“I don’t owe you any explanation, Jeffries,” Yeager said as he moved swiftly to cover up the papers. “In fact, how do I know the men outside aren’t watching you? It’s you who has been indicted, not me. What, is this your big plan? Is this how you plan on taking me down? Everyone heard what you said the day you were arrested. You blamed me for your demise. Are you here now because you want to finally make good on your threat? After all, didn’t you threaten to kill me?”
Jeffries knew by Yeager’s reaction that he had him on the defensive and that made him vulnerable.
“You have such a flare for the dramatic,” Jeffries said as he casually turned to survey his surroundings. “Yes, I did say it was you behind my indictment, but you have no real proof that I threatened to kill you. Politics is a combat sport, remember?”
As the two men traded accusations, Jeffries finally recalled where he had seen the rug used to wrap Taylor’s body — Yeager’s den. He remembered because Yeager had received the rug from an unknown merchant as a gift. It had been sent to council chambers because under ethics rules, he had to do a full disclosure to accept the gift, but since the gift had come to him sender unknown, it had to be locked up for one year, thus allowing time for the sender to come forth and explain why the gift was being presented to an elected official. If the sender failed to claim the gift by the time a year had passed, it became the property of the intended official.
Now the pieces were coming together. Jeffries had supervised the administrative rule that had placed the rug in storage and he had to release the rug into Yeager’s custody once the year was up. Like a raindrop from the heavens, Jeffries had what he needed. Because the rug and its description had been documented for public record, all he had to do was let the police know his thoughts concerning the rug’s origin and then Yeager would be on public display trying to protect his honor and dignity. Payback would be savory.
If his assumption was correct, he was standing in the room where Taylor had lost her life. Now the only thing left for him to do was find out why. It was one thing to bring Yeager down for the murder of his aide, but it was another to find out what was so valuable that Yeager would kill for.
Standing in Yeager’s den, Jeffries put the pieces together. Stan Lewis had figured out the connection among Yeager, Jones, and Edelstein, then told Taylor the night they had dinner. And in order to keep all the spoils for herself, Taylor had orchestrated Stan’s murder. Marveling at his ability to unravel the case, for a brief moment he felt a sense of pride. Taylor had done what she was trained to do. She had seized the opportunity to confront Yeager with the information and tried to broker a deal. But, for whatever reason, he hadn’t bit and it had cost her life.
“So, my friend,” Jeffries said as he turned to look again at Yeager, “why haven’t you done a press conference regarding Taylor’s death? Surely you must understand how this looks to the public, not to mention your own staff. Taylor was your top aide and everybody knew it, so for you to be mum, seems to suggest either you’re not interested or something more sinister — like you have something to hide. Which is it?”
“First, I’m not your friend,” Yeager said. “And I do not have to explain anything to you, a man who stands accused of violating the public’s trust. A man no longer part of the elite fraternity of elected officials. Who are you to bust in here as if we have a relationship, one in which I will bare my truths? I want you to leave and I want you to leave now. And for the record, when I choose to publicly address the demise of Taylor DuBois, it will be when I am ready and not because her accomplice questioned me about it. That’s right, Grey. I know all about your relationship with Taylor. So get out!”
Yeager turned and headed toward his front door, unaware of what was going on behind him. Jeffries had quietly picked up one of the papers lying on a table and stuffed it in his pocket.
“You disgust me,” Jeffries said. “And just like the rest of us, your day is coming, Guy and I’m going to watch it happen from the sidelines like everybody else.”
“Get out,” Yeager said, opening the door for Jeffries and then slamming it shut once Jeffries was out.
As Jeffries walked to his car, he noticed the unmarked car was still there. With nothing to lose, he waved to the man sitting comfortably in the black sedan.
Jeffries’s desire to ruin Guy Yeager both politically and personally was beyond obsession. Jeffries knew he was going to see the inside of a federal prison and there was nothing he could do about it. The evidence the Feds had on him was just too much to argue against without having to give up some of his colleagues in council chambers. After all, Jeffries knew there were other council members receiving kickbacks, but he was not a snitch. So that meant he would have to take one for the team.
He also knew prison time was not the end of the world, especially for an elected official. If he did his time right, when he was released, he would have his life back and be able to go on living in the manner to which he was accustomed.
But when it came to Yeager, all bets were off and now he had what he needed to bury him.
Once Jeffries pulled the docket number off the paper he’d stolen from Yeager’s house, it didn’t take long for him to find the Last Will and Testament of Yancy Laurie, president and CEO of the Clydesdale Energy Corporation. But Jeffries was confused; the last will and testament of a dead billionaire was the last thing he had expected to see. He just couldn’t see the connection, but he knew there had to be one, especially considering that Yeager seemed to be more interested in the Laurie will than he was in Taylor’s murder. Whatever the connection, Jeffries was willing to do whatever was necessary to figure it out.
Before he could settle in for an evening’s work however, he was startled to see Commander Racine pulling into his driveway. He knew that whatever Racine wanted, it had nothing to do with his federal indictment, so there was no need to contact his lawyer.
“Commander Racine, to what do I owe this visit?” Jeffries asked.
“Hello, Councilman,” Racine said. “I’m sorry for just dropping by, but with all that’s going on with the Taylor DuBois murder … well, you know.”
“Of course, Commander,” Jeffries said while calmly studying the man’s face. “I understand you have your hands full right now. So what can I do for you?”
“Well, actually, I am here to see if you can help me. I was informed you went to see Councilman Yeager yesterday.”
“Why, yes, I did,” Jeffries said, acting surprised. Jeffries knew enough about random inquiries not to offer information to any investigative body, but instead allow Racine to guide the process. After all, Racine had just indirectly confirmed his suspicions that Yeager’s home was under surveillance.
“Was there a particular reason for your visit?” Racine asked. “I mean, it’s not like you two are very close. In fact, if my source is correct, you were overheard saying that Councilman Yeager was responsible for your recent legal woes, and if you had it your way, you would see to it that he too got his.”
“Close,” Jeffries replied confidently, “but not quite accurate. Yes, we have no love lost between us, but he is a colleague and my visit was strictly based on seeing how he was faring in light of the death of his favorite aide. He and Taylor were very close.”
“I see. Well, let me ask you something. Did Councilman Yeager seem okay to you?”
“Well, that depends on how you define okay. We both know that Councilman Yeager has many personalities.” Jeffries laughed. “I’m sorry, Commander, I couldn’t help myself. But back to your question. Actually, other than being preoccupied by something he was working on, he seemed fine. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason except that he hasn’t made a public statement yet, and that seems a little unusual.”
“I wouldn’t jump the gun if I were you,” Jeffries said. “Guy Yeager is never easy to figure out and in light of what has happened, he may just be mourning. Now, since we’re asking twenty questions, I have one for you. You made some pre
tty outlandish statements on Good Morning DC about a connection between Taylor’s and Stan Lewis’s murders. What makes you believe they are connected? And why would Taylor have Stan killed?”
“Now, Councilman,” Racine replied, measuring his response, “you know I’m not at liberty to share the details of these cases, or our findings.”
“I understand,” Jeffries said. “If I can be of any further assistance, please let me know.”
Once Racine left, Jeffries eagerly resumed his snooping. He had to admit that the Last Will and Testament of Yancy Laurie was intriguing, especially the fact that Guy Yeager had a copy at his home. There was a link and Jeffries knew he had to find it.
At first, skimming through the document netted no results and at 102 pages, the last thing he wanted to do was read it. However, it only took about thirty pages of reading to discover what he was looking for. He now knew exactly why Stan and Taylor had been killed.
The laughter that erupted inside Jeffries’s home could be heard on the street. There was no doubt he was taking delight in knowing that his nemesis, Guy Yeager, had thought he had the upper hand, when, in fact, two others — the person closest to him and the person he despised the most — controlled everything.
If his assessment was correct, Stan had found out that Blake Jones was the son of Yancy Laurie and had told Taylor. Realizing the value of the information, Stan wanted to be paid for his services and for his silence, and that’s probably why he and Taylor had dined at the Lavender Lounge that evening.
At the same time, Taylor knew that once she paid Stan, he would either be back for more or figure out another way to use the information for his benefit. Either way, she knew she had to guarantee Stan stayed quiet. One thing was for sure, Racine had been dead on point when he had said Stan’s death had been a crime of opportunity. There was no way Taylor could have planned to kill Stan. But, when she saw those two thugs standing there and Stan in his car less than fifty feet away, she had to act. It had been a ruse. She’d set them up. In fact, she had known what they would do before they did.
With a few drinks under his belt, Jeffries continued to marvel at his own genius.
“That sneaky low-down bitch,” he said out loud. “Taylor not only set up Stan’s death, she witnessed it.” As he took another shot of tequila, he realized that it could have been him. The thought of what had happened to Stan, and the realization that Taylor could have done the same thing to him, made Jeffries appreciate, whoever killed her had done him a favor. Now the only thing left for him to do was finish putting the puzzle together and do so before anyone else did. But first, had to lay down to ease the throbbing in his head. Either he had drunk too much or he was thinking too much. Whichever, he had to be still.
Several hours later, Jeffries awoke with clarity. He knew exactly when Taylor had died, where she had died and who had killed her. Moreover, when he met with Chairman Stanback about his transition plan and impending indictment, Stanback shared with him that he’d met with Taylor in his office after she had left the police station.
Someone was lying. Either Adrienne was lying or Yeager was using Adrienne to cover his tracks. He knew Adrienne would believe whatever Yeager said and more importantly, if she was questioned, he had subconsciously created in her mind his alibi. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. “I got him now,” Jeffries said out loud as he paced his study.
After his visit with Councilman Jeffries, Commander Racine returned to his office. Something was up and whatever it was, everything pointed to Yeager.
“Hey, boss, you got a moment?”
“Yeah, come on in,” Racine replied to a detective also working on the case. “What’s up?”
“I just completed my interview with Adrienne Tenney, Taylor’s assistant. She told us Taylor had a second cell phone.”
“So, where is it?” Racine asked, intrigued by the discovery.
“Unfortunately, the phone was not with the evidence found on her person or anywhere in her home or car.”
“What about her cell phone records?” Racine asked.
“We just received a copy,” the detective said, “and you won’t believe what we found. According to her phone records, the night Stan Lewis was murdered there were no outbound calls made minutes before or minutes after Stan’s death. As you know, both suspects specifically said that Taylor called someone right before the robbery and told that person that Stan had just found six thousand dollars and was sitting in his car with the money.”
Racine listened intently as his theory was confirmed. Taylor had the personality of a sociopath. She had not only “commissioned” the murder of Stan Lewis, and she would have gotten away with it had she not been taken out herself.
“Now get this,” the detective added. “According to her phone records, the last outgoing call Taylor made was to Yeager. And based on the satellite location at the time of the call, Taylor was outside Yeager’s home when they were talking.”
“Interesting,” Racine said while still maintaining his composure. “Who else knows this?”
“No one.”
“Good. Keep it that way for a while.”
“Yes, sir.” The detective left Racine to his thoughts.
As the teapot whistled, Yeager was reminded he had put water on for his afternoon tea, a ritual he’d picked up from Yancy Laurie. Afternoon tea was Yancy’s time to reflect on what he had accomplished earlier in the day and what he still needed to do before he was satisfied his work for the day was over. And when Yancy was done working, he was done working. He prided himself on the fact that he did a great deal of work before most people had even started their days and Yeager had adopted Yancy’s pattern. On any given day, he was up and in his office by 4:00 AM.
Yeager picked up his cup of tea, retrieved the will and headed toward his massive den. Books, pictures and awards covered three of the room’s walls and the fourth was nothing but windows. Yeager wasn’t much on decorating, but his den was definitely a tribute to him. Unlike the other rooms in his house, where curtains or shades were always drawn for privacy, these windows were flanked by purple velvet draped from ceiling to the floor. As far as the eye could see was Rock Creek Park. The sun and the trees and their inhabitants and occasional other wildlife were his everyday surprise.
When Yeager reached the entryway to his den, he was forced to stare at its emptiness. The absence of his favorite chair in front of the window was a stark reminder of what had taken place days before. For a brief moment, Yeager allowed the sun, now at its mid-morning apex, to beat on his face as he had done so many times before, before backing out and closing the door.
Once settled elsewhere, Guy started to read the will yet again. This would be his third read and he was determined to be familiar with every statement, clause, stipulation, and the document’s intonation before he engineered his plan. The last thing he wanted was to be challenged on something. Based on how the document was written, he knew Yancy himself had written it. He’d been one of the best legal minds never to have practiced law, and Yeager’s mentor.
As Guy started to review the document, it didn’t take him long to figure out a page was missing. “Damn it!” he yelled. “Jeffries must have stolen the page when I wasn’t looking and by now he knows everything.”
Yeager was pissed and he showed it. Anything in arm’s reach was fair game and by the time he’d finished trashing the small room off the kitchen, he was exhausted. “I’m going to kill that son-of-a-bitch,” he said aloud after surveying the damage. But, before he could contemplate his next move, his doorbell rang.
“Fuck! What is it now?” he said, furious he’d been interrupted. Peering out a front window, he could see Racine and several unmarked cars. Whatever it was, it was official. But, before he could greet his guests, he had to lock the will in his safe. The last thing he wanted was to leave the will in plain view for someone else to find.
“Hello, Commander. What is it now?”
Racine knew his mere presence frustrated Yeager and he
loved it. “Well, Councilman, this is not a social visit,” Racine replied as he gradually used his large physique to nudge his way in. He closed the door behind him. “I have a warrant to search your home.”
“A warrant to search my home? For what? And who signed it?”
Asking who had signed the warrant was Yeager’s way of flexing and Racine knew it. DC was a tight community when it came to its politicians. Usually, when something was coming down the pike involving certain elected officials, a courtesy call would be given, but in Yeager’s case, that courtesy hadn’t happened. And he wanted to know the name of the presiding judge who had broken the unspoken rule and given him up without warning.
As Racine pulled the document from his inside breast pocket, Yeager snatched it out of his hand. Right then, Racine wanted to push him up against the wall for violating that space that only men knew existed, but he caught himself because in this case, he knew he couldn’t. As commander in chief of the nation’s capital police department, Racine wasn’t the type of man who was disrespected often. And when he was, he was known for handling his business, regardless of who had done the disrespecting. However, in this case, he knew he had to keep his eye on the prize, and for him, the prize would be watching Councilman Guy Yeager being handcuffed and charged with murder.
“As you can see from the warrant,” Racine replied, “we have evidence that indicates that Taylor was here at your place of residence the day she came up missing. Not to mention that when asked whether you had talked to or seen her the day she went missing, you lied and said you hadn’t.”
“What evidence?” Yeager asked belligerently. “And who are you to call me a liar?”
“Her phone records.” Racine opened the front door again and motioned the detectives to come in. “The satellite configurations put her here, Councilman, right on your property, and most likely somewhere in your home.”
While Yeager read the warrant, Racine’s people entered the premises and began their search. To keep the search under the radar, he had convinced the city administrator and a judge that the Lewis and DuBois murders were connected and that Taylor had been murdered on Yeager’s property. And to ensure that the evidence collected was protected from contamination, loss, or destruction, he’d handpicked his team.
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