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  “We don’t think it’s a party thing at all,” Lucas said. “We think it’s a person who’s gone off the tracks. Probably a woman, with a gray-eyed son, distinctively gray-eyed, around thirty . . .”

  Lawrence scratched the side of her nose and said, “You know, I don’t know all the members by sight—a lot of them dropped out a long time ago—but that description doesn’t ring a bell with me. Not at all.”

  “What we’re looking for is a membership list, people we can contact who might know who this woman is,” Lucas said. He went on to explain a bit: that there was a possibility of a conspiracy aimed at Michaela Bowden.

  Lawrence was shocked by that and couldn’t conceal it. But she could turn her real shock in a different direction . . .

  “The party . . .” she sputtered. “The party would never be involved . . . Michaela Bowden, my God . . .”

  “About the membership list?” Lucas prompted.

  “Of course. Normally, I’d want to see some kind of legal document, a subpoena or something, but since Joe was killed and you think Mike Bowden, my God . . . We, you know, the party, has some well-founded fears of the police, but since it was Joe . . . and besides, I know it wouldn’t have been any of our members.”

  “We’re interested in the killings, not the politics,” Lucas assured her.

  “I’m still going to give Anson a hard time about giving my name to the pigs,” she said, now with a quick grin.

  “Yeah, well, oink,” said Robertson.

  “Haven’t heard that pig thing for a while,” Lucas said, as they went into the house.

  “It is kinda sixties,” she said.

  They watched as she plugged a thumb drive into her computer, brought up the membership list, and printed it out. “If we could get two copies . . .” Lucas said.

  “Of course.”

  —

  LUCAS’S PHONE BUZZED at him and he found a message from Neil Mitford: “Crash meeting in Iowa City at two p.m. Gov and Mike face-to-face. Can you make it?”

  He sent back: “Yes. Fifteen minutes away. See you at two.”

  Lawrence handed them the printouts and said, “Could I interest you guys in a cabbage and cucumber salad? Fresh as you can get.”

  “We just had sandwiches,” Robertson said. “Some other time.”

  —

  THERE WERE A HUNDRED and eighty names on the list. Robertson knew every town in the state, as Lucas knew every town in Minnesota, and began by sorting them into two geographical groups.

  One group was tightly arrayed around Iowa City. The other was more scattered, but generally east of Des Moines and west of Iowa City, and most were not too far north or south of I-80. “Which one do you want?” he asked Lucas.

  “You pick.”

  “If I take the I-80 group, I could go home at night,” Robertson said.

  “Then take it,” Lucas said. “I’ll get my room back at the Sheraton in Iowa City, and work out of there.”

  They exchanged phone numbers, and as they did, Lawrence came out on the porch, chewing on a carrot, and called, “You guys be careful.”

  Lucas held up a hand and Robertson said, “Nice old lady.”

  TWELVE

  Lucas found Mitford in a Sheraton suite, talking on a phone and simultaneously tapping on a laptop. He spotted Lucas and pointed at a chair, and a moment later Sally Rodriguez, the Bowden PR woman, came in, twiddled her fingers at Mitford, went to a coffee service, poured herself a cup, and took a phone call.

  She dropped into a chair next to Lucas, still talking on the phone—“I told him that there was a good reason to hire the Barkers, and that I didn’t want to tell him the reason, but that it was a good one. You tell him I don’t want to hear about this other group. I want the fuckin’ Barkers. And I better get the fuckin’ Barkers. If I don’t get the fuckin’ Barkers, he doesn’t get paid. Okay? Okay. Good-bye.”

  As she was doing that, she’d dug into her tote for another phone and punched up a number with her thumb. When she said “good-bye” on the first phone, she went to the second and said, “We’re good for KCRG at four o’clock, and I spoke to Broderick about the Barkers and he says he’ll get them there. Okay? Okay.”

  She hung up and picked up the cup of coffee, looked at Lucas, who said, “You say ‘fuck’ a lot.”

  “Only when it’s necessary. In a campaign, it’s necessary a lot,” Rodriguez said.

  “Who are the Barkers?”

  “A band. They wear T-shirts with dogs on them. Black Labs, I think, though I actually wouldn’t know a black Lab if one bit me on the butt,” she said.

  “Why wouldn’t anybody want to have the Barkers?” Lucas asked.

  “If you’re the event manager? Because the Barkers suck. You’re also fronting your own band that would pick up a quick grand for an hour-long gig and get pictures with the next president,” she said.

  “Why would you want a band that sucks?”

  “Because a state senator’s brother plays in it,” Rodriguez said. “Plays the accordion. Badly. Mostly waltzes. But the senator can deliver Monroe County.”

  “Ah.”

  Her phone beeped with a message and Rodriguez glanced at it: “Mike will be here in eight.”

  Mitford had gotten off the phone and said, “I’ll have the gov here in seven.”

  “Good. We’ve only got about twenty to get this all sorted out,” Rodriguez said. She tipped her head at Lucas: “How far can we trust him?”

  “He can be tricky, but ultimately, he can keep his mouth shut. If he wants to,” Mitford said.

  “If he wants to?”

  “Yeah. He gets to decide. Not us, because he no longer works for the state, and because he’s ungodly rich. But you can talk to him,” Mitford said.

  Rodriguez checked Lucas out again, then said, “Okay. As long as you can talk to him. How’d he get rich?”

  “In one word, software,” Mitford said. “Every nine-one-one system in the country uses it. And when I said ungodly rich, I meant ungodly.”

  “Thanks for not talking behind my back,” Lucas said.

  “That’s okay,” Rodriguez said. “Say, have I mentioned the ‘Friends of Mike’ opportunity for affluent supporters? I have a brochure in my bag.”

  “Forget that, I want to hear about the murders,” Mitford said. He looked at his watch. “Make it short. The gov will be here—”

  “In six, I know,” Lucas said.

  —

  HE TOLD THE MURDER STORY in three or four minutes. The two weasels took it in without comment, and when he was done, Mitford said, “I’ll get the gov,” and Rodriguez said, “I need to make a phone call,” and they both left.

  A minute later Norm Clay walked in with a man and woman that Lucas didn’t know. Clay asked Lucas, “Did you see Rodriguez?”

  “She went to make a call. You’re two minutes early.”

  The man and woman looked at their watches and Clay opened his mouth to say something, when Henderson walked in the room, trailed by Mitford, Alice Green, and another woman that Lucas didn’t know, but had seen, always with a clipboard.

  “Norm,” Henderson said to Clay, with a smile. They shook hands and Henderson wrapped his arm around Clay’s shoulders and asked Lucas, “Did I ever tell you what this ol’ boy did one minute after the Obama nomination in—”

  “No, no, no, I had nothing to do with that,” Clay protested. “I wasn’t even there. I was in Amsterdam. Or Rotterdam, one of the two. Completely out of the country.”

  —

  RODRIGUEZ WALKED BACK into the room and muttered, “Five seconds,” and they all turned to the door and four seconds later, Jubek, Bowden’s security chief, came through the door with Bowden two steps behind. Everybody who was sitting got to their feet. Bowden had had her hair blown and was fluffing it with one hand. She was wearing a blue suit with
a silk American flag scarf, and was carrying a cell phone in one hand.

  As she stepped through the door, she spotted Henderson and said, “Elmer.”

  “Mike, good to see you,” Henderson said. They air-kissed, so as not to disturb the makeup on either one of them. “Wish the circumstances were different.”

  “Yeah, well, they aren’t. Let’s get to it,” Bowden said.

  At that moment, four men in suits walked in; three Lucas didn’t know, but Robertson trailed in behind them. State cops, he thought.

  Rodriguez said, “Mrs. Bowden has already met these gentlemen, but Governor Henderson, this is Chuck Stevens, assistant chief of the Iowa campaign security team . . .”

  “I’ve already met Chuck,” Henderson said, and the two men shook hands.

  “. . . and three of his associates,” Rodriguez concluded.

  Mitford said, “Lucas was just telling Sally and me about the murders. Why don’t we start there, so we’re all on the same page.”

  Bowden looked at Lucas and said, “Let’s hear it,” then immediately looked down at her phone and began texting.

  —

  LUCAS RECAPPED the day’s events, beginning with the early-morning call from Bell Wood, of the Iowa Division of Criminal Investigation, his interviews with the Iowa cops in Mount Pleasant, his conclusions about the murders, and finally his contacts with Anson Palmer and Grace Lawrence.

  “Bottom line is, I believe that we’ll be able to track down the shooters. Whether we’ll be able to hang the murders on them, I don’t know—that would mostly depend on the Iowa criminal investigation—but I think we’ll at least be able to identify them and make sure that they’re . . . neutralized as threats,” Lucas said.

  Bowden looked up from her texting long enough to ask, “How long before you get them?”

  “I don’t know. Could be a couple of days, couple of weeks, depending on what the crime-scene crew in Mount Pleasant finds. If they don’t find anything identifying, it’ll be a while.”

  “You’re saying you have no solid idea,” Bowden said.

  “No, I do have a solid idea—within a couple of weeks,” Lucas said. “That’d be fairly quick on a murder investigation where you don’t pick up the killer immediately. I don’t have a solid idea of how that will work with your campaign schedule and what you think it’s necessary to do in Iowa.”

  “I think it’s necessary to go to the state fair,” Bowden said. “We’re already slotted in there.”

  Lucas: “As I see it, the problem breaks down into two areas. First, you’re not willing to leave the state. If you did that, you could probably be made almost completely secure and we’ll get at the threat and cancel it out. And second, your security is static, designed to protect you from people who try to get close. If these people are serious and intelligent, I don’t think your static security will be enough, even if your guys are good, as I know they are. These people won’t come after you by jumping out of a crowd with a pistol—it’ll be a rifle and it’ll be carefully set up.”

  Bowden looked at Stevens, the assistant chief of the Iowa campaign security team. “Will I be safe at the fair?”

  “Safe as we can make you. We plan to flood the walking route with highway patrolmen, both in uniform and plainclothes, plus our security team, and your security team. We’ve already pre-spotted all the possible shooting platforms and we’ll be working the whole area from the time it gets light in the morning, right up to your walk. We’ll have plainclothes and uniformed guys both on the street and in the crowd, walking right with you.” He hesitated, then said, “I don’t know Mr. Davenport, though one of the top people at the division knows him and says he’s very good. Given his thoughts, I’d be a fool if I told you that you’d be perfectly safe. If you walk, we’ll give you everything we’ve got, but I’d prefer that you were walking in New Hampshire or Georgia. You’re a year away from the nomination—we’ll get these guys, and you can walk the state fair next year.”

  “Thank you,” Bowden said. “I assume if I’m shot, you’ll catch the shooter.”

  “Catch, hell. We’ll kill him,” Stevens said. “One more thing. We believe Davenport is correct in his assessment about the need for investigators to push this. Robertson”—he jerked a thumb at Robertson—“tells me they’ve got a list of a hundred and eighty contacts to work through, who might identify these people. That’ll take some time. We’re assigning four more men to it, to help. Any more than that and they’d start stumbling over each other. So we’ll have five guys looking for these people, plus Davenport. I have to say, though, our information on this is thin. We don’t even know for sure that the threat exists. We’ve jumped to some extreme conclusions based on Governor Henderson’s momentary contact with these people.”

  Henderson: “We do have two murders in Mount Pleasant. And a car chase in Davenport.”

  “Yes. We do,” Stevens said. “Those would seem to be validating incidents.”

  “Seem to be,” Bowden said. She turned to Henderson: “You’re not trying to run me out of the state?”

  “No, of course not,” Henderson said.

  “You could be lying,” Bowden said. “You lie well.”

  “Don’t we all?” Henderson asked, with a smile.

  Bowden turned away from him and said, “Okay. I think we have enough information. I will have my staff call everybody with my decision on what I’m going to do. I will have them call by . . .”

  She looked at Clay, who said, “Five o’clock?”

  “Five o’clock,” Bowden said. “You can all go home to dinner. Now, I’d like a few minutes to speak privately with Governor Henderson, and Neil—how are you, Neil?—and Mr. Davenport and Norm and Sally. We’ll open the room back up for coffee and cookies in a moment.”

  —

  THOSE NOT CHOSEN shuffled out of the room, and when they were gone, and the door closed, Bowden said, “Norm and Sally, I want you to start setting up two appearance tracks, one for here in Iowa, one for New Hampshire. We’ll make the final decision on whether to go to the state fair, four days from now. If we decide to call off the state fair walk, we’ll need a solid explanation, involving a security threat. Something that people will take seriously, so they’ll know I didn’t just blow them off. In the meantime, I’ll want to be set to go to New Hampshire, if we do call it off here. Everybody got that?”

  Everybody nodded and Lucas asked, “Are you going to tell the Iowa cops?”

  She shook her head: “Not yet. We’ll call them up, tell them I’ve decided to go to the fair. I want them to keep the pressure up. I expect you all to keep your mouths shut about that. Nobody knows we’re ready to call it off, until we do.”

  Everybody nodded again and Bowden said to Henderson, “Elmer, I greatly appreciate what you’ve done and we are now taking this with the utmost seriousness. Thank you.” She looked at her cell phone. “Okay. We’re good on time, but we’ve got to move along. Let’s move along. Let’s go.”

  —

  WHEN THEY WERE GONE, Henderson said to those who were left, “She’s never had any trouble making decisions.”

  “How often are they the right ones?” Lucas asked.

  Henderson flashed him his campaign smile. “That’s always a key question, isn’t it?”

  “When a gun’s involved, it is,” Lucas said.

  THIRTEEN

  After Bowden’s departure, and when all the others had drifted back into the room, Lucas took Robertson aside and asked about the additional four investigators.

  “It won’t be in the next five minutes,” Robertson said. “There’ll be a meeting tomorrow in Des Moines and they’ll decide who the four are, and then they’ll work out what they’re going to do . . . We might see one or two of them the day after tomorrow.”

  “That’s how I had it figured,” Lucas said. “Let’s hit the lists now. Stay in touch. If you get a
likely possibility, call me. I can be anywhere you are in less than two hours, and I don’t want you walking up to a bunch of killers on your own.”

  “You got that, for sure,” Robertson said. “If I were you, I’d stick to the ones right here in Iowa City. There are a bunch of them. If we don’t get anything from those, we’ll be able to get at the scattered ones quicker, when we have help. I’ve got a cluster out along I-80 and I’ll work on those.”

  “Good,” Lucas said. “Every time you get to a place, message me, and every time you leave. All I need is the name and ‘Arriving,’ and then ‘Leaving.’ I’ll do the same thing. That way, when you’re shot to death and your body is dumped in the river, I’ll know where it happened.”

  “You are the bluebird of fuckin’ happiness, aren’t you?”

  —

  LUCAS CHECKED OUT with everyone: it was barely two-thirty, and he had eight names in Iowa City. He plugged an address into his truck’s nav system and started knocking them down. By five-thirty he’d been at all eight; but since it was a workday, he’d only gotten five responses, and one of those was to tell him that the person he was looking for had moved—five years earlier.

  Three of the other four followed a pattern.

  —

  A WOMAN NAMED JUNE ELLIS answered the door at the second house he visited—he had no response at the first one. When she asked if he was a police officer, he said, “No,” and she said she wouldn’t violate anybody’s privacy by speaking to him.

  “If you send a police officer, I may or may not speak to him, but I’d want an attorney present.”

  “All I’m trying to do—”

  “I know what you’re trying to do, and frankly, I don’t want to be part of it, in any way,” she said. “What if I gave you a name and you took some police officers and went there and killed somebody?”

  “We don’t—”

  “Yes, you do,” she said through the crack in the slowly closing door. “Don’t you even read the newspapers? The police kill innocent people all the time. I want no part of that.”