by Lis Wiehl
Another west coast radio broadcaster who had reached national prominence said, “You know what? Jim would have loved this. He would have been here telling better stories than we are. If he were here, he would be interrupting us, talking over us, but we wouldn’t mind because he would be so darn interesting.”
The crowd, which had been in tears moments earlier, chuckled. And so it went, speaker after speaker, some famous, and more often as the service went on, not so famous. Cassidy took fewer and fewer notes. Instead she found herself contemplating the reality that Jim was gone and she would never see him again.
She didn’t realize she was crying until a hot tear splashed on her bare knee. Jim hadn’t even made it to forty-two. He died with a million dreams and plans. Someday she would die too. And what did she have to show for her life? A bubble of pain expanded in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She wished she could crawl back to her apartment, take another Somulex, and pull the covers up over her head.
Aaron was the last to speak. “Jim Fate was a patriot, a man who stood up to special interests, a man who wasn’t afraid to speak truth to power.” His voice grew strangled as he struggled not to cry. “Someone has tried to silence your voice, Jim, but you live on in our hearts. Rest in peace, gentle warrior.”
CHAPTER 31
Keller Auditorium
As the funeral ended, Allison rested her hand on her belly, wishing she was far enough along that she could feel the baby kicking. Dr. Dubruski had told her that it would be at least another month before that would happen. She wanted the reminder that life went on, that there were miracles to balance atrocities.
“Before we meet with Glover tomorrow, I think we should press Victoria harder,” Nicole said in a low voice when Allison met her in the lobby. “Move from informational to confrontational.”
“Now?” Victoria’s emotion had seemed honest. Then again, Allison’s emotions were right up against the surface. She needed to be more dispassionate.
“Now’s the best time. This service brought Jim back to life for everyone who attended—including her. They’re holding a smaller gathering for Jim at KNWS. Let’s talk to her there.”
A half hour later, the three of them were sequestered in a small conference room. “Look, we know this is a bad day for you, Victoria,” Allison said.
Her eyes were swollen. “You can say that again. I just buried my friend.”
“Your friend?” Nicole said, putting a sarcastic spin on it. “Why do you keep lying to us?”
Victoria’s head flew back as if she had been slapped. “What are you talking about?”
Allison let some of her tiredness show. “Look, you don’t have to pretend with us. This is just us, talking. And who’s more likely to snap—someone who sees Jim every day, someone who has to put up with all the things he does, or a listener who can simply turn the dial any time he gets fed up?”
Victoria scrubbed her face with the palms of her hands, smearing her mascara. “No, no, I can’t believe what you’re saying.”
Nicole said, “Let’s look at the facts, Victoria. Jim may have liked to stretch them, but everyone tell us you’re a stickler for the truth.” She held up one finger. “Fact number one: you are the one who gave Jim the package that killed him.” When Victoria started to object, Nicole said sternly, “Let me finish.” She held up two fingers. “Fact number two: you two argued all the time.” Three fingers. “Fact number three: we’ve heard from several people that for the last couple of weeks you weren’t even speaking to each other when you were off air.”
Victoria opened her mouth again, but Allison spoke first, not looking directly at her. She kept her voice flat, as if she were simply stating facts that they had already agreed upon. “Jim was condescending. He hogged the mike and talked over you when you managed to get a word in edgewise. And when you did talk back, he simply cut your mike so you couldn’t talk at all. He never wanted you to be part of the show. What happened could even have been some kind of temporary insanity, brought about by his constant badgering.”
“No. What are you saying? No.” Victoria shook her head, her eyes wide.
“You sent him anonymous threats,” Nicole said. “You were trying to get him to quit so you could take over the show. But when that didn’t work, you decided you needed to get him off the air permanently. So you rigged up a way to kill him, put it directly into his hands, and then made sure you left the room before he pulled the string.”
“That’s crazy. That package was in my box. If I hadn’t looked at the label, I might have opened it myself.”
“Look, if you tell us what really happened, we’ll make it easy on you,” Allison said soothingly. “Everyone will understand why you snapped. Jim wouldn’t stop harassing you. The evidence of how he treated you is all on tape. Any reasonable person would understand.”
“Are you on any kind of painkiller?” Nicole asked. “Got a relative who is?”
“Stop it right now! Stop it! You two are crazy. I did not kill Jim.” Victoria put her hands flat on the table. “It is true that Jim and I didn’t always see eye to eye. But I didn’t kill him.”
“What did you disagree about?” Allison asked, watching Victoria closely. She had seen killers cry at their victims’ funerals. But in truth, they only felt sorry for themselves.
“When I started here, I believed in the ethics of broadcast journalism. And Jim just laughed at me. Editorial, ads—it’s all blurred together now. There’s no difference. Jim was always shilling for the people who gave him Botox shots. It was embarrassing. And how about the contests he was constantly running? Do you really think they always give the concert tickets to the ninth caller? Or does Chris pick the one who sounds the most excited, or the one who fits the demographic that the station wants?”
“But those are old arguments,” Nic said. “And what we heard was that something new happened between you two recently. Something that pretty much made you stop talking to each other. So what was it?”
“I was angry at him. You’re right about that.”
“Why? What happened?”
After a long hesitation, Victoria said in a rush, “I found out that he was grooming someone to take my place. But as Jim would say, it wasn’t personal; it was business. I would never kill anyone over that. Especially not like that. Watching Jim die and knowing there was nothing I could do to help—it was the worst moment in my life.”
“Do you know who it was?” Allison asked.
“He wouldn’t say.” Victoria stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go back to the gathering and remember why so many people hung on Jim’s every word.”
“What do you think?” Nicole asked after Victoria had left.
“If she hadn’t stayed behind with him, I think she would be my number one suspect.”
“Yeah,” Nicole agreed. “I’m beginning to think she doesn’t feel right for this. And neither do the Gardners. But—”
Allison’s phone rang, and she held up a finger to ask Nicole to wait. “Hello?”
“Hey, Allison, it’s Joyce over at Child Protective Services. I thought I’d give you an update about the little girl you found downtown during the evacuation. We were finally able to locate her family.”
“What? Are you saying Estella has been in foster care this whole time?” Allison’s heart sank as she wondered what it had been like for her, all alone with a new set of strangers. At work, Allison had managed to put the girl out of her thoughts. It all seemed like a dream, anyway, picking up a toddler and running through the streets while the city went crazy around her. Now it was as if Estella were again clinging to her trustingly, looking up at Allison with her dark eyes.
“It turns out Estella’s mother’s not in the country legally, so she was afraid to come forward.”
“Oh.” Allison let the news sink in. “So what happens next?”
“We’ll give the child back to her and let them go on with their lives. We’re not ICE.” ICE was Immigration and Customs Enfor
cement. “Estella was born here, so she’s a citizen, which means she doesn’t fall under ICE’s jurisdiction, anyway. Her mother may be subject to deportation, but it’s not our job to start that process. We’re all about reuniting families, not separating them. And the girl seems well cared for.”
“Have you met the mom?”
“Just this morning. Her name’s Ana. She asked about you. She is overwhelmingly grateful that you tried to help her daughter. She kept crying and grabbing my hand and praising God. She wants to thank you. I told her I needed to check with you before I gave out any information.”
Allison didn’t have to think twice. “Give her my phone number, my address—anything she wants.” Part of her had been hoping she might see Estella again. “So what’s the mom’s story?”
“Ana got a tourist visa eight years ago, but then just stayed on. It’s only one of the reasons we didn’t hear from her until now. She also doesn’t speak much English, and she doesn’t have Internet access. She works as a cleaning lady for private citizens. She never married Estella’s father, who doesn’t have contact with the girl. Estella’s babysitter— who is also her cousin—was with her downtown when the two got separated. The cousin’s not legal either.” Joyce sighed. “The same kind of situation happened on 9/11. Several dozen undocumented immigrants died in the Twin Towers: deliverymen, busboys, janitors, construction workers. It took a long time to figure out about them too. Relatives were reluctant to come forward.”
“What happens if the authorities do catch up with Ana?”
“Mexicans without papers are automatically deported. Some people think these kids are ‘anchor babies,’ but it doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t matter that the kids are citizens. Three million American children have at least one parent who is illegal. But if you’re here illegally, whether your kids are legal or not, you’ll still be deported if you’re caught. And if that happens, the only way your children can stay in America is if you leave them with someone who is a citizen. And the kids can’t appeal for their parents to become citizens until they themselves turn twenty-one.”
In Oregon, nearly every person holding a leaf blower or a broom had a brown face. And then there was all the produce that was grown in the state. Cherries, apples, potatoes, pears, strawberries, peas, beans—none of it could be grown and harvested without the help of illegal immigrants. Allison didn’t know what the solution was. Some people said Americans didn’t want such backbreaking work, others that they would willingly take the jobs if they paid more, still others that the farmers couldn’t afford to pay ten dollars an hour.
And in the middle was a sweet little girl who hadn’t had any say on where she was born.
CHAPTER 32
Mark O. Hatfield United States Courthouse
Saturday, February 11
Congressman Quentin Glover didn’t come to his meeting with Allison and Nicole alone. Michael Stone, Portland’s most high-profile lawyer, was at his side. Allison was careful to keep her face neutral. She had tangled with Stone before.
Stone was the go-to guy for people with deep pockets who were in deep doo-doo. If you were accused of paying to have sex with a child, or if you were a doctor fighting a malpractice case that had left a mother and baby dead, or a parent whose teenager had shot a cop, then Stone was the guy you wanted sitting at the defense table. It was rumored that he never took a vacation, never took a day off, never even slept.
Stone was as famous for his expensive suits as he was for his high-profile clients. Today he was dapper in charcoal pinstripes. His black shoes were like individual works of art. In her two-inch heels, Allison was eye to eye with Stone’s intense, ice-blue gaze.
Quentin Glover didn’t cut nearly as impressive a figure. He had a ring of graying brown hair and a potbelly ill concealed by what appeared to be an off-the-rack suit.
“How you ladies doin’?” Stone said as he shook their hands, his teeth gleaming against his tan face. After they had all murmured pleasantries, Allison led them into a conference room that overlooked the Willamette River.
“We appreciate your coming in to talk to us, Congressman Glover,” she said after everyone was settled. “We’re talking to many people who knew Jim Fate, in the hope that they can help shed some light on what happened to him.”
“Whatever I can do to help.” Glover offered them a smile that left as quickly as it had come.
“Why don’t you start by telling us about your relationship with Jim Fate,” Nicole said.
Stone gave Glover an encouraging nod.
“He went to college with my wife, Lael. When I met him, we clicked. We were good friends for years. We went out to dinner, golfed, even went salmon fishing together. Even after everything that’s happened, I’m shocked that he’s dead. It’s pretty unbelievable.”
“You said you ‘were’ friends,” Allison observed.
“It’s no secret that we had had a falling-out.” Glover shook his head ruefully. “In fact, anyone who has seen those ridiculous commercials or listened to Jim’s show in the last few weeks would probably be surprised to learn that we had ever been friends.”
“And what caused this falling-out?” Nicole asked.
“What Jim would tell you about that and what the truth was are two entirely different things.” He sighed.
Allison was sure that every word, every hesitation, had been rehearsed with Stone. “What do you mean?”
“A couple of years ago, it came out in the media that I had had a brief relationship with a female aide.” Glover cleared his throat and looked away. “I came clean about it and asked forgiveness from my constituents and my wife. I was reelected, and Lael forgave me.” He shook his head. “Jim never did. As a result, he’s tried to make out that a few simple paperwork errors my accountant made were some kind of elaborate kickback scheme. He’s been harping on it so much that the real media have picked it up, and now even the House Ethics Committee is involved. When it’s totally ridiculous. I paid every bill that was ever presented to me. But Jim didn’t care if the allegations were true or false. He had already turned against me. Jim always liked my wife. Maybe more than he should have.”
This was a new angle. Allison said, “I’ve been looking over the transcripts from The Hand of Fate. In the last forty shows, he mentioned your name in thirty-two of them. How did you feel about that?”
Glover shrugged. “We all have our roles to play. I guess Jim decided to forget that he was ever my friend. He tried to build himself up by tearing me down. Anything for ratings. Of course, Lael doesn’t speak to him anymore. It’s been stressful, not just for me, but for my whole family.”
“And Quentin’s mother just passed away from cancer,” Stone added.
Glover gave a sharp shake of his head. “I don’t want to bring that up. I’m not looking for any sympathy.”
“I’m so sorry,” Allison said. “Was your mother in a lot of pain?” It was just a hunch, but she followed it. Sometimes it paid to trust your gut.
He snorted. “With bone cancer? Of course she was. Even the pain patches didn’t touch it.” He started to say something more, but Stone cut him off.
“I’m sorry, we’ve wandered off course. We’re here to talk about Jim Fate.”
Pain patches. And the medical examiner had said that Fate had died from some kind of opiate. As soon as this interview was over, Allison would request a subpoena to conduct a search of everything connected to Glover. It would take about an hour to prepare and get it to the judge, and she didn’t want to give Glover time to destroy evidence.
She put her hand to her brow, making a face as if she were in pain. She needed an excuse they wouldn’t question. But Stone was shrewd. He would sniff out a lie in a second, so she had to tell something close to the truth. “Would you gentlemen mind if we postponed this interview?” Allison said. “I’m not feeling well.”
Nicole’s face showed nothing. Only her eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly.
“Are you all right?” Stone put on
a look of concern.
Allison took a deep breath. “The doctors have been running some tests.” She thought of how they checked her blood sugar at each prenatal visit. “I haven’t disclosed this to anyone, so I’m relying on your discretion.”
Both men nodded, losing focus, Allison hoped, on exactly what they had been talking about when the break in the interview occurred.
“I hope everything turns out okay.” Glover seemed genuinely worried.
“I hope we can reschedule,” Allison said, “and continue this at a later date.”
“Of course, of course,” Stone said, while Glover nodded.
Once the two women were alone in Allison’s office, Nicole raised one eyebrow. “Running some tests?”
“It wasn’t a lie.” Allison felt a little defensive.
“Uh-huh.” Nicole nodded, tweaking her a little. “And it should keep them from thinking about what we just learned. Glover’s mother was on a pain patch—and I think that’s usually some kind of opiate.” Dialing a number from memory, she pressed the button for the speakerphone.
“Tony, it’s Nic. And Allison Pierce is here with me. Hey, have you figured out what killed Fate yet?”
His voice floated up to them. “Are you worried that I’m holding out on you? I’ll let you know as soon as I do. The lab is still working on coming up with a match. It would help if we had any clues as to what drug might be involved.”
“I’ve just learned something. Congressman Glover’s mother was living with him and his wife until recently. And then she died.”
Tony’s tone was puzzled. “Are you saying you think he killed his mother?”
“What I’m saying is that she had cancer. And she was on pain patches.”
“Pain patches? That has to have been fentanyl.” There was a long pause as Tony considered it. “Someone could scrape the fentanyl off the patches, dissolve it in rubbing alcohol, and then aerosolize it. It’s possible.”
