Дэвид Балдаччи - Absolute Power

Edwina shook her head. That much was the truth.

Frank eyed her for a long moment. The cataract-filled eyes stared straight back at him.

“I understand your daughter was out of the country when the incident happened?”

“Went down to that island with the Sullivans. They go every year I’m told.”

“But Mrs. Sullivan didn’t go.”

“I suppose not, since she was murdered up here while they were down there, Detective.”

Frank almost smiled. This old lady wasn’t nearly as dumb as she was making out to be. “You wouldn’t have any idea why Mrs. Sullivan didn’t go. Something Wanda might have told you?”

Edwina shook her head, stroked a silver and white cat that jumped up on her lap.

“Well, thank you for talking to me. Again I’m sorry about your daughter.”

“Thank you, I am too. Very sorry.”

As she wrenched herself up to see him to the door, the letter fell out of her pocket. Her weary heart skipped a beat as Frank bent down, picked it up without glancing at it and handed it to her.

She watched him pull out of the driveway. She slowly eased herself back down in the chair by the fireplace and unfolded the letter.

It was in a man’s hand she knew well: I didn’t do it. But you wouldn’t believe me if I told you who did.

For Edwina Broome that was all she needed to know. Luther Whitney had been a friend for a long time, and had only broken into that house because of Wanda. If the police caught up to him, it would not be with her assistance.

And what her friend had asked her to do she would. God help her, it was the only decent thing she could do.

Seth Frank and Bill Burton shook hands and sat down. They were in Frank’s office and the sun was barely up.

“I appreciate your seeing me, Seth.”

“It is a little unusual.”

“Damn unusual if you ask me.” Burton grinned. “Mind if I light one up?”

“How about I join you?” Both men pulled out their packs.

Burton bent his match forward as he settled back in his chair.

“I’ve been with the Service a long time and this is a first for me. But I can understand it. Old man Sullivan is one of the President’s best friends. Helped get him started in politics. A real mentor. They both go way back. Just between you and me, I don’t think the President actually wants us to do much more than give an impression of involvement. We are in no way looking to step on your toes.”

“Not that you have jurisdiction to do that anyway.”

“Exactly, Seth. Exactly. Hell, I was a state trooper for eight years. I know how police investigations go. The last thing you need is somebody else looking over your goddamned shoulder.”

The wariness started to fade from Frank’s eyes. An ex — state trooper turned Secret Service agent. This guy was really a career law enforcement person. In Frank’s book you didn’t get much better than that.

“So what’s your proposal?”

“I see my role as an information pipeline to the President. Something breaks you give me a call and I’ll fill in the President. Then when he sees Walter Sullivan he can speak intelligently about the case. Believe me, it’s not all smoke and mirrors. The President is genuinely concerned about the case.” Burton smiled inwardly.

“And no interference from the feds. No second-guessing?”

“Hell, I’m not the FBI. It’s not a federal case. Look at me as the civilian emissary of a VIP. Not much more than a professional courtesy really.”

Frank looked around his office as he slowly absorbed the situation. Burton followed that gaze and tried to size up Frank as precisely as possible. Burton had known many detectives. Most had average capabilities, which, coupled with an exponentially increasing caseload, resulted in a very low arrest and much lower conviction rate. But he had checked out Seth Frank. The guy was former NYPD with a string of citations a mile long. Since his coming to Middleton County, there had not been one unsolved homicide. Not one. It was a rural county to be sure, but a one hundred percent solve rate was still pretty impressive. All those facts made Burton very comfortable. For although the President had requested that Burton keep in contact with the police in order to fulfill his pledge to Sullivan, Burton had his own reason for wanting access to the investigation.

“If something breaks really fast, I might not be able to apprise you right away.”

“I’m not asking for miracles, Seth, just a little info when you get a chance. That’s all.” Burton stood up, crushing out his cigarette. “We got a deal?”

“I’ll do my best, Bill.”

“A man can’t ask for more than that. So, you got any leads?”

Seth Frank shrugged. “Maybe. Might peter out, you never know. You know how that goes.”

“Tell me about it.” Burton started to leave and then looked back. “Hey, as some quid pro quo if you need any red tape cut during your investigation, access to databases, stuff like that, you let me know and your request gets a top priority. Here’s my number.”

Frank took the offered card. “I appreciate that, Bill.”

Two hours later Seth Frank lifted up his phone and nothing happened. No dial tone, no outside line. The phone company was called.

An hour later, Seth Frank again picked up his phone and the dial tone was there. The system was fixed. The phone closet was kept locked at all times, but even if someone had been able to look inside, the mass of lines and other equipment would have been indecipherable to the layperson. Not that the police force ordinarily worried about someone tapping their lines.

Bill Burton’s lines of communication were open now, a lot wider than Seth Frank had ever dreamed they would be.

I think it’s a mistake, Alan. I think we should be distancing ourselves, not trying to take over the investigation.” Russell stood next to the President’s desk in the Oval Office.

Richmond was seated at the desk going over some recent health care legislation; a quagmire to say the least and not one he planned to expend much political capital on before the election.

“Gloria, get with the program, will you?” Richmond was preoccupied; well ahead in the polls, he thought the gap should be even greater. His anticipated opponent, Henry Jacobs, was short, and not particularly good-looking or a great speaker. His sole claim to fame was thirty years of toiling on behalf of the country’s indigent and less fortunate. Consequently, he was a walking media disaster. In the age of sound bites and photo ops, being able to look and talk a big game was an absolute necessity. Jacobs was not even the best among a very weak group that had seen its two leading candidates knocked out over assorted scandals, sexually based and otherwise. All of which made Richmond wonder why his thirty-two-point lead in the polls wasn’t fifty.

He finally turned to look at his Chief of Staff.

“Look, I promised Sullivan I’d keep on top of it. I said that to a goddamned national audience that got me a dozen points in the polls that apparently your well-oiled reelection team can’t improve upon. Do I need to go out and start a war to get the polls where they should be?”

“Alan, the election’s in the bag; we both know that. But we have to play not to lose. We have to be careful. That person is still out there. What if he’s caught?”

Exasperated, Richmond stood up. “Will you forget him! If you’d stop to think about it for a second, the fact that I have closely associated myself with the case takes away the only possible shred of credibility the guy might have had. If I hadn’t publicly proclaimed my interest some nosy reporter might have pricked up his ears at an allegation that the President was somehow involved in the death of Christine Sullivan. But now that I’ve told the nation that I’m mad and determined to bring the perpetrator to justice, if the allegation is made, people will think the guy saw me on TV and he’s a whacko.”