The Next President (30 page)

“I don’t mean you any harm,” Blair called out to the woman in the trailer.

“You don’t have to shout,” came a voice from behind him.

“LuAnne ‘n’ I can hear you.”

Blair turned quickly to see Deena Nokes. Gorbachev was with her. The bear started to growl and showed some truly fearsome teeth and claws. But Deena realized the bear was scaring her visitor for no good reason.

“He’s family, Gorby,” she told the animal. With a whack on the bear’s rear, she added, “Go on, git. Back to the woods until we’ve got a real sonofabitch for you to eat.”

Blair was both impressed and relieved when the animal heeded its mistress.

Deena informed Blair, “Whoever that bastard was that killed Ivar, I shot him twice. And that poor girl he shot sent him off a high ledge into the water.

But the way my luck runs, I doubt either of us killed him. That’s what you’re here to talk about, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here.”

“Here’s your shooter,” Blair McCray told Chief Billy Edwards.

“This is the man who killed Barton Laney and shot his daughter, Prudence.”

Blair slapped a well-rendered drawing down on the chiefs desk. He’d persuaded Deena to do an updated sketch of the man she’d seen shoot the Laneys the same man she’d seen talking to Ivar. Blair had told her it would be a good idea to have the police in on the hunt because that would lessen the chances that the killer would escape if he decided to make a run for it.

He’d also promised that he wouldn’t reveal her identity or that she was still seeking personal vengeance.

The chief looked from the drawing to Blair.

“How do you know this is who we want?”

“The person who made the drawing saw the shooting.”

Now Billy Edwards was interested.

“You found an eyewitness? Who is it?”

Blair shook his head.

“Can’t say.”

“Bullshit!” the chief bellowed.

“Family or not, you can say and you will say.”

Blair took a seat.

“No, I won’t. Not until we get this sonofabitch.”

“I’ll lock you up.”

“Go ahead. But here’s how I see things. We get the shooter, I’ll produce the witness. You crap around with me and let a killer get away maybe even shoot somebody else how’s that going to make you look?”

The chief ground his teeth.

“I don’t understand you at all.”

“You still think Evan Cade killed Ivar?” Blair asked.

“We’ve got his damn shoes!”

“And you found them in … ?”

“The trunk of Barton Laney’s car. Not far from where he’d been shot in the head.”

“You found them in a plastic bag, just like I said you would if someone was framing Evan Cade,” Blair reminded him.

“Only thing missing was an evidence tag: Exhibit A.”

“So you don’t think Cade killed Ivar?” the chief demanded.

“My witness implicates that man.” Blair nodded at the drawing.

“Damnit, you’re not telling me half of what you know.”

“Let’s just catch this sonofabitch, Billy, and I’ll tell you everything. What I can say now is that the man has been shot nicked, anyway on his left shoulder and left ear. Let’s get his picture out on the Net in case he’s running

“Your witness shot this man, didn’t he?”

Blair didn’t answer.

“How the hell would you feel in my place?” the chief wanted to know.

“Grateful that I know a lot more than I did five minutes ago,” Blair responded

J. D. Cade spent a quiet evening with his mother at her house. They ate dinner and encouraged each other that all would work out well for Evan. As they washed and dried the dishes, they reassured each other that they were in good health. And with each passing moment, neither one was the least bit fooled that they were leaving important matters unspoken.

After they’d sat down in the living room, Belle came out and asked, “You won’t be staying long, will you, dear?”

“I have to leave in the morning.”

Belle asked intuitively, “You feel trapped by something, don’t you, J.

D.?”

“Yes.”

“But you can’t talk about why.”

“No.”

She kissed her son’s cheek.

“I think I’ll go on up to bed. I pray now before I end my day, did you know that? It seems the closer I come to meeting my Maker the more I want to tell him my side of things. I’ll mention tonight what a good son you are and how much I love you.”

“Tell him I’ll take all the help I can get,” J. D. said.

“I love you, too, Mom.”

Belle Cade stopped at the foot of the stairs and gazed back at her son, looking as though she wanted to tell him something but was uncertain if she should.

“What is it. Mom?”

The old woman’s jaw firmed, and she nodded slightly as if to herself.

“It was a shame about that deer, J. D.”

Belle Cade climbed the stairs, leaving her son to wonder if he could possibly have heard his mother right. Just before he gave in to the impulse to rush after her and ask her to repeat what she’d said, the phone rang.

“Hello,” he answered.

“Hi, J. D.? It’s Jenny Crenshaw. I called to say hello and find out how things are going with your son.”

J. D. was still distracted by his mother’s comment and he struggled to re gain his focus.

“Um… the lawyer said he should be able to have the charge dismissed tomorrow.”

“That’s great! You really work fast.”

Jenny told him that the campaign had a wonderful day. Del’s “This campaign will not be stopped” speech had received standing ovations in

L.A., Fresno, and Eureka. It had been picked up by all the networks and shown on the prime-time newscasts. She asked if he’d seen it.

“Sorry. I’ve been pretty busy here.”

“Of course. I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have realized. I’m just so excited. Our numbers in California are taking off, and polls coming in from around the country are showing we’re making gains everywhere, even in the incumbent’s strongholds.”

“All because of a speech?”

There was a moment’s silence on the line, then Jenny asked, “You didn’t hear about the shooting, either?”

J. D.‘s stomach knotted and he said, “No.”

“Someone tried to shoot Special Agent DeVito very early this morning.

Shot at him from a long distance, just like Del. He was working in my office.

He was just as lucky as Del to have escaped with his life. It’s been interpreted as a warning to Del to get out of the race. That’s why people are reacting so strongly to his refusal to be intimidated.”

A disturbing question occurred to J. D. “Did anybody think that the attempt might have been made not to intimidate the campaign but to cripple it? Even if the shooter found DeVito in your office, who was it he went looking for? It would hurt Senator Rawley’s chances a lot more to lose you than DeVito

Jenny’s whisper of fear came across the line, “Oh, my God!”

J. D.‘s mind went straight to Donnel Timmons. If there was a second assassin, it had to be Donnel. But J. D. just couldn’t see his old friend doing the job for money. Which led J. D. back to the thought that maybe Donnel was being blackmailed, too—and, like J. D.” he was looking for any way out short of killing Del Rawley.

But would that include shooting Jenny Crenshaw?

Perhaps Donnel hadn’t come up with a plan, the way J. D. had, that would only destroy her professional and personal reputations.

Feeling completely hypocritical, J. D. said, “Please, Jenny, be very careful.”

“I will… I will.”

But he could tell she was badly shaken, not at all sure that she’d have been as lucky as DeVito had she been the one in her office—had she been the one in the crosshairs.

“I think I’ll be able to return to California tomorrow,” J. D. told her.

She said that was wonderful and updated him on the campaign schedule.

But he could still sense her fear when she said goodbye.

ELEVEN Monday, September 20, 2004

J. D. woke up that morning and understood that Ben must have shared his secret with Belle as well as Evan. His mother knew what he’d done to Alvy, too, but didn’t condemn him for it. On the contrary, she was willing to plead his case to the Almighty. Aside from the comfort of having his mother be his advocate, he was glad she knew the real reason he’d never returned home before now, why she’d always had to be the one to visit him in California.

Belle was in the kitchen cooking when he entered the room. She told him to sit down, she’d have breakfast on the table in five minutes. But he looked out the window first. The sky was overcast with clouds so black and massive they looked too heavy to stay aloft.

Up till now, the weather had been the last thing on his mind.

“What’s the forecast, Mom?”

“Bad,” she told him.

“That Hurricane Eddie that’s been churning around the Gulf of Mexico hit New Orleans last night. The storm front is heading right up the Mississippi River.”

J. D. turned from the window, fervently hoping his return to California wouldn’t be delayed. He sat down at the table. A copy of the Southern Illinoisan rested on it. Next to the newspaper was an open crossword dictionary.

That told him his mother still started her day the same old way: scan the headlines, then go straight to the crossword puzzle.

“There’s nothing in the paper about Evan,” Belle said.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” J. D. picked up the paper and looked at it.

“It means the cops haven’t talked to the press. They don’t want the story to turn around and bite them when they have to release Evan.”

“Saves Evan the embarrassment, too.”

Putting the paper down, J. D. noticed the guide words at the top of the right-hand page of the crossword dictionary: de Gaulle and Deiphobus. The latter word drew J. D.‘s eye to the entry listed just above it.

Deimos (dee-mos) n. [Gr. fear or panic] One of the two moons of… Panic? Roth and Danby worked for an office of the Treasury Department called Panic?

In that moment J. D. knew who his blackmailer was.

Belle put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him and sat down wearing a look of concern.

“Are you all right, J. D.? You have a very strange expression on your face.”

Not trusting his voice, J. D. only nodded.

“You’re sure?”

J. D. cleared his throat.

“I’m fine, Mom. In fact, I’m feeling better than I was a moment ago.”

Thirty minutes later the two Cades were at the county courthouse in nearby Murphysboro, where they watched Richard Shuster get the homicide charge against Evan summarily dismissed for lack of evidence. The judge instructed the state’s attorney that a clear connection had to be made that Evan had repossessed his shoes from the Salvation Army store, or other evidence must be found tying him to the death of Ivar McCray before he would consider reinstating the charge.

That taken care of, J. D. and Belle proceeded to University Hospital.

There was no longer a cop guarding Evan’s room, and J. D. and Belle entered it.

Evan saw them but didn’t smile. If anything, his expression was grim.

“What happened?” J. D. asked.

“Pru died,” his son responded.

“A doctor told me about ten minutes ago.”

“Oh, honey,” Belle consoled. She moved to Evan’s bed and stroked his cheek.

But J. D. could see no comfort in his son’s eyes, only pain and anger.

After hearing that the charge against him had been dropped, Evan talked with his father and grandmother for a minute. Then Belle sensed that they needed to be alone and went out of the room.

“I have to leave,” J. D. said.

“There’s something I have to take care of.”

“Me too,” Evan replied.

J. D. realized that Evan would try to find Pru Laney’s killer and there was nothing he could do or say to change his son’s mind.

“Let me know if there’s any way I can help.”

“Yeah. I only wish I’d let you teach me how to shoot better.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Evan. Be very careful.”

J. D. went to his son and put his arms around him. He looked for some way to dissuade his son from seeking vengeance. But he could find no moral standing from which he could even begin an argument. Evan knew how he’d handled such matters.

“I’ll see you as soon as I can,” J. D. told him.

Evan nodded.

“I love you, Dad.”

J. D. felt tears well up in his eyes.

“I love you, too.”

After saying goodbye to his mother, J. D. took a taxi to the airport. On the way there, he booted up his laptop and checked the stickyfingers.com chat room. There was a message from Pickpocket and it confirmed what he already knew. The name of his blackmailer.

Head of Departmental Internal Management and Oversight (DEIMOS) is Garvin Townes.

J. D.‘s old commanding officer, Colonel Townes of the PANIC unit.

He keyed in a message: See if you can find out what Townes has been doing the past thirty years.

He thought he’d have to check back later for a reply but it came immediately.

Thirty years? You don’t want much, do you?

If you’re not feeling up to it…

I’m up to it. I just came online because I have some news on your other request.

Preoccupied with Townes now, J. D. couldn’t recall what else he’d asked of Pickpocket.

Go ahead, he said.

Re: Donnel Timmons. He was in the auto parts business but sold his company ten years ago. Checking on current activities.

Wondering what Donnel’s “current activities” might be, J. D. boarded the waiting jet. It was fueled and read to go. The flight plan was filed for San Francisco, the day’s last stop for the Rawley campaign. Two minutes later the aircraft rose into the threatening sky just as rain began to fall.

Ten minutes after that, a commuter flight from St. Louis touched down

amidst a downpour. Special Agent Dante DeVito stepped out of the plane and sprinted for the terminal.

When DeVito arrived at the Carbondale Municipal Building fifteen minutes later, he was escorted to the office of the chief of police, Billy Edwards.

DeVito knew Cade didn’t have a criminal record, but his son had been arrested for murder here and he wanted to hear about that. He also thought the local cops should be able to point him in the direction of old acquaintances and former friends who might be able to shed a bit more light on Cade for him.