“As far as I know.”

“Do you recall arriving at Scarborough’s hotel room that morning?”

He nods.

“Did you let yourself into the room, or did Mr. Scarborough let you in?”

“I didn’t have a key. He had to let me in.”

“The door wasn’t open?”

“No.”

“Did you try it?”

“Why would I do that? It was a hotel room. They’re always locked.”

“But you didn’t push on it to find out, or turn the doorknob?”

“No. I told you.”

“And when you left the room, after your meeting with Mr. Scarborough, do you recall, did he accompany you to the door, or did you let yourself out?”

On this he ponders for a moment. “As I recall, he had finished up shaving, in the bathroom. We talked. He was tired, said he wanted to get some rest. You know, I can’t remember, but I think I let myself out.”

“Can you recall when you left, did you hear the door close behind you?”

“I don’t know. How do you remember something like that? You realize that the cops asked me the same question. Why is it important?”

“I’m sure they did.” I don’t answer his question.

“Are you sure that it latched all the way closed?”

“I didn’t check it, if that’s what you mean.”

“Did you hear it close?”

“I can’t remember. I wasn’t paying that much attention. Sometimes I check my own door when I’m staying in a hotel, but I don’t usually check anybody else’s.”

“Can you tell me what the two of you talked about, you and Scarborough in your last meeting?”

“What do authors and agents always talk about? Book sales, how his tour was going. The usual,” he says.

“As I recall, Scarborough’s book was doing pretty well at that time.”

“‘Well’ is an understatement,” says Bonguard. “It was flying off the shelves. It’s high on the bestseller list even now. I believe Terry would be astounded that the book is doing so well even after his death.”

“Perhaps because of the death and the controversy surrounding it?” I say.

“It’s possible. When it comes to books, controversy usually sells.”

“Was there any talk of a follow-up book?”

He smiles at me. “You saw the tape of Leno. Yes, he was preparing to write another book.”

“Based on the historic letter you mentioned during your interview with Leno?”

“That’s what he told me. You have to understand that at the time of the Leno appearance I was still trying to flog the current book. I was standing in for Terry. He was supposed to have appeared on the show the night he was killed. You can’t believe everything you hear on television,” he says.

“So you’re saying there was no letter?”

“No, I’m not saying that. It’s just that it was the last chance we were going to have to push sales. You know how it is?”

“And the letter?”

Before he can answer, the door behind me opens. It’s the secretary with a tray bearing a carafe of coffee, three cups, and accoutrements-sugar, cream, teaspoons-and two bottles of water.

He pours himself a cup of coffee-black, no sugar. I take one of the bottled waters and look at Sarah. She declines. “I’m waiting to hear about the letter,” she says.

“So you’re a history buff?” Bonguard turns the question on her.

“I like history. Better yet, I like a good mystery.”

“Well, there was a letter, at least that’s what Terry told me. He led me to believe he was holding it for a sequel. With books as with most things in life, when you’re successful, it’s always good to have a second act.”

“So he had this letter in his possession?” I make a note.

“What he said was that he had a copy. Mind you, I never saw it. Whatever he had, he was keeping it close to the vest. Now, let me ask you a question,” he says. “Did the police find such a letter when they searched Terry’s apartment? Or in the hotel room?”

I shake my head. “Not according to their notes and the list of items they seized.”

“I’m not a lawyer,” he says, “but I assume that if they found it, a letter like this, it is something they would have to disclose to you?”

“Assuming they knew its significance, yes.”

“And by now they would know its significance?” he asks.

Bonguard may not be a lawyer, but he knows the rules of the road when it comes to discovery. I nod. “By now they would know.”

Harry and I have nailed the state’s feet to the floor over the issue of any missing letters. If they are holding back, it would have dire consequences for their case at trial, creating prosecutorial misconduct that even if they can get a conviction could bury them on appeal.

It is now clear why Bonguard has agreed to talk to me. He wants to know where the letter is.

“And I suppose they didn’t find it on your client when they arrested him?” he asks.

“No.”

“One point for your side.” He settles back in his chair again and runs one hand through his blond hair while he thinks.

“If all he had was a copy, wouldn’t that be problematic, assuming he tried to publish based on it?” I ask.

“You mean authentication?” says Bonguard.

I nod.

“That’s true. A publisher could be taking a real chance going forward with a book unless the letter could be established as authentic.”

“And without the original there’s no way to analyze the paper and ink.”

“Right. And as you know, handwriting can be copied, and it’s hard to be sure sometimes, experts all disagreeing,” he says. “Before you know it, people are crying fraud and the author is looking at jail time.”

A few years earlier, it was all over the media and in the press. An antiquarian dealer claimed that he had discovered multiple volumes of Hitler’s handwritten diaries, all of which were scrupulously maintained, a veritable storehouse of the dictator’s most intimate thoughts during the war. It was a treasure trove, except for one little thing: The entire collection was a modern forgery.

“So a copy would be useless for purposes of publication?”

“In point of fact,” he says. “But political wacko though he may have been, Terry was nobody’s fool, especially when it came to money. He may have been an avowed socialist at heart, but when it came to book sales, he was a capitalist through and through. What he said was that he knew where the original letter was. What’s more, he knew someone who could get it for him.”

“Did he say who?”

Bonguard shakes his head. “I asked him, but he wasn’t talking.”

“Do you have any idea who it might be?”

“Only guesses.”

“Would you like to share them?”

Bonguard gives me a face, a little shrug of the shoulder. Now that he knows neither I nor the cops have the letter, he is becoming more reticent. I move on.

“Scarborough makes no reference to the letter in Perpetual Slaves?” Both Harry and I have scoured Scarborough’s book from cover to cover and found no reference to any secret letter.

“No. It was a conscious decision not to include it in this book,” says Bonguard. What is more interesting here is what Bonguard doesn’t say. He doesn’t tell me what he told the cops, that the so-called J letter was the impetus, the driving force that caused Scarborough to write Perpetual Slaves in the first place. Why? For the moment I leave it alone. I don’t ask him.

“Could it be that whoever had the original of the letter didn’t want to release it to him?” I ask.

“Could be,” says Bonguard. “Or it could be, knowing Terry, that he wanted to fan the flames of discontent with Perpetual Slaves and throw more fuel onto the fire later with the letter. That would be his style. And the letter wasn’t necessary to the sales of Perpetual Slaves. He had roused the masses with the revelation that the language of slavery remained in the Constitution. For Terry that was the first blow. I got the sense the letter was the clincher. According to Terry, the letter would have blown the top off of things.”

“Do you know who wrote the letter, the original author?”