VETO Seeking the presidency can be a killer!

by Jan Sumner

  This had gone from exceedingly boring to – extremely interesting. She waited for him to come out and got snaps of him all the way back to the room. She was about to slip away when she noticed another man approach the door. He was too far away and it was too dark to tell who he was. He listened at the door for a moment, then stepped back into the dark and vanished. Not wanting to be discovered, she made her way down a back stairway and out a side door, into the car and off to a local photo lab, where she rented time, to develop the film. She’d learned a long time ago that it was best to take care of this herself. That way only she saw the evidence. As she processed and examined the pictures, it appeared there was another figure in the background. As Eugene White walked back to the room, she could vaguely make out another man standing in a doorway down the hall. He was trying to stay hidden. “Ah,” she thought, “You can’t beat that infrared lens.”

  She enlarged and enhanced until she had a fairly clear picture of him. Sure enough, there he was hiding in a doorway just down the hall from the targets. Who was this guy? What was he doing there, and why the interest in Eastman and White? He was undoubtedly the same man who had approached their door when she was leaving.

  She didn’t know who he was, but she was going to find out, and include it in her report to Mr. Johnson. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if Mr. Johnson was shooting it straight to her. Could it be he was double dipping on PIs, having someone check on her? She figured anything was possible, after what she’d just seen. She’d be on her toes now, more cautious, observant. There was an unpleasant smell emerging. She just didn’t know where it emanated from, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know…but was afraid she was going to find out.

  Chapter 7

  Although emotionally drained and physically exhausted, Morgan brought herself back to reality. She was feeling melancholy and it was easy for her mind to drift back to the good times. She wanted to, needed to, read on, but was fearful. This could only get worse. It had been hideous so far, so there was a part of her that was reluctant to go on. She brushed her hair back, wiped her face off with some tissue, and continued.

  As I’ve already told you, several days went by before I could talk to you. By that time I’d decided to just keep this my secret. You and I picked up where we’d left off and I really thought everything was going to be okay. About two weeks went by, after Eugene’s death, when in the mail I got a blown up picture of me standing in the hallway outside that room in the Herbert Hotel, where your dad and Mr. White met. It sent chills right through me. How was this possible? I hadn’t seen anybody else, other than an old man with a cane, and I know he hadn’t seen me.

  That’s when it all started Morgan. More pictures, then menacing notes and finally phone calls. Each one, more threatening, more terrifying. I thought about going to the police, but then I’d have to expose your father and jeopardize us. The police would certainly want to know what I found in that building that would cause this kind of reaction. I guess I hoped it would go away…but it didn’t.

  This was when I realized Eugene White’s death was no accident. The letters began accusing me of being involved in his death and finally that I’d actually done it, and they could prove it.

  Done what? We all assumed Eugene had died accidentally, as it was reported. He’d fallen in front of one of the CTA trains while waiting on one of the platforms. Remember, you and I talked about why in the world this guy would ride the El to work when he could have had a limo take him. I think your dad told you it was just one of his idiosyncrasies. Well, whatever it was, we all thought it was just bad luck. It was bad luck alright, but by design. Someone had him killed and was now trying to pin it on me. It didn’t make sense. Why would I want him killed, what would be the motive? It didn’t matter. I had no way of responding, because I didn’t know where this stuff was coming from. There would be letters and pictures jammed inside my door and phone calls from pay phones. They were really railroading me Morgan, and I didn’t know why.

  Then it came to me. It was because of you and our relationship. They knew we were seeing each other, your father was running for president and I’d seen your dad and Mr. White at the Herbert Hotel. They were obviously there getting pictures and I just happened to stumble into it. What better fall guy than me? I was involved with your family and was at the scene of your dad’s compromising meeting. They could probably even find “their” witnesses to say I was on that platform when Eugene fell (more like pushed) to his death. It was all beginning to come in clear now. These people wanted to expose and discredit your father and were going to use Eugene’s death to do it. But they needed a set-up guy…me! They could say I bumped him off at the request of your father, because Eugene was going to come out about their relationship, which would have killed his campaign and your family. And I did all this because I didn’t want to lose you.

  Morgan put the letter down, stunned. Could this be true? She knew Ty and he didn’t make things up, certainly not something like this. It all seemed so far fetched. But he was gone and Eugene had died. My God, she thought, this was actually happening.

  It was time to call Mattie and start doing a little checking of her own. Mattie was someone she could trust with the most intimate details of her life and she’d need some help. Not knowing who “they” were from Ty’s letter, she figured Mattie was the only person she could trust. There was a lot at stake - her family, her father and Ty. If she only knew where Ty was, if they could only talk. She called Mattie, not telling her anything on the phone. Just that she needed to see her right away. Knowing Mattie, she’d be there before Morgan could finish the letter. She sat back down and began reading once more.

  Believe me Morgan, I thought long and hard about this. The only solution I could see was to run. Not because I’m afraid, although I am, but because if they didn’t have me to blame it on, they just might not have anybody. I was the only one in the picture and the only love interest in his daughter’s life. If I disappeared, where would they go with this? I don’t know for sure, but it might just put them in a bind.

  I can’t tell you where I’m going or when I’ll be back. But I will get in touch with you some way. Please be careful and stay out of this. You know I love you more than anything in the world and I promise we will be together again!

  My Love Forever!

  Ty

  She would definitely be careful. But stay out of it? No way!

 

  Chapter 8

  Sonja was overwhelmed with guilt, anger, frustration and complete disbelief. She’d been lied to. Sure, she had the $100,000 and had done her job just as they asked her to. But framing a guy for murder, that was not part of the deal.

  She was a good, even exceptional, investigator and, when Jack Johnson hired her for this job, she checked him out. She actually found it fairly easy to find out who he was and who he was working for. She knew he was the chief aide to Senator Don Marks and figured they were simply trying to dig some dirt on Cornell Eastman so they could derail his presidential campaign. If, in fact, Mr. Eastman was corrupt and/or had compromised himself, she had no problem divulging those facts. On the other hand, if it was Mr. Marks and Mr. Johnson who were crooked and had used this information to destroy someone’s life for their gain – that was wrong!

  But what could she do? They were powerful men and, if they could arrange an elaborate scheme like this and have a man killed…well, they certainly wouldn’t let her stand in their way. As a matter of fact, she was probably as expendable as that guy in the picture. But why give her the $100,000? They must have known she would have taken less. Certainly, they wanted her to do a meticulous job and one hundred bills would assure that. It might also just buy her silence. She had, after all, played a part in this, albeit unwittingly. She was culpable to an extent and they knew it. There was the leverage they needed. Heck, they didn’t have to bump her off, they cou
ld railroad her just like that other poor sap.

  She had to do something. Dangerous or not, she couldn’t let this happen.

  “I’ll get out of town,” she thought. “Where I can think and make some plans and not be around if Mr. Johnson comes calling.”

  She had an old girlfriend, Karen Wills, who lived in St. Louis. One phone call and she was on her way. This would give her the space and time to come up with a strategy. She cleaned out her office of all incriminating evidence, packed her car and headed south on interstate 55. She’d made copies of all her work because, as she learned a long time ago, you just never know. Oh man, was she glad she’d done it, it might just ave her life and the life of…who was that guy? That’s where to start. Find out who he was and what he had to do with the Eastman family or campaign.

  It would take her several hours to get to St. Louis, but she welcomed the break, it gave her time to think - time to reflect. Life is ever changing, one minute you’re checking out Mr. Jones cheating on Mrs. Jones and the next you’re involved in a potential murder case involving a presidential nominee. As the miles rolled by, she began to reconstruct what had happened.

  The only incriminating evidence she had on Mr. Eastman was that secret meeting he had with Mr. White. Which included that picture with Mr. X in the background. And how did they (Mr. Jackson and Marks) know who he was? She hadn’t told them. She didn’t know, and they hadn’t asked her to find out. Then Eugene White was killed. At first the papers called it an accident, then began to link it to a mysterious man who might have had a motive to kill him. Mr. X! That’s how they were doing it. Mr.’s Marks and Johnson were leaking information to the press until they had Mr. X trapped and Mr. Eastman ruined.

  Finding Mr. X. That was the key. Who is he? Where is he? It wouldn’t be easy, but that was the challenge. She just hoped she wouldn’t be too late. There was something in her gut that told her he didn’t do it. He was being set up. But if he didn’t do it…ah, there’s the Arch. It wouldn’t be long now - she could get a good night’s sleep. She hoped Mr. X, wherever he was, could too.

  Chapter 9

  Paris looked beautiful, even from the sky. He would soon be on the ground hoping to commingle and become part of the landscape, which would be easy in Paris.

  Ty spoke enough French to get by and had been to France several times. Paris was one of his favorite cities in the world. He knew his way around and decided to stay in a little hotel on rue Vaneau. It was close to the Metro and there were plenty of little sidewalk cafés in the neighborhood. It was not a tourist area and he could blend in.

  As the cab moved quickly through the streets, his mind began to focus on what had happened to him. It was hard to believe, but here he was in Paris, on the run. This had to be safe. There was no way, he hoped, they could trace him here. He’d parked his car in downtown Chicago unlocked with the keys in it. He knew someone would steal it in a matter of minutes. He hated to do it, he loved his Volvo, but in his mind this was a matter of life and death. Hopefully, they’d take the car, alter it, and move it out of state before anyone knew the difference. He’d then taken the subway to the airport and paid cash for his ticket. Oh, he knew they’d figure he flew somewhere and, could certainly check and trace him to Paris, but Paris is a big city, easy to get lost in. Yes, he’d taken all the precautions he could think of.

  Now, here he was with a second floor room overlooking the street. It was quaint and very Parisian. As he sat on the bed, the immensity of what had happened overtook him. He laid back and began to feel sick. He’d never felt so alone.

  Morgan would have read the letter by now. What could she possibly be thinking? Worse yet, what would she do? He had told her to be careful and stay out of this, but he knew her too well. There was no way she’d take this lying down. But what would she do? Who could she trust? Mattie!

  He sprang from the bed and began to pace around the room. He needed a plan. He couldn’t just hide out in Paris. He had to figure out a way to help Morgan without disclosing where he was. There had to be a way to contact her indirectly, so as not to put her in jeopardy, but how, and through whom? Mattie!

  He felt a little better, not so alone. If he could just figure out a way to contact Mattie… who knows, he might actually be able to help. A little dinner, a little rest, maybe things would be clearer in the morning.

  * * * *

  “Goodnight Mr. Eastman.”

  “Goodnight Dennis,” Mr. Eastman said to his aide. “Tell Warren I’m going to stay here tonight and get caught up on some work.”

  “You bet sir. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  As Dennis closed the door, Cornell Eastman could feel himself slipping into a deep depression. He’d destroyed it all - his presidential campaign, his family, his career…his life.

  He’d fought it for years, this homosexual urge. Once in college, he had actually given in and had a brief affair with another student. But it was short - lived and he realized that, if he truly wanted a political future, this could not be part of it. Then this thing with Eugene White, followed by his death. It would all come out and he would be blamed.

  He stepped into the hall to tell Warren to bunk down in the adjacent room. Warren Gold had been his security guard since the beginning and was a devoted man. However, he had been able to ditch him on occasion, usually to meet Eugene. He would do it again tonight, for a different reason.

  Why not just stay right there in the office and do it? Why would it matter? Whether there or somewhere else, the impact would be the same. But it just wasn’t private enough. What if Warren got there too soon, and saved him. No, this needed to be taken care of away from his office. A lonely, depressing place to match his life. He knew exactly where to go.

  He waited a few hours and then slipped quietly down to the garage. In what seemed like only a moment, he was parked at the back of the Herbert Hotel. He sat staring at the gun in the seat next to him. Deeper and deeper he felt himself sinking. There was no other answer.

  He found an open door in the back and worked his way up the stairs to the fifth floor. It was all too familiar and far too distressing. He wandered down the hallway in a trance, until he found what looked like a vacant room. He felt like he was moving in slow motion. He closed the door and pushed the bed against it. He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like the right thing to do. The gun felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. As he held it in front of him, he began to shake. “Oh my God,” he thought. “What if I miss and only shoot off an ear?” If this wasn’t so desperate, it would almost be funny. He steadied his hand and placed the barrel of the gun in his mouth. It began clanking around against his teeth. He bit down and cocked the trigger.

  “What am I doing? Has my life reached such a low point, I’m willing to end it?” Jennifer, Morgan and Steve came washing through his mind. He hadn’t told them anything. Hadn’t left a note…nothing! What would they think? It didn’t matter now, they’d get over it and, he wouldn’t have to face them, or the truth.

  His thumb squeezed the trigger, when suddenly the bed jolted, almost causing the gun to go off. “Hey, who’s in there? This is our room. Open the door damn it.”

  He carefully removed the gun from his mouth, now thankful it hadn’t gone off, stuffed it in his coat pocket and moved the bed away from the door.

  “What are ya doin’ in here buddy? This is our room so get the hell…hey aren’t you…?

  Cornell quickly ducked around the corner and down the back stairs. They looked pretty drunk and who’d believe them anyway. All the way back to the office he kept wondering what he was going to do. He couldn’t even kill himself right. Making his way back undetected into the office was the first thing that seemed to go without a hitch. He sat staring into space, completely at a loss, then drifted into an exhausted sleep.

  * * * *

  “Bonjour Monsieur,” the waite
r at the café stated hurriedly.

  “Bonjour. Le petit dejeuner, s’il vous plait.”

  He hadn’t slept a wink, but somehow felt refreshed. How to get in touch with Morgan? He kept mulling it over and over in his mind. He could go through Mattie, but if he called or mailed a letter, it could be traced. There had to be a way, but how?

  As he sipped his coffee, he began to think, maybe Mattie wasn’t the right way. Possibly, the best way to go was right to the top, Cornell Eastman. After all he’d seen, or at least heard, what happened between Eastman and White. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. It represented the only bit of leverage he had. Especially, if this sordid affair hadn’t become public yet. Yes, he was on to something. If he could get to Eastman before whoever took those pictures did, he might still have a chance. He gulped down the last drop of his coffee and beat it back to his room to put his new found strategy into action.

  * * * *

  Morgan sat Mattie down and explained the whole thing to her. As Mattie listened, she became more shocked, horrified and angry with each passing sentence.

  “Morgan, I can’t believe that son of a…”

  “Mattie, hold it. That’s still my dad you’re talking about.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. But this is beyond belief. I mean, how did this happen? What was he thinking?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve thought about this from every angle I could think of and the first thing I need to do is talk to my mom. I don’t know how much she knows, if anything, but I do know I need to sit down with her and at least tell her what I know and how I feel about it.”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “Hurt, confused, sad. You know Mattie, I saw my dad change over the years, and I thought it was just the pressure. But this - this goes way beyond pressure from the job. It wouldn’t matter if he were running for office or not. What he has done has hurt this family deeply, and the biggest victim will be my mom. I need to be there for her.”