by Robert Ellis
“George Washington,” the detective said. “Thomas Jefferson, FDR, Eisenhower, JFK, LBJ—and what about Clinton, Gingrich and everybody else?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“You tell me,” Randolph said. “If it had come out that Merdock was having an affair, could he have still won the election?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Randolph shot back. “Haven’t you been watching TV? Lou Kay’s sinking like a stone. He’s a wife beater now.”
Frank met Linda’s eyes. Then Grimes arrived with a crime scene tech and pointed to the hood of the car. For some reason, the tech began setting up his print case beside Randolph. Randolph watched him for a moment, then glanced at Olson’s license and handed it to Grimes.
“The address doesn’t match here or his wife’s place,” he said.
Grimes looked it over. “The building super says Olson had a trailer out in the woods. And the U.S. Attorney’s in. He’s going out to the Merdocks in person and on his own.”
Frank picked up on Grimes’s tone and obvious dig.
“The U.S. Attorney likes headlines,” Randolph said, turning back to Grimes. “Let’s get a head start on him and send a crew out to this trailer.”
“He wants us to notify Olson’s wife,” Grimes said.
Randolph nodded. “After we get their prints.”
“Who’s prints?” Frank asked.
“Yours,” Randolph said. “It’ll save us time if we can weed you out and work with what’s left.”
“But we didn’t touch anything,” Linda said in protest.
“That’s even better,” Randolph said, turning to the print tech. “Now get it done. They’re coming with us.”
The man grabbed Frank’s hand, pressing his fingers into the ink pad and blotting them on paper. When Frank looked back at Linda, he saw the worry on her face and felt a sudden chill. The police were taking his fingerprints. The coroners were muscling Olson’s body up the steps and struggling to get the gurney into their van. It was late. Maybe too late. And he wondered if he might not be standing in Olson’s shadow.
Chapter 48
Frank and Linda were waiting in the backseat while Randolph and Grimes notified Olson’s wife that her husband was dead. It was quiet, just the sound of the river in the background, the occasional bite of a police radio from the squad car parked further down the gravel driveway. Grimes had suggested that a black-and-white be dispatched to watch Olson’s house until they could figure out what had actually happened.
Frank knew when they told her.
He heard her cry out, heard her agony in the night and knew that he was responsible regardless of the way things played out. He could feel Linda’s eyes on him in the darkness and sensed that she was crying. He wondered whether Olson’s kids were asleep, or whether they might be listening from the top of the stairs the way kids do. The sound of their mother weeping could still be heard, even from the backseat of Randolph’s car. It was a sound that cut to the bone, and he hoped that Olson’s kids were asleep and dreaming.
Frank leaned his head against the seat, staring into the darkness beyond the house at the river beyond. He felt like a fish twisting in an ocean of sand. He couldn’t move, couldn’t get enough air.
Randolph and Grimes climbed in without saying anything. It seemed odd, but Grimes was behind the wheel now. Once they were out the drive, Randolph finally spoke, his voice low and raspy.
“Olson called his wife early this afternoon. He asked if he could see her tomorrow and said that he had big news.”
Frank remained quiet.
“She didn’t think that he sounded depressed,” Randolph went on. “Not enough to commit suicide anyway. She said that he was excited about something.”
“Excited about what?” Frank asked.
Randolph shrugged. “She was upset. She didn’t take the news very well.”
The car became quiet again. Randolph settled into the passenger seat, and Grimes brought the car up to speed. As Frank watched Olson’s house disappear into the night, he felt Linda take his hand, give it a gentle squeeze, and then let go.
It took half an hour to reach Olson’s trailer, the last ten minutes spent on gravel and dirt roads. They were in the deep woods, well beyond the lights of Washington. It was dark, the air clear, the stars jumping out of the sky for anyone who wanted to look up and grab them with their eyes.
Turning into the drive, they rode up the dirt road through a grove of pine trees. The trailer looked run-down, the windows dark as it sat beside a graveyard from the Revolution. Cops and detectives greeted them with flashlights as a crew set up a generator that would provide electrical power to the work lights being rigged on stands.
A detective half Randolph’s age waited for them as they got out of the car. Trudging through the field grass, Frank could feel Linda’s eyes still on him but remained quiet. That feeling was back. That shadow.
“Why are the lights out?” Randolph asked.
The young detective picked up his step, trying to keep up with him. “Looks like he was late on some bills.”
Randolph grimaced. They reached the trailer, opened the screen door and stepped inside. The trailer was small, the kind meant to be dragged behind a car. It looked to Frank as if there were only two rooms. The front housed a cheap table and chairs with a galley kitchen. The room in back he guessed Olson slept in. But like his office, the trailer was a pigsty—maybe even more so.
Grimes moved to the back room, hitting it with his flashlight and looking troubled.
“Olson wasn’t late,” he said. “We were. Somebody’s already been here.”
He turned to Randolph, his expression hard.
“Give me your cell phone,” Randolph said.
Grimes pulled the phone out and handed it over. Randolph opened it, turning to Frank and Linda.
“You two better wait outside,” he said.
Frank pushed the screen door open and walked out. The gasoline generator started, filling the quiet night air with a rattling noise that sounded as annoying as a neighbor mowing their lawn every Wednesday at dinner time. Then the bank of lights fired up, their beams casting a white, unnatural light onto the trailer. Everything about the place looked dead and buried.
Frank leaned against Randolph’s car and lit a cigarette, trying to think things through as he turned toward the graveyard. They were no longer living in a shadowy world of best guesses. It was Merdock. Juliana. But Randolph had planted a seed. Somehow the motive had become less clear.
“Are you having an affair with her?”
Frank looked up and saw Linda appraising him. He hadn’t noticed that she was standing behind him.
“With who?” he asked.
“Juliana Merdock.”
At first he was confused by the question. As it sank in, he shook his head without saying anything.
“Then why is she always around?”
“It’s been a tough race,” he whispered. “A real tough race. Have we reached the point where a candidate would kill to win?”
Linda shuddered.
“I’m just thinking out loud,” he said. “But what kind of a person would commit murder to cover up something that isn’t even a crime? Sex isn’t a crime yet, is it?”
“You’ve gotta drop Merdock, hold a press conference, and get out.”
“And say what, Linda? My clients murdered four people. We disagree on the fundamental issues in this race, so I’ve decided to bow out?”
“You’ve gotta get out.”
“It’s too late and you know it,” he said. “If I quit, Merdock wins. Even if I coast he wins. Either way, Mel Merdock ends up a senator and I’m the one who got him there.”
She took a step closer. “What are you gonna do?”
He didn’t say anything, holding her gaze. A moment passed. It looked like she was putting it together.
“Are you out of your mind?” she said finally.
Frank dropped his cigarette
and stepped on it. “I don’t think so.”
She took his arm. Her worry looked more like terror now.
“Frank, you can’t sabotage this race.”
“Why not?”
“Because these people are dangerous. They’re insane. Crazy.”
“If I’m careful, they’ll never find out. They’ll never even know it’s happening.”
“How are you gonna keep it a secret? What if they do find out?”
Frank shook his head. “I don’t see a lot of choices here, Linda.”
“But there isn’t enough time. Look what they’ve done.”
Headlights were turning into the drive, three cars making a fast approach through the grove of pine trees. Randolph stepped out of the trailer, ignoring the cars and handing Grimes the cell phone. The detective looked angry and didn’t stop until he was in Frank’s face, spitting his words out over the numbing drone of the generator.
“What’s RAVE?” he asked.
The question was out of left field. It threw Frank off and he froze.
Randolph met his eyes. “I just spoke with Olson’s wife. That’s what he was all jacked up about. She remembers now. Something called RAVE.”
Frank glanced back at Linda. RAVE was the special interest group that had forced its way into the Merdock/Kay race. They had seen RAVE’s TV spot together a few weeks ago and laughed at it.
Randolph moved even closer. “And your client says he was at a fund-raiser all night. He’s got an alibi.”
“He’s lying,” Frank said. “Merdock’s using his own cash. He’s never held a fund-raiser.”
“The man’s running for the U.S. Senate,” Randolph shouted in frustration. “You’re asking me to interfere in an election. We need a better motive than some rich guy killing four people for a roll of sex shots, Frank.”
Randolph hit the hood of his car with a closed fist. Everyone flinched except Frank, who stood motionless. He could see the dent in the hood as Randolph stepped away and turned to the cars pulling to a stop beneath the trees. Ten men in suits jumped out, marching toward them through the glare of headlights. Frank recognized the U.S. Attorney leading the way. He was tall, stern-looking, about fifty and wearing a long overcoat. When Frank turned, he noticed Randolph grinding his teeth. Grimes stood beside his partner like a bodyguard ready to take a head shot.
“Looks like the U.S. Attorney’s met the Merdocks,” Grimes whispered under his breath.
The U.S. Attorney finally reached them, his hooded eyes lingering on Frank. Then a nondescript man in a suit pointed out Randolph. The U.S. Attorney flashed a bogus smile and offered his hand. If the smell of ether had a face, this was it.
“My name is Randal Wright, Lieutenant. What are these people doing at my crime scene? Give them a ride home. We’ll take it from here.”
Randolph didn’t say anything. Frank checked his pocket for his cigarettes. When he found the pack empty, he crumpled it up.
Chapter 49
Raymond hid in the tall field grass overlooking Olson’s trailer a hundred yards off. He had Olson’s night-vision goggles strapped to his head and had seen the cavalry arrive. Now Frank and Linda were getting into a car with those two detectives and driving off. The U.S. Attorney was in charge, and no one looked very pleased.
Raymond yawned. It had been a long night and he wanted to get back to the Iwo Jima and take his vitamin C. Maybe a couple of aspirin before he got some sleep. His wrists ached. When the gun went off in Olson’s mouth, he hadn’t quite released his grip and the .45 kicked back on him. If the pain got any worse, he might need to see a doctor.
He stood up, brushing himself off in the darkness. As he walked over to his car, it occurred to him that he might be a candidate for Lyme disease. He’d been lying in the grass for the better part of an hour and seen deer freely roaming the field in spite of his presence. A hot shower and a body check for tick bites was the smart way to go. He couldn’t afford the down time.
Raymond listened to the generator that the police were using and guessed that the sound reached a mile or so into the woods. He started his car and pulled forward slowly, cresting the hill until he spotted the break in the barbed-wire fence on the other side. Navigating in the darkness, he was amazed by how well Olson’s night-vision goggles worked. It was a negative world that he saw through the windshield with everything flowing in reverse. The sky was jet-black, the field grass a throbbing electric white. Still, the night was as bright as daylight. As he passed through the fence and pulled onto the dirt road, he wondered how long he could make it last. How close to the city he could get before it became necessary to switch on his headlights.
The dirt road had taken a beating with the last rain. Raymond could see the deep gully on the left with perfect clarity. When he reached a two-lane road that was paved, he noticed the lights from an approaching car and waited until they passed.
It was them. The two detectives with Frank and his partner sitting in the backseat.
Raymond could see them clearly and a certain thrill coursed through his veins as he realized that he hadn’t been spotted in the darkness. He pulled onto the road, closing the distance between them as fast as he could. When he was close enough to read their license plate, he backed off a car length or two, gliding in their wake and cackling with the windows closed.
Chapter 50
They were in the media room, searching through stacks of video cassettes for that idiotic RAVE spot at 3:00 a.m. Linda found it in a pile on the floor and pushed the tape into the VCR. Frank grabbed the remote and hit REWIND.
Olson was dead. And Randolph and Grimes had been undercut by the U.S. Attorney, a man with political ambition who chased headlines. Frank guessed that the kind of headlines the U.S. Attorney sought didn’t include interfering with an election. Either he’d take the easy way out and sign off on Olson’s death as a suicide. Or he’d follow the trail to Frank’s client moving slower than Randolph and Grimes had. Without evidence implicating Merdock directly to the murders, the investigation would take into account Merdock’s sizable fortune and his ability to defend himself with a high-paid staff of attorneys. As a result, Frank thought it safe to assume that the investigation would be put off until after the election and that he’d be on his own for a while. Even worse, once Merdock won the election, and Frank knew with certainty that he would, his client would be protected by the power of his office. Mel Merdock would be a United States Senator. Getting to him after election day would be even more difficult than it was now.
Linda sat down at the table. The VCR clicked and Frank scanned through the head of the tape ignoring the snow on the TV screen. Before his murder, Olson had told his wife that he was excited about something in politics called RAVE. Frank remembered reading in The Post that Olson had been arrested at the airport after making a short trip to Atlanta. RAVE had offices in Washington and Atlanta.
The spot faded up. Frank remembered the ad and grimaced. That ridiculous TV wife was making dinner at the stove in a dress and jewelry while her asinine TV husband read the newspaper and ignored their child. The crucifix was placed on the wall behind them, screen right so that it couldn’t be missed.
“I was talking to Jane today,” the wife was saying, “and I forgot why we’re not voting for Lou Kay.”
The husband lowered his paper and looked at his wife as if she was ignorant. “We’re not voting for Lou Kay because he’s bad, honey.”
“But why is he bad?”
The husband chuckled. “Lou Kay doesn’t share our values.”
“He doesn’t share our values,” she repeated girlishly.
“You tell Jane that’s all she needs to know. I’ll talk to Dick on Sunday.”
The wife nodded, smiling like an obedient dog. Then the voice-over faded up as church bells rang.
“Paid for by the Committee for the Restoration of American Values and Ethics,” the announcer said.
Frank picked up the remote and hit STOP, thinking it over.
“If y
ou look at it one way, it’s crazy,” Linda said. “If you look at it another...”
“They’ve reversed the issues,” he said. “If you watch TV the way most people do, you’ll think Merdock stands for what Lou Kay does.”
He hadn’t noticed it before and it shook him up. The spot was more than just a twisted vision of the past. The message had been simplified to the point of poetry and worked like a stealth bomber. He had no doubt that it was only running in the most conservative districts of Virginia. The spot never brought up issues or details. It didn’t need to, nor would it have wanted to. Instead it got right to the heart of what every political ad tries to do with only thirty seconds; Lou Kay is the bad guy, it said, and Mel Merdock is good. The warped setting, along with the actors and that crucifix in the background, carried the entire payload. It was a work of near genius, designed to mislead its audience. However misguided, Frank realized that it was well done.
He started pacing. Linda had seen it, too.
“Do you really think the Merdocks are capable of this kind of sophistication?” she asked.
“No. They don’t have the experience. We’ve missed something.”
“Missed what?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Let’s get out of here.”
He started for the door, then turned back. He could see it in her face, the sight of Olson’s dead body still haunting her.
“Jason’s in L.A.” she said in a quiet voice. “I’m not sure I can be alone tonight.”
* * *
It was a dead sleep, entirely dreamless. The kind of sleep that seems too short and provides no answers. No rest. Frank woke up with his eyes fixed on the clock radio. Only fifteen minutes had passed since the last time he checked. He rolled over on his back. Sleep wasn’t going to happen tonight.
