T. Bunn - Winner Take All

“I been through some tough things in this life. Believe you me. And when they’ve bent me and broken me and sent me crashing down onto my knees, I’ve found God waiting there, ready to make me strong.”

She squeezed his hand, then released it. “I better go.”

“The good Lord wasn’t drawn to us on account of how righteous we are. You hear me, child? He didn’t come down to this earth because we were good. Or whole. Or strong. He came because we needed him.”

Marcus could see their state reflected in the receptionist’s expression. Kirsten was dressed in a stained denim skirt and torn black workout shoes with laces of different colors. Her top was an East Carolina warm-up jersey that almost swallowed her. Her hair, dried to the consistency of winter straw by the night and the day, was flung about her head like a frayed halo. She walked straight to the receptionist and declared, “We are here to see Brent Daniels.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

Her gaze shifted from Kirsten to Marcus to Wilma and back again. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Daniels’ schedule is very tight this week.”

“Just the same.” She brushed the strands from her forehead, and the gesture revealed her fragile state. “Perhaps Mr. Daniels might find a couple of minutes for us.”

“I don’t think-”

“Tell him we are here with the Wilmington DA, and are on our way to the district court to give evidence in a murder trial. A trial that will have a direct bearing on Mr. Daniels and Senator Jacobs.”

The silence lasted long enough for two heads to pop out of neighboring offices. The receptionist lifted the phone. “Who did you say you were?”

“Kirsten Stansted.” She walked back over and seated herself between Marcus and Wilma. When attention turned away from them, Kirsten said to the DA, “I need your help.”

“Is that a fact.”

“All I want is for you to go along with me on this.”

Wilma tightened down. Gaze, arms, perch on the seat. “Go along.”

“If I step over the line, jump on me. But until then, back me up. Please.”

Wilma Blain was in no mood to promise a thing. Kirsten turned to Marcus and tried to soften. “You still with us?”

“Barely.”

“You could go wait-”

“No.”

She nodded. Started to take his hand. Retreated. Sighed softly. Then straightened. Being hard and strong for them both. Which was good.

The senator’s chief local aide came scooting around the corner and skidded to a halt at the sight of them. “Ms. Stansted? I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting-”

“Five minutes,” Kirsten said, pushing herself to her feet. “Now.”

Marcus made it down the hall with Kirsten on one side and Wilma on the other. His feet throbbed in harmony to the rest of him. He wore a band of white for a skullcap, an apostate’s dunnage for all the wrongs of a long and bitter era. He entered the senior aide’s office and let them settle him into a chair, content to have Kirsten think on his behalf. Kirsten’s determined assurance was a balm to his badly scattered brain. He found a strange comfort in the need and remedy both.

Brent Daniels was a chubby bundle of nerves, unable to halt his little dance behind the high-backed executive chair. “I can’t say it was a great move out there, scaring my receptionist with accusations of tie-ins to a murder investigation.”

“I need some answers.”

He tried hard for a smile. “We’re not in the Q amp;A business here.”

Kirsten waved a careless hand to the chair on Marcus’ other side. “Wilma Blain is the Wilmington DA, up here on the case involving the murder of Erin Brandt. You remember her.”

“So?”

“So we want to know how you learned about the abduction of Celeste Steadman.”

“Easy enough. That was headline news.”

Marcus spoke for the first time. “Dale Steadman’s firing was. The article only gave a single sentence to the abduction and Dale’s recent divorce.”

“We’re paid to give careful attention to the local press. That’s the nature of politics.”

“Then here’s another one,” Kirsten said. “How did you come to know about Erin Brandt being outside Germany? And here’s another. The London embassy staffer said you had called him to report that Erin Brandt was departing London early to return to Düsseldorf. Who was feeding you this information?”

Brent Daniels began beating a nervous drumbeat on the back of his seat. Clearly this was the question he had been dreading. “I’m totally unable to respond.”

“Then I’ll make some points for you. All you have to do is let me know if I’m moving in the right direction.” She hurried along, not granting him a chance to object. “You were contacted by someone from outside the senator’s constituency. A woman by the name of Evelyn Lloyd. She offered to make a huge donation to the senator’s war chest. She had some serious connections with the Washington crowd, and knew precisely how to channel the funds so they would go directly from her account to yours.”

The hammering of his hands gradually halted along with his breathing. He even stopped blinking. He stood and he stared. On Marcus’ other side, Wilma Blain leaned forward and gave Kirsten a squinty-eyed inspection.

“Evelyn Lloyd told you that she shared your aims. She was deeply concerned over the abduction of American children and their illegal transport to Germany. She wanted to see it stop.” Kirsten gave him a moment to respond. “How am I doing so far?”

The aide said nothing.

“Perhaps you would rather we subpoena the senator and formally request his presence in a court of law.”

The surprise was not merely in the threat, but the fact that it came from Wilma Blain. The aide looked pinned by his own fear to the rear wall of his office. “No.”

“Then answer the lady’s question.”

Kirsten held the DA’s gaze for a long moment, drawing strength from the act.

“I can’t.”

“No problem.” Wilma made as if to rise. “Maybe you better call the senator and let him know we’ll be serving a subpoena on him and you both this very afternoon.”

“Wait, no, that can’t happen.”

“Can and will, sir. Can and will. Unless, of course, you care to respond.”

Brent Daniels pulled out his chair. Lowered himself by the arms. Took the motions in the careful stages of the ailing and defeated. “It wasn’t like Ms. Lloyd was coming to us with something out of left field.”

“You were already involved in the action,” Kirsten offered.

“Absolutely. This was a cause close to the senator’s heart.”

“So she was seen as an ally,” Kirsten continued. “Then she returned with news about what you thought would be the high-profile case you’d been searching after. Something so big it would attract the international press, and maybe even stimulate the German parliament to take action.”

Wilma Blain let out a low chuckle, almost a hum. She leaned back in her chair and gave Kirsten a look of pure approval.

“Only this case blew up in your faces.”

“Did it ever,” the aide muttered.

“You and the senator took great pride in the fact that you had remained in the background, doing little more than making a few calls that could easily be denied.”

Brent Daniels stared at her. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t.” She moved to help Wilma Blain lift Marcus from his seat. “Until now.”

Once they were back in the car, Kirsten said to the DA, “Could you call Judge Sears and ask if we might stop by?”

This time Wilma did not hesitate. When she was done, Kirsten reached across the seatback and asked, “Can I use your phone?”

Kirsten obtained the number from New York directory assistance. The phone was answered on the first ring. “Evelyn Lloyd, please.”