Dead Watch

out . . .”
    “You expected me to put it out to the media?” She’d expected betrayal of what she’d portrayed as a personal confidence.
    “Well, yes. It would have solved some of your problems.”
    “Thanks,” he said, his voice dry. He felt as though he should be angry, but he wasn’t—not yet.
    “We just wanted . . . delay,” Madison said. She knotted up her hands, twisted them. “We wanted the package to come out in the fall. Or if not that, just before the convention, to ruin the convention. But Howard didn’t think Green had it. Green swore he didn’t.”
    Jake peered at her for a moment, then said, “Now you’re telling me the truth.”
    “I didn’t want to mislead you,” she said. “I really didn’t. But you were working for Danzig and we were working against him.”
    “Why tell me now?”
    “Because I’m tired of lying to you,” she said. “I just want this to stop. I want the girl in Madison to be alive again. And I don’t want to be . . . on the other side from you.”
    Jake thought about it, then said, “If Howard Barber didn’t do the killing, it must have been Goodman. Or somebody acting for him.”
    “That’s all I can figure out. Unless there’s a third party that nobody knows about. The CIA, the DIA.”
    “Ah, that’s not it. Outside of the movies, they don’t murder all that many people.”
    “I’ve got more bad news,” Madison said. “I didn’t know that Howard had been involved in Linc’s disappearance until you told me. I accused him of it, and he admitted it.”
    “So that’s clear.”
    “The problem is, I did it in my living room. Which you think is bugged.”
    “Ah, man.”

    They were working through the implications of her confrontation with Barber when the phone rang and Jake stepped into the hallway to pick it up.
    “Jake, this is Chuck Novatny. When did you get back?”
    “This afternoon. What’s going on?”
    “Have you seen, or spoken to, Madison Bowe since we talked yesterday?”
    “Yes. She’s here. I’m not plotting with her, I just don’t want her to be alone with these killers out there. You want to talk to her?”
    “Jake, goddamnit.”
    “Hey, pal, if you want to put a few FBI bodyguards in her house, I’ll send her back home. But I’m not going to have her sitting there like a big goddamn jacklighted antelope while the FBI tiptoes around, trying to get its protocols right.”
    “Fuck you,” Novatny snapped.
    “Yeah, well, fuck you, too.”
    Silence. Then, “All right. Let me talk to her.”
    Jake carried the phone into Madison, said, “Novatny.”
    Her eyebrows went up and she took it and said, “Hello? Yes. I can do that. Can I bring Johnson Black with me? Okay.”
    She handed the phone back to Jake. Novatny said, “We need her here tomorrow for another statement. We need to talk to her about who else is in this gay ring . . .”
    “I’m not sure it’s exactly a ring.”
    “You know what I mean,” Novatny said.
    “Yeah, I do, but I’ll tell you what, Chuck. ‘Ring’ sounds bad. It sounds like a supermarket tabloid. And if I were you, I’d start choosing my words carefully. This thing . . .”
    “I know. It’s run completely off the tracks. Officially, I don’t like the fact that you’ve got Madison Bowe at your place. Unofficially, keep an eye on her. You’ve got a gun?”
    “Yup.”
    “Okay. She’s got an ocean of money, I could give her the name of a good security outfit if she needs it—all ex–Secret Service guys.”
    “I’ll tell her,” Jake said.
    “And, Jake—best of luck.”
    Jake had to think about it for a half second and said, “Yeah, fuck you again.”
    Novatny laughed and hung up.

    Jake told Madison about the security service and suggested that she might try it: she said she’d think about it. “It might be inconvenient to have those people underfoot,” she said. “What about the bug? If there is a bug.”
    “Leave it. I have an idea for a pageant.”
    “A pageant?”
    “You know, a play,” Jake said. “A drama. We’ll need the bug.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “I’d have to trust you to tell you,” he said.
    “I know . . . ah, God. Jake: you can trust me. Not before, but now you can. I don’t know how I can prove it.”

    They sat in silence for a while, and then another idea popped into his head. He said, “Hang on a minute,” went into the study, dug in his briefcase, and found a hospital room number for Cathy Ann Dorn.
    She