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"You'd like to talk to Hank Thompson?" Abe said. "Want I should arrange a meeting?"
Jack smiled. "Why don't you do just that."
He took a bite of one of the bagels with fat-free cream cheese he'd brought along. Time to get serious about Abe's waistline again.
He thought Abe was kidding when he picked up the phone, but then listened as he got the number of Vector Publications from information. He dialed that and asked for publicity. As he waited he put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Jack.
"Who do you want to be and what paper are you from?"
"You think you can pull this off?"
"Of course. Such a publicity hound I've rarely seen. Been on every radio station in town already. Probably be on WFA1N if he could work in a sports angle. This rally of his he's pushing like there's no tomorrow."
This might work. Jack had some questions for Thompson—details he hadn't shared in the book. Like what had really gone on at Creighton. He'd made vague mention of counseling and psychological testing, but no mention of why the long arm of the federal government had reached across the country to pluck him out of the county jail in Columbia. And did he know a certain Dr. Levy.
"Okay. I'll be John Tyleski." Why not? "And I'll be from…" He didn't want a New York City paper—the publicity people would be familiar with the names on the local book beat. He thought back to his boyhood when the city papers near home were in Philadelphia and Trenton. "Say I'm with the Trenton Times."
Abe nodded as he started to speak again—with no accent. "Hello, public-
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ity? Who there is handling Hank Thompson? Oh. you are. Excellent. I'm Moishe Horowitz, features editor for the Trenton Times.""
Jack mouthed, Moishe Horowitz? Abe shrugged.
"Yes, well, one of my reporters happens to be in New York today and we're wondering if Hank Thompson would be available for an interview. We'd like a face-to-face if possible. Yes, of course." He fumbled for a pen and handed it to Jack. "Let me give you my reporter's cell number. His name is John Tyleski and his number is…"
Jack scribbled it down on the back of an envelope and Abe read it off. Abe closed with a few stroking pleasantries about the success of the book and what a wonderful job they were doing promoting it.
"There," he said as he hung up. "What could be simpler? Her name is Susan Abrams and she'll call after she talks to Thompson."
"Great." Jack took a sip of his coffee. "What do you think about all this? The Kicker Man links the Compendium to Thompson, and Thompson's linked to the Creighton place. Christy Pickering is linked to Jerry Bethlehem—whoever he really is—who's linked to Doctor Levy who works at Creighton."
"Bethlehem is linked to a dead man as well, don't forget."
"I'm not. But I wonder why there's been no mention of Gerhard's death. You sure you haven't seen anything?"
"Not a word."
If Abe hadn't read it, then it hadn't been published. He pored over every inch of his papers.
"Why are they keeping it under wraps?"
"Maybe he was more than he pretended to be. Maybe he worked for this group you mentioned already that runs Creighton. Your instincts say what?"
"That the Creighton Institute is the key."
"I agree. Might be something going on there that connects everything. Then again, maybe not."
"Well, I know someone on the inside at Creighton, and he owes me—big time. But I've got a feeling that's not going to be enough to make him open up." Jack checked his watch. "Gotta run. I'm meeting Christy Pickering in an hour."
"Go already. I'll do searches on Creighton. Such fun I'll have."
"See if you can get me an interview with Winslow while you're at it."
If he was going to go to the trouble of printing up some business cards, might as well multitask them.