Act of Darkness(68)

Gregor looked into the hallway, too, but there was nothing to see. The hallway was empty. All the doors along it were open. “Is Mr. Chester down there now? In one of those rooms?”

“No,” Clare said. “He left about fifteen minutes ago. I was just so—so depressed, I couldn’t move. I just sat in a chair and stared at the window and wondered what I was doing in this place.”

“What did Mr. Chester want that made you so depressed?”

“It’s not what he wanted, it’s how he was. I think there’s some nasty pop psych word for the way that man operates.”

“Maybe you ought to give up your line of work. I don’t think Dan Chester is the worst of the tenth-rate Machiavellis who infest Washington politics.”

Clare laughed again, in a more subdued way. “I don’t know about that. He’s more intelligent than most, and he’s slicker, but in a way that makes him worse. Of course, he never suggests a romp in bed in exchange for an amendment to a bill, so I suppose that makes him better. I’m sorry, Mr. Demarkian. I told you. I’m not thinking straight today. Maybe I’ll go upstairs and get cleaned up for lunch.”

“Mmm,” Gregor said.

“What is it? Is there something you want to know? That just shows you how mixed up I am today. It never occurred to me you might be looking for me.”

Of course, Gregor had not been looking for her. He had been looking for Bennis, and he still was. It had, however, just occurred to him that Clare Markey might have some of the information he wanted—and although she wouldn’t be the only one, or even the. most likely one, she was one of the few people in this house he trusted.

He looked back at her and found that she had sat down on the arm of a sofa and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well,” she asked him, “was there something you wanted to know?”

Gregor nodded slowly. “In a way, yes. It might seem irrelevant.”

“Good. After you ask me, I can go back to my room and worry about it. You know, as if it were the kind of cryptic question Hercule Poirot would ask in a murder mystery.”

“I’m not sure it would suit even for a murder mystery. It’s about those attacks Senator Fox was having before you all came up here.”

“Senator Fox? You mean Stephen?”

“Of course, I mean Stephen.”

Clare blushed again. Gregor was beginning to think it was habitual. “Excuse me,” she said. “It’s just that—”

“What?”

“Well, I was thinking about it the day I made arrangements for this weekend. That nobody really thinks of Stephen by himself, I mean. If he does something or something happens concerning him or whatever, your mind just automatically says, ‘that’s Dan Chester.’”

“Do you think Dan Chester was responsible for the senator’s attacks?”

“I think the senator is cracking up. He was always just a hair away from it anyway. Stephen is not loo stable, Mr. Demarkian.”

“I’ve noticed. Let’s talk about the attacks, though, if you don’t mind. You were there when the first one happened?”

“I was there when the first one they’re admitting to happened. It might even have really been the first one. You can never tell with Dan.”

“This was at a cocktail party,” Gregor prompted.

Clare nodded. “Oh, yes. Not exactly a purely social occasion. Stephen was supposed to be announcing his plans for the Act in Aid for Exceptional Children. It cost me twenty-five hundred dollars to get in.”

“The senator charges a lot for his time.”

“Dan Chester does. And why not? With Stephen in the Senate, he’s got the nuts of the American taxpayer in a paper bag.”

This, Gregor thought, was no simple case of burnout. This was a case of internal revolution.

“Can you remember,” he asked her, “who was at this cocktail party? Of the people who are here?”

“Of course I can. We all were.”

“You’re sure?”

“Very sure. I talked to Kevin Debrett and Stephen myself. And Dan was there, you couldn’t miss him. Janet went up with Stephen when Stephen was supposed to make his little speech, just before he keeled over. As for Victoria and Patchen Rawls—well. All I can say is that it was like a cat fight in the abstract. Victoria held court in the middle of the room, and Patchen held court on the terrace.”

“Were you there the second time? Dan Chester told me it was at a dinner for contributors.”

Clare’s smile was thin. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I was there. That one cost fifteen thousand dollars, what with buying a whole table and feeding people I didn’t even know, just to make a decent showing. Stephen was supposed to get up and make a speech at that one, too, because it was a fund-raising dinner specifically for expenses involved in getting the act passed. Funny how that works out. Nobody ever tells you what those expenses are.”