Phillip Margolin - Executive Privilege

“What, if anything, did the president say?”

“He didn’t get emotional. I think he told her to calm down. Again, I can’t remember the exact words.”

“Okay, then Walsh is driven away?”

“By Agent Harcourt. He picked her up from the Dulles Towne Center mall and returned her to her car.”

“Did the president say anything after Miss Walsh left the farm?”

“Not about her, or, at least, not to me.”

“Tell me about the woman in the woods.”

“Okay. Right about the time Miss Walsh left, Bruno Culbertson spotted a woman in the woods taking pictures. He chased her, and she hid and hit him from behind. Richard Sanborne and I chased her and Sanborne wrote down what he believed to be the woman’s license plate number.”

“Did you discover who owned the car?”

“If Agent Sanborne wrote down the number correctly the car that drove away from the farm is registered to a Dana Cutler.”

“Did you or anyone to your knowledge follow up on the possibility that Miss Cutler was the person who took the pictures?”

“Mr. Hawkins told us that he’d be following up.”

“That’s Charles Hawkins, the president’s aide?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t the Secret Service normally follow up on potential threats to the president?”

“Yes, but President Farrington instructed us to leave the investigation to his aide.”

“President Farrington told you this himself?”

Lasker nodded. Evans thought that this was very unusual and that it might be a key piece of evidence in the investigation.

“Has an arrest warrant been issued for Dana Cutler for assaulting a federal officer?”

“The Secret Service hasn’t requested one.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t know for certain that Cutler struck Bruno. He didn’t get a good look at the woman he was chasing, and he didn’t see who hit him. Rich Sanborne isn’t certain about the license number. Then Mr. Hawkins told us to drop the matter.”

“So Cutler’s not a fugitive?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“The log says that Mr. Hawkins arrived at the farm at eleven-fifteen P.M.”

“That sounds right,” Lasker said.

“Did he drive himself or was someone with him?”

“He was alone.”

“Did you hear any part of his conversation with the president?”

“No. President Farrington was in the library. Mr. Hawkins joined him. I was outside the house.”

“The log says that Mr. Hawkins left the farm at eleven-fifty.”

“That sounds right.”

“When did you leave the farm to drive the president back to the White House?”

“Shortly after midnight.”

“When did you arrive at the White House?”

“Somewhere around one in the morning.”

“Was President Farrington in your presence from the time he arrived at the farm until he returned to the White House?”

“If you’re asking whether he could have murdered the Walsh girl between eight and one, the answer is no.”

Secret Service Agent Sam Harcourt was forty-two. There was gray mixed into his jet-black hair, lines on his face, and his eyes were as alert as those of the other Secret Service agents with whom Evans had come in contact. It seemed to him that these men and women were on the alert for any trouble no matter what situation they were in. He wondered if they ever relaxed.

“You were the agent assigned to pick up Charlotte Walsh at the Dulles Towne Center mall and return her there?”

“Yes.”

Evans had the distinct impression that something was bothering Harcourt.

“You seem…I don’t know, upset,” Evans said.

Harcourt stiffened. “Of course I’m upset. She was a nice kid and she was tortured to death.”

“So, you liked her?”

“I really didn’t get a chance to know her. I guess I should have said that she seemed like a nice kid. We were only together during the trips to and from the mall and she didn’t talk much, especially on the trip back.”

“Her mood was different going to the farm and coming back?”

“Definitely. She was excited on the way to the farm. Not that she talked much, but I could see her in the rearview mirror.”

“When she did talk, what did she say?”

“Nothing important. Where are we going, how much longer, that kind of thing. I was instructed not to talk to her, so I never initiated a conversation.”

“Who told you not to talk to Walsh?”

“Agent Lasker. He headed up the detail. He said the president didn’t want me to chat with Walsh, so I didn’t.”

Once again, Evans sensed that Harcourt was angry about something.

“Was Miss Walsh’s mood different on the return trip?”

“Definitely. She was very upset. I could see her crying for part of the ride.”

“Did she explain why she was upset?”

“No, and I didn’t ask because of my orders.”

“Did you have any conversation with her?”

“I remember asking if she was okay and if she wanted some water, but she said she was fine and she turned down the water.”

“Agent Harcourt, did you hear or see anything that would lead you to believe that Miss Walsh had engaged in sexual relations with the president?”

Harcourt hesitated.

“If you know something about this you have to tell us. The independent counsel is charged with determining if the president had any involvement in Miss Walsh’s death. If they were intimate and she was angry at him, the president would have a motive.”

Harcourt took a deep breath. “When Walsh came out of the house she was very angry. I could hear what she said because she was standing right next to the driver’s door. She yelled at the president. She said, ‘You can’t just fuck me then toss me away like a used tissue.’ That’s a direct quote.”

Evans studied the agent, whose face was flushed. “You seem more upset than I’d expect. You seem angry. Is there something else you know that’s made you critical of President Farrington that concerns Miss Walsh?”

Harcourt nodded. Then he looked directly at Evans. “I was on the president’s detail when he went to Chicago for a fund-raiser. I can’t remember the exact date but it wasn’t that long ago. I saw Charles Hawkins smuggle Walsh into the president’s suite. She was in there about an hour when Hawkins showed up again to collect her. They went up and down by a service elevator that goes to the kitchen.”

“Do you know if they had sex?”

“No. I never went into the suite while she was inside.”

“Is there anything else?”

Harcourt shook his head. “It’s just not right. I’m a Christian and I don’t hold with this behavior. He’s a married man and Miss Walsh was very young.”

“I understand why you’d be upset. Tell me, when you got back to her car did you see anything suspicious?”

“No, and I’ve thought about that a lot. I was worried that there might have been something I could have done to save her.”

“What do you think now?”

“Honestly, I can’t say I saw anything that would help your investigation. I dropped her off, I waited until she was in her car, then I left.”

“So you didn’t see anyone lurking around?”

“No, but there were cars parked in the vicinity of her car. Someone could have been hiding in one of them or behind one of them and I wouldn’t have known.”

“Did you see Miss Walsh drive off?”

Harcourt’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t, and now that I think about it, I didn’t see her headlights come on.”

“If she was upset she may have been sitting in her car trying to calm down before she drove off.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. All I do know is that it’s a damn shame that a nice kid like that is dead.”

Evans pressed for more evidence about the president’s infidelities but Harcourt didn’t have any further useful information.