by JP Ratto
He watched her take a bite of her egg white omelet. She caught him staring.
“What’s the matter, Todd? You look a little green. Don’t you feel well?”
“I have some news, Maeve.” She held his eyes and waited. “Some very bad news.” Seeing her blanch, he quickly assured her. “The kids are fine, and your parents are fine.”
“Goodness, Todd, don’t frighten me. What is it?”
“It’s Douglas Cain. He’s dead.”
Maeve jolted back in her chair and clasped the edge of the table. “Dear God. What happened?”
Grayson rose from his chair to stand next to his wife. He took her hand, urged her to her feet, and wrapped his arms around her. “Maeve, Douglas shot himself.”
“Oh no.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “Poor Roberta. What she must be going through. Was he at home? Was Roberta there?”
“Yes, he was home. I don’t have all the details yet. He’s been under a lot of stress lately.”
Maeve stepped out of Grayson’s hold. “We all have. The campaign has been brutal for all of us. But, my God, what could have made him do such a thing? You two were always very close. You had no idea he could do something like this?”
“You’re going to hear about it sooner or later.”
“What?”
“I fired Douglas last night.”
Maeve backed away so quickly that she stumbled against her chair. Grayson grabbed her arm. “Easy, you’d better sit.”
“I don’t want to sit down. I’m fine.” She twisted her hands as she paced back and forth in the small space. She stopped and faced her husband. “Oh, Todd. This is awful—just awful. Don’t you realize that everyone will blame you?”
He stared at her a moment. Because you do? “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t kill him.” At the horrified look on her face, Todd turned away from his wife. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. Look, Maeve, Douglas has been engaged in some activity that has put my candidacy at risk. I had to let him go. I had no idea he would kill himself. I didn’t know he was so weak.”
Maeve Grayson raised an eyebrow. “You’re all weak in one way or another.” She gave her husband a serious look. “Douglas was your closest confidant. He spent his life making sure you had a clear path for your presidential run. Virtually unscathed by past indiscretions. So, tell me, Todd, what will his death do to your candidacy?”
Grayson didn’t speak. Cain had known all his secrets. He hoped to God the lawyer had taken them to his grave.
Chapter 41
By the time I’d finished giving my statement to the police it was late afternoon. The weather had taken a turn for the worse. Teeming rain drenched the city, and I was lucky to get a cab home.
Entering my brownstone, I could hear Maddie and Ray’s voices coming from the kitchen. They sat at the breakfast bar chatting over coffee and looked up at the same time. Maddie smiled widely and slipped off her seat to hug me.
“Tough day, huh. Have some coffee.” She poured me a mug and sat back down.
Ray nodded hello and looked as tired as I felt. “They kept you awhile.”
“Yeah, I hung around until a family member could come and stay with Cain’s wife. To say she was beside herself is an understatement. She blamed herself because she’d packed a bag and left last night. Apparently, they were having marital problems. The coroner came for the body as I was leaving.”
“What did you tell them when they asked why you were there—and let yourself into a dead man’s home?” Ray asked.
“I told them he was interested in hiring a private investigator. It was plausible. The police could extrapolate from what Mrs. Cain told us that her husband might have believed she was having an affair.”
Ray snorted. “You know as soon as all the shit hits the fan, your connection to Cain will be apparent. Those officers are not going to take too kindly to you giving them a line of bull.”
“I know, but it was the only way to get out of there. I worried for a moment when I introduced myself to Roberta Cain. She appeared to recognize my name. Then the enormity of what had happened distracted her.”
“Lucky for you it was an obvious suicide. If anyone had a motive to kill Douglas Cain, it was you.”
“I wanted him to pay for what I only now have proof of, but suicide was the easy way out. Between hiring Keeler to murder Giaconne and orchestrating Marnie’s kidnapping, he would have gone away for the rest of his life.
“And honestly, once his actions on behalf of Grayson were revealed, the senator’s career would have been over. That would have infuriated those who have devoted their lives to putting Grayson in the White House. Cain would have been lucky to survive prison.”
Ray shook his head. “Jeez, the guy didn’t have a choice.”
I’d been standing—too worked up to relax. Maddie touched my arm and gestured to the seat next to her. “Ray wanted to wait until you came back to discuss Cain’s letter and the evidence he left you.”
I looked at Ray. “You turned the knife in?”
“Yeah, and made a big deal. Lots of people know about it. I turned it in to the evidence locker to keep chain-of-evidence intact. That knife isn’t going anywhere. I suggested they send it right to the lab to get those prints verified. And, by the way, when I got back to the precinct, Burke had gone. Sean said the captain was taking the rest of the day off after a visit from Internal Affairs.”
I grinned at that. “I imagine after Cain’s detailed account of his involvement in Marnie’s kidnapping and Sheppard’s gross mishandling of the case, Burke will be brought up on charges.”
Ray agreed. “Yeah. I finally got hold of Scott Hamlin. He’s already given a statement regarding the note he placed in the file.”
“That in all likelihood was removed by Sheppard or Burke,” I said.
“Right.”
Maddie shifted in her seat. “I wish I could have read what was in the letter.”
I glanced at my former partner. “Ray?”
He nodded and twisted to pull papers from the jacket he’d hung on the back of the chair. “This could cost me my job…” He handed them to me, and I gave them to Maddie.
“This is a copy?” she asked scanning the pages.
“Yes.”
As I watched Maddie read what Cain wrote, I recapped in my head the lawyer’s account of what happened on the night Sheila Rand died.
Cain arrived at the grisly scene where Rand lay dead on the floor of her bedroom. Senator Todd Grayson stood in the middle of the room, his jacket hung over his arm and blood staining his shirt. In his hand, he held what Cain thought was a bloody rolled-up pillowcase. Grayson unrolled the cloth, exposing an eight-inch kitchen knife covered in blood.
Cain was incredulous. Had Grayson gone insane? Then the senator explained it to him.
“I had to do it. I had to finish it. She wasn’t dead when I found her. She told me Janet Maxwell had been here. Douglas, Sheila knew about my affair with Janet. She knew about the baby. Janet told her everything and then tried to kill her.
“I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t take the chance that she wouldn’t keep quiet. She would ruin my political career—and my marriage. The knife was there on the floor. Douglas, she was half dead anyway…I just couldn’t take the chance she would recover.”
Shocked by what Grayson had done, he wondered why the senator was not at a scheduled donor meeting in Las Vegas. Cain didn’t know about Grayson’s change of plans until he received the frantic call to meet at Rand’s apartment—and to make sure he brought gloves.
“Todd, who else knows you’re still in New York?”
“Only my pilot. We postponed departure a few hours. As far as anyone else is concerned, I’m shooting craps at Bellagio.”
Douglas Cain had to think quickly. Janet Maxwell had been there. She’d used the knife. As far as he knew, her prints were on it. He noticed the blood on the senator’s hand. Todd’s prints would also be on the knife. Cain had done what he always did
—he handled the problem.
“You need to get out of here—out of this apartment—out of the city——now! Give me the knife. I’ll take care of everything. No one saw you, right? This is a seedy building. Christ, Todd, you’re lowering your standards. This…” Cain waved his hand at the paint-peeled walls and garish décor. “This is not worth that.” He pointed to the wrapped up bloody knife.
Todd Grayson handed it to Cain. “I know, Douglas. I came here to break things off with Sheila.”
“Leave everything to me.”
The senator left and, within hours, he departed New York for Las Vegas. Cain spent over an hour “tidying” the apartment.
Douglas Cain took care of everything except getting rid of the knife. His purpose was twofold. He kept it as insurance in case Grayson made him a patsy. He also used its existence to keep Janet Maxwell in line. The task of cleaning up after Todd Grayson could be hazardous work.
Cain marveled that Janet always thought she’d killed Rand and gotten away with it. He’d often hinted to her that he knew a dark truth about her, but she never took him seriously.
Now he used it as revenge against Grayson for abandoning him. Douglas Cain believed “the captain should always go down with the ship.”
***
Douglas Cain’s death turned Senator Grayson’s campaign upside down. Leaked stories about evidence linking the presidential candidate to a sixteen-year-old murder flooded television, newspapers, and the internet. While the mayor and the newly appointed police commissioner were keeping mum, a case against Todd Warren Grayson was building within the Twelfth Precinct and the district attorney’s office. Fearing political retaliation, most judges were reticent to sign a warrant to search Grayson’s home and office. But Judge Benjamin Mueller from Southern District Court signed it.
Grayson’s campaign wasn’t the only organization shaken up by the contents of Cain’s letter. Captain Roy Burke hadn’t returned since leaving the precinct for a formal interview by Internal Affairs. Pending further investigation into his manipulation of evidence in both Marnie’s kidnapping and Giaconne’s murder, he was relieved of duty and placed on temporary paid leave. Feeling betrayed by Burke, who she looked up to, Sergeant Rodriguez decided to leave the Twelfth. Having passed the last sergeant’s test, Ray was promoted and took over for Rodriguez.
Ray called me, excited. “Lucas, they searched Grayson’s apartment. I had doubts they’d find anything—I mean it’s been sixteen years. Any trace evidence would have been thrown out in the Goodwill bag.”
“Are you telling me they found something?”
“Yeah, a freaking pair of cuff links—with blood on them. Lucas, this guy’s finished.”
Chapter 42
Senator Todd Grayson opened the door to let in his lawyer. Iglesias Manuel Matos, one of New York’s premier criminal defense attorneys, breezed past Grayson toward the senator’s home office. Grayson followed.
“Senator, I wanted to go over a few things with you before the police arrive.”
Grayson sat at his desk. The last couple of days had been hell—for him and his wife. He had no choice but to resign his candidacy for president. With only a week before the election, it was a major blow to his party. Even though his popular, well-qualified running mate accepted the nomination, Grayson doubted they would survive the scandal. His opponent, former congresswoman and governor of South Carolina, Dana Tripp was reaping the benefits as evidenced by her soaring poll numbers.
As Matos produced a file and legal pad from his briefcase, Grayson stared listlessly at the top of his desk. He looked up at his lawyer. “What’s to go over? I’m turning myself in.”
Matos set his papers and pad in his lap and leaned back in the chair. “Todd—you don’t mind that I call you that.”
Grayson shook his head. What else should he call me? I’ve lost all right to any title.
“Todd, you’re doing the right thing by going voluntarily. This is not necessarily an admission of guilt. I advise you to plead not guilty.”
“But the evidence—”
“Is circumstantial in my view. I’ve reviewed everything I could legally get my hands on, and I think we can make a case for your innocence.”
Grayson shook his head. “I want to plead guilty and make a deal.”
“You will go to jail for the rest of your life. I doubt you’ll get parole. If you do, it won’t be for years. You’ll be an old man when you get out.”
“I don’t care. I’ve made my bed. I can’t put Maeve through a long drawn-out trial. It would devastate her.”
“Senator, you give up too easily.” Matos shuffled through some papers. “It says here in a police report that a witness saw a woman enter the apartment building before you did.”
Grayson waved it off. “That was Janet Maxwell, and the witness was a drug addict.”
“He’s still alive and clean. He saw another woman, not Maxwell. It’s something we should pursue. We need to cast doubt for the jury.”
Todd Grayson stood. “There’ll be no jury. I did it, and that’s the end of it.”
Before Matos could respond, the phone rang and the concierge informed Grayson that two officers were on their way up.
***
At three in the morning, it took half the normal time to drive three miles from Grayson’s apartment to the Lincoln Correctional Facility on the north end of Central Park. Located on prime New York City real estate, the prison on the park was home to mostly white-collar criminals. In light of Grayson’s former political standing and through a negotiation between police and Matos, the minimum-security prison was deemed more appropriate than Central Booking. The second-degree murder charge the DA’s office leveled at Grayson made house arrest out of the question.
The prison blended with other apartment buildings on West 110th Street, except for the blacked-out facades in lieu of windows and the barbed-wire rooftop prison yard. The black cruiser pulled up to the building and, without the usual fan-fare Grayson was used to, two police officers escorted the senator inside. Matos entered the building and was detained for a security check.
Steamrolling over his dignity, a prison attendant removed Grayson’s clothes and conducted a humiliating body search. Head bowed and dressed in New York’s custom hunter green prison wear, Todd Grayson allowed the officers to lead him to a drab, sparsely furnished cell. Cot, toilet, sans lid and tank, and a small sink were all bolted to the floor and walls.
The officers let go of his arms and turned away. His legs buckled and he fell onto the cot. Dropping his head into his hands, his body shook as he felt the full weight of his situation.
Oh God, this is really happening.
At a sound at the door of his cell, he looked up. Matos entered and looked around. “They don’t usually let the lawyers in here.” He turned and nodded to the guard who stood watch. “Todd, I want you to think about a defense. If you’re convicted, this place will seem like the Ritz compared to where they’ll send you.”
Grayson looked up at his lawyer. “Do me a favor, make sure Maeve is okay.”
Matos shook his head in frustration. “Sure.”
The lights went out. Exhausted, but too restless to sleep, Grayson lay on the cot and stared at the dark ceiling. He’d already lost track of time, and there would be no warm daylight streaming in to wake him. Just the cold, harsh whiteness of the no-frills light overhead. It reminded him of those in the run-down building Sheila Rand had lived in.
Todd Grayson exited the cab two blocks south of Sheila Rand’s apartment building and walked the rest of the way. He hadn’t told her that his plans had changed and he would keep their appointment after all. He looked forward to her company. It was what he needed. No talk; all sex. She didn’t mind. That’s what she was paid for, and he’d sweetened the pot with a few expensive pieces of jewelry Janet Maxwell had returned to him.
The street was empty, as were some of the surrounding buildings. No one would expect him to be there. Cain had warned him to be discreet
; his career should be his number one concern. But he couldn’t help himself.
After Janet Maxwell, he shied away from relationships. He’d learned that lesson. His marriage was important to him—to his political career. He loved his wife and children. What more could he want?
Grayson reached the eight-story building and entered. He had a key, but once again, the entrance lock was broken. Sheila Rand’s two-bedroom apartment was on the second floor. He took the stairs, not bothering with the elevator that took forever to come and go.
Walking down the hallway, brightly lit by evenly spaced single-bulb lights, he passed several apartments he knew were vacant. While the desolateness was to his advantage, he was aware of the dangers that came with the neighborhood. Nearly reaching Rand’s apartment, he stopped and saw the door was ajar. When he heard voices, he thought she filled his appointment with someone else. Grayson knew he was not her only “client.” He should have called her.
About to turn around and leave, he heard a sharp scream. Instincts told him to ignore it and go. But another sound made him stay—a woman’s voice. A voice he recognized.
His heart clamoring in his chest, Grayson ran through the door. The living room was empty. Again, he heard her speak and rushed to the bedroom.
Frozen with shock, he took in the scene. Sheila lay disheveled and bloody next to her bed. A woman kneeled over her grasping a knife that protruded from Sheila’s stomach. At his horrified gasp, the woman turned to look at him.
“Maeve.”
He closed his eyes, and then opened them. There was no shutting out the past.
“Todd,” his wife said as she let go of the knife’s handle.
Without thought to what he was doing, he grabbed Maeve’s arm and yanked her to her feet. He glanced at Sheila and knew she was dead. His mind racing with what to do, he knelt down and pulled the knife from the call girl’s body. Blood splattered his shirt and jacket. He grabbed a pillow from the floor and removed the pillowcase. After wiping blood from his clothes, he wrapped the knife.
