Grass Roots (23 page)

He wanted her desperately.

“You don’t seem to need me anymore,” he said.

Kate looked down at the tablecloth, then up at him again. She started to speak, then stopped; she got up, took her coat from the nearby rack and, without another word, walked out of the restaurant.

Will drained his wineglass, refilled it, then sat staring into the wine. The waiter put his salad in front of him, but he ignored it.

What was he supposed to do, resign from the Senate race? Change his name? Somehow be come acceptable as an escort to a senior official of the Central Intelligence Agency? Soon, the waiter moved his untouched salad to one side and put his steak on the table.

Will made an effort to eat it, but his throat was so tight, he could barely swallow the meat without washing it down with the wine. Halfway through the meal, he asked for the check. While he was waiting for it, he finished the bottle of wine, then he paid the bill and left the restaurant.

He went out of his way to pass her house on the way home. He stopped for a moment and stared at the curtained front windows. From behind them came a dim, perhaps flickering, light; candles, he supposed.

Angrily, despondently, he turned and trudged on toward his own house.

Five minutes later, he put the key into the lock and turned it. He opened the door, stepped across the threshold, then stopped and stared, wide-eyed, agape.

Jack Buchanan, a thick orange electrical extension cord noosed about his neck, was hanging in the entrance hall, his feet only inches from the floor, the other end of the cord tied to the upper stair railing. the detective was bored but not unkind. Will tried to put his own problems aside and answer the man’s questions as dispassionately as he could.

“How did he know where to find the extension cord?”

“I got a blanket for him from the upstairs closet. The cord was in there; he must have noticed it.”

The detective nodded.

“Have you notified any of his people?”

“I tried to call his wife as soon as the paramedics took over the CPR, but she hung up on me.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I can only think she must have thought I was calling her on Jack’s behalf, to try to mediate. He said she was very angry with him. I tried to call her back a couple of times before you arrived, but I got a busy signal. I think she left the phone off the hook.”

“Did you have any indication that he was depressed enough to take his own life?”

Will shook his head.

“No.” He paused.

“I knew he was upset, of course, but… he wanted to talk about what had happened to him, but I was late for an appointment, and I sort of rushed out. Perhaps if I’d stayed and listened…”

“This appointment—who was it with?”

“I’d rather not bring the person into it. I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“You let me worry about what’s necessary, Mr. Lee,” the detective said.

Will shook his head.

“The person was entirely removed from these events. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

The detective’s face darkened.

“All right, then, maybe you’ll tell me where you were.”

“I had dinner at Pied de Couchon, a few blocks from here.”

“With this unnamed person?”

“I dined alone.”

“Can anybody put you there?”

“The waiter, I suppose. I sat on the right as you enter.

The third or fourth table, I think. I paid with a credit card.” He dug into his pocket.

“Here’s the receipt.”

The detective glanced at it and nodded.

“In the time you knew him, would you say that Jack Buchanan was prone to depression?”

Will shrugged.

“I don’t think so. Jack was a worrier, though; he worried about things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Oh, just about everything. It was one of the things that made him good at his job. He worried about it.”

“Is there anything else you can think of to tell me?”

Will thought for a moment.

“He seemed very tired on the flight up here; he slept a lot. I thought he had lost weight. Maybe he had been worrying more than usual, I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to talk with Millie, his wife.”

“I’ll do that,” the detective replied, closing his notebook.

“I’ll send a patrol car out there.”

“I’d rather you didn’t do that,” Will replied.

“I’ll drive out there myself when you’re all through here.”

The detective turned to watch the medical examiner’s people carrying Jack Buchanan’s body out of the house.

“I think we’re about done,” he said.

in the patrol car, the detective was quiet, but his young partner wanted to talk.

“So what do you make of Lee’s story?” he asked.

The detective sighed.

“I think it happened the way he said.”

The younger man was incredulous.

“You gotta be kidding, Sarge. There’s more to it. I think they’re gay.”

“What?”

“They’re queer—Lee and Buchanan. The wife found out about it, threw him out of the house. Won’t talk to Lee.”

“You got an overactive imagination gland,” the detective said.

“I been listening to people’s stories for a long time. I can tell when they’re lying, covering up something.

This guy Lee is covering up something, but not much. He was calm, he wasn’t nervous, his eyes weren’t moving all around, he was breathing slow. He wasn’t scared, either.

He was sad, not scared. He was telling the truth.”

“I don’t buy it,” the partner said.

“There’s more to it.”

The detective, who was driving, pulled over to the curb.

“Why’re you stopping?” the partner asked.

The detective nodded.

“The restaurant,” he said.

“Third or fourth table on the right. You go question the waiter.”

“Okay,” the partner said, getting out of the car.

The detective sat and waited the five minutes it took for the waiter to be questioned, then looked at his partner as he got back into the car.

“Well.. the partner began.

“Let me tell you,” the detective said.

“He got here when he said he did; he met a woman; they argued; she left and he had dinner alone, left when he said he did. Am I right?”

“How’d you know about the woman?” the partner asked.

“Because he wouldn’t say who he was with. Listen, kid, don’t you go mouthing off to any of your reporter buddies about this. Lee works for Ben Carr, and he’s got a good reputation on the Hill; I heard about him. Buchanan worked for Carr, too, and only good people work for Carr. I don’t want the papers and the TV people making more out of this than it is.”

“So why wouldn’t he give us the woman’s name?”

“In addition to being young, you’re dumb,” the detective said.

“It’s not too tough to add up. The woman is married.”

will switched off the Porsche’s engine and sat in front of the house in Bethesda. He hadn’t been nervous about talking to the police, but he was afraid of talking to Millie Buchanan. Finally he took a deep breath, got out of the car, and walked to the front door. A light came on downstairs;

she had been in bed.

The door opened, and she was there, tying a robe around her.

“Now, Will,” she said.

“I know why you’re here, and I don’t want to talk to you right now.

This is none of your business.”

Will looked at her—small, pert, a little disheveled from the bed. He had picked out birthday presents for her children; he had eaten her cooking, and she had eaten his. ‘ Her life was about to change forever.

“Oh, Jesus, Millie,” i he said.

the funeral was a quiet nightmare. The little church in Bethesda was full, half by staffers from Benjamin Carr’s office, half by friends.

Will reckoned Jack Buchanan had been a popular man. His coffin stood before the altar as his widow stared straight ahead of her, not weeping, not blinking.

After the service, when Will approached Millie Buchanan and bent to kiss her on the cheek, she shrank from him. Her mother and father, who were standing next to her, looked away.

Kitty Conroy, who had flown up from Atlanta for the service, approached Will while he was still surprised by Millie’s reaction. Her eyes were red.

“What happened, Will?” she asked, trying not to cry. Other Carr staffers crowded around to hear his answer.

Will gave them a blow-by-blow of the events of two nights before, and they wandered away, except Kitty.

“Will, I’ve got to put out some sort of statement to the press in Atlanta.” She cocked her head.

“Are you sure you’ve told me absolutely everything? I wouldn’t want this to blow up on us later.”

Will looked at her, puzzled.

“That’s everything. Kitty,” he said.

“What did you think I might be holding back?”

“It’s not that,” she said uncomfortably.

“It’s just that this sort of thing can take on a life of its own, if it’s not handled absolutely frankly.”

“You mean you think this might be some sort of Chappaquiddick?”

“I certainly wouldn’t want to see that happen,” Kitty said.

Will put his arm around her and walked her toward her car.

“Kitty, love, you now know everything about this that I do. I’ve told you exactly what happened.” Everything but Millie Buchanan’s behavior that night.

“Now I’d appreciate it if you would put together a press conference in Atlanta for tomorrow. I’ll make a statement, say how shocked and sad we all are and how much we valued Jack.”

Kitty shook her head.

“I don’t think a press conference is the right thing to do; it’s too much, in the circumstances. I’d rather just do a release saying what happened.

Then you can be available around the office on an informal basis if anybody has any further questions, as they surely will.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Will said, opening her car door.

“Go ahead and do it that way. If you’d like a ride back to Atlanta, come by the house in about an hour and you can ride out to the airport with me.”

“Okay.” Kitty looked at the ground.

“I feel like a shit for bringing this up, but have you thought about who you want to replace Jack on the campaign?”

Will shook his head.

“I don’t have a clue at this point.”

A voice behind Will interrupted their conversation.

“Mind if I make a suggestion?”

Will turned to find Tom Black standing behind him.

Instantly, the scene in Hank Taylor’s office popped into his mind. He didn’t reply.

“I left Taylor last week,” Black said.

“You didn’t really think I’d have anything to do with that crap he presented, do you?”

“Didn’t you?” Will asked, wary.

“If you have to be told, I didn’t,” Black said.

“We had a discussion about it, to put it mildly. He said he was going to show the stuff to you whether I liked it or not; I told him to go fuck himself, and then I took a hike. That’s it.”

Will managed a grin.

“I should have known better than to think you’d have anything to do with that stuff. I apologize.”

“No apology necessary. Now, about my suggestion: I think you should sign me on to replace Jack Buchanan.”

Will looked carefully at the younger man.

“I don’t think you could afford the salary cut,” he said.

“I’m not worried about the money,” Black said.

“Pay me whatever you were paying Buchanan. And I’ll be right up front with you. Will; I’m not looking for a ticket to a Senate staff job.

What I want to do is get you elected, take as much of the credit as I possibly can, then start my own political consultancy.”

Will laughed.

“That’s candid, I guess. So, if I get elected, who’s going to run my office?”

“I’ll find you somebody who’s cut out for administration and fighting legislative battles. Me, I’m cut out for late nights and high drama on the campaign trail.”

Will turned to Kitty.

“Well, I guess that answers your question.”

“It’s okay by me.” Kitty grinned.

Will turned back to Tom Black.

“You better pack your bags and meet me at College Park Airport in a couple of hours.”

Tom snapped off a salute and walked away.

“Will?” Kitty said.

“Yeah?”

“What was that business with Millie Buchanan a few minutes ago?”

Will looked back to where Millie and her parents were still receiving mourners.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“I guess she’s just upset.”

“I hope that’s all it is,” Kitty said.

on the flight back to Atlanta, everyone wore headsets, and they talked on the intercom.

“How much money you got in the bank?” Tom Black asked.

“I’m embarrassed to tell you I don’t know,” Will replied.

“That was Jack’s department.”

Kitty ripped a sheet of paper off a yellow legal pad and handed it to Tom.

“How’s that for the press release?” she asked.

Tom read it over quickly.

“Good,” he said.

“I think you’re right about not holding a press conference,” Tom said.

“We don’t want him staring into a white light and expressing his grief on the tube. The statement does it best.”

“I want reporters to be able to talk to him informally,” she replied.

“Okay, if you think so.”

Will piped up, “Anybody care what I think around here?”

“Not much, pal,” Tom said.

“You’re just the candidate.

Kitty and I will do the thinking, you just smile a lot.”

“I think I like it that way,” Will laughed.

kitty got the press release hand-delivered in time for the eleven-o’clock news and the morning papers. Will had three or four phone calls from reporters, mostly to express sympathy. They watched the eleven-o’clock news on all three local channels. Jack Buchanan’s suicide was treated respectfully.

Will stood up and stretched.

“I’m turning in,” he said, heading for the small bedroom set up in the back of the Atlanta headquarters.

“What about it, Kitty? You happy with the way it went?”

“Couldn’t have been better,” she said.

“I agree,” said Tom.

“Good,” Will said.

“Tom, there’s a cot upstairs somewhere.