Chapter Thirty-eight
Brad was pacing the fifth-floor corridor of the St. Francis Medical Center waiting to learn how Dana Cutler’s surgery had gone when the elevator doors opened and Susan Tuchman stormed out. Her eyes lasered in on Brad, and he could almost see the red dot marking the spot on his heart where Tuchman was going to shoot her death ray.
“What did I tell you would happen if I caught you mucking around in the Little case?” Tuchman said as she bore down on him.
Brad faced the onslaught with utter calm. Until this moment, Brad’s encounters with Susan Tuchman had either unnerved or depressed him. But the verbal bullets of the furious attorney lacked the power to frighten someone who had just survived a shoot-out featuring live ammunition.
“Did you hear my question, Mr. Miller?” Tuchman asked as she halted inches from him.
“Why are you here?”
“Instead of worrying about why I’m here, you should be worrying about where you’re going to be working tomorrow. So let me put your mind at ease. You don’t have to worry about your tenure at Reed, Briggs anymore. As of this moment, you are no longer our employee. You’re fired.”
“Good,” Brad said coolly. “I don’t think working at your sweatshop is that great.”
Tuchman blinked. This was hardly the reaction she’d expected.
“I’d still like an answer to my question,” Brad persisted. “Why have you suddenly appeared in this hospital in the middle of the night?”
“That is none of your business, Mr. Miller.”
“Did your buddy at Kendall, Barrett tell you to shut down Marsha Erickson?”
“This conversation is over,” Tuchman said as she walked by him.
“Mrs. Erickson would be dead if I’d paid any attention to your unethical order to ignore the possible innocence of a Reed, Briggs client,” Brad yelled after her, but Tuchman paid no attention and kept walking toward the nurses’ station.
Brad wished he had the power to make Tuchman answer, but he didn’t. His job was gone along with his salary and any prestige that being an associate at Reed, Briggs might have conferred. He’d been fired, which could have an impact on his future as an attorney. Brad didn’t care. He had his dignity and his integrity, and truth be told, he was relieved that he would not have to toil fourteen hours a day solving boring problems for unappreciative egomaniacs.
The elevator doors opened again to reveal a large man with thinning sandy hair who matched the description of Keith Evans that Dana Cutler had given him. A very attractive woman sporting wicked-looking stitches on her right cheek accompanied him.
“Agent Evans?” Brad asked.
The man stopped. “Brad Miller?”
“Yes.”
“Pleased to meet you. This is my partner, Margaret Sparks. We flew out as fast as we could. How is Dana Cutler doing?”
“She’s in surgery. She was shot in the shoulder. The doctor told me that she lost a lot of blood but she’ll recover. He just doesn’t know how badly her shoulder was injured.”
“Can you fill me in on what’s been going on out here?”
“That can wait until we head off Susan Tuchman. She’s a very powerful attorney who works for Reed, Briggs, the state’s biggest law firm. I’m certain she’s going to Marsha Erickson’s room to try to get her to stonewall you.”
Evans smiled. “She may have a problem.”
When they arrived at Marsha Erickson’s room, an irate Susan Tuchman was berating a solid young man who stood in front of the patient’s door.
“I do understand that you’re an attorney, ma’am, but my orders are to admit no one except medical personnel,” Erickson’s guard said.
“Give me the name of your superior,” Tuchman demanded.
“Hi. I’m Keith Evans, and I ordered the guard for Mrs. Erickson. What’s the problem?”
Tuchman’s anger turned to confusion when she saw Brad standing beside Evans, but she recovered quickly.
“I am Susan Tuchman, Mrs. Erickson’s attorney, and I have a right to speak to her.”
“You might, if she was under arrest, but she’s a victim, so she doesn’t need a lawyer.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Tuchman said.
Evans smiled patiently. “Not in this case, Ms. Tuchman. A real judge will have to decide whether you can see Mrs. Erickson. But I’m curious. Have you represented Mrs. Erickson in the past?”
“No.”
“Then why do you think you’re Mrs. Erickson’s lawyer?”
“I’m afraid that’s privileged.”
Evans nodded. “I respect that. But I’m still confused. I’ve been in contact with the police, the agents I sent to Mrs. Erickson’s house, and the hospital. According to my information, Mrs. Erickson hasn’t phoned anyone tonight. If you’ve never represented her and she didn’t ask you to come here, why should we let you see her?”
Tuchman looked unsure of herself for the first time since Brad had met her. She didn’t appear to know what to say. Evans smiled again.
“I’m sorry you had to lose sleep, Ms. Tuchman, but there’s not much you can do here.”
“I was contacted by Morton Rickstein of Kendall, Barrett, a Washington, D.C., law firm. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”
“I certainly have,” Evans said.
“Kendall, Barrett represents Mrs. Erickson, and Mr. Rickstein asked me to stand in for him until he arrives. I hope that satisfies you, Agent Evans. Now, please let me speak to my client.”
“We still have a problem. If Mrs. Erickson didn’t phone for help, she didn’t ask Mr. Rickstein to represent her either. So, we’re back to square one. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”
Tuchman looked furious, but she was smart enough to know when to back down.
“I will be in touch with your superiors, Agent Evans. Good night.”
“It looks like you’re not going to get your way, for once,” Brad said.
Tuchman glared at him then stomped off without saying another word. Evans turned to Brad.
“Before I talk to Mrs. Erickson, I think it would be a good idea if you told me why you think President Farrington was involved with the murder of her daughter.”
Marsha Erickson was a mess. Her broken nose was bandaged, her right cheek had been stitched, and her bruised and bloodshot eyes followed the agents warily when Evans and Sparks walked into her room.
“Good evening, Mrs. Erickson. How are you feeling?” Evans said.
“Who are you?” she asked.
Evans heard the tremor in her voice and smiled to calm her. He was certain that she’d been crying.
“We’re not anyone you have to fear. I’m Keith Evans, an FBI agent assigned to the independent counsel’s office. This is my partner, Margaret Sparks. We’re here to guard you from the people who are trying to kill you. I’ve made sure that agents will be posted outside your door as long as you’re in the hospital, and I’m here to offer you protection when you’re discharged.”
“What do I have to do to get protected?” Erickson asked, her suspicions edging aside her fear.
“Mrs. Erickson, the United States Congress has charged our office with the task of determining President Farrington’s involvement-if any-in the murder of a young woman named Charlotte Walsh. I assume you’re aware of the matter, since it’s been front-page news.”
Erickson nodded warily.
“You know about the D.C. Ripper, the serial killer?”
Erickson nodded again.
“At first, we thought that Miss Walsh was a victim of the Ripper. Now we think that the person who killed her copied the MO of the Ripper to throw us off the track. We also have evidence that suggests that President Farrington may have been having an affair with Miss Walsh.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“A serial killer named Clarence Little was convicted of kidnapping and murdering your daughter while she was babysitting for Christopher Farrington when he was the governor of
Oregon. We have evidence that suggests that someone else killed Laurie and copied Mr. Little’s MO in the same way that someone may have copied the MO of the D.C. Ripper in the Walsh case.
“I know you’ve been through hell. You’ve had to deal with the death of a child and this vicious attack. I don’t want to cause you any more pain, but I have to ask. Do you have any reason to believe that President Farrington was intimate with your daughter?”
“I can’t talk about that.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to, for several reasons, the most important being that telling us the truth will keep you alive. I know what happened at your house. You’d be dead if Dana Cutler and Brad Miller hadn’t saved you. If you continue to protect Christopher Farrington, and he’s behind this attack, it won’t help you stay alive. He’ll always be better off with you dead. Then you can never tell what you know.
“And you won’t be able to keep your secret anyway. The independent counsel has subpoena powers. I can always take you in front of a grand jury. If you don’t answer questions there, you could be sent to jail for contempt. I really don’t want to resort to that option because I feel very sorry about all you’ve gone through. It would be cruel to punish you that way. But I am prepared to do what I must to learn what you know.
“If you think about it, your interests and our interests are the same. We both want you alive. And here’s something to think about. Once we know what you know, the president won’t have any reason to kill you because the cat will be out of the bag. So, what do you say?”
Erickson looked down at her blanket, and Evans let her think. When she looked up, her eyes were filled with tears.
“I don’t know what to do. He was so good to me and he said he didn’t do those things. He said he was paying me the money because I was always a good secretary and because he felt bad that Laurie was kidnapped from his house.”
“But you had reason to disbelieve him, didn’t you?” Evans asked gently.
Erickson bit her lip. Then she nodded.
“Why didn’t you believe Farrington was telling the truth?”
Erickson tried to speak, but she was too choked up. There was a glass of water on her nightstand. Sparks handed it to her. She took a sip. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and wept.
“She was all I had, and she was so good. When she told me…” Erickson shook her head. “I feel so guilty. I wouldn’t believe her. I told her she was a liar and I promised to punish her if she ever said anything like that again. But she’d never lied to me before. Not about anything important. I should have believed her.”
“What did she tell you, Mrs. Erickson?” Evans asked.
“She told me…She said Chris-the governor-had bothered her.”
“When was this?”
“Months before-I don’t remember exactly-but months before she was…”
“Take your time.”
Erickson sipped some more water.
“Can you tell us exactly what your daughter told you? Did she describe how Governor Farrington was bothering her?”
Erickson nodded. “She said that he was touching her in places, her breasts. Sometimes he would put his arm around her shoulder and pull her close. She said he tried to kiss her once.”
“Did she say she resisted?”
“Yes, she told me she didn’t like it.”
“How did she react when you told her you thought she was lying?”
“She was very upset. She cried and she…she swore at me.”
“Did you ever bring up the subject again?”
“No.”
“Did she?”
“No.” Erickson shook her head and took more water. Tears glistened in her eyes. “I should have believed her, but I was afraid. And, at first, I didn’t believe her. Chris had been so good to me-to us. When my husband left me he made sure I’d be okay financially. He handled the divorce for free. He was good to Laurie, too. He bought her nice presents for her birthday and…”
Erickson stopped. She seemed exhausted.
“Did you notice any changes in your daughter between the time she made the complaint and the time of her death?”
“Yes. She grew distant, cold. She started wearing makeup and dressing differently, more grown-up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Provocatively.”
“Sexy?” Sparks asked.
“Yes. And she was, I don’t know, more adult. I was upset by the way she was acting. I spoke to her about it, but that always led to arguments.”
“Did she ever mention the governor again? Did she complain about him?”
Erickson shook her head.
“Mrs. Erickson,” Evans said, “I’ve heard rumors about another girl Mr. Farrington may have molested, a Rhonda Pulaski. Do you know anything about that?”
Erickson wouldn’t look Evans in the eye. “I heard some things when I was his secretary at the law firm and the case was in the office. There was gossip, but I didn’t believe that either.”
“Don’t get down on yourself,” Evans said. “It’s always hard to believe the worst about someone you know well.”
Erickson didn’t respond.
“Mrs. Erickson, you said that Mr. Farrington paid you money after your daughter died.”
“Yes.”
“Were there any conditions attached to receiving the money?”
“I had to promise that I would never tell that he was paying me and I had to promise that I would never discuss anything about Laurie and the governor with anyone. If I did, the payments would stop. That’s why I was frightened when the lawyer showed up.”
“Brad Miller?”
“Yes. That money is all I have. And the house. President Farrington owns my house. I’d lose that, too.”
“Who sent you the money?”
“Dale Perry. He was a lawyer with the Kendall, Barrett law firm in Washington, D.C. They told me he died.”
“That’s true.”
“He was from Oregon. He knew Chris in college. He told me that the governor was doing this from the heart, that he didn’t have to. It was to help me.”
“Did you sign an agreement when you received the money?”
“Yes.”
“There was an actual paper you signed?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a copy?”
“Mr. Perry said he would send it to me, but he never did.”
“Did you ask for it?”
“What with the funeral and all, I forgot for a while. Then the money came each month and I didn’t think I needed the paper.”
Evans hid his excitement. He would subpoena the document to prove that Farrington had bought Erickson’s silence and he would subpoena bank records to document the payments. He was about to continue questioning Mrs. Erickson when the door opened and a thick-necked agent stuck his head into the room.
“We have a problem. The John Doe lawyered up.”
“How did he do that?” Evans asked. “I left strict instructions that he was not allowed to call out.”
“He didn’t. He’s still out from the operation. This guy just showed up. He says his name is Joseph Aiello and he claims ‘Doe’ retained him.”
“This is like that stunt in the circus,” Sparks said, “but instead of clowns coming out of the little car, we have lawyers.”
Evans’s brow furrowed. Sparks was right. Too many lawyers were showing up on too short notice. How did Rickstein, who was three thousand miles away, know about a shoot-out in the boonies in Oregon? Why would someone tell him about it in the wee hours of the morning? The person who sent “John Doe” to kill Marsha Erickson would know something had happened when “John” didn’t report in, and he could have learned that “Doe” had been shot and was at St. Francis Medical Center if he was monitoring the police bands. Which meant…
Evans turned to the agent. “If you’re here, who’s guarding ‘John Doe’?”
The agent looked flustered. “I told him he couldn’t go in.”
; “Shit. Maggie, you stay here and I’ll take care of this.”
Evans followed the agent down the corridor.
“That’s him,” the agent said, pointing at a bald, heavyset man dressed in an expensive, three-piece suit and wearing wire-rimmed glasses who was limping away from “John Doe’s” room. As soon as the agent spoke, Aiello spun toward them and fired. Evans dove behind a cart stacked with towels and drew his gun. He hadn’t heard a shot but the agent was down and blood was oozing from a ragged hole between his eyes.
A silencer, Evans thought. That meant he was dealing with a professional, and that also meant “John Doe” was probably dead.
Evans peeked around the cart and saw Aiello limp around a corner. He raced after him. Just as he rounded the corner, Aiello collided with a nurse. She fell back and Aiello tried to open an exit door. Evans fired. His shots echoed through the corridor seconds before the nurse screamed and Aiello fell to the floor. Evans closed in on the hit man seconds before Maggie Sparks raced around the corner.
Chapter Thirty-nine
At the crime scene, as best he could remember, Brad had told his tale to representatives of the state police and two police officers, a detective, and a deputy district attorney from the county where the shooting had occurred. At the hospital, in addition to Agents Evans and Sparks, he remembered being questioned by an assistant United States attorney, but he was certain he’d forgotten somebody. By the time Brad finished telling the last interested representative of a law enforcement agency what had happened at Marsha Erickson’s house he was running on fumes.
Between interviews, Brad called Ginny to tell her enough about what had happened to upset her. He’d assured her that he was okay and he promised to come by as soon as he could, which is why Brad drove to Ginny’s apartment when Evans told him he could go home. Even though it was 3:30 A.M., Ginny opened the door before Brad finished knocking. She threw her arms around his neck and they clung together.
“Hey, I’m okay. Not a scratch,” he assured her.
Executive Privilege Page 25
