by Stuart Woods
“This is fine, Will. I’ll try not to be in the way.”
“Don’t worry about it, Jack; why don’t you lie down for a while, and when you’re feeling better, there’s food in the freezer. You know how to use a microwave?”
“Sure.” Jack nodded. “I can manage.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Will,” he said, “I want to tell you about all of this. It’s been going on for a long time now.”
Will looked at his watch. Seven o’clock. Dammit, she’d be there by now; she was never late. “Listen, Jack, you don’t feel like talking right now, and I’ve got to be somewhere. I won’t be in until late, but we can talk in the morning. Things will look better in the morning, anyway, I promise you.”
“Will …”
“No arguments,” Will said, pushing him back onto the bed and covering him with the blanket. “You can tell me everything in the morning. You know I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Jack nodded and turned onto his side, away from Will. “Good night, Will,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Jack. I’ll see you at breakfast.” He switched off the light and ran quickly down the stairs, grabbing his coat from the hall rack. No point in arming the alarm system.
He half walked, half ran down the street toward the restaurant. He had meant to be exactly on time; he didn’t want to give her any ammunition. When he arrived, she wasn’t there. It was early, and the restaurant was half empty.
“How many, sir?” a waiter asked.
“Two,” Will replied. “I haven’t booked, I’m afraid.”
“Quite all right this time of evening,” the waiter said. He showed Will to a table and left him with two menus and some bread.
Will looked at his watch; seven-fifteen. She was never late. He started to get angry with her for being late. He broke a roll and buttered it. Suddenly, he was hungry. He ate half the roll, then the other half. He ordered a bottle of red wine, one she liked. At seven-thirty-five, he looked up, and she was standing there.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, shucking off her coat and handing it to the waiter.
“That’s all right,” he said, as evenly as he could manage. “I was late myself. Jack and Millie Buchanan have had a fight, and he turned up at the house as I was leaving. I gave him a drink and put him to bed.” He poured her a glass of wine, but she didn’t pick it up.
“He’s the one in your office? I mean, Senator Carr’s office?” She had never met any of his coworkers, but she had heard their names often enough.
“Yes, he left to come onto the campaign. He’s going to be campaign manager; if I win, he’ll probably be my chief staffer.”
“Nice to have a staff waiting for you,” she said. “How’s the Senator?”
“Improving, but slowly. I get down there once a week.”
“And the campaign? How’s that going?”
“Hardly begun. I’d blocked off this week for the Moody trial, but the prosecutor was hospitalized. It’s postponed for at least three months, which is a pain in the ass.”
She nodded. “Must be tough, having to try that case in the middle of a campaign.”
“I’ll let you know,” he said.
The waiter came over. “May I tell you about this evening’s specials?” he asked.
“I won’t be having dinner,” Kate said to the man. She turned to Will. “I’ve got to be somewhere at eight.”
“Give me a few minutes,” Will said to the waiter. The man left, and he turned to Kate. “Looks like a few minutes is all I get from you, too,” he said.
“Will, we’ve got to talk.”
“And fast, apparently.”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t expect you, and I made other plans. You can’t just call from the airport and expect me to drop everything.”
That was exactly what he had expected. “I suppose not,” he said.
“Listen to me,” she said wearily. “I’m under a lot of pressure at the moment.”
“Tell me about it.”
“We’ve got a new director, and the usual shake-up is going on. I told you, I have to sit still for a whole new security check because of the promotion; and quite apart from that, I’m under a lot of scrutiny in general. I’m the first woman to get this high in the directorate, and it’s unsettled some of the old-timers.”
“I didn’t know there were any old-timers at the Agency anymore.”
“Comparative old-timers. Simon’s gone, but some of his friends haven’t.” Simon Rule was Kate’s ex-husband, who had been forced to resign in a scandal some time back. “They’re hoping I’ll screw up, do you see? There’s always been this problem of you and me seeing each other, what with you working for the chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee, and right now it’s worse than ever. I don’t know how deep this security-clearance investigation is going; they could be tapping my phones, they could be surveilling me. I just don’t know how to read it.”
“If you think you might be under surveillance, then why the hell did you choose to meet me in a public place?”
“I didn’t want to come to your place, and anyway, Jack Buchanan is there, isn’t he?”
“Afraid I’d jump you?”
“Will, stop it.”
“And they’re watching your place, of course.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Anyway, I’ve got company coming tonight.” She looked at her watch. “He’s …” She stopped.
A wave of jealousy flashed through Will. “Oh, I see, somebody the Agency approves of.”
“He is Agency.”
“Oh, that’s all right, then. I’d forgotten; the Agency likes its employees to cohabitate, marry. Much cozier that way, fewer security problems.”
“We’re not cohabitating,” she said wearily. “If you had just given me some notice, I could have arranged something, but now I’ve bought all these groceries, and—”
“You’re cooking?” He had never known her to boil water. He had always done the cooking when they were together.
She flushed. “I’ve taken it up, sort of. It’s not as bad as I’d thought.”
“I’m amazed you can find the time, what with all your new responsibilities,” he said. “You haven’t even been able to find the time to return phone calls lately.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she said angrily.
“You certainly don’t.” He waved the waiter over. “I’ll have the shell steak, medium; baked potato, loaded; a Caesar salad to start. The lady is not dining; not with me, anyway.” The man scribbled the order and went away. Will turned back to Kate, glancing at his watch. “I don’t want to keep you.”
“Will, please try to understand what I’m going through,” she said. “I’m not sleeping with him; he’s just a friend, a good friend, and I need as many of those as I can get these days.”
Will stared at her for a moment, thinking how beautiful she was—the auburn hair, the creamy skin, the full mouth. 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 become 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. F
rom 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.
7
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,” he said.
8
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.
