that weekend, and spoke to him about the possibility of a White House tour.”
“Can’t you just go up and buy tickets the day you get there?” I asked.
“Not if you want to meet the President,” Lester sniffed. I made sure I looked properly impressed, and went on.
“How about you, Mrs. Gibson?”
“I spoke to Louis every day,” she said. “He was a good son, and he’d call me every single day to chat.” She almost managed not to punch the words “good son” in Lester’s presence, but she just couldn’t hold back.
“Do either of you know of any enemies who might have wanted to see Louis dead?”
There was considerable silence for a while, but since I was-n’t needed anywhere for another two and a half hours, it didn’t especially bother me. I counted the change in my pocket—a dollar in quarters, three dimes, four nickels. Pennies were in my back pocket, but I felt it would be rude to start sticking my hand back there.
“There are any number of political charlatans and left-wing extremists who would have wanted to silence Louis Gibson,” said Lester, his voice rising to a level that, in a normal man, would indicate he was ordering a cup of mocha java. “His was an important message that many on the other side didn’t want to reach the public.”
“Easy on the campaign rhetoric, Lester,” I said. “Your allegiances are showing.”
“I take it you did not share Louis’ point of view,” said his mother. “Is that correct, Mr. Tucker?”
“My political views are not relevant to this investigation, Mrs. Gibson,” I said. I regretted the word “relevant,” but otherwise felt I was on solid ground.
She actually turned to face me at that point. Louise Gibson might once have been beautiful, but decades of disapproval (dished out, not taken) had pointed her mouth downward in a permanent frown and clenched her eyebrows into a pucker. “I’m asking if you agreed or disagreed with my son’s work, Mr. Tucker.”
“And again, I’ll have to say that it has nothing to do with the investigation,” I tried again, eschewing “relevant.” Now I had to mentally deal with the word “eschewing,” but I smiled at her in a friendly, non-threatening way.
“You’re being evasive, Mr. Tucker,” she hissed. “I can tell what your point of view might be. Your people are famous for their leftist leanings.”
You don’t often run into such obvious anti-Semitism in Central New Jersey, and it caught me off-guard. “My people?” I asked. “You mean short, overweight freelance writers?”
“I mean Jews,” she spat. “You know that. Like the Rosenbergs. Remember them?”
“Hitler,” I countered. “Remember him?”
Lester, of all people, ended this lovefest by putting his hand on his mother’s shoulders. “Now Mother,” he said. “There’s no reason for us to be uncooperative.”
“He’s one of them,” Louise said, not to be silenced. “He’s one of the enemy!”
“Your daughter-in-law is half enemy, Louise,” I helpfully pointed out. “That makes your grandchildren one-quarter enemy.”
I snapped up the tape recorder, hitting the “stop” button, turned on my heels, and headed for the door. “Thanks a lot,” I said to Louise. “I think I have enough background on Louis’ family. Lester, if you ever want to get in touch, Steph has the number.” With no better exit line, I walked out, Lester trailing closely behind.
Once in the hall, Stephanie appeared as if she’d been listening at the door. Her face was pale and her eyes wide. “Aaron,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m just glad I didn’t kiss her ring,” I said.
“What?”
Lester appeared behind me as if Steph had twitched her nose and made him appear. “Tucker,” he said. “There was no need for you to agitate her like that.”
“Agitate her! How, by being circumcised?” I was seeing, you should pardon the expression, red.
“My mother is of the old school,” he said, spreading his hands. “She’s of another generation.”
“The word is Reich.”
In his new role as peacemaker, he ignored that, “She’s been through a horrible ordeal. There’s nothing worse than burying your own child. Surely you can understand that,” Lester said.
I hated to admit it, but he had a point. “That doesn’t explain her out-and-out. . .”
“No,” said Stephanie. “It doesn’t. But that’s always been part of her, and she uses it as a weapon.” Lester looked—not appalled, not shocked—annoyed. Steph wasn’t following the script he’d written, and he didn’t appreciate it.
“Mr. Tucker, to answer your question, which is the one I assume you came to ask,” he went on, “my brother had many political enemies, but I can’t think of