Lawrence Grainger sat slumped, face ghostly white, after hearing the news from his strategist and seeing the material presented. What had begun as a genuine attempt to prevent a harmful bill from passing in the house had transformed into some Kafkaesque nightmare.

"We need to act on this, Lawrence," Rod stated anxiously. "We can threaten to bring the entire government down if they don't accept your proposal to halt the bill."

"Are you mad? Bring the government down? You think there wouldn't be fallout over something as irresponsible as that? We'd all be tarred with the same brush."

"Excuse me, sir," Warren said. "Couldn't you affect a quiet compromise . . . privately?"

"That might have been an option, Mr. Daly, but we are also faced with a murder. There is no compromise for that."

"But if it was someone on their side that committed the murder, maybe they could agree to sacrifice the killer for a face-saving deal."

Lawrence looked at Warren and then Rod, with a pained expression.

"Mr. Daly edits a lot of crime novels for a publishing house." Lynne offered as an excuse for Warren's enthusiasm for drama. "It's how this all came about in the first place."

"All fiction is based on someone's reality, Lynne." He snapped.

The group fell silent, turning over Warren's logic.

"That has a smattering of merit, Lawrence," Rod spoke up. "With a little tweaking we might find a way out of this for all of us."

"How do you propose to tweak a murder?"

"Excuse me, sir." Barely restrained, Lawrence turned and stared at Warren. "There might be something on the audio tape that could be helpful – or at the very least prevent you stepping into something nasty."

"Other than what I'm standing in already?"

"He's right. Let me find a cassette player." Rod shot out of his chair and out of the office.

The remaining trio puffed cheeks, sighed and looked about the room, avoiding eye contact, lest they be obliged to say something. The wait was interminable. At last the door flew open and Rod skidded into his chair, plopping an old Sony Walkman on the desk and digging the tape out of the shopping bag.

"There's only one set of headphones, so I think I should do the first assessment." Rod didn't wait for any arguments, stuffing the plugs in his ears and pushing play. He listened intently, his mouth changing shape occasionally, accompanied by some eye widening and head shaking. After a few minutes, he stopped the player and pulled the headphones off.

"This had to be secretly recorded because the sound is in and out. It was hidden in one spot and only picked up what came close."

"I doubt how it was done is pertinent, what does it say?" Lawrence squeezed his hand into a fist.

"Names. Several names, and all recognizable. Also a lot of X-rated comments and joking. Lawrence, this is Bradford's caucus, or most of them!"

"What about the killing? Did you hear anything about that?"

"Not a word, not a hint. But then it didn't happen at this affair. This isn't from the Shropshire meeting, Lawrence, it's much earlier."

"It's what that dead guy thought he was sending to you, sir. Even though he took part, he must have thought, what they were planning was a step too far even for him." Warren said.

"Lawrence, one word about this to Bradford and he'll pull that bill faster than the roadrunner."

"But there's still the killing."

"I've been watching all the newscasts since that night and there has been absolutely nothing mentioned." Lynne said.

"She's right!" Warren jumped in again. "A call to the Shropshire or a bit of snooping might reveal if they are hiding anything."

"Here we go again." Lynne said with disgust, picking up her purse and getting up. "If we are done, I'd like to get on with my own life."

"Miss Kirk is right. You brought this material to light, and as it affects us, I think you both should take a step back, with our grateful thanks." Lawrence stood and held out a hand to Warren, indicating the meeting was finished.

After they had gone Rod put everything back in the shopping bag and waited for Lawrence to speak.

"That Daly fella seemed to be enjoying this whole mess."

"Goes with his occupation I think. Still, that bit about checking the hotel has merit. As Miss Kirk said, there has been nothing about any murder or about a body being found at the Shropshire."

"Let's see if we can confirm that, but it has to be fast, time is running out."

"On it. And if it's confirmed can I have a quiet word with Aitkens?"

"Don't use a hammer, Rod, try a finger shake and a warning first."

****

Warren stood beside Lynne on the sidewalk waiting for her decision.

"Well? I'll go with you if that would make you feel better. Or you can always come back to my place."

"As wonderful as that experience was, I think I'd rather go home . . . but I wouldn't mind the company . . . just in case."

"Let's grab a bus and see how close we can get before we have to walk." He gave her a crooked grin.

"You are going to drop this now, right? There's nothing left for us- you, to do."

"Why do you feel you want company going home then? Someone is still looking for us, Lynne."

She didn't answer.

The bus arrived and they boarded, sitting close together on a side seat, with a young mother and her child. After several stops and a transfer, their travel by bus ended and they began to walk.

"It's only a couple of blocks."

Warren shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk. "If you stay at home, will I see you again? Are you going to get your cab back?"

"I have to work. I'm not one of the idle rich."

"And about seeing you again?"

"I gave you my card."

"For a cab, Lynne. I'm talking about—"

"I know what you're talking about, Warren . . ."

She didn't say anything further and he gave a mental shrug. So much for that, he thought.

"This is my place." She turned onto the short walk to the front of an old three-storey apartment building.

"Shall I see you in?"

"If you don't mind. Just to the door is fine."

They went in and climbed to the second floor. Her apartment was at the back. He noticed the worn carpeting and the marks on the walls, and he tried to match this place with the woman he thought he'd come to know.

"It's not locked." She said, in a hoarse whisper.

"Let me look." Warren pushed past her and slowly entered the apartment. The change made him pause, and instead of looking for danger, he admired the well decorated, tidy room.

"Well?"

"Uh- nothing I can see."

Lynne walked past him and immediately her hand went to her throat. Her small writing desk was open and papers were scattered across the top.

"Someone has been searching in here."

"You sure?" He started down the short hallway.

"Where are you going?"

"To check down here."

"Yes, well I'll do that. You look in the kitchen."

"Secrets in the bedroom, eh?"

"You'll never know . . ." Her remark seemed to deflate his face and she instantly regretted the tone she'd used. "Sorry . . ."

He turned through the doorway into the kitchen, face blank.

Warren was wiping up sugar from the container on the counter when she came back.

"Looks like whoever tossed your place was thorough. What do think they might have been after?"

"The envelope?"

"In a sugar canister?"

"The tape?"

He paused, looking thoughtful. "I don't think you should stay here alone, Lynne. You have anyone you could call – a girlfriend?"

She had come to the same conclusion and almost dreaded what she was about to say.

"I don't have anyone, Warren, and I still have some clothes at your place."

"I could bring those back," he said, sticking in the knife.

"Would you."

His goad didn't work, and they stood watching one another, weighing the moment.

"When you get your cab back you can come and pick them—"

"Warren, don't be such an ass. Please take me to your place, I don't feel safe here at all."

Twenty minutes later and an armful of clothing and bags, they trudged to the bus stop, and managed a variety of public transportation to his place.

Word Count: 8669 Microsoft Word