Cold Open, A Sam North Mystery (27 page)

Chapter Seventy-Three

I got out of the cab at the corner of Forty-ninth and Park just before noon. The block in front of the Waldorf Astoria was jammed from corner to corner with TV vans and satellite trucks, all awaiting the official word from Buck McConnell on his presidential bid.

Liberty’s live truck was halfway down the block. I found Charlie Morris inside, sitting at the console. In front of him were the control board and a wall of tiny monitors. Some of the monitors showed the scene inside, from the Grand Ballroom, where a stage draped in red-and-white bunting was prepared for Buck McConnell to make his big announcement. Behind the stage large video panels were set up where larger-than-life photos of the Grand Canyon, a bald eagle, and other iconic American images appeared on a slow-moving loop, one dissolving into the next.

Charlie was on the phone and turned to me when I walked in.

“Hang on. He just got here,” he said, handing the phone to me. “It’s Blake.”

“Anyone know about Cal?” I asked, before Jennings could speak.

“No. No one seems to have noticed that he hasn’t been in yet. If anyone asks, I’m just saying he’ll be in later,” Jennings said. His voice was serious, and he was tense.

“And Kelly and Dan, how much do they know?” I asked.

I was near panic with the thought that this would get out and I’d get scooped. Jack Steele was dead. Marty Glover, his executive producer, was dead. Cal Daniels, the president of Liberty News, was in Bellevue under police guard, nursing a bullet wound. It was expected he would be arrested any minute on murder and conspiracy charges.

“Kelly and Dan have no idea,” Jennings said. “I told them that Cal wanted them to stay on and handle the announcement from McConnell. That it was a big deal and Cal wanted to see how they would do with political stuff. That maybe there was a role for them on election night.”

“Brilliant.”

“I thought so,” he said.

“The only people who know anything about this are you, me, and Charlie,” Jennings said.

I glanced at Charlie. I trusted him.

“All right, I’m going inside,” I said. “You go into the control room.”

“On my way,” Jennings said.

“Give me five minutes and then talk to me in my ear.”

I ended the call and Charlie handed me my equipment, a mic, and an earpiece so that he, Blake, and I could communicate.

“You have everything Freddie shot this morning, right? The stuff at the helipad?”

“All of it. Some of it’s a little dark, and the audio is weak in spots, but it’s usable,” he said.

Charlie looked at me; he was nervous and shaken. “Sam,” he said.

I nodded.

“Jack … and Marty … it was all because …” His voice trailed off.

“Because of Cal,” I said. “And McConnell.”

Charlie shook his head and looked at me.

“Let’s nail the bastard,” I said, and stepped out of the truck.

Chapter Seventy-Four

Ripley was standing in a group outside the ballroom and spotted me as I walked toward the closed doors to the room.

He stepped away from the suits, he raced toward me with his hand up. “I’m sorry, the ballroom is now closed and no more press is being allowed inside,” he said, louder than necessary. “And besides, Liberty is represented by Julie Parker, from your Washington bureau, a real political reporter.”

We were face-to-face now, and the little minions had followed him over and gathered behind him, watching the drama.

“Stu, buddy,” I said. “You need to step aside and get out of the way.”

He smirked and chuckled. “Oh, really? And you need to—”

Before he could finish a voice boomed from behind me.

“Hey, get the hell out of the way and let him do his job.”

It was Rinaldi, and he was yelling as he approached with his badge out. There were two uniforms walking with Rinaldi, and what looked like a battalion right behind them.

“He’s an accredited member of the press, and he’s going inside the ballroom,” Rinaldi said as he got to us. “We all on the same page now?”

Ripley tried to respond. “I … I, uh …”

“Good, I thought so,” Rinaldi said.

I opened the door and went inside knowing Rinaldi and the other cops had the outside of the ballroom locked down. No one was getting in or out from this point on.

Inside, it was dark. The gigantic screens around the stage were filled with the image of an American flag rippling slowly in a breeze. From the speakers the voice of Ray Charles boomed, as he sang his emotional version of “America the Beautiful.” The song ended and the room stayed dark, then a deep voice came over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Terrance McConnell.”

I stayed in the back as the room lights came up and McConnell strode onto the stage from the right. He walked with confidence and smiled a big, wide smile and went to the podium. He was dressed in a navy suit, crisp white shirt, and red tie. A walking American flag. He thanked us all for coming and began.

“Decades ago, in the oil fields of Texas, a little boy accompanied his grandfather as the man made the rounds checking on his wells, or holes in the ground as he called them. The little boy took it all in as his grandfather, and later his father, worked from sunup to sundown to build something lasting. A company that a family, a town, and a country could be proud of,” he said.

I felt nauseous, or maybe it was just nerves and fatigue, as he went on, speaking of country and the work ethic his father and grandfather had instilled in him and the importance of integrity. He went on for five, then ten minutes, and then sometime around the twelve-minute mark he made a declaration.

“That is why I, Terrance Buck McConnell, officially declare my candidacy,” he said, his voice rising and cheers from supporters beginning. “For president,” he said and paused just a beat to let the cheers build. “Of this great country, the United States of America,” he yelled as music blared and supporters cheered.

He stepped to the side of the podium and grinned and waved and it all felt very staged. I expected an attractive wife and clean-scrubbed children, maybe even a golden retriever, to appear and join him.

I went over to the riser to my left where the control board and the audio and video engineers sat making sure everything went smoothly and spotted Wade seated among them. He got up and came over and handed me a mic.

“Give me a wave when you’re ready,” he said, and then went back to his spot in the row of technicians.

On the stage, McConnell stepped back to the podium. “Thank you. Thank you,” he said. He grinned and pointed to a few of the people who refused to quiet down. “Oh, gosh,” he said. “This is just great.” A few more seconds passed before everyone quieted.

“I know we have some of our friends from the media here,” he said. “So I’ll take a few questions. But folks, please, let’s keep the questions geared to the important issues facing our great country, okay?”

He looked out to the crowd and pointed to a reporter. She stood and waited for an event worker to bring her a mic, then identified herself as Sally Marks with
The New York Times
. She asked about his reputation as a bare knuckles fighter as a CEO and just how that would translate to Washington politics.

He gave a little grin like he was flattered to be called combative. “You know, I also have a reputation as something of a bridge builder,” he said, and I couldn’t argue. He was the bridge between money and foreign governments on occasion. “I’ve learned it’s often in everyone’s best interest when both sides learn to give a little,” he said.

He was asked about the hostile and divisive tone of politics, and he said all the right things.

“This president has shown a blatant disregard for opposing viewpoints and is more concerned with pushing an agenda, an agenda that has damaged this country. That needs to stop,” he said, his voice rising. “It needs to stop now. With this next election, before the damage is too great to repair.”

That brought a smattering of applause. The next reporter asked what his number one priority would be if elected. He gripped the sides of the podium and exhaled, and it seemed all too smooth, like he had practiced for this or a similar question.

“Boy,” he said. “That is a tough one. There are a lot of things that need fixing.”

The images behind him had cycled through a few times and the rippling flag was dissolving into a panoramic shot of the Grand Canyon. It was filled with golden sunshine and rich colors, and at this particular moment Buck McConnell may have had the luckiest timing of anyone, anywhere.

“We need to restore the spirit of America. From day one. Now, I know there are big, important issues that need fixing, but so does this. For far too long we have walked around with our heads down, and that has to stop.” There were a few claps that grew to cheers and McConnell slapped the podium. “And it has to stop now.”

When it quieted down, McConnell looked out and said, “We have time for one more question.”

I looked over at Wade and flashed a thumbs-up. I flipped on the mic and started walking down the center aisle from the back of the ballroom. I thought of Jack and Michael Barnes and Marty, and I thought of Robbie as I began to speak.

Chapter Seventy-Five

“Mr. McConnell,” I said.

McConnell squinted and looked out at the crowd, searching for the person attached to the voice. I had stopped halfway to the stage and was smack in the middle of the room. McConnell found me and his face tightened. He recognized me and tried to strike first.

“We are only taking questions on—”

“What was your role in the killing of Jack Steele?” I asked, cutting him off.

There were murmurs and talk and the room buzzed. People twisted in their seats and heads turned. I continued on, confident that Wade would make sure my mic wouldn’t be cut off.

“Mr. McConnell,” I said in a loud, clear voice, “please tell us about your role in the killing of Jack Steele. And while you’re at it, tell us why you also had Michael Barnes killed.”

McConnell shook his head and waved a hand to try to dismiss me. “Look, I’m not sure who you are, or what you’re talking about, but you are—”

I took a few more steps toward him and cut him off again. “And can you explain your arrest on drug charges while you were an undergrad at Harvard,” I said.

There were gasps now and every head was turned to me. People seated on the far sides stood to get a better view and hands holding phones were raised to record the confrontation.

McConnell looked to the wings of the stage, where a half-dozen security guards stood. “Could we please have this individual removed?” he asked.

The bodyguards sprang into action, leaving the stage and crossing in front of it on their way to the center aisle.

“One last chance, Buck,” I said. “Either you explain your role in these deaths, or I will.”

McConnell slammed a fist down onto the podium and exploded, his face red with rage.

“Somebody remove him,” he yelled. “I will not have this disrupted by a nut job.”

The first security guard hustled to the center aisle, turned and came toward me. He was ten feet away when a uniformed cop pushed past me from behind and confronted him, putting his hands on his chest and pushing him back. The room erupted with activity. Cameramen sprang from the riser and hustled to the front with cameras on their shoulders to get better shots.

A group of cops moved onto the stage and surrounded McConnell as I spoke. “You had your chance, Buck,” I said.

I turned around and pointed to Wade, and the large screens flanking McConnell went black. They stayed that way for five seconds and the room went quiet. Then the screens sprang to life with the grainy, dark video of Jack’s body being pulled from the East River. My voice boomed from the speakers.

“In the early morning hours of August 9, the body of Liberty News anchor Jack Steele was pulled from the East River. His death was ruled a suicide. But Liberty News has learned that Steele and two other men, environmentalist Michael Barnes and Liberty News producer Martin Glover, were ordered to be killed by Terrance ‘Buck’ McConnell.”

The room exploded in talking and shouting; McConnell’s mic was still open, and he could be heard yelling in the chaos. “Someone stop this. Stop this now.”

Reporters were up and yelling questions at him, and cameramen raced to the stage to get shots of him surrounded by cops. His mic was cut off now and he tried to yell, but no one heard him above my voice.

“The murders were part of a wide-ranging cover-up of a drug charge against McConnell almost forty years ago. Liberty News president Calvin Daniels, a former classmate of McConnell’s at Harvard, took part in the cover-up and has already been arrested in connection with the three deaths. Early this morning Daniels was recorded confessing to the killing of Steele and implicating McConnell in the murders.”

The video Freddie shot from the helipad was played, and the audio, picked up with the camera mic, had been enhanced so you could hear the voice of Daniels first, and then mine.

“But instead Buck panics, he says it’s too late. He wants Jack dead. And guess who he says is in charge of it?”

“You.”

“He says, take care of this guy. If Jack exposes me, I expose you. No way he was going to lose his shot at the White House over this.”

“So it was you Jack met over there that night? Not Barnes? You killed Jack.”

“Buck ordered me to. He sat in the car and watched the whole thing to make sure I did.”

I watched McConnell’s reaction on stage. He was surrounded by cops, and they, like everyone else, were watching my piece on the big video screens. But McConnell was twitchy. He glanced at the screens as more shots from the helipad played and then spun and burst into action, shoving a cop with two hands and blasting through the opening that created.

He took off down the steps of the stage as people yelled and cameramen ran toward him. I started toward him, and as I did Rinaldi sprinted past me from behind with more uniforms, knocking chairs over as they raced after him.

McConnell made a run for the outer aisle, but two uniformed cops pushed through the crowd and when they got close enough, one dove and tackled him from behind. I got to the crowd around them and pushed my way through with Rinaldi next to me.

“This really is no way to start a presidential campaign,” Rinaldi said as the cops handcuffed McConnell and pulled him to his feet.

McConnell stood and glared at me. The sound of my voice filling the room as the taped piece played on, laying out McConnell’s role in the deaths of Steele, Barnes, and Glover.

“I will sue Liberty News out of existence,” he said to me. “Then I’ll come after you.”

“You’re done, Buck,” I said. “And no one is going to come save you this time.”