Read Holland Taylor Trilogy for Free Online Page B

dirt.”
    â€œDo you have any?”
    She didn’t answer.
    â€œGood for you. How long have you known the representative?”
    â€œSince college,” Meghan replied.
    â€œAre you working on her campaign?”
    Meghan shook her head. “Not this time. The House Information Office is a bipartisan organization. As director I am not allowed to become involved in any election campaign, local or otherwise,” she said, then returned to the subject. “Isn’t Joseph Sherman in prison?”
    â€œNo, he’s out. And he might be involved in a murder. Did the St. Paul police speak with you?”
    Again Meghan shook her head, repeating the word “murder” as if she never heard it before.
    â€œThe police didn’t contact you?”
    â€œNo, of course not. Why would they?”
    â€œStandard procedure. Man just out of prison, on the run, he tends to look up his friends.”
    â€œMr. Taylor, I assure you, Joseph Sherman and I were not friends. He was merely a neighbor.”
    â€œTell me about him.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to tell.”
    â€œMost drunks love to talk …”
    â€œHe didn’t talk to me. Sherman lived across the corridor, that’s all. I’d see him a few times coming or going, nod, make a remark about the weather—nothing more than that. After he was arrested an assistant county attorney deposed me. It was my impression that he wanted someone to say disparaging things about Sherman on the witness stand, only I couldn’t tell him anything I haven’t just told you. I had no interest in Joseph Sherman or his problems. I didn’t feel sorry for him. I didn’t feel anything toward him at all.”
    â€œThat’s interesting,” I told her, and I meant it.
    â€œHow so?” she replied, ready to defend her coldheartedness.
    â€œMy impression is that you and C. C. Monroe are friends?”
    â€œCarol Catherine’s friends never call her C. C.”
    â€œI’ll keep that in mind.”
    â€œWhy? Are you her friend?”
    I ignored the retort and continued my supposition: “You lived across the hall from Joseph Sherman. Joseph Sherman was convicted of killing Terrance Friedlander, thus making it possible for your friend to be elected to the Minnesota House of Representatives. Yet, you had no interest in him at all.”
    â€œIs there a point to this?”
    â€œLike I said, I find it interesting.”
    Meghan Chakolis reached behind her, picked up a telephone and slammed it down on the desk in front of me.
    â€œCall the local TV stations; tell them what you find interesting. Fifteen minutes of fame comes cheap these days,” she said. Then she threw me out of the office.

FIVE

    C .C. M ONROE’S campaign headquarters was located on Rice Street within easy walking distance from the State Capitol. I took my own sweet time getting there—no sharp turns, no speeding through yellow stoplights, staying in plain sight of the blue Ford.
    Headquarters was an abandoned women’s clothing store with posters on the windows urging citizens to v OTE FOR THE F UTURE , V OTE M ONROE FOR G OVERNOR. A row of four cafeteria tables and metal chairs looked out the windows onto Rice Street, a dozen push-button telephones spread out over the tables. Another row of tables with telephones lined the far wall. Between them was a low platform. Hanging from the wall behind the platform was an American flag, the Minnesota state flag and a poster of C. C. Monroe looking washed out next to the real thing.
    Carol Catherine Monroe, surrounded by TV lights, cameras, microphones and a dozen or more reporters all shouting out questions, stood alone on the platform. She was the only person in the crowded room who noticed when I walked in; everyone else was watching her. She smiled at me, and I smiled back.
    Good Lord, she was pretty—photogenic, as the man said. The camera loved her, loved her aquamarine eyes,