her They were seated at the dining table. Senator Embry took a sip of his second martini. "I want to thank you for the fundraiser, Leslie That's a nice gesture." She smiled warmly. "It's my pleasure. I'll do everything I can to help you beat Oliver Russell."

"Well, I think I stand a pretty good chance."

"I think so, too. The people are getting tired of him and his scandals. My guess is that if there's one more scandal between now and election, they'll throw him out."

Senator Embry studied her a moment. "Do you think there will be?"

Leslie nodded and said softly, "I wouldn't be surprised."

The lunch was delicious.

The call came from Antonio Valdez, an assistant in the coroner's office. "Miss Stewart, you said you wanted me to keep you informed about the Chloe Houston case?" "Yes ..." "The cops asked us to keep a lid on it, but since you've been such a good friend, I thought " "Don't worry. You'll be taken care of. Tell me about the autopsy." "Yes, ma'am. The cause of death was a drug called Ecstasy." "What?

"Ecstasy. She took it in liquid form." "I have a little surprise for you that I want you to try.... This is liquid Ecstasy.... A friend of mine gave me this...." And the woman who had been found in the Kentucky River had died of an overdose of liquid Ecstasy. Leslie sat there motionless, her heart pounding. There is a God.

Leslie sent for Frank Lonergan, "I want you to follow up on the death of Chloe Houston. I think the president is involved."

Frank Lonergan was staring at her incredulously. "The president?"

"There's a cover-up going on. I'm convinced of it. That boy they arrested, who conveniently committed suicide ... dig into that. And I want you to check on the president's movements the afternoon and evening of her death. I want this to be a private investigation. Very private. You'll report only to me."

Frank Lonergan took a deep breath. "You know what this could mean?"

"Get started. And Frank?"

"Yes?"

"Check the Internet for a drug called Ecstasy. And look for a connection with Oliver Russell."

In a medical Internet site devoted to the hazards of the drug, Lonergan found the story of Miriam Friedland, the former secretary to Oliver Russell. She was in a hospital in Frankfort, Kentucky. Lonergan telephoned to inquire about her. A doctor said, "Miss Friedland passed away two days ago. She never recovered from her coma."

Frank Lonergan put in a telephone call to the office of Governor Houston.

"I'm sorry," her secretary told him, "Governor Houston is on her way to Washington."

Ten minutes later, Frank Lonergan was on his way to National Airport He was too late.

As the passengers descended from the plane, Lonergan saw Peter Tager approach an attractive blonde in her forties and greet her. The two of them talked for a moment, and then Tager led her to a waiting limousine.

Watching in the distance, Lonergan thought, I've got to talk to that lady. He headed back toward town and began making calls on his car phone. On the third call, he learned that Governor Houston was expected at the Four Seasons Hotel.

When Jackie Houston was ushered into the private study next to the Oval Office, Oliver Russell was waiting for her. He took her hands in his and said, "I'm so terribly sorry, Jackie. There are no words." It had been almost seventeen years since he had last seen her. They had met at a lawyers' convention in Chicago. She had just gotten out of law school. She was young and attractive and eager, and they had had a brief, torrid affair. Seventeen years ago. And Chloe was sixteen years old.

He dared not ask Jackie the question in his mind. I don't want to know. They looked at each other in silence, and for a moment Oliver thought she was going to speak of the past. He looked away. Jackie Houston said, "The police think Paul Yerby had something to do with Chloe's death." "That's right." "No." "No?" "Paul was in love with Chloe. He never would have harmed her." Her voice broke. "They they were going to get married one day." "According to my information, Jackie, they found the boy's fingerprints in the hotel room where she was killed." Jackie Houston said, "The newspapers said that it... that it happened in the Imperial Suite at the Monroe Arms." "Yes.

"Oliver, Chloe was on a small allowance. Paul's father was a retired clerk. Where did Chloe get the money for the Imperial Suite?" "I I don't know." "Someone has to find out. I won't leave until I know who is responsible for the death of my daughter." She frowned. "Chloe had an appointment to see you that afternoon. Did you see her?" There was a brief hesitation. "No. I wish I had. Unfortunately, an emergency came up, and I had to cancel our appointment."

In an apartment at the other end of town, lying in bed, their naked bodies spooned together, he could feel the tension in her. "Are you okay, Jo Ann?" "I'm fine, Alex." "You seem far away, baby. What are you thinking about?" "Nothing," JoAnn McGrath said. "Nothing?

"Well, to tell the truth, I was thinking about that poor little girl who was murdered at the hotel." "Yeah, I read about it. She was some governor's daughter." "Yes." "Do the police know who she was with?

"No. They were all over the hotel questioning everybody." "You, too?

"Yeah. All I could tell them was about the telephone call." "What telephone call?" "The one someone in that suite made to the White House." He was suddenly still. He said casually, "That doesn't mean anything. Everybody gets a kick out of calling the White House. Do that to me again, baby. Got any more maple syrup?"

Frank Lonergan had just returned to his office from the airport when the phone rang. "Lonergan."

"Hello, Mr. Lonergan. This is Shallow Throat." Alex Cooper, a small-time parasite who fancied himself a Watergate-class tipster. It was his idea of a joke. "Are you still paying for hot tips?"

"Depends on how hot."

"This one will burn your ass. I want five thousand dollars for it."

"Goodbye."

"Wait a minute. Don't hang up. It's about that girl who was murdered at the Monroe Arms."

Frank Lonergan was suddenly interested. "What about her?"

"Can you and me meet somewhere?"

"I'll see you at Ricco's in half an hour."

At two o'clock, Frank Lonergan and Alex Cooper were in a booth at Ricco's. Alex Cooper was a thin weasel of a man, and Lonergan hated doing business with him. Lonergan wasn't sure where Cooper got his information, but he had been very helpful in the past. "I hope you're not wasting my time," Lonergan said. "Oh, I don't think it's a waste of time. How would you feel if I told you there's a White House connection to the girl's murder?" There was a smug smile on his face.

Frank Lonergan managed to conceal his excitement. "Go on."

"Five thousand dollars?"

"One thousand."

"Two."

"You have a deal. Talk."

"My girlfriend's a telephone operator at the Monroe Arms."

"What's her name?"

"JoAnn McGrath."

Lonergan made a note. "So?"

"Someone in the Imperial Suite made a telephone call to the White House during the time the girl was there."

"I think the president is involved," Leslie Stewart had said. "Are you sure about this?"

"Horse's mouth."

"I'll check it out. If it's true, you'll get your money. Have you mentioned this to anyone else?"

"Nope."

"Good. Don't." Lonergan rose. "We'll keep in touch."

"There's one more thing," Cooper said.

Lonergan stopped. "Yes?"

"You've got to keep me out of this. I don't want JoAnn to know that I talked to anyone about it."

"No problem."

And Alex Cooper was alone, thinking about how he was going to spend the two thousand dollars without JoAnn's knowing about it.