The Divide
Page 19
Whitney’s mouth parted in shock. “Of course not. How dare you?”
“Your timing is impeccable, Madam President.” A long silence followed. Then he said, “I can’t support the bill. I’m a Democrat. A real one.”
He considered her a DINO. “As am I,” she said.
It wasn’t only through the efforts of the Presidents Club that the legislation was a success. Mo and Jo had worked tirelessly to help Whitney keep this campaign promise.
Cole Brennan had also done his part. Despite his grief, he’d talked to congressional members or called them out on his radio show. Between him and Mo, all the Republicans had fallen in line. They needed one more senator from the Democratic side.
Whitney believed Harris was her best bet. Although she felt badly about the timing, it couldn’t be helped.
She crossed her legs. “This is a good bill, Scott. It will help our government work better and save money. This country is on a precipice. Many people believe that this government no longer works. Can no longer function. Our government. Let’s show them that it still does.” She paused. When he didn’t respond, she added, “The money we save may be used for more progressive causes.”
“Is that all you’ve got?”
“I’ll mobilize the full strength of federal law enforcement to help locate your son.”
“All right then,” he said.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Seattle, Washington
They were meeting at the local FBI office to debrief on the interview with Tishman’s wife.
Jade received a call with a 202 area code. She recognized the number. “Excuse me,” she said to the team.
“Hold please,” she said into the phone as she strode down the hall looking for a vacant office. Finding one, she entered and shut the door. “Hello.”
“Please hold for the president,” the president’s secretary said.
“Agent Harrington,” the president said, her voice resonant, powerful.
“Yes, Madam President.”
“I need a favor.”
She listened, ending the call with, “We’ll do our best.”
Jade returned to the conference room, signaling Micah to join her in the hallway. She would give him an opportunity to show her how good he was.
“I need you to do something,” she said, after he’d closed the conference room door behind him.
“Sure. What is it?”
Jade told him about the senator’s son and the president’s request.
“My plate’s full.” She searched his eyes. “Can you handle this?”
“I’ve got it.”
“Make arrangements to return to DC tonight.”
“No need,” he said. “I just need a private room.”
Puzzled, she gestured toward the office she’d just vacated.
“How are you going to take care of this from here?”
“Watch me.”
*
“This is Iyanna Adey. With KIRO7?”
I need to change my number.
Holding the cell phone tighter, Jade sat up on the queen-size hotel bed.
“Yes?”
“I heard you were in town investigating the Tishman murder. Anything you can tell me?”
“How did you get my number?”
“Agent Lawson gave it to me, remember?”
“I don’t think he did.”
“If you’re here, this case is connected to the other Shakespeare murders. Did you find a sonnet?”
“No comment.”
“Was the knife left in the body?”
She sat forward. “Where are you getting your information?”
No response. Adey had hung up.
Jade held the phone on her lap. Barringer? Who else could it be?
She remembered seeing Adey with Kyle and McClaine at the hearing and made a mental note to ask them about it.
She texted Pat: Check out Iyanna Adey with KIRO7.
A moment later, Pat responded: A reporter now too?
See if she’s connected to someone at the FBI.
On it.
Jade stared at the phone for a moment, then placed the call. The professor answered on the first ring.
“How’s your case going?” Bennett asked.
“The perpetrator’s still at large,” she said.
“So not well, I take it.”
“No.”
“I hoped that I had helped.”
“You did. Professor Bennett, I want to email something to you. What’s your address?”
“Only if you call me Alaia.”
“Alaia.”
“Are you always this stiff?”
Yes. “I’m working.”
“Ah… hence the term ‘working stiff.’”
This made Jade smile.
Bennett gave Jade her email address.
“Tell me when you’ve received it,” Jade said.
“Just did. Give me a moment.” Then she said, “Where did you find this one?”
“The victim lived in Seattle. Blayze Tishman. Former software CEO. Now the owner of a professional football team. Any thoughts?”
The professor paused. “I don’t think the victims were selected at random. Your killer is decompensating.”
Everyone’s a profiler these days.
“I mean about the sonnet,” Jade said. “This one doesn’t include ‘die’ in it.”
“But there’s ‘death,’” the professor pointed out. “Same concept. This is seventy-two. Shakespeare moved into a different period with Sonnets LXXI through LXXIV.”
“What do you mean by ‘a different period’?”
“These sonnets were about anticipated death.”
Jade rolled her eyes. Shakespeare—the poet, not the killer—had had too much time on his hands.
While talking to the professor, she stared at the faux impressionist painting on the opposite wall. The elevator dinged out in the hallway. “Of whom? The recipient or the poet?”
“Excellent question. The answer might be both, but I think it’s about the poet’s impending death.”
“Impending?”
“Remember when these sonnets were written. Death was pervasive in England at the time, not too far from a citizen’s everyday thoughts. From the plague, which eradicated thousands of people in a short time, to the public execution of criminals and traitors.”
Jade absorbed this. “Any other insight you can give me?”
“In the sonnet, ‘shame’ is mentioned twice and inferred once. The poet is shamed, but so is the recipient. Your killer and the victim might have done something shameful together. I would suggest looking into the victim’s background. You might find your killer there.”
*
The four walls of the hotel room were closing in. After her conversation with the professor, Jade needed a walk.
She eschewed an umbrella as well as the hood on her jacket, letting the rain fall on her hair and skin. She remembered Kyle telling her once that precipitation was cleansing.
Her mind was still. Maybe she would eventually get the hang of meditation after all.
She walked alone down Mercer Street. If she were accosted, her attackers would learn immediately that they’d picked the wrong target. At an underpass, she spotted a mural and stopped to admire it. It depicted the reality before her: tents surrounded by garbage bags and litter. A place where homeless people hunkered down for the evening. It was hard for her to grasp the extent of the homelessness crisis in Seattle, one of the wealthiest cities in the country, although DC was one of the most powerful cities in the world and it had the same problem. What was the answer?
She thought about it. And moved on.
Emerging from the underpass, she gazed at the decorative lights strung up on apartments and houses higher up the hill. The holidays were long over. Cranes—she counted at least nineteen—were decorated in bright colors, predominately green and blue, the colors of the Seattle Seahawks.
After talking to the professor, she’d sent Pat an email re
quest to dig further into Blayze Tishman’s background, including his current and past associates. Was there a relationship with the other victims that his wife wasn’t aware of? Did his company supply software to their firms? Had he partnered with them in a venture? Or were they connected through the football team?
She also asked Pat to check out his children.
The wind picked up. A scrap of newspaper blew across her path, part of a full-page ad for the software company Tishman used to lead.
What product was Tishman’s company working on with Hurley’s?
Jade picked up the paper. Next to the ad was an article about Russia meddling in US elections.
A whisper from Tishman?
Balling it up, she tossed the paper into the next trash can and headed back to the hotel.
She had researched the bard’s life. She knew more about him now than she ever thought she would. A poet, playwright, and actor, Shakespeare was still considered the greatest English-language writer of all time.
What in the hell did he have in common with modern-day wealthy Americans?
Chapter Sixty-Three
Bellevue, Washington
On the drive east to Blayze Tishman’s former company, Jade’s phone vibrated in her pocket. Eyeing the number, she let it go to voicemail. When they arrived at the software company’s campus, Jade said to the others, “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Must be important,” Christian said.
“Something I need to take care of.”
She waited until Brian Anderson, Max, and Christian were out of hearing distance and hit the call back button.
“Hello,” Kyle answered. A statement, not a question.
“Ms. Madison.”
“Oh, we’re back to that again?”
“How are you?” Jade said.
“I heard you were in Seattle. Since you’re here, I presume it has to do with the Shakespeare Killer. Blayze?”
Jade might as well have rented a billboard advertising her arrival in Seattle.
“Did you know him?”
“We were involved in a lot of charitable causes together. Attended the same events. Ran in the same political circles.”
“Ah… one of Fairchild’s army of small donors.”
“Something like that.”
It used to be a joke between them. Blayze Tishman wasn’t a small donor. Neither was Kyle Madison.
“Is it true?” Kyle asked. “He was stabbed to death?”
Through the light fog, Jade admired the fir trees in the distance. Cars blazed by on the nearby freeway. Blaze. Blayze. “I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”
“Oh, right.”
“Any idea who could’ve done this?”
“Always interrogating,” she said. “That’s the Jade I know.”
“Well,” Jade said, “since you’re on the phone…”
A pause. Then, “Blayze always needed to prove how smart he was. He was loud. Boorish. Offensive. I’m sure anyone that successful developed some enemies along the way.”
“Anyone specific?”
“Well…”
“Tell me.”
“I hate to do this—he’s been through so much—but Blayze never treated Noah very well. He was condescending, belittling to him. I’m sure Noah hated him.”
“Enough to kill him?”
Kyle hesitated. “Conceivably.”
“Do you know Iyanna Adey?”
“Who?”
“The reporter. Channel seven.”
“I’ve seen her on TV.”
“No. I saw you talking to her. At Noah’s hearing.”
A longer pause. “She interviewed me. For the trial.”
“You, Adey, and McClaine seemed familiar with each other.”
“We were all involved in Noah’s case. Besides, despite its size, Seattle is a small town.”
Jade didn’t believe she’d misinterpreted what she saw.
*
The campus was right outside of Bellevue, a city near Medina. Locals called the area east of the lake the Eastside. The agents and McClaine spoke to the current CEO of the global software company, who wouldn’t divulge the purpose of the joint project with Hurley Technologies without written authorization from US Cyber Command.
They also spoke to the human resources department. They had received threats targeted at Tishman over the years. The staff provided the names and addresses of all the now former employees involved.
Although described as brash and boorish, Tishman was well respected. The company’s financial results spoke for themselves. Everyone agreed on the Tishmans’ unparalleled generosity in their efforts to combat numerous social problems plaguing not only Seattle but cities and towns across the United States: homelessness, income disparity, and inequality in education funding.
The agents spent a few hours interviewing staff at all levels of the organization who’d worked with Tishman, but they learned nothing helpful.
Pat sent an email reporting that Tishman’s kids were all successful in their own right. Tara was a corporate attorney, Lindsey an investment banker, and Patrick a product manager for Amazon. Victoria divulged that she was the sole heir of her husband’s estate. Pat looked into her too, but so far hadn’t come up with anything.
On the way back from Bellevue, Jade called AMB International and spoke with Augustus Mathias Blakeley, its CEO and Noah’s father. He told her that Noah had moved to Panama shortly after he was exonerated.
To be with “his people.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Seattle, Washington
Later, back in a conference room at the local FBI office, Jade, Dante, Max, Micah, Christian, McClaine, and Brian Anderson sat around an oval table discussing the interviews.
Anderson stood. “Anyone want anything? Coffee? Soda? Water?”
There were a few responses for water and coffee.
“Do you have tea, mate?” Micah asked.
“Teammate?” Dante said.
“No, I asked for tea from my mate here.”
Shaking his head, Dante said, “A dude who drinks tea. God help me.” To Anderson, “Can I have an espresso?”
Micah shook his head.
Once they had their drinks, Dante said to Jade, “We should leave Micah here to coordinate efforts among the locals, our office here, and the bureau.”
Sitting across from Micah, she saw his eyes shift to McClaine.
Odd. Was Dante right about him? Was Micah gay? She thought of his kiss.
Definitely not gay.
“I need Micah in DC.”
“What about Merritt?”
“I love how you’re all talking about us as if we’re not here,” Micah said, sipping his hot tea out of a cup, his pinkie extended. Dante looked at him with disgust.
Christian rose abruptly and stood by the window, his arms crossed over his chest. She joined him.
As they both stared down on Third Avenue, she said, “I need someone here.”
“I’m being forced out.”
“That’s not what this is.”
He looked at her. “What happened to your ‘rock’?”
She pushed him. He didn’t budge. “See? You’re still my rock. Coordinate things here and come back as soon as you can. You’re an important member of this team and more valuable to me here.”
After a moment, he nodded without looking at her.
They returned to the table.
Dante’s head dropped, his expression one of pity. “Robin having trouble leaving Batman?”
Jade opened her mouth to give her usual response, but Christian beat her to it. In her tone of voice, he said, “Shut up, Dante.”
The agents’ laughter broke the tension.
After deciding on next steps, they stood to leave. McClaine came to stand next to Jade. “Until next time?”
“If you want to work with me so badly,” she said, “why don’t you move to DC?”
She started to smile, but McClaine’s eyes shifted to Mic
ah and Max, then back to her. It happened swiftly; perhaps she was mistaken.
“Maybe I will,” he said.
“How do you know Iyanna Adey?”
An almost imperceptible tug of the eyes. “The reporter? She covers the crime beat, I think.”
“I saw you talking to her and Kyle Madison at Noah Blakeley’s hearing. The three of you seemed tight.”
“Our police department prides itself on knowing the citizens in our community. That’s what you saw. Safe travels, Agent Harrington.”
He hugged her—he was a hugger—and left.
Retrieving her briefcase and rolling suitcase from against the wall, she said goodbye to Christian and Anderson and headed down the hallway, with Dante, Max, and Micah trailing behind her.
After the elevator doors closed, Jade turned to Micah.
“Do you and McClaine know each other?” Jade asked.
She sensed Max waiting for the answer too.
Micah stared up at the descending numbers. “Why do you ask?”
“A vibe I’m feeling,” she said.
“As much as two guys can get to know each other during a car ride,” he said. “He’s a Sounders fan.”
“I think Micah’s sweet on him,” Dante said.
“Are you jealous?” Micah looked at him. “You want a bromance, bro?”
“I’m serious, Micah,” Jade said. “Have you worked with him?”
He turned to her. “Relax, Agent Harrington. We just met and clicked. There’s no mystery here. Nothing for you to investigate.”
She stared at his face, looking for tells.
There were none.
The car arrived at the lobby.
Micah’s phone rang. “Alexander.” He listened. “That’s great news. Thank you.”
He hung up. To Jade, he said, “It’s about Senator Harris. We found his son.”
“Is he—?”
“He’s alive. And he’s fine.”
“Wow,” she said, “good news.”
That was fast.
Chapter Sixty-Five
The White House, Washington, DC
“Congratulations,” Sasha said with a broad grin.
The Streamline Regulations Act had passed in the Senate by one vote. Scott Harris, surprising all the media pundits, signed on as a late sponsor of the bill.