Absolute Power (50 page)

“The waters might get a little rocky for both of us, Jack.”

“I’m a good swimmer, Sandy. Besides, don’t look at this as purely altruistic. You’re an investment of the firm in which I’m a partner. You’re a top-grade rainmaker. You’re down now, but you won’t stay down. Five hundred bucks says within twelve months you’re back in the number-one slot. I don’t intend on letting an asset like that walk away.”

“I won’t forget this, Jack.”

“I won’t let you.”

After Jack had left, Lord started to pour another drink but stopped. He looked down at his quivering hands and slowly put down the bottle and glass. He made it to the couch before his knees gave out. The federal-style mirror over the fire-place caught his image. It had been twenty years since a single tear had escaped the heavy face. That had been at his mother’s passing. But now the outpourings were steadily coming on. He had cried for his friend, Walter Sullivan. For years Lord had duped himself into believing that the man meant nothing more to him than a solid-gold draw check each month. The price for that self-deception had come due at the funeral, where Lord had wept so hard that he had gone back to his car until it was time to go bury his friend.

Now he rubbed at the puffy cheeks once again, pushing away the salty liquid. Fucking young punk. Lord had planned everything down to the last detail. His pitch would be perfect. He had envisioned every possible response except the one he had gotten. He had mistaken the younger man. Lord assumed that Jack would have done what Lord himself would have done: pressed for every advantage in exchange for the enormous favor being asked.

It wasn’t only guilt that pulled at him. It was shame. He realized that as sickness enveloped him and he bent low over the thick, spongy carpet. Shame. He hadn’t felt that one for a long time either. When the nausea subsided and he once again looked at the wreck in the mirror, Lord promised himself that he would not disappoint Jack. That he
would
rise back to the top. And he would not forget.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

F
RANK HAD NEVER IN HIS WILDEST FANTASIES EXPECTED TO
be sitting here. He looked around and quickly determined that it was indeed oval in shape. The furnishings tended to be solid, conservative, but with a splash of color here, a stripe there, a pair of expensive sneakers placed neatly on a lower shelf, that stated that the room’s occupant was not nearly ready for retirement. Frank swallowed hard and willed himself to breathe normally. He was a veteran policeman and this was just another routine inquiry in a series of endless ones. He was just following up a lead, nothing more. A few minutes and he’d be out of here.

But then his brain reminded him that the person he was about to make inquiries of was the current President of the United States. As a new shock wave of nervousness rushed over him the door opened and he quickly stood, turned and stared for a long moment at the extended hand until his mind finally registered and he slowly moved his out to meet it.

“Thank you for coming down into my neck of the woods, Lieutenant.”

“No trouble at all, sir. I mean you’ve got better things to do than sit in traffic. Although I guess you never really sit in traffic, do you, Mr. President?”

Richmond sat behind his desk and motioned for Frank to resume his seat. An impassive Bill Burton, invisible to Frank until that moment, closed the door and inclined his head toward the detective.

“My routes are pretty well laid out in advance I’m afraid. It’s true I don’t end up in many traffic jams but it does stifle the hell out of spontaneity.” The President grinned and Frank could feel his own mouth automatically turning up into a smile.

The President leaned forward and stared directly at him. He clasped his hands together, his brow wrinkled and he went from jovial to intensely serious in an instant.

“I want to thank you, Seth.” He glanced at Burton. “Bill has told me how cooperative you were with the investigation of Christine Sullivan’s death. I really appreciate that, Seth. Some officials would have been less than forthcoming or tried to turn it into a media circus for their own personal gain. I hoped for better from you and my expectations were exceeded. Again, thank you.”

Frank glowed as though he had been awarded the fourth-grade spelling bee crown.

“It’s terrible, you know. Tell me, have you learned of any connection between Walter’s suicide and this criminal being gunned down?”

Frank shook the stars from his eyes and his pair of steady eyes came to rest on the chiseled features of the President.

“Come on, Lieutenant. I can tell you that all of official and unofficial Washington is right this very minute savagely attacking the issue of Walter Sullivan having hired an assassin to avenge his wife’s death and then taking his own life in the aftermath. You can’t stop people from gossiping. I would just like to know if your investigation has led to any fact to substantiate Walter having ordered the killing of his wife’s murderer.”

“I’m afraid that I really can’t say one way or another, sir. I hope you understand, but this is an ongoing police investigation.”

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant, I’m not treading on your toes. But I can tell you that this has been a particularly distressing time for me. To think Walter Sullivan would end his own life. One of the most brilliant and resourceful men of his era, of any era.”

“So I’ve heard an awful lot of people say.”

“But just between you and me, knowing Walter as I did, it would not be out of the realm of possibility that he would have taken precise and concrete steps to have his wife’s killer . . . dealt with.”

“Alleged killer, Mr. President. Innocent until proven guilty.”

The President looked at Burton. “But I was led to understand that your case was pretty much ironclad.”

Seth Frank scratched his ear. “Some defense attorneys love ironclad cases, sir. See, you dump enough water on iron, it starts to rust and before you know it, you got holes everywhere.”

“And this defense attorney was such a person?”

“And then some. I’m not a betting man, but I would’ve given us no more than a forty percent shot at getting a clean conviction. We were in for a real battle.”

The President sat back as he absorbed this information and then looked back at Frank.

Frank finally noted the expression of expectancy on his face and flipped open his notebook. His heartbeat calmed down as he perused the familiar scribbles.

“Are you aware it was right before his death that Walter Sullivan called you here?”

“I know that I spoke with him. I was not aware that it immediately preceded his death, no.”

“I guess I’m a little surprised that you didn’t come forward with this information earlier.”

The President’s face fell. “I know. I guess I’m a little surprised myself. I supposed I believed I was shielding Walter, or at least his memory, from further trauma. Although I knew the police would eventually discover the call was placed. I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”

“I need to know the details of that phone conversation.”

“Would you like something to drink, Seth?”

“A cup of coffee would be fine, thank you.”

As if on cue, Burton picked up a phone in the corner and a minute later a silver-plated coffee tray was delivered in.

The steaming hot coffee was sipped; the President looked at his watch, then saw Frank staring at him.

“I’m sorry, Seth, I
am
treating your visit with the importance it deserves. However, I’ve got a congressional delegation coming to lunch in a few minutes and quite frankly I’m not looking forward to it. As funny as it sounds, I’m not particularly enamored of politicians.”

“I understand. This will only take a few minutes. What was the purpose of the call?”

The President leaned back in his chair as if organizing his thoughts. “I would characterize the call as one of desperation. He was definitely not his usual self. He seemed unbalanced, out of control. For long periods of time he would say nothing. Very unlike the Walter Sullivan I knew.”

“What did he talk about?”

“Everything, and nothing. Sometimes he just babbled. He talked about Christine’s death. And then about the man, the man you arrested for the murder. How he hated him, how he had destroyed his life. It was truly awful to hear.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Well, I kept asking him where he was. I wanted to find him, get him some help. But he wouldn’t tell me. I’m not sure he heard a word I said, really, he was that distraught.”

“So you think he sounded suicidal, sir?”

“I’m no psychiatrist, Lieutenant, but if I had to make a layman’s guess about his mental state, yes, I would definitely say Walter Sullivan sounded suicidal that night. It’s one of the few times during my presidency that I felt truly hopeless. Frankly, after the conversation I had with him, I was not surprised to learn that he was dead.” Richmond glanced at Burton’s impassive face, then looked at the detective. “That’s also why I questioned you as to whether you had determined if there was any truth to the rumor that Walter had anything to do with this person being gunned down. After Walter’s telephone call I have to admit that the thought certainly crossed my mind.”

Frank looked over at Burton. “I suppose you don’t have a recording of the conversation? I know that some of the communications here are recorded.”

The President answered. “Sullivan called my private line, Lieutenant. It’s a secure communication link and no recordings of conversations on that line are allowed.”

“I see. Did he directly indicate to you that he was involved in the death of Luther Whitney?”

“Not directly, no. He obviously wasn’t thinking clearly. But reading between the lines, the rage that I knew he was feeling—well, and I hate to make this statement of a man who’s dead, I think it was pretty clear that he had had the man killed. I have no proof of that of course, but it was my strong impression.”

Frank shook his head. “Pretty uncomfortable conversation to have.”

“Yes, yes it was very uncomfortable. Now, Lieutenant, I’m afraid that official duty calls.”

Frank didn’t budge. “Why do you think he called you, sir? And at that time of night?”

The President sat back down, threw another quick glance at Burton. “Walter was one of my closest personal friends. He kept odd hours, but then so do I. It would not be unusual for him to call at that hour. I hadn’t heard very much from him for the last few months. As you know, he had been under a considerable personal strain. Walter was the sort to suffer in silence. Now Seth, if you will excuse me.”

“It just strikes me as odd that out of all the people he could have called, he called you. I mean the chances were pretty good that you wouldn’t even be here. Presidents’ travel schedules are pretty hectic. It makes me wonder what he was thinking.”

The President leaned back, placed his fingers together, and studied the ceiling.
Cop wants to play games to show me how
smart he is.
He looked back at Frank and smiled. “If I were a mind reader I wouldn’t have to rely so heavily on the pollsters.”

Frank smiled. “I don’t think you have to be telepathic to know you’re going to be occupying that chair for another four years, sir.”

“I appreciate that, Lieutenant. All I can tell you is that Walter called me. If he was planning on killing himself who would he call? His family has been estranged from him since his marriage to Christine. He had many business acquaintances, but few people he would call true friends. Walter and I have known each other for years, and I considered him a surrogate father. I had taken a very active interest in the investigation of his wife’s death, as you know. All of that together could explain why he wanted to talk to me, particularly if he was contemplating taking his life. That’s really all I know. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

The door opened. Frank did not see that it was in response to a tiny button on the underside of the President’s desk.

The President looked at his secretary. “I’ll be right there, Lois. Lieutenant, if there’s anything I can do for you, you let Bill know. Please.”

Frank closed his notebook. “Thank you, sir.”

Richmond stared at the doorway after Frank had departed.

“What was the name of Whitney’s attorney, Burton?”

Burton thought for a moment. “Graham. Jack Graham.”

“The name sounds familiar.”

“Works at Patton, Shaw. He’s a partner there.”

The President’s eyes froze on the agent’s face.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m not sure.” Richmond unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out a notebook he had compiled on this little extracurricular matter. “Don’t lose sight of the fact, Burton, that one very important piece of incriminating evidence, for which we happened to have paid five million dollars, has never turned up.”

The President flipped through the pages of his notebook. There were numerous individuals involved, to various degrees, in their little drama. If Whitney had given his attorney the letter opener along with an account of what had happened, the whole world would’ve known by now. Richmond thought back to the awards ceremony for Ransome Baldwin at the White House. Graham was clearly no shrinking violet. Clearly he didn’t have it. But then who, if anyone, would Whitney have given it to?

As his mind spun out neat blocks of analysis and possible scenarios, one name suddenly stood out at the President from within the lines of precise writing. One person who had never really been accounted for.

*   *   *

J
ACK CRADLED THE CARRY-OUT IN ONE ARM, HIS BRIEFCASE IN
the other, and managed to wiggle the key out of his pocket. Before he could put it in the lock, though, the door opened.

Jack looked surprised. “I didn’t expect you home yet.”

“You didn’t have to stop. I could’ve made something.”

Jack went inside, dropped his briefcase on the coffee table and headed to the kitchen. Kate stared after him.

“Hey, you work all day too. Why should you have to cook?”

“Women do it every day, Jack. Just look around.”