Brad Meltzer - The First Councel

“What’d you tell her?” I ask, flipping through the pages.

“I told her we thought Simon was a killer, and we wanted to see if he was really in the Oval when Caroline died.”

“That’s cute.”

“I didn’t have to say anything-I told her it was personal. Before I could get another verb out of my mouth, she had copies in my hand.”

The four pages of photocopies cover the four hours from eight A.M. until noon on the day Caroline died. One page for each hour. Looking at it, it’s a true marathon.

8:06-Terrill enters. 8:09-Pratt enters. 8:10-McNider enters. 8:16-Terrill leaves. 8:19-Pratt and McNider leave. 8:20 to 8:28-phone calls. 8:29 — Alan S. enters. 8:41-Alan S. leaves. The meetings run through the entire morning. Hartson doesn’t have to go anywhere. They all come to him.

Flipping to the next page, I quickly find what I’m looking for.

9:27-Simon enters.

My finger scrolls through the rest of the list, looking for its match. My heart drops as soon as I see it. 10:32-Simon leaves. Damn. I didn’t find the body until at least 10:30. That means he’s got it. The perfect alibi.

There’s a sad look on Nora’s face. “I’m sorry,” she says. When I don’t answer, her voice starts to race. “Though it sure puts a hell of a finger on Pam, don’t you think?”

“For once in your life, can you just stop?”

She doesn’t appreciate that one. “Listen, Archie, just because you got dicked over by Betty doesn’t mean you have to be an ass to Veronica.” Before I can respond, she’s on her way to the door.

“Nora, I’m sorry for snapping like that.”

She doesn’t care.

“Please, Veronica, don’t leave. I can’t do it without you.”

She stops in her tracks.

“You mean that?” she asks, surprisingly serious.

I nod. “I could really use your help.”

Hesitantly, she heads back to my desk. Her fingers stroll along the photocopied pages. Studying them, she eventually says, “Do you have any idea what they were meeting about? An hour’s a long time to have in there.”

I smile a thank-you. “I checked the old schedule-the first twenty minutes were for a briefing with some National Security folks. The last forty were listed as a leadership ceremony for some bar association hotshots. Probably some kind of schmoozefest for big donors-show them around the Oval, send them an autographed picture; a week later, ask them for a donation.”

“Whatever it was, it tied Simon up for an hour.”

“I don’t know. There’re plenty of other doors to the office. Maybe Simon snuck out and Barbara never noticed.”

“Or maybe Pam-” She cuts herself off, learning from before. Even so, Nora knows what I’m thinking. “Have you asked her about it yet?”

“Who? Pam?”

“No, Nancy Reagan. Of course, Pam.”

“Not yet. I checked her office, but she’s not there.”

“Then get off your ass and find her. Beep her, send an e-mail. You need to figure out what’s going on.”

“I tried. She won’t answer.”

“I bet she’s at the party.”

“What party?”

“Six o’clock in the Rose Garden. For my mom. Trey put together the event.”

I almost forgot. Today’s the First Lady’s fiftieth birthday-and the live Dateline interview. “You really think Pam’ll be there?”

“Are you kidding? Every clutch in the building’ll be there. Pam’ll be right at home.” Nora looks down at her watch and adds, “Speaking of which, I should get going.”

There’s a moment of hesitation in her voice. “Is everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. Fine.”

I know that tone. “Say what you’re thinking, Nora.”

She stays quiet.

I reach over and take her hand. As softly as possible, I pry open her fist. This can’t be about the party-she’s a pro at the staged stuff. “You nervous about the interview?”

“No, Michael, I love being judged by the whole damn country. I love when ten thousand letters flood in telling me I don’t wear enough makeup and that my lipstick sucks. And the fact it’s live? Ain’t that the rotten cherry on top-one bad answer away from my very own Saturday Night Live sketch. I mean, my parents asked for this crap-I was just born into it.”

She stops to catch her breath and I don’t say a word.

“You have to understand,” she adds. “I mean… I can live with all the other bullshit-I just don’t like being the issue.”

“Who says you’re the-”

“Please, Michael, they send me the poll numbers too. There’s a reason they want the whole family there.”

“Nora, that doesn’t mean you-”

“Whatever you’re about to say, Romeo, I got a hundred million voters who disagree with you. And every vote counts.”

“It may count, but it doesn’t matter. There’s a difference.”

She looks up and stops. “You really think that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Yeah, well, that’s you.” With one last glance at her watch, she pushes herself away from my desk and heads for the door. “Torturous or not, I gotta be there. Press Office asked me to wear a dress; they’re lucky they’re getting underwear.”

In a blur, Hurricane Nora blows out of the office and leaves me alone in the wake of silence. Still, I know where I am. I’ve been here plenty of times before. The roar of absolute quiet. The calm before the storm.

“Anyone here?” I call out as I step into the anteroom. No one answers. I tap a loud knuckle on Julian’s door. “Julian, you in there?” Still nothing. At Pam’s door, I knock even louder. “Pam, you there?” No response.

Convinced I’m alone, I move toward the main door that leads to the hallway. With a flick of my wrist, I twist the lock above the doorknob. A loud deadbolt thunks into place. All three of us have the key, but it should buy me at least a few seconds of warning time.

As I head toward Pam’s office, I tell myself this isn’t a violation of trust; it’s just a necessary precaution. It’s not a great rationalization, but it’s all I’ve got. “Pam, are you there?” I call out one last time. Again, no one answers. I press my sweaty palm against the cold doorknob and slowly push open her office door. “Pam? Hello?” The door swings into the wall with a dull thud. The scent of her apricot shampoo still lingers in the air.

All I have to do is step in. The thing is… I can’t. It’s not right. Pam deserves better than that. She’d never do anything to hurt me. Of course, if she did… if she was being blackmailed and then realized my Nora stuff gave her an alibi and an easy out… I’d be in trouble. End-of-my-life kind of trouble. In truth, that’s the best reason to get in there. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to take anything. I just want to look around. For Caroline to have her file, Pam must’ve had something big to hide. Leaving hesitation at the door, I step into her office. My eyes go right to the red, white, and blue flag over her desk. Saving my own ass. It’s the American way.

Approaching her desk, I take a quick look over my shoulder and recheck the anteroom, just to be safe. I’m still alone.

I turn back to the desk and feel my heart pound against my rib cage. The silence is overwhelming. I hear the ebb and flow of my own labored breathing. It’s a steady ocean tide. In… and always out. Just like that first night watching Simon. Across the hall, my phone starts ringing. I spin around in a panic, thinking it’s someone at the door. It’s okay, I tell myself as it continues to ring. Just stay on course.

Trying to be systematic, I ignore the pile of files on her desk. She’s too smart to leave anything in the open. Luckily, there’re some things you can’t hide. Heading straight for her phone, I hit the Call Log button and keep my eyes on the digital screen. In an instant, I have the names and phone numbers of the last twenty-two people who called her.