Phillip Margolin - Executive Privilege

“At this point, Miss Walsh started yelling at me. I left the room, and Miss Walsh continued her tirade as she descended the stairs. She implied she had just slept with me and stormed out of the house, shouting. This was extremely embarrassing, but in light of what we have discovered since the incident, I believe I can offer an explanation for her behavior. I believe that Miss Walsh planned to help my opponent’s campaign all along.

“When Miss Walsh left the upstairs room she also left the alleged slush fund document. An analysis of the document has led us to conclude that the list is a fake. Had we gone public with this list my campaign would have been embarrassed. I do not know if Senator Gaylord or people working for her used Miss Walsh to try and create a scandal that would assist the senator in winning the presidency or if this plan was solely of Miss Walsh’s devising. I do know that very few people knew where Miss Walsh was supposed to meet Mr. Hawkins, yet a photographer conveniently appeared at the farm and took pictures which made it appear that Miss Walsh and I were having a lover’s spat. Then these pictures conveniently appeared in Exposed.”

The president squeezed Claire’s hand and looked directly into the camera lens.

“One mistake that those behind this scheme made was to believe that I would cheat to win an election. They also erred when they decided that I would violate my marriage vows. Finally, they miscalculated when they concluded that you, the American public, would believe this smear.

“Claire Farrington is the most important person in my life; she is my life. I would never disgrace her, my son, Patrick, or the child Claire is carrying by engaging in the disgraceful conduct that the story that appeared in Exposed suggested. This is what I swear to you, my fellow Americans, and I trust you to judge if I am sincere, I trust you to see through the veil of lies that someone has woven. Thank you.”

Farrington nodded to the camera and exited, holding Claire’s hand. As soon as they were off camera, Claire turned to her husband.

“You were magnificent.”

“Clem and Chuck wrote the speech,” Chris said, blushing.

“But you delivered it. I can’t wait to see the polls.”

Charles Hawkins hung around listening to the reporters long enough to get a sense for how well the speech had gone over. There was a lot of skepticism but there were a significant number of media members who seemed to have bought what Farrington had been selling and others who weren’t certain where the truth lay. Hawkins believed that the American public was much more gullible than the press, who were by and large professional skeptics. The chances were good that the story would fly with the voters if a substantial portion of the press corps was buying it. The only fly in the ointment was Dana Cutler, who had seen the lights go out in the bedroom of the farmhouse and knew how long they’d been out, which was something you couldn’t tell from the pictures that Exposed had published. Another problem Cutler presented was that she could testify that she’d been hired by Dale Perry and not by someone working for Senator Gaylord.

Hawkins left the press room and started toward his office when a large man with sandy hair stepped into his path.

“Mr. Hawkins,” Keith Evans said as he displayed his credentials, “can I have a few minutes of your time?”

“I’m really very busy. What’s this about?”

“My name is Keith Evans and I’m the FBI agent-in-charge of the Ripper Task Force.”

“Oh, yes. That was good work.”

“Thanks. I hope we’ve been doing a good job of keeping the White House up-to-date on the Ripper case. I tried to make sure you had a complete set of our investigative reports.”

“The president appreciates the excellent job you’ve done. So, what did you want to see me about? Is there some way we can help with the Ripper?”

“I’m not here to talk about Eric Loomis. I’m on temporary assignment to Justice Kineer, the independent counsel.”

Hawkins’s friendly smile disappeared. “You mean the grand inquisitor, don’t you? What makes you think I’d cooperate with Maureen Gaylord’s witch hunt?”

Evans laughed. “We like to think of our investigation as an official inquiry authorized by an act of Congress. And I only have a few general questions for you.”

“Such as?”

“In his speech, the president said that you invited Charlotte Walsh to the safe house.”

“That’s what the president said.”

“Then President Farrington asked you to accompany his wife to the fund-raiser.”

“You know all this from the speech.”

“Right. What I don’t know is what you and the president talked about when you got to the farmhouse.”

Hawkins flashed a cold smile. “I’m sure you appreciate that I can’t discuss conversations I’ve had with the president of the United States.”

“You’re not an attorney or a priest, are you?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t have any privilege that makes your conversations confidential.”

“What’s your next question?”

“I can get a subpoena.”

“Do what you have to do, Agent Evans.”

Evans could see that Hawkins wasn’t going to cave in, so he moved on.

“Where did you go after you left the safe house?”

“You know, you should be looking at Senator Gaylord and her people.”

“For what reason?”

“I’m not an idiot, Agent Evans. Our little exchange before you told me you were working for Kineer revealed that I knew about the Ripper’s MO and would be able to fake a copycat killing, as suggested by the story in Exposed. I’m guessing that Gaylord’s people had the same information and an excellent motive to get rid of Walsh to keep her from testifying that Gaylord put her up to her stunt at the farm.”

“That’s interesting. I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you.”

“Now, if there’s nothing else…”

“Actually I did have one more thing I wanted to ask you about.”

“What’s that?”

“Chicago.”

“What about Chicago?” Hawkins asked cautiously.

“Did you bring Charlotte Walsh to see the president in Chicago or was it another member of your staff?”

All emotion vanished from Hawkins’s features. One moment Evans had been talking to a human being and the next moment he was standing opposite a machine.

“It’s been nice talking to you,” Hawkins said. “Tell the members of the Ripper Task Force that they did a great job and the president appreciates it.”

Hawkins turned his back on the agent and walked away. Evans watched him disappear before strolling over to the members of the press corps who were still around. He’d spotted Harold Whitehead earlier. Whitehead worked for the Washington Post, and they’d run into each other several times since Evans moved to D.C. The reporter was in his early sixties, and he’d been working in the newspaper business before the big corporations and twenty-four-hour news channels had converted the news from information to entertainment, as he constantly reminded people. Early in his career, he’d reported from war zones and visited the scenes of disasters, but a bad hip and a serious heart attack had ended his globe-trotting days and landed him on the political beat.

“I hear you’re working with Kineer at the independent counsel,” Harry said.

“You hear correctly,” Evans answered as the men shook hands.

“So, did Farrington off the coed?”

“As soon as I find out, you’ll be the first to know. Are you up for a beer?”

“Always,” Whitehead said as he eyed Evans suspiciously. Reporters sought out heads of serial killer task forces and the right-hand men of independent counsels, not vice versa.