It was all the excuse she needed. “I’m going to speak with Mr. Shuster,” she whispered to Vera, then left without waiting for permission. The chair let out a painful squeak as she rose and angled her way down the aisle toward the exit door. An usher held it open for her. Dickie came right behind.
“What a surprise to see you here today,” Dickie said with an artificially bright smile.
“Really? I thought it only natural to come for my father’s speech.”
“Of course, of course.” Dickie’s voice echoed down the marble corridor. How ironic that there were more people in the halls than in the chamber. “Actually, I’m glad for the opportunity to see you again. Tell me, do you have any insight into the recent article that appeared in Modern Century? I can’t imagine it went over very well in your family.”
How much did he know? “Why do you think I’d know anything about it?”
“You have an affiliation with the Poison Squad,” he said. “I saw the photographs you took of the young men. Delightful photographs, by the way. You are to be congratulated.”
“Thank you, but I don’t have anything to say about what was written in Modern Century.”
The article was an embarrassment for the Magruders. She’d always blindly accepted what her father said about the safety of chemical preservatives, but now she’d seen proof that at least some of them were dangerous. According to Dr. Wiley, the levels of salicylic acid used in Magruder’s Creamed Chipped Beef were unacceptably high. It wasn’t bad enough to cause immediate illness, but it was impossible to know the effects of long-term exposure. Luke had done the right thing in sounding the alarm about it.
She hurried down the corridor and quickly got lost in the confusing maze of hallways, but Dickie followed closely behind. Soon she was in the hall of statues, a cavernous room lined with life-sized sculptures of American heroes. Tourists crowded the room to gawk at the statues, but Dickie kept pelting her with questions, coming uncomfortably close to her association with Luke.
She gave up trying to evade him and spoke frankly. “I once met a man who said you were not to be trusted. He warned that you were cunning, clever, and underhanded.”
Dickie’s look was part amusement, part pleasure. “Moi?” he asked innocently. “I am a harmless guppy.”
“A guppy with fangs, claws, and a poison pen.”
“I rather like that analogy. Who said it?”
She shook her head. “I’m not telling.”
“It sounds like something Luke Delacroix might say. He’s in jail, in case you are interested. Did you know that?”
She folded her arms across her chest and stared at him, praying her expression revealed nothing. “Once again, I can’t imagine why you think this is relevant to me.”
“The war between the Delacroixs and your father is heating up again,” Dickie said. “Given that the article appeared in Modern Century, it surely came from Luke. The more interesting question is how he got his hands on those studies.”
Her breath froze as Dickie scrutinized her. She was under no obligation to speak with this man and turned to walk away. Dickie followed, pelting her with more questions as she headed toward the nearest usher.
“This man is bothering me,” she said to the burly usher. “Can you detain him while I leave the building?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Dickie looked incensed, but Marianne ignored him as she hurried toward the great rotunda and out the front door of the Capitol.
She made it to the jail in time for her three o’clock appointment, but the news was not good.
“I’d welcome more photographs,” Superintendent Castor said. “The problem is that I’ll need to get authorization from the city administrator. That will take at least a week. At least, that was how long it took when I applied for permission to take photos last February. Can you wait?”
She’d wait until the stars fell from the sky, but hopefully Luke would be out of jail well before the week was out. Still, it was best to be cautious.
“I can wait,” she said.
A guard led Luke down the narrow hallway to the meeting room where he’d be allowed thirty minutes with his attorney. The leg-irons made it hard to walk, but his escape attempt meant he had to wear them every time he was outside his cell. They were painful and humiliating, clanking with every step and hobbling him like a criminal, but nothing was as bad as the crawling sense of panic that had been with him since the moment of his confinement.
The meeting room wasn’t much larger than his cell. It was intended for two people, but Gray would be there as well, so they’d be crammed together like sardines in a tin. His mouth went dry and his skin broke into a sweat at the prospect.
“Give me a minute,” Luke said to the guard just outside the meeting room. He used his sleeve to blot the sweat from his face and neck, then forced himself to breathe normally. He didn’t want Gray seeing what a pathetic wreck he’d become after less than twenty-four hours of confinement.
He also needed to keep his head screwed on straight to come up with a way out of this fiasco without implicating Marianne, and Gray wasn’t going to make it easy.
“Thanks,” he said to the guard. “I’m ready now.”
The guard nodded and opened the door. “Thirty minutes,” he said as Luke stepped inside the matchbox of a room. Mr. Alphonse, a criminal defense attorney with a huge walrus mustache, stood and shook his hand. Gray was on the far side of the table and there wasn’t enough room to maneuver around Mr. Alphonse for a proper greeting, so they simply nodded to each other.
“What’s going on?” Luke asked as soon as they were all seated.
“Bad news,” his attorney said. “I asked the judge of the DC District Court to intervene in the case, citing your desire to protect a source under the First Amendment protections afforded for the freedom of the press. He declined to intervene.” Mr. Alphonse put on a pair of spectacles to read from a letter. “‘It is my opinion that the House of Representatives is acting within its rights to detain those in contempt of its authority.’” He took off his glasses. “That means that unless you want to plead guilty, this case is going to trial. The judge is going to side with Congress, and unless you give up your source, you are likely to be found guilty.”
It felt like the walls were closing in on him. It was like he was back in Cuba, locked in, trapped, helpless. He couldn’t last in here forever, but he couldn’t throw Marianne to the wolves either.
Gray leaned across the table. “Luke, you can be out of jail by the end of the day. Just tell Congress what they want to know.”
Nausea welled up inside him, and he prayed he wouldn’t be sick. It would be the ultimate humiliation. He shifted in his chair and turned away so Gray wouldn’t see how badly this hurt.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
Mr. Alphonse’s voice was calm and professional. “As your attorney, anything you tell me will be held in complete confidence. If you give me the name of your source, I can appeal to that person or his attorney for a means to mitigate the damage. It’s your best shot of getting out of here.”