There was further confusion in other offices; papers to be signed by a hand that could hardly bring itself to touch the pen, warnings and official counsel to be heard, a brisk lawyer whom Lennox vaguely recalled meeting before somewhere in the network. And most incredible of all, there was Ned Bacon waiting for him in the hospital lobby, leaning against a pillar like a Private Eye with his hat cocked over his brow. Bacon shook hands warmly and took him out to his car. Lennox was confused.
"Yeah," Bacon said as he drove uptown, "We kicked it around and figured the best thing would be to hand Cooper the rap. He was cooled anyway and there was no percentage letting you sit in the penalty box."
"You told them Sam wrote the letters?" Lennox faltered.
"Sure. That's how we sprung you. That lawyer could be a Federal judge if he was willing to lose money."
"But Fink and Salerno...."
"Bob's a buddy," Bacon drawled. "We gave him the sign and he listened to reason."
"So everybody thinks Sam...?"
"Yeah."
Lennox lay back in the seat, limp and helpless, too exhausted after three days of horror and remorse even to ask questions. He flexed his right arm against the gimmick book and let the arm drop into his lap. Bacon glanced at him and smiled knowingly.
"Been rubbing elbows in the marketplace, huh Jake?"