in turmoil. How could he have said to Jenene what he just said? By the same token, she had no right to call him a bastard. Simply too much was happening today. No man should have to endure this much agony in one day. Maybe he could get some ease of mind at Flaherty’s. There must be some of the gang down there. Maybe he could find out some more about the governor’s death. What killed him? he wondered. Heart attack, murder, suicide? Arnie had told him he was to kill the governor next month, and Arnie was dead before he barely hit the street. And now this note under the cabin door. Jenene had thought it was a threat against her life, but could it be it was a threat against his own life since he had only assumed they did not know he had met with Arnie?
A drink would sure be welcome about now! he thought.
As he entered Flaherty’s, he spotted Tom Harding and Cheri. As Tom waved him over to the table, Dan felt a pounding in his chest as he once again looked into Cheri’s green, green eyes.
Damn, he thought, just how much can a man take in one day?
Cheri smiled at him as he sat down, and for a moment, he forgot he was mad at the world. Flaherty’s was abuzz with the news of the governor’s death, everyone in a seemingly state of shock, and the television from over the bar blared constantly, each anchorman speculating on what had caused the governor’s death, and although quick to point out that cause of death was unknown at this time, they kept repeating that apparently his death was not from natural causes.
Dan drank his drink very quickly and ordered yet another and another. He started thinking about the way he had slammed out of the house and left Jenene without really discussing the note she had found under the cabin door with an apparent threat to her life. But perhaps the warning was not really intended for her but for himself. Maybe the same someone who wiped out Arnie was after him. But why, if this was the case, warn him? Nothing made sense. Maybe he should swallow his pride and go back to the house and try to figure this out. As he started to leave, he felt a warm hand on his leg. As he looked up, he found himself once again locked into those incredible green eyes. Dan ordered another drink!
Chapter 7
Remorse
He opened his eyes and stared at walls he did not recognize. He was definitely not in his own bed, and he was alone. He must be at Cheri’s. The last thing he remembered was being at Flaherty’s with her at the table, drinking and chatting, and her hand constantly caressing his leg. They had drunk many drinks, and she had told him how she was celebrating being made a junior partner and how she had been told she would probably be handling the representation of the Drake Hotel and other gambling industry clients that the firm would be handling in the near future. He did remember congratulating her again and doing a little caressing on his own. When had Tom Harding left the table? Lord, he knew better than to drink that much, even though yesterday was probably one of the most stressful days of his life! What had he done? He couldn’t even remember! What had he done to his marriage and to his future possibilities as a politician? He needed his wife for that role. He had never been out all night before, and he would never be able to explain this to Jenene in light of the way he slammed out of the house last night.
He rolled out of the bed, and as he did, he saw a note propped on the end stand, and it was, of course, from Cheri: “Darling, thanks for a wonderful night. Will see you at work. I can’t be late this morning”—and signed—“Love, Cheri.”
With near panic, Dan showered and dressed. His car keys were still in his pocket, and as he headed out the door of the apartment, he hoped he still had a car because he certainly did not remember driving to Cheri’s. He finally spotted his car, and he kept looking around guiltily to see if anyone was watching him. My, what guilt could do! He hurriedly got into his car and very quickly headed for home. His mind was in a complete turmoil again. What would he say to Jenene when he got there? What kind of story would she believe? If only he hadn’t said what he had and then slammed out of the house, it would have been easy to concoct a story she would believe.
“I must get this righted,” he repeated to himself. “I need a beautiful, talented wife at my side to get to the top.”
As he entered the house, he called out to her, but there was no answer.
It’s early yet, he thought. Where in the world is she?
He checked the bedroom, but her bed had not been slept in. Unlike Cheri, she had not left him a note. With more guilt, he remembered the note Jenene had shown him for which he had shown no real concern. Was she really in trouble?
He turned on the television, and the news was saturated with the reports of the governor’s death and all the speculations. The Carson City sheriff had made only the general statement that the governor’s death was being given top-priority investigation and that as soon as something definitive was determined, he would make a more detailed statement.
Not knowing which way to turn, Dan, ever so meticulous about his appearance, changed suits and headed toward his office. En route he kept wondering over and over how he had messed up last night. This was no way to get an inside promotion, much less climb to the top. And how was he going to face Cheri? What more would she be expecting? How was he going to work in the same office day after day? And how was he going to straighten out things at home? On that thought, he dialed home, but there was no answer. He then dialed his office, and when Tara answered, Dan knew something was awry by the hushed tone of her voice.
“What is it, Tara?” Dan asked her.
“The police are here, Dan, looking for you,” she said. “It has something to do with that man that called you yesterday using your name. The police are calling him Arnie something or other.”
“Okay,” said Dan, “tell them I am on my way and will be there in a few minutes.”
Combine guilt and remorse and a dead client-to-be, he thought, and what does it get you but an office full of police detectives.
Chapter 8
The Inquisition
Dan drove to his office and parked his car out in the back lot. He needed the long walk to think this thing through. He realized he was probably the last person to talk with Arnie, but that was all client-attorney privileged communication. At least he could claim that even though he had not yet received a retainer. But he and Arnie were to meet the next day for more details and a retainer. What did the detectives think he was going to tell them? He went in the back way to the office. Tara was already in his private office, looking tense and upset.
“They’re pumping me and acting like you are guilty of something,” she said, “and I don’t know how to handle this.”
“Don’t worry, Tara, I didn’t do anything illegal, immoral, or fattening,” Dan said as he winked at her. “I’ll handle the detectives. Thanks, but just go on with your usual things, and everything will be okay.”
But when Tara went back to her office, Dan felt the apprehension began to surface once again. God, he wished he had a drink or something; this was beginning to read like a bad novel!
“Calm down,” he told himself, “and remember out of all bad things comes something good. This might be your ticket to the Capitol.”
And with that thought in mind, he asked Tara to send in the waiting detectives.
Either I rate or Arnie was more important than I figured, mused Dan to himself as three detectives entered his office, headed by Lt. Jerry Martin and followed by detectives Jim Cougar and Mark Simpson. Dan had met Lieutenant Martin a few times, both socially and through some of the cases he had tried, so Dan knew this inquisition would be, for both himself and the lieutenant, a little easier on one hand and a little more awkward on the other. After the cursory greetings and introductions were completed, Dan asked them to have a chair.
“Gentlemen, how can I be of help?” Dan asked. (Strategy, thought Dan. Always let them lay it on the table first. Don’t volunteer any information that might give them something they didn’t know about.)
“Dan, it looks