Absolute Power (45 page)

Jack turned to find the bailiff, a granite wall of a black man, beside him.

“Been here twenty-seven years and never had the man out here before. Now he’s been here twice in the same year. Go figure.”

Jack smiled at him. “Well, if your friend had invested ten mil in your campaign you might be out here too.”

“Lot of big boys against you.”

“That’s okay, I brought a big bat with me . . .”

“Samuel, Samuel Long.”

“Jack Graham, Samuel.”

“You gonna need it, Jack, hope you loaded it with lead.”

“So what do you think, Samuel? My guy gonna get a fair shake in here?”

“You ask me that question two, three years ago I’d say yeah, damn straight you will. Yes sir.” He looked out at the crush of people. “You ask me today, I say I don’t know. I don’t care what court you’re in. Supreme Court, traffic court. Things are changing, man. Not just the courts either. Everything. Everybody. Whole goddamn world’s changing and I just don’t know anymore.”

They both looked out the window again.

The door to the courtroom opened and Kate entered. Instinctively, Jack turned around and looked at her. No courtroom attire today, she had on a black pleated skirt that tapered at the waist where a thin black belt encircled her. The blouse was simple and buttoned to the neck. Her hair was brushed back off her forehead and hung to her shoulders. Her cheeks were rosy from the bitter cold, a coat was draped over her arm.

They sat together at the counsel table. Samuel discreetly disappeared.

“It’s almost time, Kate.”

“I know.”

“Listen, Kate, like I told you on the phone, it’s not that he doesn’t want to see you, he’s afraid. He’s afraid for you. The man loves you more than anything.”

“Jack, if he doesn’t start talking, you know what’s going to happen.”

“Maybe, but I’ve got some leads to go on. The state’s case isn’t as foolproof as everyone seems to think.”

“How do you know that?”

“Trust me on that one. Did you see the President outside?”

“How could you miss him? It’s okay with me though. No one paid a bit of attention to me walking in.”

“He definitely relegates everybody else to wallflowers.”

“Is he here yet?”

“Soon.”

Kate opened her purse and fumbled for some gum. Jack smiled and pushed her quivering fingers out of the way and pulled the pack out for her.

“Couldn’t I at least talk to him on the phone?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

They both sat back and waited. Jack’s hand slipped over Kate’s and they both looked up at the massive bench where in a few short minutes it would start. But for now they just waited. Together.

*   *   *

T
HE WHITE VAN ROUNDED THE CORNER, PASSED THE SEMICIRCLE OF
police officers and came to a stop within a few feet of the side door. Seth Frank pulled up directly behind the van and got out, radio in hand. Two officers alighted from the van, scanned the area. This was good. The entire crowd was in the front gawking at the President. The officer in charge turned and nodded to another man inside the van. A few seconds later Luther Whitney, ankles and hands manacled, and his suit covered by a dark trench coat, emerged. His feet touched the ground and, with an officer in front and back, he started to make his way to the courthouse.

That’s when the crowd hit the corner. They were following the President, who was purposefully striding down the sidewalk to where his limo was parked. As he passed the side of the courthouse, he looked up. As if sensing his presence, Luther, whose eyes had been pressed to the ground, also looked up. Their eyes locked for one terrible instant. The words escaped Luther’s lips before he knew what was happening.

“Fucking bastard.” It was said quietly, but each officer heard something, because they looked around as the Presi dent walked by a mere hundred feet away. They were surprised. And then their thoughts focused on one thing only.

Luther’s knees buckled. At first both officers thought he was intentionally making their job harder until they saw the blood streaming down the side of his face. One of them shouted an expletive and grabbed Luther’s arm. The other pulled his gun and swung it in wide arcs at where he thought the shot had come from. The events that happened in the next few minutes seemed a blur to most people who were there. The sound of the shot was not entirely clear over the screams of the crowds. The Secret Service agents heard it, though. Burton had Richmond on the ground in a second. Twenty dark suits carrying automatic weapons made a human cocoon around them.

Seth Frank watched as the Secret Service van tore out of the alley and blocked off the now hysterical crowd from the President. One agent emerged wielding a machine gun and scanned the street, barking into a radio.

Frank directed his men to cover every square inch of the area; every intersection was cordoned off and a building-by-building search would commence. Truckloads of officers would arrive shortly, but somehow Frank knew it was too late.

In another second Frank was beside Luther. He looked on in disbelief as the blood drenched the snow, warming it into a sickening pool of crimson. An ambulance was called and would be there in minutes. But Frank also knew it was too late for ambulances. Luther’s face had already gone white, the eyes stared blank, the fingers were curled tight. Luther Whitney had two new holes in his head and the damn round had put a hole in the van after exiting the man. Someone was taking no chances.

Frank closed the dead man’s eyes and then looked around. The President was up and being hustled into his limo. In a few seconds the limo and the vans were gone. Reporters started to flock to the murder scene, but Frank motioned to his men and the journalists were met by a brick wall of infu riated and embarrassed police officers who brandished their batons and hoped somebody tried something.

Seth Frank looked down at the body. He took off his jacket despite the cold and laid it across Luther’s torso and face.

Jack had made it to the window a few seconds after the screams started. His pulse was off the chart and his forehead was suddenly drenched in sweat.

“Stay here, Kate.” He looked at her. She was frozen, her face having already registered a fact that Jack hoped beyond hope wasn’t true.

Samuel had emerged from the inner sanctum.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Samuel, keep an eye on her, please.”

Samuel nodded and Jack hit the door running.

Outside there were more men with guns than Jack had ever seen outside of a Hollywood war flick. He ran to the side of the courthouse and was about to have his head cracked open by a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound baton-wielding trooper when Frank’s voice boomed out.

Jack warily approached. Each of his steps in the tight-packed snow seemed to take a month. All eyes seemed to be on him. The crumpled figure under the coat. The blood soaking the once pristine snowfall. The anguished and at the same time disgusted look on Detective Seth Frank’s features. He would remember each of these things for many sleepless nights, perhaps for the rest of his life.

When he finally crouched down beside his friend, he started to draw back the jacket but then stopped. He turned around and looked back from where he had just come. The sea of reporters had parted. Even the wall of cops had hinged back just enough to let her through.

Kate stood there for a long minute, no coat on, shivering in the wind that swept down through the funnel-like space between the buildings. She looked straight ahead, her eyes so focused they seemed to register on nothing and everything simultaneously. Jack started to rise, to go to her, but his legs did not have the strength. Just a few minutes ago, juiced and prepared to do battle, mad as hell at his uncooperative client, now every scintilla of energy had been stripped from his being.

With Frank’s help he rose on unsteady legs and went to her. For once in their lives, nosy reporters did not attempt to ask questions. Photographers seemingly forgot to take their requisite shots. As Kate knelt beside her father and gently laid her hand on his still shoulder, the only sounds were the wind and the distant whine of the approaching ambulance. For a couple of minutes the world had stopped right outside the Middleton County Courthouse.

*   *   *

A
S THE LIMO WHISKED HIM BACK TO TOWN
, A
LAN
R
ICHMOND
smoothed down his tie and poured a club soda. His thoughts ventured to the headlines that would drown the upcoming papers. The major news shows would be salivating for him, and he would milk it. He would continue on his normal schedule for the day. The rock-solid President. Shots fired around him and he doesn’t flinch, goes on about the business of running the country, of
leading
the people. He could envision the polls. A good ten points at least. And it had all been too easy. When was he ever going to feel a real challenge?

Bill Burton looked over at the man as the limo neared the D.C. line. Luther Whitney had just caught the business end of the most deadly piece of ammo Collin could find to chamber his rifle with, and this guy was calmly sipping soda water. Burton felt sick to his stomach. And it still wasn’t over. He could never in his wildest dreams put any of this behind him, but perhaps he could live the rest of his life as a free man. A man whose children respected him, even if he no longer respected himself.

As he continued to look at the President it occurred to Burton that the sonofabitch was proud of himself. He had seen such calmness before amidst extreme and calculated violence. No remorse because a human being’s existence had just been sacrificed. Instead, a rush of euphoria. Of triumph. Burton thought back to the marks on Christine Sullivan’s neck. To the busted jaw. To the ominous sounds he had heard from behind other bedroom doors. The Man of the People.

Burton thought back to the meeting with Richmond where he had filled in his boss on all the facts. Other than seeing Russell squirm it had not been a pleasant experience.

Richmond had stared at each of them. Burton and Russell sat side by side. Collin hovered next to the door. They were clustered in the First Family’s private quarters. A component of the White House the eager public was never permitted to see. The rest of the First Family was on a brief holiday visiting relatives. It was best that way. The most important member of that family was not in a pleasant mood.

The President was, finally, fully cognizant of the facts, the most remarkable of which had been a letter opener bearing some particularly incriminating evidence, and which had ended up in the hands of their intrepid and felonious eyewitness. The blood had almost frozen in the President’s veins when Burton had told him. As the words fell out of the agent’s mouth, the President had swiveled his head in Russell’s direction.

When Collin recounted Russell’s instructions not to wipe the blade and handle clean, the President had stood up and hovered over his Chief of Staff, who had pushed herself so far back in her chair that she seemed to have become part of the fabric. His stare was crushing. She finally covered her eyes with her hand. The underarms of her blouse were soaked in perspiration. Her throat was devoid of saliva.

Richmond had sat back down and slowly crunched the ice from his cocktail and finally turned his gaze out the window. He was still dressed in a monkey suit from yet another en gagement but the tie was undone. He was still looking out to nowhere when he spoke.

“How long, Burton?”

Burton stopped looking at the floor. “Who knows? Maybe forever.”

“You know better than that. I want your professional assessment.”

“Sooner than later. He’s got a lawyer now. Somehow, some way the guy’s gonna pop to somebody.”

“Do we have any idea where ‘it’ is?”

Burton rubbed his hands together uneasily. “No sir. The police searched his house, his car. If they had found the letter opener, I would’ve heard.”

“But they know it’s missing from Sullivan’s house?”

Burton nodded. “The police realize it has significance. If it turns up they’ll know what to do with it.”

The President stood up and played his fingers across a particularly ugly gothic crystal collection of his wife’s that was displayed on one of the tables. Next to them were photos of his family. He never actually registered on their countenances. All he saw in their faces were the flames of his administration. His face seemed to redden before the invisible conflagration. History was in jeopardy of being rewritten and all because of a little K mart bimbo and an overly ambitious and incredibly stupid Chief of Staff.

“Any idea who Sullivan employed?”

Burton again answered. Russell was no longer an equal. Collin was there only to be told what to do. “Could be one of twenty or thirty high-priced hit men. Whoever it is he’s long gone by now.”

“But you’ve laid the mental trail with our friend the detective?”

“He knows that you ‘innocently’ told Walter Sullivan where and when. The guy’s plenty smart enough to follow up on that.”

The President abruptly picked up one of the crystal pieces and hurled it against the wall where it shattered, sending fragments all across the room; his face contorted into a mass of hate and anger that made even Burton shudder. “Dammit, if he hadn’t missed, it would’ve been perfect.”

Russell looked at the tiny shards of crystal on the carpet. That was her life. All those years of education, toiling, hundred-hour weeks. For this.

“The police are going to follow up with Sullivan. I made sure the detective on the case understood Sullivan’s possible involvement.” Burton continued, “But even though he’s the most likely suspect, he’ll deny everything. They won’t be able to prove anything. I’m not sure where that gets us, sir.”

Richmond strolled around the room. He could’ve been preparing for a speech or getting ready to shake hands with a troop of Boy Scouts from a Midwestern state. He was actually contemplating how to murder someone in a way that absolutely no blame, not even a hint of suspicion, would ever fall his way.

“What if he tried again? And this time succeeded.”

Burton looked puzzled. “How do we control what Sullivan does?”