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Alan and I provide is used to develop the questions that pollsters ask of voters. And one thing polls show is that voters will tolerate and even accept an awful lot of misgivings by politicians. They have tolerated cheating spouses, dalliances with prostitutes, the occasional DUI, college drug use and even cocksucking in the White House. But they will never condone domestic violence. Slapping a woman around is a political killer.
    Back at the office, I’m poring over a U.S. map, trying to figure out where the slapdown may have occurred. The red circles in front of me highlight the major airport cities that the couple could have passed through en route to a vacation out West. They are starting points for tracking down the alleged assault. If such an incident did happen, there could be an arrest report or at least an incident report on file at one of those airports.
    â€œYou might be better off just taping that to the wall and throwing darts at it,” Alan tells me, unnecessarily.
    â€œNo, I have a system,” I say. But in reality the trail from the ex-wife’s front porch is leading nowhere. I am striking out, one airport at a time. With only a couple left to go, I know if they don’t pan out, then we have nothing. And we have to have something.
    If exes make the best sources, cops are often some of the worst. They, like us, deal in collecting information, not disseminating it. They don’t talk much, especially to people they don’t know. It’s even harder when the conversation is by telephone. And oftentimes, criminal acts aren’t made available to the public until they enter the court system. Arrest and incident reports may never see the light of day. But you still have to try.
    The call to the next airport security office starts the same way the others have. I tell the officer that I’m trying to track down some information on an assault that supposedly occurred in front of one of their gates. I have the name of the assailant and the victim, and I’m hoping for some assistance.
    â€œWhat do you want this for?” he asks.
    â€œI’m doing some work for a client who needs to track this information down for a project they’re trying to resolve in a hurry,” I say. Clear, yet confusing.
    â€œWho’s your client?”
    â€œI’m not at liberty to say.”
    At this point, if the officer asks for additional details about the incident, you’re usually golden. This one asks if I have the date of birth of the man I’m inquiring about. Of course I do. I got it from the pissed-off ex-wife. Do I have a date this happened? No, just a period of time during which it supposedly occurred. Do I know what happened? Uh, no, that’s what I’m asking you.
    He seems somewhat satisfied and asks for my phone number. He’s going to do some checking and get back to me. Good, but not guaranteed.
    The thing about campaign research is that you never really know what you’re going to find until you find it. For me, that’s the fun part. It’s like playing a slot machine—a past but pleasant money-losing diversion from work that most often left me wondering why I hadn’t just saved time by tossing hundred dollar bills out my car window before even getting to the casino. But of course the real thrill didn’t come from winning money. It was that split second before the reels aligned to reveal victory or defeat, that moment before my eyes told my brain whether the third symbol was another 7 or just a BAR .
    Clients and campaigns, however, don’t care about split-second thrills or the moments before. They want the goods, and they want them yesterday. They want them scanned and e-mailed or faxed—preferably the former. So while I wait for my callback from airport security, I’m explaining to a third-party contact—a campaign go-between—what I’ve found, but what I don’t actually have. It’s a fun conversation,