Novel.03.The.Pelican.Brief.1992 by Grisham John

Author:Grisham, John [Grisham, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dell
Published: 0100-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

24

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HIS USUAL official sources at the White House denied any knowledge of the pelican brief. Sarge had never heard of it. Long-shot phone calls to the FBI produced nothing. A friend at Justice denied ever hearing about it. He dug all weekend, and had nothing to show for it. The story about Callahan was verified when he found a copy of the New Orleans paper. When her call came in at the newsroom Monday, he had nothing fresh to tell her. But at least she called.

The Pelican said she was at a pay phone, so don’t bother.

“I’m still digging,” he said. “If there’s such a brief in town, it’s being closely protected.”

“I assure you it’s there, and I understand why it’s being protected.”

“I’m sure you can tell me more.”

“Lots more. The brief almost got me killed yesterday, so I may be ready to talk sooner than I thought. I need to spill my guts while I’m still alive.”

“Who’s trying to kill you?”

“Same people who killed Rosenberg and Jensen, and Thomas Callahan.”

“Do you know their names?”

“No, but I’ve seen at least four of them since Wednesday. They’re here in New Orleans, snooping around, hoping I’ll do something stupid and they can kill me.”

“How many people know about the pelican brief?”

“Good question. Callahan took it to the FBI, and I think from there it went to the White House where it evidently caused quite a fuss, and from there who knows. Two days after he handed it to the FBI, Callahan was dead. I, of course, was supposed to have been killed with him.”

“Were you with him?”

“I was close, but not close enough.”

“So you’re the unidentified female on the scene?”

“That’s how the paper described me.”

“Then the police have your name?”

“My name is Darby Shaw. I am a second-year law student at Tulane. Thomas Callahan was my professor and lover. I wrote the brief, gave it to him, and you know the rest. Are you getting all this?”

Grantham scribbled furiously. “Yes. I’m listening.”

“I’m rather tired of the French Quarter, and I plan to leave today. I’ll call you from somewhere tomorrow. Do you have access to presidential campaign disclosure forms?”

“It’s public record.”

“I know that. But how quickly can you get the information?”

“What information?”

“A list of all major contributors to the President’s last election.”

“That’s not difficult. I can have it by this afternoon.”

“Do that, and I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Okay. Do you have a copy of the brief?”

She hesitated. “No, but it’s memorized.”

“And you know who’s doing the killing?”

“Yes, and as soon as I tell you, they’ll put your name on the hit list.”

“Tell me now.”

“Let’s take it slow. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Grantham listened hard, then hung up. He took his notepad and zigzagged through the maze of desks and people to the glass office of his editor, Smith Keen. Keen was a hale and hearty type with an open-door policy that ensured chaos in his office. He was finishing a phone chat when Grantham barged in and closed the door.

“That door stays open,” Keen said sharply.

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