“The gate-crashers are looking for Senator Fox?”
“No, no.” Victoria Harte waved this away. “They’re looking for me, naturally. Women my own age mostly, I’m sorry to say. I don’t seem to go over big with the present generation, except with homosexuals, of course. Sometimes I wonder what women my age would do without homosexuals. Are you a supporter of the civil rights of gays?”
“Excuse me?” Gregor said.
“I was a supporter of gay rights long before any of these people thought of it,” Victoria Harte said. “Years ago, even back in the fifties. And of course, I’ve done a great deal of work collecting money for research into AIDS.”
“Mmm,” Gregor said.
“I’d heard about it,” Bennis said.
Victoria Harte shot Bennis a look and went on. “My son-in-law,” she said, “is not what I’d call staunch in the struggle. Not staunch in any struggle for anything, if you want to know the truth. But Miss Hannaford probably told you that. She used to be a—great supporter of the senator’s.” Victoria smiled carefully.
“I met him a couple of times when I was living in Washington,” Bennis said tightly. “Ten years ago. At least.”
“Not all that much changes in ten years.” Victoria said. “Especially not with Stephen. I’ve known him for twenty, and I don’t think he’s had a single new idea in all that time. I don’t think he’s had a single old one, either. May I ask you a question, Mr. Demarkian?”
“Of course.” Actually, what Gregor really wanted was for Victoria to go on talking, babbling bitchiness, just as she had been doing. It would have given him time to collect himself, and he needed it. The heat was getting to him. He was feeling a little sick.
Victoria must have noticed it. She was moving away from the car, toward the shade of the portico, talking all the way. They both followed her as if drawn, because there was nothing else to do.
“You may have noticed I’m being very patriotic this weekend,” she was saying. “Flags. Red, white, and blue.” She gestured at the decorations on the lawn, which were limp. “Of course, I’m not patriotic in the vulgar sense at any time. The Vietnam War took care of all that for me. All waving the flag around ever does is give governments an excuse to kill a lot of innocent people. Especially this government. But—”
“But?” Gregor said. Then he thought, This would make more sense if she sounded like she meant it, which she doesn’t.
“But,” Victoria Harte went on, “the fact is, I probably wouldn’t have shown the colors this weekend, even for Stephen and Janet’s sake, if it wasn’t for just one thing.”
“What thing?”
“You,” Victoria said.
They were now comfortably under the portico, out of the sun but not out of the heat. Gregor could feel a river of sweat rolling down his spine. Great Expectations had to have central air conditioning. It was the kind of house that was built for it. He desperately wanted to get inside.
Victoria stopped at the doors and turned back to them. “Remember how I said I wanted to ask you a question?”
“Yes, I do.” He bit back the rest of what he wanted to say, which was, Get on with it.
“It’s actually a series of questions. It starts with an easy one. Are you the man who helped John Cardinal O’Bannion with his little problem up in Colchester a few months ago?”
“Whoosh,” Bennis whispered in his ear. “There goes our cover.”
“Are you?” Victoria insisted.
“Yes,” Gregor said.
“Fine. Then I take it you are also the man who founded the serial murderers division at the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“It’s called the Behavioral Sciences Department, Miss Harte. And I didn’t found it. It was founded by an Act of Congress and the then-director of the Bureau. All I did was the day-to-day dirty work.”
“I don’t think that’s quite honest,” Victoria said. “But we’ll let it go. It comes down to the same thing, no matter how you phrase it. You’re a specialist in murder.”
“I’m not a specialist in anything, Miss Harte. I’m retired. I’m not a private investigator. I have no license. I have never taken money, as a private citizen, for investigating anything at all.”
“After you left Colchester, Cardinal O’Bannion paid twenty-five thousand dollars into the Armenian Refugees Relief Fund in the name of Father Tibor Kasparian. Father Kasparian is your parish priest.”
“Father Tibor,” Bennis said automatically.