First Family kam-4

by David Baldacci

  Donna clutched a tissue in her hand and nodded. "But Michelle thinks Sally might have been having an affair."

  "What?" Doug looked at them. "That's absurd."

  "Are you in a position to know for sure?" asked Sean.

  The man opened his mouth and then closed it. "What? I…" He glanced at his steady. "Donna would know better than I would. I knew Sally but not like Donna did. But still, it's a small community here. Someone would have known, wouldn't they?"

  Michelle said, "That's what we're trying to find out. But we need folks to be truthful."

  "I am telling you the truth," snapped Donna. "Your mother was not having an affair with any man that I know of. And like Doug said, it's a small community."

  "My mom bought a golf tournament couples package. My dad doesn't play golf."

  "Oh for goodness sakes. She played with Doug," said Donna.

  Michelle and Sean looked at Doug, who had a pretzel up to his mouth. "Donna, you asked me to, remember? Because she didn't have anyone to play with."

  "That's right, I did."

  "Why didn't he play with you?" asked Michelle. "You're a golfer too."

  Donna said, "Because even though it was for charity it was a competitive tournament and my handicap was too high to get in. Your mom was an excellent golfer and so is Doug."

  "About all I do anymore," he said, smiling. "Hit the little ball in the little cup." He added quickly, "And spend time with Donna."

  "My steady," said Donna.

  "Sounds like what everyone should aspire to in retirement," said Michelle, while she scowled at Donna.

  "Look, if you came here to insult us," Donna began before Sean cut her off by saying, "This is understandably a very tense time for everyone. We appreciate your comments. I think we need to go now."

  Before Michelle could protest, Sean took her by the arm and propelled her out the door.

  It took them a moment to realize that Doug had followed them out.

  "I am truly sorry about your mother. I liked Sally a lot. Everyone did."

  "Well, one person didn't," snapped Michelle.

  "What, oh, yes, of course." They stood there awkwardly on the front porch with towering support columns done in the Corinthian style on either side of them. For Michelle they felt like elaborate bars on a jazzed-up cage.

  "Is there something you wanted to tell us?" asked Sean.

  "This is very awkward," said Doug.

  "Yes, it is," agreed Michelle. Sean gave her a look.

  "I didn't really know your father, but Sally talked to Donna and me about him sometimes."

  "Is this where you tell me they weren't happy and my mother was thinking of leaving him?"

  "No, no, not at all. I think your mother was, well, moderately happy with your father. I… well…"

  "Just say it, Doug."

  "I don't think your father was very happy with Sally. They seemed to have grown apart. At least that's how she phrased it."

  Michelle's face fell.

  Doug studied her. "Did you think that too?"

  "It really doesn't matter what I think. It just matters who killed my mom."

  "Well, she didn't tell us about anyone bothering her, or stalking her. She led a very normal life. Friends, golf, gardening. There are no psychopaths that I know of running around here."

  "That's the thing about psychopaths, Doug, with the really crazy ones, you never see them coming until they've stuck a knife in your heart," she said.

  He mumbled a hasty goodbye, and then Doug the steady almost ran back into the house. They heard the lock click into place.

  As they were walking to the SUV Michelle said, "Do you think it was just a robbery that went down wrong?"

  "It might be."

  They climbed in the SUV. "You feel like some food?" she said. "I know a place."

  Ten minutes later they were seated in a small restaurant and had ordered.

  Sean said, "Okay, the cops worked the garage area and found no trace. The garage overhead door was down and the exit door from the garage onto the side yard was locked. But the killer could have secured it on the way out. It was just a simple button lock."

  "So anybody could have gone in, waited for her, killed her, and left that way. The ground was dry, no footprints."

  "And there was a privacy fence on the garage side. More concealment."

  She said, "ME reported the window of death was between eight and nine. You think someone would have seen something. Or maybe heard Mom crying out when she was attacked?"

  Sean looked thoughtful. "But the noise from the pool party would have drowned out anything like that." He added, "I take it they've all been interviewed? The folks at the party?"

  "I guess so." She studied him. "Why, what are you thinking?"

  "I'm thinking if I wanted to kill someone I'd get myself invited to that party, slip out, do the deed, and slip back in."

  "I thought of that too, but you would have had to know that my mom was going to be going out, that she'd be in the garage at that time."

  "Not necessarily. They might have entered through the garage side door and were planning to go into the house when your mom came out and saved them the trouble."

  "That's still risky, Sean. My dad was home. He's a former cop and keeps a gun in the house too. Like Donna said, it's a small community. Folks would know that."

  Sean sat back, lost in thought. Their food came and they ate mostly in silence.

  "Can I ask you a favor?" she said as they were leaving.

  "One can always ask," he said, smiling.

  Her next words drove the smile away.

  "When I was a little girl, we lived about two hours south of here in a little rural slice of Tennessee. I want to go back there. I need to go back there right now."

  CHAPTER 42

  THEY PULLED OFF the main road and the SUV's tires bit down hard on the crushed gravel. Sean was driving and had followed Michelle's precise directions.

  "When was the last time you were here?" he said.

  She was staring straight ahead. A curve of moon provided the only illumination other than the truck's headlights. "When I was a kid."

  He looked surprised. "If that's the case, how did you remember how to get here? Did you look it up?"

  "No. I… I just knew. I don't know how."

  He looked over at her, a frown creasing his face. A curious mixture of emotions swept across her features. He could see heightened expectations. And he could also see fear. The latter was not something he normally associated with the lady.

  They pulled down a dark street, revealing a neighborhood that had been brand-new about sixty years ago. The houses were falling in, the front porches far off plumb, and the yards a tangled mass of weeds and diseased trees and bushes.

  "Seen better days," she said.

  "Looks that way," he replied quietly. "Which one is it?"

  She pointed up ahead. "That one. The old farmhouse, only one like it on this street. The rest of the neighborhood was carved from that property."

  Sean pulled the SUV to a stop in front. "Doesn't look like anyone lives here now," he said.

  She made no move to get out.

  "What now?" he finally asked her.

  "I don't know."

  "You want to get out, go up for a look? We came all this way."

  She hesitated. "I guess so."

  They walked up the worn path. The house was set well off the street. There was an old tire attached to a rotting coil of rope that was tied to the one remaining limb of a dying oak. An old wheelless truck sitting on cinderblocks was parked in the side yard. The screen door was lying on the sagging front porch.

  As they passed one spot, Michelle stopped and stared at the remains of some bushes. They'd been cut down to the point where only bare sticks were left. There was an entire line of them.

  "It was a hedge," Michelle said. "Forgot what kind. We woke up one morning and it was gone. My dad had planted it for one of their anniversaries. After they got whacked down
, it never grew back. I think whoever did it poured some plant killer or something on it."

  "Ever find out who did it?"

  She just shook her head and continued walking to the house. They stepped over the screen door and Michelle tried the doorknob. It turned easily. Sean put a hand over hers. "You sure you want to do this?"

  "We came all this way. And I doubt I'll ever come back."

  He removed his hand and they walked in. The place was empty and filthy.

  Sean had grabbed a flashlight from the SUV and now swung it around, revealing ragged blankets, food wrappers, empty beer bottles, and more than a dozen used condoms.

  "Not exactly one for the memory books," she murmured, taking all of this in.

  "Walks down memory lane usually aren't. It's hardly ever as good as you remember."

  She eyed the stairs.

  He followed her gaze. "Which bedroom was yours?"

  "Second on the right."

  "Want to head up?"

  "Maybe later."

  They walked around the main floor, taking in more trash and rot, and Sean noticed that Michelle didn't really register on anything. She pushed open the back door and stepped outside. More trash, the carcass of the truck in the side yard, and a leaning one-bay garage with its overhead door gone, revealing a mound of junk inside.

  It was all pathetic and depressing and Sean could barely stand being here. He didn't quite know how Michelle was able to keep from running away screaming.

  "So what are we doing here?" he asked.

  She sat down on the back porch. He stood beside her.

  "Did you ever go back to the place where you grew up?"

  "Once," he said.

  "And?"

  "No grand revelations. Other than everything being a lot smaller than I remember, which makes perfect sense because I'm a lot bigger now. So I just saw the house and kept on driving."

  "I'd like to do that. See the house and keep on driving."

  "Let's go then." He reached in his pocket, pulled out the keys to the SUV, and flipped them to her. "You can do the honors."

  They walked back through the house; she paused at the stairs.

  "Michelle, you don't have to beat yourself up about this."

  She started up the stairs.

  "You sure about this?" he said.

  "No," she said, but kept on going.

  They reached the wide landing and stopped. There were four doors, two on each side.

  "So the second one there was yours?" He pointed to the right.

  She nodded.

  Sean moved to open the door but she stopped him.

  "Don't."

  He pulled back, looked at her. "Maybe we should leave."

  She nodded, but as he stepped down the hall, she abruptly turned back, gripped the knob on the second door, and opened it.

  And screamed as the man stood there staring at her.

  Then he pushed past Michelle and raced by Sean, clattering down the stairs and out the busted screen door.

  Michelle was shaking so badly that Sean gave up all thoughts of going after the guy. He raced to Michelle and held her. When she finally settled down he drew away. They stared at each other, no doubt the same question on each other's mind.

  Sean articulated it first. In a stunned tone he exclaimed, "What in the hell was your father doing here?"

  CHAPTER 43

  AIR FORCE ONE thudded down at Andrews Air Force Base, the 747's quartet of engines sending their power backward as the pilots engaged the reverse thrusters. The president sat in the nose of the plane in his suite that housed two daybeds, a bath, and a tied-down-tight elliptical machine. Shortly after that Marine One flew along in the standard multichopper deployment. It was close to midnight when the skids of the chopper carrying the president touched down on the White House lawn.

  Dan Cox sprang down the chopper steps looking full of energy, ready to start the day instead of ending it. The man was like that on the political trail. He consistently left much younger aides gasping for air and sucking down troughs of coffee as they state-hopped across the country. The thrill of the competition seemed to fill him with enough adrenaline that he could soldier on endlessly. And there was a high associated with being the president of the United States that couldn't be duplicated by any other occupation. It was like being a rock legend, A-list movie star, sports icon, and the closest thing to a god on earth all rolled into one.

  Tonight, as always, the president moved along in a bubble that the Secret Service referred to as "the package," consisting of the president, high-level staff, personal security detail, and a few fortunate members of the media pool. As he approached the mansion, staff and reporters were nimbly herded off with only one senior staff member and the security detail remaining with the man.

  All doors opened for the leader of the free world and he strode into the White House like he owned it. Which unofficially he did. Though financed by the American taxpayers, it was really his house, his chopper, his jumbo jet. No one got to come for a visit or go for a ride if he didn't say it was okay.

  The senior staff member returned to her office and the president continued on to the First Family's living quarters, leaving the Secret Service detail behind. He was in the true bubble here; as safe at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue at it was possible to be. If the Secret Service had its way, he would never leave the building, until either he was termed out or the voters gave the job to somebody else. But he was the president, the man of the people. Thus he had to actually mingle with the citizens while ulcers grew silently in the bellies of his guards.

  Dan Cox threw off his jacket, pressed a button on a small box resting on a table and a White House steward appeared. Cox gave his order and a minute later he was handed a gin and tonic on the rocks with two slices of lime. That was a nice perk of the job. The president could get pretty much anything he wanted, at any time. After the steward departed, Cox flopped down next to his wife, who sat on the couch reading a magazine and trying her best to appear relaxed.

  "See the latest poll numbers?" he asked gleefully.

  She nodded. "But there's still a long way to go. And the polls tend to tighten."

  "I know it's early yet, but let's be honest, the other side has no traction."

  "Don't be overconfident," she scolded.

  He held up his cut crystal glass. "Interested?"

  "No thanks."

  He munched some unsalted almonds. "When have you ever known me to either be overconfident or lose an election?"

  She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "First time for everything."

  "They still want three debates. I'm thinking two."

  "You should only do one."

  "Why only one? Graham's not that good of a debater."

  "You're being far too kind, Danny. Graham is not only a poor debater; he's mediocre on all levels. It'll only take the American people one time to realize how hopeless he is. So why waste your time? And you don't need to give him three bites at the apple to change anyone's mind, or be raised up to your level. And let's face it, honey, you are human. And humans make mistakes. So why put that much pressure on yourself? He has everything to gain from that strategy and you have everything to lose. The opposition knows their best chance is four years from now when you're termed out. They're counting on the fact that they'll be able to find a young buck with a brain, some real ideas, and a core constituency that they can expand on by then to really challenge for the White House. Graham is just a stopgap."

  He smiled and held up his drink in the manner of a tribute. "I don't know why I even have a campaign strategy team. I can just come and ask the missus."

  "You survive enough battles, the lessons tend to sink in."

  "You know I'll be termed out, but you could run," he said playfully. "Keep a Cox in the White House another eight years."

  "The White House is a nice place, but I really don't want to live here."

  He seemed to remember something. He put his drink down, wrapped an arm around her, and
said, "Any news on Willa?"

  "None."

  "The whole damn FBI on the case and nothing? I'll get on the horn to Munson first thing in the morning. That is totally unacceptable."

  "It seems so strange that someone would kidnap Willa."

  He held her more tightly. "Jane, smart as you are, I know you've already thought about this. The reason they took Willa could have to do with us. They'll try to hurt us and perhaps this country by using that precious little girl."

  She gripped his arm. "What if they ask for something? Something in return for letting her go?"

  Dan Cox let go of his wife, stood, and paced in front of her. He was still a very attractive man. As she watched him walk up and down, she took in the thick shoulders, the perfect hair, the solid chin, the nuggets of cheekbones, and the sparkle of eyes. Physically, he was an amalgam of JFK and Reagan with an intimidating heft of burly Theodore Roosevelt thrown in.

  She had fallen in love with him on seeing the man for the first time on a college campus on a beautiful early fall day. He'd been a junior and she an incoming freshman. It was a day that now seemed a million years ago. And in many important ways, it was. That life had been over for a long time. She could hardly call it part of her history anymore, for so much of immense importance had come in the intervening years.

  "It depends on exactly what they want, Jane. The nuclear codes? I can't do that. One of the founding documents? I can't do that either. In fact, in all candor, the president of the United States cannot give in to blackmail of any kind. The precedent that would set would be untenable for any future administration. It would emasculate the office."

  "So you're saying that we'll never see Willa again?"

  He sat down next to her, rested a hand on her knee. "What I'm saying is that we will do everything in our power to get that little girl back safe and sound. We just have to keep thinking positive thoughts. We have the might of the United States behind us. That's no small thing."

  "Will you be at the funeral tomorrow?"

  He nodded. "Of course. I have an early rally in Michigan, but I'll be back in plenty of time. Air Force waits for no one. And at moments like this family needs to stick together. And not to sound too crass about it, but it'll let the country know that the Coxes put family first in periods of crisis. And that's the truth."