Then there was his own plight. He was not in retirement, he was in exile, ostracized by all but a crazed media that pursued him like a pack of jackals. When the din of the constant questions from the press was absent a cold silence was his only companion. No one visited, no one called except the attorneys who came to discuss Claire’s case and the civil suits that had been filed against them.
It wasn’t fair. All he’d done was fool around a bit. Other presidents had done that. Hell, Kennedy had sex with Mafia whores, and Eisenhower was supposed to have had a mistress. He wouldn’t even start with Clinton. What was so wrong? Why couldn’t Claire see how harmless it had all been? Why had she overreacted to a few flings he’d forgotten as soon as the act was over?
Farrington guessed that his mistake was admitting what he’d done with Rhonda Pulaski in the back of the limousine when he’d given her the settlement check. He’d needed Claire’s money to pay off the family, and she refused to talk to her father until she knew every little detail. He’d been so contrite he was certain she’d forgiven him, and she hadn’t said anything that would lead him to believe that she would react so violently.
It was Chuck who’d told him about the hit-and-run and the necessity of his providing an alibi for Claire if it ever came to that. It hadn’t, thank God, because Chuck had cleaned up Claire’s mess, but murder…My God, he’d never thought her capable of murder.
Then she’d done it again. Farrington could not even imagine what would have happened to his career if Chuck hadn’t raced back to the governor’s mansion and disposed of the body before someone found it.
Farrington paused. Of course he could imagine what would have happened. It was happening now. But he wasn’t to blame for any of it. It was Claire. She’d killed the girls. All he’d done was suggest to Chuck that he help his wife. There was no culpability there, was there?
Before he could confront that moral tangle, headlights in his driveway distracted Farrington from his dreary thoughts. He walked to the window and saw a Town Car parked in front of his door. A member of his Secret Service detail was speaking to the driver. Moments later, the chauffeur opened the rear door, and Susan Tuchman got out and ducked under the portico.
Farrington hurried into the entrance hall to greet her. He hoped she had good news. Claire’s family had cut off any financial support when they learned of his adultery; there had been none of the highly paid invitations to speak that other former presidents received; and a lucrative book deal was on hold while his attorney researched the viability of claims that might be filed against his advance and future royalties by the families of Claire’s victims.
“Susan,” Chris said, forcing a warm smile as soon as the attorney walked into the house.
“Chris,” Susan answered tersely. He noticed that she did not return his smile.
“Come into the study. I’ve got a fire going. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No thanks. I can’t stay long. I’ve got a meeting with some foreign investors who are considering a partnership with one of our clients.”
“Don’t you ever slow down?” Chris asked, trying to keep the conversation light. Tuchman didn’t answer.
“So, what’s up?” Chris asked when they were seated.
“Nothing good, I’m afraid,” Tuchman answered. “The partners considered your proposal that you become ‘Of Counsel’ with the firm. We’ve decided, in light of your current situation, that it wouldn’t be advisable at this time.”
Farrington wanted to ask why his old friends were deserting him but he knew that the answer would only humiliate him.
“There’s another reason why I’m here. A very unpleasant reason, but we’ve been friends for a long time and I felt I owed it to you to tell you in person.”
Chris struggled to maintain his smile.
“As you know, I’m on the board of the Westmont Country Club. Yesterday evening, we held a special meeting. A majority of the board wanted to revoke your membership and Claire’s. I was able to convince them that it would be better for everyone if we gave you the opportunity to resign.”
Farrington was stunned. The Westmont was Portland’s most prestigious country club. Its members were his and Claire’s closest friends and his staunchest political supporters. It was a haven where he could play a round of golf in peace or have a drink without being beset by favor seekers and journalists.
“I don’t understand.”
Susan experienced an alien emotion, embarrassment. It took a great effort of will to look her friend in the eye.
“We’ve known each other for a long time, Chris. You know I’ve always stood by you, but this…this situation is too much.”
“Claire hasn’t been convicted of anything. This is America. She’s presumed innocent.”
“That rule works in a court of law but not at the Westmont. We had a special committee review the facts in her case. I don’t know what’s going to happen in court. Travis Holliday has a reputation for working magic with juries. But we both know that Claire is guilty of murder several times over. And your affairs, Chris. They were kids, and they’re dead because of you.”
“You don’t think I had anything to do with the murders?!”
“I have no idea what you knew about what Claire was doing. But Pulaski was your client, Erickson was your babysitter, and Walsh worked on your campaign. If you can’t see that sleeping with them was wrong I can’t explain it to you. I suggest you resign from the club as soon as possible. If you resign it will leave the possibility open of rejoining in the future if your problems resolve themselves favorably.”
“Thank you for helping to give me that option and thank you for having the guts to meet me face to face.”
Susan reached out and touched Farrington’s hand. “I wish you the best, Chris.”
She stood up. “I really have to go now.”
Farrington stood. “I understand.”
He walked her to the door and watched the Town Car drive off. When it disappeared from sight he returned to the study. Just months ago, he’d been the most powerful person on Earth. He’d had the power to destroy the world with the push of a button. Now…
Farrington stared at the fire. The flames radiated heat but it could not dispel the chill in the air.
Acknowledgments
Any reader who doesn’t know me personally might make the mistake of thinking that I’m a walking Encyclopaedia Britannica because of the technical information on medical topics, the workings of the Secret Service, dental procedures, telecommunications, etc., that you can find in Executive Privilege, but all of that information comes from some wonderful experts who were willing to take time out of their busy day to help me make my book more realistic. So I want to thank Dr. Karen Gunson, Dennis Balske, Dr. Daniel Moore, Ken Baumann, Al Bosco, Andrew Painter, Andy Rome, Ed Pritchard, Joe Massey, and Mark Miller. I also recommend So You Think You Want to Be an Independent Counsel by Donald C. Smaltz to anyone who wants to be an independent counsel or just needs to know a lot about that office.
I appreciate the time taken by Susan Svetkey, Karen Berry, Ami Margolin Rome, Jerry and Judy Margolin, Pam Webb, and Jay Margulies for reading my first draft and sharing their ideas on how I could make the book better.
A special thank-you to Marjorie Braman for her excellent work in editing Executive Privilege. It is a much better book because of her comments and suggestions. A special Pulitzer Prize for Titles goes to Peggy Hageman. And nothing I can say will be adequate to show my appreciation for the compassion shown to me by everyone at HarperCollins during the worst time of my life.
Also there for me-as they always have been-were Jean Naggar, Jennifer Weltz, and everyone at the Jean Naggar Literary Agency.
No words will explain how fabulous all of my friends have been in supporting me and Daniel and Ami-my wonderful children-since Doreen passed away. Doreen was my muse and my inspiration for everything I’ve done in life, and she will continue to be.
About the Author
&
nbsp; PHILLIP MARGOLIN has written twelve New York Times bestsellers, each displaying a compelling insider’s view of criminal behavior that comes from his unique background as a longtime criminal defense attorney who has handled thirty murder cases. He lives in Portland, Oregon.
www.phillipmargolin.com
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Executive Privilege Page 32
