Whitewash (46 page)

Washington, D.C.

Jason scraped the last of the pad thai noodles from the bottom of the container. He stuffed it all into his mouth without taking his eyes off his computer screen. Everyone had left him behind. The security guard had checked in on him three times. Jason was beginning to wonder if the guy was really worried about him or only wanted to make sure he wasn’t stealing congressional secrets of some sort.

Jason went back and forth between William Sidel and Zach Kensor. It was just as easy to run two names through the systems he was intruding on. He hadn’t found anything much in Zach’s financial profile other than the typical stuff for a guy his age. In some ways it reminded Jason of his own pathetic financial life, decent money but not much to show.

He clicked through another bank statement for EchoEnergy. William Sidel’s business accounts, however, resembled a politician’s. It appeared that there wasn’t an investment firm or millionaire Sidel wouldn’t take money from. By the same token he paid out exorbitant amounts of money to several so-called NFP—not-for-profit—funds. Actually, some of them may have been legit, but Jason recognized a couple as questionable lobbyists. Or at least that’s what they pretended to be. As a private, not publicly owned company, EchoEnergy could pick and choose its investors without many limits. It could not, however, use charity fronts to bribe congressional representatives. It would probably be pretty hard for Jason to prove. Still, he printed out the statements and highlighted the questionable NFPs.

He was exhausted. His eyes burned from too many hours in front of the computer screen. He had wasted an entire day. Tomorrow he had to finish up the details for the energy summit reception. There was a load of paperwork he still needed to fill out and hand in. JVC’s Emerald Coast Catering had faxed over the menu for approval. And he hadn’t even given the Appropriations Committee a second thought. Instead, he was obsessed with finding something, anything, that confirmed his gut instinct about William Sidel. What the hell was it that Sidel could be holding over Senator Allen?

Jason went over and over the phone conversation the senator had had with Sidel that morning. He had never seen the senator back down from anyone and yet that’s exactly what he was doing every time with Sidel. It was a gut instinct that had Jason convinced Sidel had given Senator Allen some sort of ultimatum.

In the beginning Jason had thought it was an even exchange. Senator Allen would see to it that the military contract got passed by the Appropriations Committee. For Sidel that meant extra funds as well as respect and credibility. For Senator Allen it boosted his reputation with environmentalists and patriots and would give him a strong made-in-America platform for a possible presidential run. An even exchange, but Jason suspected there was something more. What did Sidel have in his corner that had thrown off the balance and tipped it all in his favor?

Jason had already gone over Sidel’s personal accounts, but now he brought up his Visa year-to-date one more time. Again, nothing all that interesting. Sidel collected antiques. He treated himself to expensive haircuts once a month and a pedicure every week. No manicure, though. Sidel spent more money on memberships and fees to exclusive private clubs than Jason made in a year. There was the Champions Golf Club, the Gulf Coast Yacht Club, the South Beach Spa and Resort and the Sandshaker Health Club.

He had made trips to D.C. twice in the last eight months, both times staying at the Washington Grand Hotel. The first time Jason noticed the trips and the hotel, it stopped him cold. He had probably made the reservations for Sidel at Senator Allen’s request without even knowing they were for Sidel. But that didn’t mean much, either. Of course Sidel would visit D.C. And why shouldn’t he stay at one of the city’s finest hotels at the recommendation of his friend?

Jason decided to collect all the documents and financial statements he had printed out and go home. He could spread everything out and take another look. If he remembered correctly, he still had a couple of beers in the fridge that might help along the process. He started stuffing copies into his briefcase when he noticed something that made him stop. Maybe he was simply tired and imagining things. He pulled out the only three statements he had printed out from Zach’s meager profile.

Jason scanned the credit card charges. He took it line by line, looking for something that had caught his eye earlier. It didn’t mean much the first time he had noticed it, but now it seemed too much of a coincidence.

There it was. Five months ago on January 20. A credit card charge at a hotel gift shop. No other charges to indicate the trip except a $29.54 charge at the South Beach Spa and Resort gift shop.

Jason grabbed the pages from Sidel’s Visa charges for January. Sure enough, there was a $2,024 charge for January eighteenth through the twentieth. Quite a coincidence that both men would be at the same expensive resort at the same time. Especially since one was living from paycheck to paycheck.

Washington, D.C.

Jason scraped the last of the pad thai noodles from the bottom of the container. He stuffed it all into his mouth without taking his eyes off his computer screen. Everyone had left him behind. The security guard had checked in on him three times. Jason was beginning to wonder if the guy was really worried about him or only wanted to make sure he wasn’t stealing congressional secrets of some sort.

Jason went back and forth between William Sidel and Zach Kensor. It was just as easy to run two names through the systems he was intruding on. He hadn’t found anything much in Zach’s financial profile other than the typical stuff for a guy his age. In some ways it reminded Jason of his own pathetic financial life, decent money but not much to show.

He clicked through another bank statement for EchoEnergy. William Sidel’s business accounts, however, resembled a politician’s. It appeared that there wasn’t an investment firm or millionaire Sidel wouldn’t take money from. By the same token he paid out exorbitant amounts of money to several so-called NFP—not-for-profit—funds. Actually, some of them may have been legit, but Jason recognized a couple as questionable lobbyists. Or at least that’s what they pretended to be. As a private, not publicly owned company, EchoEnergy could pick and choose its investors without many limits. It could not, however, use charity fronts to bribe congressional representatives. It would probably be pretty hard for Jason to prove. Still, he printed out the statements and highlighted the questionable NFPs.

He was exhausted. His eyes burned from too many hours in front of the computer screen. He had wasted an entire day. Tomorrow he had to finish up the details for the energy summit reception. There was a load of paperwork he still needed to fill out and hand in. JVC’s Emerald Coast Catering had faxed over the menu for approval. And he hadn’t even given the Appropriations Committee a second thought. Instead, he was obsessed with finding something, anything, that confirmed his gut instinct about William Sidel. What the hell was it that Sidel could be holding over Senator Allen?

Jason went over and over the phone conversation the senator had had with Sidel that morning. He had never seen the senator back down from anyone and yet that’s exactly what he was doing every time with Sidel. It was a gut instinct that had Jason convinced Sidel had given Senator Allen some sort of ultimatum.

In the beginning Jason had thought it was an even exchange. Senator Allen would see to it that the military contract got passed by the Appropriations Committee. For Sidel that meant extra funds as well as respect and credibility. For Senator Allen it boosted his reputation with environmentalists and patriots and would give him a strong made-in-America platform for a possible presidential run. An even exchange, but Jason suspected there was something more. What did Sidel have in his corner that had thrown off the balance and tipped it all in his favor?

Jason had already gone over Sidel’s personal accounts, but now he brought up his Visa year-to-date one more time. Again, nothing all that interesting. Sidel collected antiques. He treated himself to expensive haircuts once a month and a pedicure every week. No manicure, though. Sidel spent more money on memberships and fees to exclusive private clubs than Jason made in a year. There was the Champions Golf Club, the Gulf Coast Yacht Club, the South Beach Spa and Resort and the Sandshaker Health Club.

He had made trips to D.C. twice in the last eight months, both times staying at the Washington Grand Hotel. The first time Jason noticed the trips and the hotel, it stopped him cold. He had probably made the reservations for Sidel at Senator Allen’s request without even knowing they were for Sidel. But that didn’t mean much, either. Of course Sidel would visit D.C. And why shouldn’t he stay at one of the city’s finest hotels at the recommendation of his friend?

Jason decided to collect all the documents and financial statements he had printed out and go home. He could spread everything out and take another look. If he remembered correctly, he still had a couple of beers in the fridge that might help along the process. He started stuffing copies into his briefcase when he noticed something that made him stop. Maybe he was simply tired and imagining things. He pulled out the only three statements he had printed out from Zach’s meager profile.

Jason scanned the credit card charges. He took it line by line, looking for something that had caught his eye earlier. It didn’t mean much the first time he had noticed it, but now it seemed too much of a coincidence.

There it was. Five months ago on January 20. A credit card charge at a hotel gift shop. No other charges to indicate the trip except a $29.54 charge at the South Beach Spa and Resort gift shop.

Jason grabbed the pages from Sidel’s Visa charges for January. Sure enough, there was a $2,024 charge for January eighteenth through the twentieth. Quite a coincidence that both men would be at the same expensive resort at the same time. Especially since one was living from paycheck to paycheck.

Pensacola Beach, Florida

Sabrina noticed a tension between her and Eric without Miss Sadie to buffer their two-year separation. She insisted he leave the TV on, so the silence between them wasn’t so obvious. She heard laughter and chatter from the oyster bar below. Eric almost had her convinced that it’d be safe to go down in about an hour and get something to eat. By then he told her it would be only the regulars and he reassured her they could be trusted. Sabrina wasn’t sure she could believe anything he said. In many ways he was her same old brother, but she kept thinking about the expensive designer stuff in his closet. And she kept wondering why he would call himself Eric Gallo.

Suddenly Eric turned up the TV’s volume. Her eyes caught a glimpse of her photo in the corner of the screen.

The news anchor was saying there was a warrant for her arrest while an aerial view of EchoEnergy appeared on the screen.

“The two were coworkers competing for the same position,” the anchor explained in a tone that Sabrina thought sounded like enough of a reason or motive for murder. “Earlier this evening, the victim’s father announced a hundred-thousand-dollar reward for any information leading to the arrest and conviction of Dr. Sabrina Galloway.” Sabrina couldn’t help thinking that Anna’s father looked nothing like Anna. Instead, he resembled one of the actors on
The Sopranos.

The anchor went on to the next news story and Eric lowered the volume again. He evidently read her mind because the first thing he said was, “Damn it, Bree. It looks like you’re gonna have the entire Florida mafia after you.” But then he smiled.

She sat down on the rickety futon. It was soft from wear and smelled like seawater with a hint of Miss Sadie’s lemon shampoo rinse. For the moment it was her only safe haven.

“They make it sound so simple.”

“Most of the time it is. Greed, envy, lust, hate,” Eric said, watching her. “Passions run high and suddenly somebody’s dead.”

“I didn’t kill her. You know that, right?” She couldn’t believe she’d need to convince him. But if he had changed, maybe he thought she had, too.

“Hey, you’re talking to the guy you beaned with a baseball bat,” he joked and fingered the slight indent in the bridge of his nose.

She wasn’t in the mood for kidding around, but still she came back with “Only because you were standing too close to home plate.”

“You cried at the sight of my bloody nose,” he said, laughing.

“I did not,” she lied when in fact she remembered bawling uncontrollably. She was only six at the time. She thought she had caused brain damage. Finding out that his nose was only broken hadn’t been much consolation.

His eyes were serious now. “You were horrified that you hurt me. I don’t think you could hurt anyone.”

“You haven’t seen me in two years. Maybe I’ve changed.”

“People don’t change that much, Bree. They might change careers, religious affiliations, spouses—”

“Or names,” she slipped in and watched his face, waiting for his eyes.

“Who told you?”

“What? That you go by Eric Gallo these days?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“What I think? You disappeared from my life for two years. Your choice. I didn’t get a choice.” Sabrina wasn’t sure where the sudden anger was coming from, but it felt good to get it out. It needed to be said. “I needed you and you just left. Just like that. No forwarding address.”

She was hurt and angry and she wanted him to know she wasn’t sure she could trust him even now when she didn’t have anyone else. “You went to see Dad in Chattahoochee, but you didn’t come to see me.”

She stopped there and waited out the silence, holding his eyes. She wouldn’t look away. She wouldn’t let him joke and pretend it wasn’t a big deal. And she wouldn’t stay here without some explanation…without an apology.

“I left Chicago because I was angry with Dad. Not you.”

Sabrina already knew that. She knew Eric blamed their father for their mother’s accident.

“There was a lot of crap going on in my life,” he continued with little detail. “It was easier to leave and cut off all contact…re-create myself. You were an unfortunate casualty.”

Sabrina blinked hard as though the word
casualty
had actually physically stung her. Eric noticed and said, “But I’ve missed you every single day.”