One False Move - By Harlan Coben Page 0,63

I figured it was probably a crackpot, but the fact that he knew Anita's name bothered me."

I bet, Myron thought. "So what did he say?"

"He wanted to know what I'd done with his wife. He accused me of helping her run away."

"Helping her how?"

He waved his hands. "Supporting her, helping her, chasing her away. I don't know. He was rambling."

"But what did he say?"

Bradford sat up. He swung his legs across the side of the chaise. For several seconds he looked at Myron as if he were a hamburger he wasn't sure it was time to flip. "I want to know your interest in this."

Give a little, get a little. Part of the game. "The daughter."

"Excuse me?"

"Anita Slaughter's daughter."

Bradford nodded very slowly. "Isn't she a basketball player?"

"Yes."

"Do you represent her?"

"Yes. I was also friendly with her father. You heard he was murdered?"

"It was in the newspaper," Bradford said. In the newspaper. Never a straight yes or no with this guy. Then he added, "So what is your connection with the Ache family?"

Something in the back of Myron's head clicked. "Are they Davison's "criminal associates"?" Myron asked. "Yes."

"So the Aches have an interest in his winning the election?"

"Of course. That's why I'd like to know how you're connected to them."

"No connection," Myron said. "They're setting up a rival women's basketball league. They want to sign Brenda." But now Myron was wondering. The Aches had been meeting with Horace Slaughter. According to FJ, he had even signed his daughter to play with them. Next thing you know, Horace was pestering Bradford about his deceased wife. Could Horace have been working with the Aches? Fodder for thought.

Mattius returned with the lemonades. Fresh squeezed. Cold. Delicious, if not divine. Again the rich. When Mattius left the room, Bradford fell into the feigning-deep-thought look he'd displayed so often at their previous meeting. Myron waited.

"Being a politician," Bradford began, "it's a strange thing. All creatures fight to survive. It's instinctive, of course. But the truth is, a politician is colder about it than most. He can't help it. A man has been murdered here, and all I see is the potential for political embarrassment. That's the plain truth. My goal is simply to keep my name out of it."

"That's not going to happen," Myron said. "No matter what you or I might want."

"What makes you say that?"

"The police are going to link you into this the same way I did."

"I'm not following you."

"I came to you because Horace Slaughter called you. The police will see those same phone records. They'll have to follow up."

Arthur Bradford smiled. "Don't worry about the police."

Myron remembered Wickner and Pomeranz and the power of this family. Bradford might be right. Myron thought about this. And decided to turn it to his advantage.

"So you're asking me to keep quiet?" Myron said.

Bradford hesitated. Chess time. Watching the board and trying to figure out Myron's next move. T am asking you," he said, "to be fair."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you have no real evidence that I am involved in anything illicit."

Myron tilted his head back and forth. Maybe yes, maybe no.

"And if you are telling the truth, if you do not work for Davison, then you would have no reason to damage my campaign."

"I'm not sure that's true," Myron said.

"I see." Again Bradford tried to read the tea leaves. "I assume then that you want something in exchange for your silence."

"Perhaps. But it's not what you think."

"What is it then?"

"Two things. First, I want the answer to some questions. The real answers. If I suspect you are lying or worried about how it will look, I'll hang you out to dry. I'm not out to embarrass you. I don't care about this election. I just want the truth."

"And the second thing?"

Myron smiled. "We'll get to that. First I need the answers."

Bradford waited a beat. "But how can you expect me to agree to a condition I don't even know?"

"Answer my questions first. If I am convinced that you are telling the truth, then I'll give you the second condition. But if you're evasive, the second condition becomes irrelevant."

Bradford didn't like it. "I don't think I can agree to that."

"Fine." Myron rose. "Have a. nice day, Arthur."

His voice was sharp. "Sit down."

"Will you answer my questions?"

Arthur Bradford looked at him. "Congressman Davi-son is not the only one who has unsavory friends."

Myron let the words hang in the air.

"If you are to survive in politics," Bradford continued, "you must align yourself with some of the state's more sordid elements.