Dobell introduced him and said he had an important announcement.

       David, meanwhile, was on the phone with a  Manhattan assistant D.A. named Robin Keogh with whom he worked often in the past.
       “I know you’re aware that Epstein’s being investigated by the Palm Beach Police, the FBI and the IRS,” David said. “What about you guys here in New York?”
       Keogh said, “We’ve been monitoring all that, and Epstein’s been on our radar for a while, ever since that Ponzi scheme went down in flames.”
       “And how did Epstein get away from penalties for that blow-out?”
       “The case wasn’t strong enough against Epstein, but his accomplice in the scheme, Steven Hoffenberg right), ended up admitting he swindled thousands of investors out of $460 million. He got 20 years in prison. He always claimed Epstein was actually the architect of the scheme, but Hoffenberg  was just completely oblivious to the dangers.  He always thought he was smarter than the next guy, and that was one of his problems. You know he once wanted to buy The Post, even funded the paper for three months to keep it out of bankruptcy? But his plans were derailed by the Securities and Exchange Commission that led to the criminal prosecution of the Ponzi case.”
       “And he’s still in jail?”
       “Yep, has another fifteen years to go.”
       “It seems all these guys want to own newspapers,” said David.
        “And pro ball teams.  And trophy wives half their age.”
        “Nest of vipers.”
       “Very fat vipers, David. They’re all driven by ego and thinking they can buy everybody off. And a lot of the time they do.”
       “I don’t suppose you can tell me if there are any ongoing investigations of Epstein by your office,” he said.
       “Like I said, he’s a person of interest to us.”
       David was in no way naïve about rich bad guys getting away with crimes, even murder, and he’d seen solid cases he brought to the D.A. either quashed or left to wither away. He tried to convince himself that he had done his job and whatever happened in the courts weren’t his problem. But such cases still stung him, whether they were mobsters, murderers or white collar enablers. They all had high paid lawyers who were given the money to buy off cops, D.A.s and judges. Epstein seemed a perfect example. 

       After Roger Sheridan left, Katie asked Dobell if they could speak in his office.
       “Dodged a bullet, I guess,” he said. “Sometimes I wish I really did have a bottle of whiskey in my desk drawer. So, what did you think, Katie?”
       “Aside from a certain amount of shock?”
       “Sheridan assured me everything he told us was how it was going to be. Then again, when Clay Felker wanted to keep Murdoch from buying New York back in the seventies, Clay (left) stood up on the desk and told us all there was no way Murdoch was taking over. I was there back then. The next day Felker was gone and Murdoch was in.”
          “Well, the question in my mind, Alan, is, obviously, who’s the mystery man, but even more, why? As Sheridan said, McClure’s is not exactly a cash cow for his company.”
       “True, but he really does think of us as one of his trophies, and like all these powerful men who own magazines, it gives them enormous presence and clout. Even if he lost money it’s a write-off.”
       “Yeah, I’ve been hearing that a lot lately. So you think this is just another rich man who wants to buy us? Like any of those who failed to buy New York?”
       “Much different trophies,” said Dobell. “If Zuckerman wanted New York to expand coverage  and ad sales downtown, he’s not going to get that by buying us. Same with Weinstein. Hell, we don’t cover entertainment. Same with Epstein, who’s more interested in the high life than in a magazine like McClure’s.”
       “I understand all that,” said Katie, “but that bit about the deal having to be concluded ASAP, what’s that about? This is not like buying a pitcher from a rival baseball team.”
       “Well, Sheridan’s only had this one offer, so there’s no competition.”
       “That’s not what it sounds like to me, Alan.”
       “What does it sound like to you, Katie?”
       Katie took a deep breath. “What it sounds like is someone who wants to get hold of this magazine and stop our investigation into Epstein and his friends.”
       Dobell rolled his eyes and said, “Katie, you’ve got great instincts, but you don’t even have a firm assignment on this story until you can tie in the financials with the dirty stuff.”
       “Alan, this is not a case where you just ‛follow the money.’ It’s about these men not wanting to be exposed for what they’re involved in. Can’t you imagine a bunch of them tossing in cash to make the purchase? Money that isn’t traceable to them?”
       “And what exactly would these people get from buying McClure’s?”
       “Comfort in knowing we’re not going to pursue the story and  then kill it.”
       “Whoa, whoa, whoa! You think you’re on to something so scandalous that a consortium of these guys is going to buy the magazine and immediately kill the story?”
       “Yes, and me along with it.”
       “Sounds a bit paranoid, Katie.”
       “I don’t mean literally murder me—though given my history it often seems to come to that—but I mean have me fired. They’re all aware that I’m working on this story.”
       “And then see you take the story to another magazine? That doesn’t help them much.”
       Then it dawned on Katie that maybe she really was in someone’s cross hairs.