The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (64 page)

“I don’t like guessing.”

“Risk it.”
Ben pointed at the
soldiers’
photos. “
They took risks, didn’t they
?”

“Young man,
I
appreciate humor, but
people
are
waiting for me. We’re in the middle of
a campaign to restore America
’s soul
—”

“Please
.
” Ben held up his hand. “
No
political slogans
.
”

Morgan took a step back, clearly shocked by Ben’s
tone
. “You’re not a real
s
aint, are you?”

“Far from.”
Removing the Ravens cap, he shook his head. “My name is Ben
Teller
. I’m a reporter
.”

“A reporter? Really?” Morgan’s demeanor didn’t change, his face remaining friendly
. “Can’t say I remember your name
. Wh
ich media outlet
do you write for?”

“Freelance.
My stuff usually appears on
NewZonLine.com
.”

“
I’d love to chat, but m
y schedule is very tight.” Morgan headed for the door. “But if you contact my spokesmen with a list of questions,
we’ll definitely provide a comprehensive
—”

“I’m investigating the
death
of Zachariah Hinckley.”

Morgan
paused, turned, and
gl
anced at the heroes’ portraits.

“I believe he was murdered.”

“
From what I
’ve
heard
,
the police investigation ruled it a
n accident
. R
eckless driving
, I believe
.”

“That’s a nice spin, no pu
n intended. But you know the truth, right?”

“Listen,
Teller
, you’re on shaky ground here.
” Morgan waved the letter in his face. “Forging documents, impersonating, lying to police and the Secret Service—I mean, all I need to do is call in those guys and you’ll be in deep trouble!”

“I wouldn’t do it if I were you.”

“Why not?”

Ben took out his iPhone and show
ed
him the e-mail. “All I need to do is press my thumb on the
s
end
icon
. Do you see this attachment? It contain
s
the whole
LDS Church’s file about Zachariah Hinckley, all the evidence against him, the trial records, and so on.”

Morgan shrugged. “
So
what
?”

“Your
people
harass
ed
him, punish
ed
him, isolat
ed
him, and dr
ove
him to the top of the hill at the Camp David
Scenic Overlook
—
all of it to shut him up. T
he public will not be kind to you after that.”

“My people? I don’t have people like that. I don’t send thugs to hurt my opponents. I’m a businessman, a politician, and a candidate for
p
resident of the United States! I’m not Don Corleone!”

“The public will draw its own conclusion from the evidence.” Ben held up the iPhone. “The whole LDS file is ready to go.”

“Have you read
it
?”

It was a direct question, and Ben knew that his hesitation had already given the answer. “Not yet.”

“When you do, you’ll see that any mention of my name in that whole record is only in the role of
a family friend and a former lay bishop. I was
trying to
help
poor Zachariah and advocate leniency for him.”

“But the whole case is about his insistence that you tell the American people about your role in the posthumous conversions of their heroes.” Ben pointed to the portraits.

Rather than concern, Morgan’s face showed amusement. “You must be confused about the facts, Mr.
Teller
. This case was about how best to deal with Zachariah’s erratic and unstable behavior. He was a very ill man.”

“I don’t believe you.” Ben
shook his
iPhone. “
You pressured him
to drop the demand
that you confess
—”

“That’s not what the tria
l record say
s
.”

“
Did you
change it
? Did you replace the truth with lies?
”

“
The truth is in the ear of the beholder.”
Pacing to the other side of
the
library, Morgan pulled out a thick volume. The cover had a photo of Winston Churchill, and tabs had been placed in different pages. He opened one. “
A
spir
ing
to be
come a
great leader,
one must learn from history’s icons
.
Here’s what
Churchill
said:
‘
History shall treat me kindly, for I intend to write it.
’ Do you understand?”

“It’s called
lying
in the real world.”

“Grow up,
Teller
.”
Morgan re-shelved the volume.
“You’re not ready to play in this league. Not yet, anyway.
Shall we call it a
night
?”

Examining the ring up close, Fran sh
oo
k her head in amazement. “Look at this
beauty
! It’s an antique—the real thing!”

“You think?”

“D
uh
! Sixteen years in the police force teach
es
you something about valuable jewelry.” Fran hugged her. “I’m so happy for you!”

“For both of us?”

“Of course.” Fran looked around as if expecting to find Ben standing there. “When did he give it to you?”

A group of physicians walked toward them. Keera
took
her aside. “Earlier today. He was really sweet, completely took me by surprise, but also made me worried sick about what he’s involved in.”

“Why?
”

Keera hesitated.

Fran looked her straight in the eyes. “You can trust me.”

“Can I?”

“
You’re right.
Earlier on, I wasn’t receptive. My job is to prevent hate crimes, and
Ben’s story
smelled of anti-Mormon prej
udice, which I couldn’t condone.
”

“That’s unfair. Ben is the most tolerant person. You should know!”

“I do, and he is, which is why I decided to sniff around a bit.” Fran glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one could hear them. “Inspector Porter’s personnel file is almost empty. He has no record of service—it’s all classified, even his training. I called the Colorado State Police, which is where he had supposedly served before being loaned to Maryland, but they had nothing about him either.”

“How could that be?”

“It’s possible that he’d been undercover, maybe inside an organized crime organization or a drug cartel. Occasionally these guys have to
be given
new identit
ies
to protect them.”

“Like the witness protection program?”

“Basically. But it’s unusual, and I’m
concerned
.”

“About Ben?”
Keera
gripped her hand
. “
You must help him
.
But he
wouldn’t tell me where he was going,
and
he looked so strange—”

“Strange? In what way?”

“He was dressed in a white suit and a white tie under his riding suit. He was clean shave
n,
his hair was cut real short, and what’s left was bleached—”

“Bleached? Like in blond?”

“Yes. The eyebrows also. He looked
weird. Everything white. But he wouldn’t
answer my questions
—”

“I think I know
where he went
.” Fran pulled her by the arm. “Let’s go to my car!”

Keera followed her, jogging to the glass doors.

In the cruiser, Fran used the radio to con
tact the dispatcher. “Fran DeLac
ourt here.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

“Have you received any calls from the Mormon
t
emple?”

“Let me look.” There was a sound of rapid keyboarding. “The
re’s one report of an emergency
door
alarm
being activated. That’s all.”

“When?”

“
Seventy
-three minutes ago.”

“Was a unit dispatched to the scene?”

More keyboard rattling. “We had an officer in the area, an inspector from the Community Relations Unit. He stopped by to check it out.”

Keera sucked air in, covering her mouth.

“Who?”

“Inspector Porter.”

“Did he report back?”

After a moment, the dispatcher said, “Yes. Twenty-seven minutes ago. He reported that it was a false alarm. People left through the emergency door after an accident in one of the chapels.”

“What kind of an accident?”

“Trip and fall. No foul play or anything.”

“Fatal?”

“Y
es
.”

Fran glanced at Keera, who grabbed the dashboard, her face a mask of fear.

“Lieutenant DeLa
c
ourt? Anything else?”

“Do you have any information about the accident?”

“No
t
really. Tripped over a statue. Irreparable damage to vital organs. No CPR was performed on her.”

“
Her?
A
woman?
”

“Correct.”

Fran exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Have a nice evening.”

Fran was about to sign off, but something occurred to her. “Wait a second. Do you have any other record mentioning Porter after that?”

“I don’t think so. Hold on. I’m searching. Yes, O. Porter, eleven minutes ago. But it’s nothing, just a patch-through to another team.”

“Which team?”

“Let me see.” The dispatcher hit more keys. “He wanted to be patched through to…the…here it is. The
guys at the
Morgan
residence
.”

“Shit!”
Fran dropped the radio
, turned on the engine, and flipped the siren switch. “Buckle your seat
belt!”

Ben was momentarily shaken by the realization that Morgan had foreseen the possible exposure of the LDS files and had altered the record to reflect positively on his role. But this was a setback he should have expected, cons
idering who he was confronting.

“
Zachariah Hinckley’s
journal
,” Ben said, “
describes the whole story, including how you told him to steal personal information from the Department of Veterans Affairs, how you insisted on being the one
serving as proxy in
baptiz
ing
the
service
men who had won more than one Medal of Honor
.”

“Wild imagination of a sick man.” Morgan came over and
grabbed
Ben’s
arm
, staring into his face. “Listen to me, young man! You’re chasing a wild goose,
and it
isn’t
going to
roost
!”

“The journal—”

“What proof do you have that
Zachariah Hinckley
actually wrote
that
journal? A
nyone could have posted electronic text to his computer or any other device
.
The liberal
elites
will do anything to stop me!”

“
C
an you explain
why Zachariah’s
last word
was
p
osthumous
,
of all things?”