Phillip Margolin - Executive Privilege

“Sorry I’m late,” Ginny said as she dropped onto a chair across from Brad and grabbed a piece of a California roll.

“Not a problem,” said Brad, who was working on his second beer. Ginny noticed.

“Another bad day?”

“I swear Tuchman has ordered everyone to double my workload so I’ll quit.”

“Well don’t. You’re the only person in the firm who keeps me sane.”

“We should both quit.”

“I’ll be out the door as soon as you find me a sugar daddy to pay off my student loans.”

Brad sighed. “I do feel like an indentured servant sometimes.”

“Any word on the pinkies? Has Paul Baylor printed them?”

“I don’t know. Tuchman took me off the brief and assigned it to another associate. She wouldn’t even tell me who it is and she said I’ll be fired if she finds out I’ve done anything connected to Little’s case, including calling Baylor’s lab.”

“Boy is she a bitch.”

Brad shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore what she is. In the near future I’m probably not going to be working for her or anyone else in the firm. I figure I’m done for as soon as the partners conduct the next performance review.”

“Wait,” Ginny said as her attention was drawn suddenly to the television set above the bar.

“What?”

“Shush,” she commanded, holding up her hand for silence.

Brad turned toward the TV where a newscaster was talking about a story in a special edition of Exposed.

“…The photographs published in the supermarket tabloid show Miss Walsh arguing with President Farrington shortly before the medical examiner estimates she was killed. The American University coed is wearing the same clothes she had on when her body was discovered in a Dumpster in the rear of a suburban Maryland restaurant.

“The young woman was originally believed to be the victim of the D.C. Ripper, a serial killer who has been terrorizing the District of Columbia and the surrounding area for several months. A suspect in the Ripper case has been arrested but confidential sources have informed this station that there are reasons to believe that Charlotte Walsh was the victim of a copycat killer.

“Exposed claims that the meeting between Walsh and President Farrington took place on a farm in rural Virginia that the CIA uses as a safe house. The president has not commented on the newspaper article, leaving the public in the dark about why he was meeting a teenage college student at a CIA safe house and why he and Miss Walsh were arguing shortly before she was murdered.”

“Holy shit,” Ginny said.

“What?”

Ginny leaned toward Brad and lowered her voice. “Don’t you see it?”

“See what?”

“Charlotte Walsh, a teenager, has a relationship with Christopher Farrington and she’s murdered. Laurie Erickson, another teenage girl whom the president knew when he was the governor of Oregon, is murdered. In both cases the killer copies the MO of a notorious serial killer. That’s a pretty big coincidence, amigo.”

“Wait a minute, Ginny. I know you like playing detective, but we don’t know if any of what we just heard is true. The reporter said that Exposed is a supermarket tabloid. Those rags have real photographs of UFOs and Bigfoot. They probably phonied up the whole thing.”

“Bigfoot is one thing. Accusing the president of murder is something else.”

“Yeah, a way to sell a lot of newspapers, and they didn’t accuse Farrington of anything. They just said he had an argument with the student on the evening she was killed. You’re jumping to the conclusion that the Ripper didn’t kill her. The police haven’t said anything about that. Besides, what would we do if there is something to the story? The murder took place three thousand miles away.”

“But the two cases could be related. Remember I told you about the rumors that Farrington was having sex with Erickson?”

“Yeah, but that’s all they are, rumors.”

“Let’s suppose they’re true and he was sleeping with her. She threatens to go public, and Farrington decides to shut her up. The last person to see Erickson alive was Charles Hawkins, Farrington’s right-hand man and an ex-Ranger. Those guys are killing machines.

“The only reason Little was convicted for murdering Erickson was that MO evidence. The governor would want to be kept up-to-date on a serial murder case that was big news in Oregon. I bet Hawkins had access to the police reports, which means he’d know how to fake Little’s MO.”

“This is total speculation, Ginny, and how could we prove it’s true? Are you going to fly to Washington and give Hawkins the third degree? You wouldn’t even be able to get into the White House. Besides, if I start investigating this case again I’ll be fired. Solving murders is the job of the police.”

“The police are convinced that Clarence Little killed Laurie Erickson. They’d look bad if it turned out it was someone else, so they’re not going to give us the time of day. And can you just see the reaction if we marched into Central Precinct and demanded that a detective investigate the president of the United States for murder? No one is going to listen to us without rock solid proof.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“So we have to get some,” Ginny said.

“Hey, I hear there’s a sale on rock solid proof at Wal-Mart. Let’s head over.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed and she looked angry. “Witty remarks are not your strong suit, Brad.”

“I’m just being realistic. I know you’re all excited about proving Little didn’t kill Laurie Erickson, but we’d become laughingstocks if we told anyone that we suspect Christopher Farrington is a serial killer.”

Ginny’s scowl disappeared. “You’re right. But there’s got to be something we can do.”

They both fell silent. Ginny popped another piece of sushi in her mouth and Brad sipped his beer thoughtfully.

“We could try to find Laurie Erickson’s mother and ask her if she was bought off by Farrington,” Brad said after a while.

Ginny’s face lit up. “You’re a genius.”

Brad relaxed, pleased that Ginny wasn’t angry at him anymore.

“That’s exactly what we’ll do,” Ginny said. “If Mrs. Erickson confirms the rumors that Farrington was sleeping with her daughter we’re halfway home. And we can try to find the teenager he was supposed to have had sex with when he was practicing law. If we can show that Farrington has a thing for teenage girls it would boost our credibility.”

Ginny’s excitement was contagious, and Brad felt his depression lift. Then he thought of something and he deflated.

“I can’t let you work with me on this, Ginny. I’ll have to see Mrs. Erickson alone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tuchman doesn’t know you helped me find the bodies and the pinkies. She thinks I’m the only one involved in Little’s case. It’s my job that’s hanging by a thread. I don’t want her angry at you, too.”

Ginny reached across the table and placed her hand over Brad’s. “That’s sweet, but I am involved. If we turn out to be right what can Tuchman do? We’ll be heroes. We’d be famous. Remember what happened to Woodward and Bernstein when they brought down Nixon.”

“I’m not so certain about the way people would react, Ginny. Have you ever been in Tuchman’s office? She has a wall decorated with pictures of her and Farrington and other big political figures. If we bring down Farrington we’d also be bringing down his party and turning over the presidency to Maureen Gaylord. That won’t win us any friends at the firm. And I’m not so certain that I want to be friends with the people who run Gaylord’s party.”

Ginny frowned. “You have a point.”