The President Killed His Wife (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 1)

by Steve Richer

  The same couldn’t be said for the rest of the Capitol building. It seemed like every member of Congress, their staff, and their extended family had shown up today even though it had been a long night. They all wanted to be able to brag that they had been back at work the morning after one of the worst tragedies in US history.

  Rogan was with his small team which consisted of Gary, Cass, and her partner Justin Wilkinson, a guy with 20 years of experience in the Bureau. They walked with a purpose and people moved out of their way well before they reached them. Some of the staffers in the hallways had even snapped pictures like they were rock stars. They were probably already trending on Twitter, he thought.

  But now the House Chamber was like a haven of tranquility. It was quite beautiful too with the walnut-paneled walls, the extremely high ceiling, and the visitors’ gallery ringing the entire room.

  “Anyone of you ever thought you’d be standing down here one day?” he asked.

  It was rhetorical so of course Gary answered.

  “I wanted to be a congressman when I was in the sixth grade.”

  “I’m sure the people of the California’s third congressional district are grateful you changed your mind, Gary.”

  “The third is around Sacramento. I’m from Orange County.”

  “Of course you are.”

  He left the young man in his wake and went to the Speaker’s rostrum and was careful to avoid the yellow cones which had been set up to identify where the cartridges had been ejected from the gun.

  The other three remained down and outside of the rostrum. He barely noticed their quizzical looks. He wanted to experience what the President had gone through.

  “What do you see?” Cass asked.

  He didn’t reply. Instead he positioned himself behind the podium, being careful not to put his hands on the lectern as to not contaminate the scene with his fingerprints. He looked at the chamber, taking everything in. There were 448 seats in front of him but it was the gallery of visitors that held his attention.

  It was where the First Lady had been killed.

  “Anyone know what the Secret Service’s armed with?”

  There was a moment of muteness as Gary produced his smartphone and googled it.

  “Sig Sauer P229, chambered in .357 SIG.”

  Rogan nodded. “Okay, that’s a pretty accurate weapon.”

  “There’s accurate and then there’s being able to hit your wife multiple times in the chest from what, 50 feet away? And that’s from a lower position.”

  “Exactly. The President is in his late 50s. Does he have any firearms experience?”

  Rogan knew the highlights from the man’s life like everyone else but he needed details. Again, Gary went online to research.

  “He went to the Naval Academy, served in the Navy for eight years. Remained in the reserves until he was elected to the Senate. He’s a lifetime member of the NRA.”

  “Any competitive shooting?”

  “Let’s see…” Gary’s thumbs clicked madly on the touchscreen. “Yes, he’s done some competitions, mostly in his 30s. Never won anything, placed second once. Hold on, there’s this article here from GQ, dated two years ago. Apparently, the Secret Service takes him to their firing range regularly so he can shoot.”

  Cass shrugged. “So theoretically he could do it.”

  “He did do it.” But something didn’t feel right to a Rogan. “Justin, come over here. Come in from the side as if I’m the President and you’re my bodyguard, do it like on the video.”

  The African-American man nodded and complied, going around the rostrum and heading to Rogan.

  “Okay, now I’m talking to you,” he said, speaking into his ear just like he’d seen the President do it. “I’m talking, I’m talking, I’m whispering sweet nothings into your ear.”

  Simultaneously, Rogan placed a hand inside Wilkinson’s jacket, going for the gun clipped to his waist.

  “What’s your first instinct?”

  “Protect my principal, keep my weapons safe.”

  “Let’s do that then.”

  Rogan tried to pull the weapon free with his left hand but it was secure in the holster. Justin instinctively took a step back without Rogan being able to draw the weapon.

  “This is much harder than it looks. Has anyone considered the bodyguard being in on it?”

  Chapter 6

  Rogan and Cass went to Reston, Virginia, by themselves. The idea was not to spook Special Agent Declan Simonsen by swarming his place with a bunch of feds. Rogan was getting tired and was happy to let his old partner drive.

  “Is that Korean barbecue place still open in Adams-Morgan?”

  She shook her head. “Closed about six months ago.”

  “Damn. Those ribs were the only reason I agreed to leave Alaska.”

  “They were?”

  She looked at him sideways and he picked up on it.

  “My fellow Alaskans can do seafood like nobody’s business but the subtleties of fine kimchi haven’t reached the 61st parallel yet.”

  “Sorry, Rogan. But the restaurant that opened in its place isn’t shabby either. It’s Ethiopian.”

  He snorted. “I think Ethiopian is just a code word for no chairs or silverware.”

  “We’re stopping there on the way back,” she said. “Their chickpea wat and zigni is gonna make you forget about the kimchi.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “You will, trust me.”

  He turned toward her and waited until she was staring back. “I’ve always trusted you, you know that.”

  They maintained eye contact for the longest possible time before Cass had to turn back toward the road.

  “You have anyone back there?”

  “I have Glut.”

  “Excuse me? What’s a glut?”

  “He’s a three-year-old golden retriever and a trustworthy companion.”

  “I don’t imagine you’re dating him?”

  “I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

  She burst into laughter and he smiled in spite of his growing fatigue.

  “What about you, Cass? You’re still dating that mountain of muscles?”

  “No, I married him.”

  “Oh.”

  “And then I divorced him. Ever heard of ’roid rage? Well, one day I had to use a taser on his ass. Literally on his ass. I filed for divorce a week later. That was two years ago.”

  “Good for you. Anybody since him?”

  “Nobody serious. What’s with the sudden interest?”

  “It’s a long drive and the radio sucks.”

  He tried to keep his eyes on the road but even though it was hard to admit to himself, Cass was attractive. Very attractive. She was five years older than the last time he’d seen her – so about 33 – but she had become even more beautiful. She had gained a self-confidence that kept him mesmerized.

  Stop it with this shit, he told himself. He had to keep his head in the game, there was no time for distractions.

  They eventually got to Reston as the rain picked up. At least it wasn’t sleet anymore. They parked in the driveway of the black and yellow townhouse, a horrifying design from the 70’s. They ran out of the car to the front door.

  A middle-aged woman in yoga pants answered. “Yes?”

  “FBI, ma’am. We’d like to see Declan Simonsen, please.”

  She sighed heavily. “Don’t you people have anything better to do? My husband has spent half the night talking to just about everybody in Washington. He’s exhausted. In fact, he should be in the hospital right now, he’s gonna have a breakdown.”

  “I absolutely understand,” Rogan said, grateful for the porch roof which kept the cold rain from him. “If it were up to me I would give Special Agent Simonsen all the time he needs. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a true American hero.”

  “You got that right! He did nothing wrong.”

  “Absolutely. But you see, my boss made me come here, I have no choice. It won
’t take very long and then we’ll be out of your hair, I promise.”

  She looked at the two of them dubiously and then moved aside to let them in. The interior wasn’t much prettier than the exterior, the furniture nothing more than secondhand IKEA rejects.

  “You can sit in the kitchen while I go get him, he’s in bed.”

  “Thank you.”

  They followed her instructions and sat at the melamine-laminate kitchen table while she disappeared down a narrow corridor.

  Cass grinned. “I see the boss-made-me-do-it routine still works.”

  “Never mess with the classics.”

  A minute later, the woman came back.

  “He’s getting out of bed, won’t be long. Can I get you any coffee or water or something?”

  “We’re fine, thanks,” Cass said. “You said something earlier and I was wondering. You said he should be in the hospital?”

  “He says he’s okay but he’s going through shock. Think about it, the man he was supposed to protect stole his gun, shot his wife, and there wasn’t anything Declan could do about it. And then you people had him in an interrogation room until eight this morning.”

  “We understand.”

  “Do you?” Mrs. Simonsen spat while she paced through the kitchen. “He’s tired and traumatized, that’s what he is. Macho jerk refuses to see a doctor even though he needs to be medicated and treated.”

  “I told you I was all right, Marjorie.”

  All eyes shifted to the man joining them. According to his file, Declan Simonsen was 42 but right now he looked at least 20 years older. He needed a shave and a shower. He was wearing sweatpants and a Rutgers T-shirt. He came closer, put his hand on his wife’s shoulder, and kissed her cheek.

  “It’s fine, let us talk.”

  She hesitated and then left. The Secret Service agent shuffled ahead and sat at the table across from the visitors.

  “I haven’t seen you earlier. You’re the day shift?”

  “Special Agents Cass Carranza and Rogan Bricks, FBI.” They flashed their credentials. “Sorry you have to talk to us again.”

  “Hey, it’s not a problem if you want to rehash the same old crap again. Just don’t expect any new information, I’ve already told you everything I know.”

  Rogan nodded. “I’m sure you have but I’m new here.”

  “This is bullshit,” Simonsen said while shaking his head. “The President waved me over, I thought there was some sort of threat so I rushed ahead. Next thing I know he’s grabbing my gun and pushing me away. I tumble down the steps and it’s over.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “What?”

  “I was preparing dinner and watching the State of the Union address at the same time last night. He was definitely whispering something to you before getting your gun.”

  “He said he was sorry. That’s all it was, I’m sorry, I don’t have a choice, I’m sorry.”

  “Those are your words or verbatim?”

  “Those were his exact words.”

  Rogan smiled. “Excellent. Say, you think you could draw me a little diagram of where you were standing the whole time?”

  “A diagram?”

  Even Cass looked at her partner with a bewildered frown.

  “Yeah, just a little drawing so we can understand better.” He pulled out a notepad from inside his coat and produced a ballpoint pen. “It doesn’t have to be to scale or anything. Just a rough sketch, top-down view is fine.”

  Exhaling loudly, Simonsen reached for the pen and paper and started drawing. Rogan had to suppress a shout of victory when he noticed the man was using his left hand. This confirmed what he’d been thinking about in the last few minutes. Everything wasn’t as it seemed.

  This was a conspiracy.

  Chapter 7

  Rogan said, “Excuse me, while you finish this could I use your bathroom?”

  “Uh sure, first door down the hall.”

  “Thanks.”

  Again, Cass looked at Rogan like he was an alien but he didn’t care. He had to see if his theory was correct.

  He stood up and went to the bathroom, hurriedly closing the door behind him. He pulled out his phone and played the video of the shooting even though he had seen it at least a dozen times by now.

  It started mysteriously as always, the President stumbling through his speech, and then he called Simonsen over. They were talking and Rogan squinted as he looked at the hand going for the weapon.

  The President was right-handed. With Simonsen being in front of him as they talked, and him being a lefty, that meant the firearm was directly in front of the President’s right hand.

  Rogan stopped the video and called his probie.

  “Gary, listen to me. I need you to check into Secret Service records.”

  “Their records? They might get a little defensive. Word around the office over here is that there’s a turf war going on; they’ve wanted this investigation from the start.”

  “Tough shit. Get Wilkinson to help you if you get any resistance. What I want to know specifically is the presidential detail’s schedule and assignments. I wanna know if they’re on rotation or if they’re picked randomly. Anybody call in sick? Anybody traded places? Who made the assignments? Any special requests by anyone anywhere?”

  “You got it.”

  “Thanks, Gary. You’re gonna make a malamute a very happy bitch someday. I’ll wait for your call.”

  As he hung up, Rogan felt excitement for a change. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything like it.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Surprisingly, it didn’t take too long for Gary to call back. Rogan was walking back to the kitchen after pretending to have spent a nice relaxing spell in the bathroom when he got the call.

  “This is great, Gary. Keep digging and I’ll text you what I need next.”

  He hung up and returned to the kitchen where Cass was making small talk to fill the dead air.

  “I’m done with the drawing,” Simonsen said.

  Rogan stayed on his feet across the table and ignored the offered notepad.

  “You weren’t supposed to work last night, were you?”

  “What? No, I mean yes.”

  “Which is it? We’re getting a lot of confusing information here, Declan. Were you or weren’t you supposed to be working last night?”

  Caught off guard, the man straightened up. “I was on the schedule to work, only I was supposed to be posted outside the House Chamber.”

  “How come you got to escort the President then?”

  “The detail leader called me in the afternoon, said Opal Higgins had a family emergency. I had to take her spot. It wasn’t a big deal, we trade back and forth all the time. I don’t see how this relates to anything.”

  “You don’t see? You’re the only lefty on the presidential detail, Declan. That means that you being there when the President went for your gun made it easy for him. It was planned.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Cass was shaking her head as the car pulled out of the driveway.

  “Jesus Christ, Rogan. Jesus Christ…”

  “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”

  “You don’t do that to me, okay? Don’t leave me in the dark and spring this evidence on me like I don’t matter.”

  “There was no time to fill you in. It wouldn’t have looked spontaneous if I had.”

  “Jesus Christ…”

  She sped up while they headed back to DC. Rogan was curious about the Ethiopian food but realized they had no time for it. That was the beauty of breakthroughs in an investigation, when you pulled on the string you had to keep going until you reached the end. It was addictive.

  “So what now?” she asked.

  “We call the office and have the minions look into Opal Higgins, about why she abandoned her post. I want people crawling up the detail leader’s ass. Why the sudden switch? I want to go through their financials, anything out of the ordinary. This is smelling quite fishy.�
��

  “You really think there’s some sort of conspiracy going on, Rogan.”

  “It’s starting to sound like the most plausible explanation.”

  While he made some calls, Cass drove into a Checkers which suited him just fine since there weren’t any in Alaska. They got burgers and chicken and Rogan practically climaxed as the food went down. Between the jet lag, the stress, the bad coffee, the stale doughnuts, this fast food was a genuine elixir.

  And then he told her his plan.

  “You have to be kidding.”

  He smirked. “It’s gonna be great, you’ll see.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  It was just after one o’clock when they returned to the Washington field office. Gary was excited to see his partner again and it was like having Glut around. He almost felt like petting his head. He eagerly shared all the information he’d been able to gather in the past hour.

  “Good job, kid. Now let’s see if someone can take us to see the President.”

  Cass led the way along with Wilkinson and the four of them took an elevator to the basement. Rogan remembered the first time he’d been down here, it was when he used to work in counterterrorism. He had felt so in control walking down this surprisingly bright corridor, basically holding power over someone’s life.

  The FBI Police officer – a uniformed cop – supervising the detention block was confused when he heard the demand to see the President.

  “Oh and how is he?”

  “The President?”

  “Yeah, how’s he been holding up? Already making friends with the cockroaches, chronically masturbating, what’s he been doing since he’s been here?”

  The man shrugged. “He was actually crying a lot in the beginning.”

  “Crying?” Rogan asked. “What kind of crying? Like hysterical?”

  “No, just sobbing quietly. Then I think he slept for a little while. He’s refused to eat. Now he’s just staring at the wall.”

  “Great. Bring him out and let’s see if we can have a chat.”

  The security officer didn’t budge.