Executive Privilege

by Phillip Margolin

  At the office, Evans was bombarded with questions as soon as he stepped out of the elevator. He assured everyone that he and Maggie were okay. He had almost reached his office when Justice Kineer’s secretary grabbed him and led him to the justice’s office for a private, detailed account of the motel shoot-out.

  Evans finally made it to his office at ten-thirty. The first thing he noticed was a thick folder sitting squarely in the center of his desk. He sat down and read the tab. It was Dana Cutler’s classified file. Evans opened it and blinked. He found himself looking at photographs that documented a scene so gruesome that it took a while for his brain to process it.

  Three men were sprawled on the floor in different parts of a rec room. There was a pool table in the middle of the scene, and Evans noticed a pool cue on the floor next to the right arm of one of the victims, a burly, bearded man wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. When he looked closer, Evans realized that the man’s right hand was not connected to the arm. He also noticed several deep, slashing wounds on the man’s face, neck, chest, and legs. The body was drenched in blood.

  Evans shuffled through the stack of photographs. The other men had also been hacked to pieces. Evans tried to remember if he’d ever seen such carnage and the closest he could come to it was an act of Russian Mafia vengeance that had wiped out an entire family. But those murders had been carried out unemotionally in an orderly manner because the executioners had been interested in sending a message. These killings suggested pure savagery.

  A second set of photographs portrayed a fourth victim who had been discovered in the basement. A chain that ended in an open manacle lay near his body. A close-up of the victim’s face showed a jagged piece of glass protruding from the man’s left eye and several bullet holes in his face.

  There was an audiocassette of Dana Cutler’s statement in the file and a transcript of the tape. Before listening to the tape, Evans read through the police reports. A squad of D.C. narcotics detectives had responded to a call from Dana that directed them to a house in a rural area near the Maryland shore. The narcotics officers had lost contact with her three days before when the meth cook she was traveling with gave them the slip. The reporting officer noted that Dana spoke in a monotone and could barely be heard. She refused to discuss what had happened when asked and restricted her conversation to directions that would bring the police to her.

  When the police arrived at the house they found Dana sitting in the rec room near the phone staring into space. She was naked and covered in gore. A blood-soaked ax lay at her feet next to two.357 Magnum handguns. The dead men all had lengthy police records and had been arrested for or charged with multiple assaults, rapes, and murders. A report written after talking to the physician who had treated Dana at the hospital informed Evans that she had suffered several savage beatings over every part of her body and had been raped repeatedly. She had been transferred to a psychiatric hospital as soon as her physical problems had been treated.

  Evans put the cassette in a tape recorder and pressed the play button. He had to turn the volume up because Dana spoke in a voice that was barely audible and she slurred her words, giving the impression that she was drugged or exhausted. The interview was conducted by Detective Aubrey Carmichael, who asked Dana what had happened after she arrived at the meth lab.

  “They hit me,” Dana answered.

  “Hit you how?” Aubrey asked.

  “On the head. I don’t remember much. When I came to I was chained by the leg to the wall in the basement.”

  “What happened after you woke up?”

  “They beat me and they raped me. I was naked. They kept me naked.”

  Evans heard sobs on the tape. Aubrey offered Dana water. There was no sound on the tape for a while. Then the conversation resumed.

  “How did you escape?” the detective asked.

  “Brady was drinking beer while he waited to rape me.”

  “Brady is the cook?”

  “Yes. He put the bottle down. It was empty. He forgot to take it with him. He came down later to rape me again. He was alone. He…he was in me. His eyes were closed. When he opened them I…”

  “It’s okay. We can fill in the details when you’re better.”

  “I won’t be better. Not ever.”

  Evans lost contact with his surroundings as he listened to Dana Cutler describe her walk up the cellar steps with Brady’s Magnum in one hand and an ax in the other. She had taken the other gang members by surprise while they were playing pool and shot them in their legs and shoulders, disabling them. Then she’d taken the ax to each of them. Dana’s account was sketchy because she didn’t remember a lot of what she’d done.

  Reports from the mental hospital characterized her as suffering post-traumatic stress disorder and extreme depression. Dana experienced recurring nightmares and flashbacks. She had become an outpatient almost a year after being admitted.

  “Jesus Christ,” Evans muttered when he finished the file. He could not begin to imagine what Dana had felt during her ordeal and he felt an overwhelming need to find her and protect her.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  “We have problems,” Charles Hawkins told President Farrington.

  “I don’t want to hear about any problems now, Chuck. I’ve got to go on television in ten minutes and try to save my campaign.”

  “You need to hear this. Cutler escaped again.”

  Farrington gaped at his friend. “What’s wrong with you? She’s one woman.”

  “She’s very resourceful.”

  “You’ve got to eliminate her. She can blow the story I’m going to tell the American people to pieces. I need Cutler dead.”

  “Calm down. We’ll get her.”

  Farrington fumed silently for a moment. Then he noticed that Hawkins looked like he had more to say.

  “Out with it. What else happened?”

  “Two of our men were killed, a cop was killed, too, and an FBI agent was wounded.”

  “She was involved in the shoot-out in West Virginia?”

  Hawkins nodded.

  “That’s been the lead on every news show. With a dead cop and a wounded FBI agent the investigation will be massive.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m on top of it.”

  “You’d better be.” Farrington shook his head. “A dead cop and a wounded FBI agent. How could this happen?”

  “Look, it’s too bad about the cop and the agent, but they’re collateral damage. The important thing is that there’s nothing pointing toward the White House and there won’t be. Our men can’t be traced. They don’t carry ID on a mission, and their prints have been erased from the system.”

  “Is there any more bad news?”

  “There is one other minor problem. Marsha Erickson was told to call Dale Perry if there was ever any trouble. She didn’t know he was dead and she called him. Mort Rickstein handled the call. She told him that Brad Miller, an associate with the Reed, Briggs firm in Oregon, tried to pump her for information about you and Laurie Erickson.”

  “What did she tell Miller?” Farrington asked, alarmed.

  “Nothing. She refused to talk to him just like we told her to do if anyone ever asked about her daughter. And we don’t have to worry about the associate. Mort is a friend of Susan Tuchman. She’s been supervising this kid. She promised to read him the riot act.”

  Farrington smiled. “Poor bastard. If Sue is on his case we won’t have to worry.”

  “Too true, but I am concerned about Erickson. She’s a lush. She won’t be able to deal with the pressure if her daughter’s case gets reopened.”

  A bead of sweat marred Farrington’s makeup, which had been carefully applied just before Hawkins had come in and banished the makeup artist.

  “My God! If anyone links Laurie’s murder to Charlotte’s…”

  “They won’t. I’ll take care of it like I always do. So don’t worry. Concentrate on your speech. While you’re winning over the public I’ll be taking care of the loose ends.�
�

  Hawkins spent a few more minutes calming his friend. Then he left him and used a secure White House line to make a call.

  “Hey,” he said to the man who answered. “Remember that potential problem we discussed? Why don’t you take care of it? And do not fuck up this time.”

  When Christopher Farrington stared into the lens of the television camera he felt certain that he looked humble and contrite because his press secretary, Clem Hutchins, had secretly flown in one of the best acting coaches in New York to train him to look humble and contrite on cue. Standing at Farrington’s shoulder was Claire Meadows Farrington, obviously with child and the very model of the loving and supportive wife.

  “My fellow Americans, several days ago a Washington, D.C., newspaper published a story that implied that I’d had an extramarital affair with a young woman named Charlotte Walsh. What made this story so sad was the tragic fact that Miss Walsh’s life was snuffed out by a degenerate criminal, who, fortunately, has been captured, due to the brilliant work of an FBI task force.

  “I could stonewall the newspaper’s allegations but that would mean stonewalling you, the American public, the very people I am asking to trust me with shepherding our country through the next four years. How can I ask you to trust me with your vote if I’m not willing to discuss these accusations with you openly and honestly?”

  Farrington bowed his head, as he’d been instructed to do. Then he took a breath, as if he was composing himself, and once again addressed his audience.

  “I met Miss Walsh briefly at my campaign headquarters where she was a volunteer. Without my knowledge, she told my assistant, Charles Hawkins, that she wanted to help our campaign by pretending to be a supporter of Senator Maureen Gaylord and infiltrating her headquarters. Mr. Hawkins told her that it would be unethical to spy on Senator Gaylord, and he rejected the offer. Unfortunately, Miss Walsh volunteered at Senator Gaylord’s headquarters despite Mr. Hawkins’s stern warning that she should not do so.

  “The newspaper story appeared in Exposed, a weekly supermarket tabloid that is not known for honesty in reporting. The so-called facts behind the story were credited to an unnamed source, and no effort was made to check on the truth of the allegations before the story was printed.

  “The story in Exposed featured photographs that showed me and Miss Walsh together. On the evening that the photographs were taken, Miss Walsh phoned Mr. Hawkins and told him-without revealing how she had obtained them-that she had copies of documents that proved that Senator Gaylord had a secret slush fund that clearly violated the campaign financing laws. She offered to bring these documents to him. Mr. Hawkins was supposed to accompany me to a farm where I was to take part in a meeting involving matters of state security, the details of which I cannot discuss tonight. He arranged to have Miss Walsh driven to the farm where the pictures were taken.

  “Unexpected events conspired to create the situation in which I find myself. First, I asked my wife to represent me at a fund-raiser at which I was supposed to speak. Just before I left for my meeting, Claire told me she was pregnant. I was overjoyed but I was also concerned about her speaking in public in her delicate condition.”

  Farrington smiled warmly. “Those of you who know the first lady know that she is as tough as nails. You don’t get to be an all-American and a medical doctor if you can’t handle pressure. Claire assured me that she would be fine, but I insisted that Mr. Hawkins accompany her. Chuck is one of our oldest and dearest friends and I wanted to make certain that he would be with Claire should anything go wrong.”

  At this strategic moment, Claire, as instructed, gazed lovingly at her husband and took his hand. The president returned her adoring gaze with one of his own. Then he returned to his audience.

  “When I arrived at the farm I learned that the people I was supposed to meet had been forced to cancel at the last minute. Then Miss Walsh arrived. Mr. Hawkins had briefed me about his conversation with her, but I had forgotten about Miss Walsh because of the excitement over Claire’s pregnancy and my preparations for the meeting.

  “Miss Walsh and I went upstairs to discuss the documents she had brought. As soon as we were alone, Miss Walsh gave me what she claimed was a list of secret contributors to Senator Gaylord’s campaign. Then she told me that she had posed as a volunteer to infiltrate Senator Gaylord’s campaign headquarters and had stolen the list from the desk of Reginald Styles, Senator Gaylord’s campaign manager. As soon as I learned what she had done I told her that I could not accept the list because it was stolen property. At that point Miss Walsh began to make sexual advances toward me.

  “Presidents are also human beings, and Miss Walsh was very attractive. I admit to you that I was tempted, but I swear to you that I fought the temptation to betray my wife. I told her to stop what she was doing. I explained that I had just learned that my wife was expecting our second child and that I loved her very much and would never cheat on her. I told Miss Walsh that her behavior was very inappropriate and I reiterated that stealing from Senator Gaylord was illegal. Then I asked her to leave.

  “At this point, Miss Walsh started yelling at me. I left the room, and Miss Walsh continued her tirade as she descended the stairs. She implied she had just slept with me and stormed out of the house, shouting. This was extremely embarrassing, but in light of what we have discovered since the incident, I believe I can offer an explanation for her behavior. I believe that Miss Walsh planned to help my opponent’s campaign all along.

  “When Miss Walsh left the upstairs room she also left the alleged slush fund document. An analysis of the document has led us to conclude that the list is a fake. Had we gone public with this list my campaign would have been embarrassed. I do not know if Senator Gaylord or people working for her used Miss Walsh to try and create a scandal that would assist the senator in winning the presidency or if this plan was solely of Miss Walsh’s devising. I do know that very few people knew where Miss Walsh was supposed to meet Mr. Hawkins, yet a photographer conveniently appeared at the farm and took pictures which made it appear that Miss Walsh and I were having a lover’s spat. Then these pictures conveniently appeared in Exposed.”

  The president squeezed Claire’s hand and looked directly into the camera lens.

  “One mistake that those behind this scheme made was to believe that I would cheat to win an election. They also erred when they decided that I would violate my marriage vows. Finally, they miscalculated when they concluded that you, the American public, would believe this smear.

  “Claire Farrington is the most important person in my life; she is my life. I would never disgrace her, my son, Patrick, or the child Claire is carrying by engaging in the disgraceful conduct that the story that appeared in Exposed suggested. This is what I swear to you, my fellow Americans, and I trust you to judge if I am sincere, I trust you to see through the veil of lies that someone has woven. Thank you.”

  Farrington nodded to the camera and exited, holding Claire’s hand. As soon as they were off camera, Claire turned to her husband.

  “You were magnificent.”

  “Clem and Chuck wrote the speech,” Chris said, blushing.

  “But you delivered it. I can’t wait to see the polls.”

  Charles Hawkins hung around listening to the reporters long enough to get a sense for how well the speech had gone over. There was a lot of skepticism but there were a significant number of media members who seemed to have bought what Farrington had been selling and others who weren’t certain where the truth lay. Hawkins believed that the American public was much more gullible than the press, who were by and large professional skeptics. The chances were good that the story would fly with the voters if a substantial portion of the press corps was buying it. The only fly in the ointment was Dana Cutler, who had seen the lights go out in the bedroom of the farmhouse and knew how long they’d been out, which was something you couldn’t tell from the pictures that Exposed had published. Another problem Cutler presented was that she could testify that s
he’d been hired by Dale Perry and not by someone working for Senator Gaylord.

  Hawkins left the press room and started toward his office when a large man with sandy hair stepped into his path.

  “Mr. Hawkins,” Keith Evans said as he displayed his credentials, “can I have a few minutes of your time?”

  “I’m really very busy. What’s this about?”

  “My name is Keith Evans and I’m the FBI agent-in-charge of the Ripper Task Force.”

  “Oh, yes. That was good work.”

  “Thanks. I hope we’ve been doing a good job of keeping the White House up-to-date on the Ripper case. I tried to make sure you had a complete set of our investigative reports.”

  “The president appreciates the excellent job you’ve done. So, what did you want to see me about? Is there some way we can help with the Ripper?”

  “I’m not here to talk about Eric Loomis. I’m on temporary assignment to Justice Kineer, the independent counsel.”

  Hawkins’s friendly smile disappeared. “You mean the grand inquisitor, don’t you? What makes you think I’d cooperate with Maureen Gaylord’s witch hunt?”

  Evans laughed. “We like to think of our investigation as an official inquiry authorized by an act of Congress. And I only have a few general questions for you.”

  “Such as?”

  “In his speech, the president said that you invited Charlotte Walsh to the safe house.”

  “That’s what the president said.”

  “Then President Farrington asked you to accompany his wife to the fund-raiser.”

  “You know all this from the speech.”

  “Right. What I don’t know is what you and the president talked about when you got to the farmhouse.”

  Hawkins flashed a cold smile. “I’m sure you appreciate that I can’t discuss conversations I’ve had with the president of the United States.”

  “You’re not an attorney or a priest, are you?”

  “No.”