"Look," she said. "You know as well as I do that the whole purpose of this case was to generate publicity. They've got their press conference. There's no need to pursue it further."
She was asked by movers where to put things. Evans wandered back into the interrogation room and saw the stack of foam core graphs in the corner. He had wanted to see the ones shehadn't shown him, so he pulled a few out. They showed foreign weather stations around the world.
Alice Springs, Australia 1879-2003
Clyde, NWT 1943-2004
Christchurch, NZ 1864-2003
Kamenskoe, Siberia 1949-1998
Of course, he knew that these particular charts had been chosen to prove the opposition's point. So they showed little or no warming. But still, it troubled him that there should be so many like these, from all around the world.
He saw a stack marked "Europe" and shuffled through them quickly:
Rome, Italy 1811-1989
Paris, Le Bourget 1757-1995
Milano-Linate, 1763-1986
Stuttgart, Germany 1792-1999
Navacerrada, Spain 1941-2004
Goteborg, Sweden 1951-2004
There was another stack marked "Asia." He flipped through it.
Choshi, Japan 1887-2004
Lahore City, Pakistan 1876-2003
Takayama, Japan 1900-1990
Tokyo, Japan 1876-2004
"Peter?"
She was calling him.
Her own office was already packed up. She had only a few boxes of things. He helped her carry them out to her car.
"So," he said, "what're you doing now? Going back to DC and your boyfriend?"
"I don't think so," she said.
"Then what?"
"Actually, I thought I'd go with you."
"With me?"
"You're working with John Kenner, aren't you?"
Evans said, "How did you know that?"
She just smiled.
Heading out the back door, they heard the loudspeaker from the conference. Drake was talking now, thanking the press for coming, urging them to attend his forthcoming conference, and saying that the real danger from global warming was its potential for abrupt climate change.
And then he said, "Excuse me, but I regret to say, I have an extremely sad announcement to make. I have just been handed a note that says the body of my dear friend George Morton has just been found."
CULVER CITY
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 12
2:15 P. M.
The full story was on the news that afternoon. The body of millionaire financier George Morton had washed up on the shore near Pismo Beach. The identification was made from clothing and from a watch on the victim's wrist. The body itself was mutilated, the result of shark attacks, the newscaster said.
The family of the philanthropist had been notified, but no date for the memorial service had been set. There was a statement from Morton's close friend Nicholas Drake, director of NERF. Drake said that Morton had devoted his life to the environmental movement and to the work of organizations like NERF, which had just recently named him their Concerned Citizen of the Year.
"If anyone was concerned about the terrible changes that are taking place around our globe, it was George Morton," Drake said. "Ever since we learned he was missing, we have been hoping against hope that he would be found in good spirits and good health. I am saddened to learn that this is not the case. I mourn the loss of my dear and dedicated friend. The world is poorer without him."
Evans was driving when Lowenstein called him on the car phone. "What're you doing?"
"Coming back from the press conference I was ordered to attend."
"Well, you're going to San Francisco."
"Why?"
"Morton's been found. Somebody has to identify the body."
"What about his daughter?"
"She's in rehab."
"What about his ex-wife? What about--"
"Evans, you're officially assigned. Make your arrangements. The forensic guys don't want to delay the autopsy so they need him ID'd before dinner."
"But--"
"Get your ass up there. I don't know what you're bitching about. Take the guy's plane, for Christ's sake. You've certainly been helping yourself to it lately, from what I hear. Now that he's dead you'd better be more careful. Oh, one more thing. Since you're not family, they'll need two people to ID him."
"Well, I can take Sarah, his secretary--"
"No. Drake wants you to take Ted Bradley."
"Why?"
"How the hell do I know? Bradley wants to go. Drake wants to indulge him, keep him happy. Bradley probably thinks there'll be news cameras there. He is an actor, after all. And he was George's close friend."
"Sort of."
"He was at the banquet table with you."
"But Sarah would be--"
"Evans, what part of this do you not understand? You're going to San Francisco and you are taking Bradley with you. Period."
Evans sighed. "Where is he?"
"He's in Sequoia. You have to stop and get him."
"Sequoia?"
"National Park. It's on the way."
"But--"
"Bradley's already been notified. My secretary will give you the number for the San Francisco morgue. Good-bye, Evans. Don't screw up."
Click.
Jennifer said, "Problem?"
"No. But I have to go to San Francisco."
"I'll come with you," she said. "Who is Sarah?"
"Morton's personal secretary. His old assistant."
"I've seen pictures of her," Jennifer said. "She doesn't look very old."