Lilah stepped out into the center aisle as the organist started playing the medley of Georgia tunes to celebrate the President’s middle name, although Billy didn’t know why. Katherine Georgia Wilson had never lived in Georgia.
For some reason, his heart beat louder than the music as he turned his attention back to the clock.
~ * ~
Rubio picked up the forty-four Magnum taped inside the clock. He was convinced no one had seen him as he entered through the back panel. To be absolutely sure he was safe, Rubio locked the back before opening the small front panel at the bottom of the clock’s face. It gave him an excellent view of the President, and Rubio knew he could easily do the job at hand without getting caught.
Yet, he was nervous, talking to himself as he reached for the half-empty bottle of vodka he’d stored in his pants pocket. “Steady, steady.” The cool liquid created a fire in his belly.
He listened to Wilson’s words. “Archbishop Shackley has informed me that Pope John Paul the Second once stood in this same spot.” Rubio smiled, knowing the President was unaware of her fate.
He adjusted his Magnum scope, then pointed the weapon at her head. “President Andrew Jackson and Zachary Taylor have graced these holy premises as well...”
~ * ~
Billy Joe, oblivious to the President’s speech, continued to stare at the clock through Lilah’s binoculars. Either he was crazy or he was looking at a gun barrel protruding from the mahogany wood below George Washington’s face.
Instinctively, he rushed across the aisle in front of the altar to the back, but when he reached the stairwell, Secret Service Agent Stephen Kennedy blocked his path. Kennedy had already prevented an irate Huxley from passing.
“Something’s sticking out of the clock upstairs. Looks like a gun,” Billy Joe said, showing his badge.
Kennedy radioed Agents Frank Johnson and Paul Baldwin as a shot rang out, then another. Billy Joe pushed Kennedy aside. In three giant steps, he made it to the balcony. The screams of the crowd were deafening by the time he’d reached the clock.
Johnson, an agent he recognized, fired into the back, dismantling the lock before prying open the back door.
Rubio tumbled to the floor, dark red blood soaking through the front of his Mardi Gras costume. “No Joda.”
Billy Joe checked Rubio’s pulse while Johnson lifted the black mask to see the face of the man he’d killed “Holy shit.”
Chapter Sixty-four
“It’s a damn work of art,” Green Door Manager Max Sexton said to Jay who sat on a throne attached to the mobile stage. Sexton was right about the float. A local artist had turned an unsightly platform into an abstract canvas of green doors in various sizes.
As the float crept behind Rex, King of the Carnival and Rex’s dragon-shaped barge, Sexton, two waitresses, and Marilyn, the platinum-blonde bartender, tossed twelve-inch beads to parade watchers, many of whom had waited since 7 a.m. They’d practically camped out with deck chairs, ice chests, crockpots of red beans and rice, fried chicken, video cameras and hand-held television sets.
When the float turned left on Canal, Jay saw a difference in the crowd. Men and women seemed dazed, aimlessly meandering through the streets.
“The President’s been shot,” someone shouted. The parade stopped. The float driver jumped out of the cab with a hand-held television. Jay gathered with a group of others to check it out.
“A shooting in the St. Louis Cathedral,” the driver said. “President Wilson and another woman, a reporter.”
Jay turned up the volume, he wouldn’t let himself think the worst.
“I’m standing outside Tulane Medical Center awaiting word on President Wilson’s condition,” the newscaster said. “Just moments ago, the President suffered gunshot wounds to the head while speaking at St. Louis Cathedral. I repeat the President has been shot. At this time, we have no other details, though we’ve learned a Secret Service agent killed the gunman moments after the assassination attempt.” The reporter paused and looked down, obviously listening to whatever was being said to him over his earphones. “The identity of the woman who was injured with the President is Lilah Sanderford, a thirty-eight-year-old journalist from Florida. She was brought to the Medical Center in an ambulance behind President Wilson. We have no details on her condition.”
Jay shoved the television set at the driver, almost knocking him over, then started running the four blocks to Tulane Medical Center.
Chapter Sixty-five
Billy Joe paced Tulane’s first-floor waiting room knowing Lilah and the President had been carried to the second floor, off-limits to the public and almost everyone else except family members.
He rubbed his eyes, wishing he could erase Rubio’s dead face from his mind. Maybe this was a nightmare and he’d wake up. The whole thing made no sense. He thought of what Mrs. McLewie said, then pulled a torn piece of paper out of his breast pocket with her number on it and decided to call her.
“Ms. McLewie, this is Billy Joe Harris. We spoke this morning.”
“Oh, Mr. Harris. I heard what happened. It’s terrible. Simply terrible.”
“Yes, it is.” Billy Joe said, “And that’s why it’s very important that you tell me everything you know about John Gable’s twin.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr. Harris.”
“John’s brother was shot and killed. Any information you can give us will help in our investigation. So, if you could, tell me what you know about Rubio.” Billy Joe prompted.
“He’s been dead for many years, Mr. Harris, but I don’t know how many.” She paused. “Why are you asking about him now?”
Billy Joe was sure he’d misunderstood. “What did you say, Mrs. McLewie?”
“Johnny’s twin, the one Rose Gambrini called Rubio, died a long time ago? It was very tragic, Rose said. The boy was drowned in a scalding tub of water. His own father killed him.”
He wondered if she might be lying or putting him on. “Are you sure?”
“That’s what I was told, Mr. Harris. Rose said at first, Johnny couldn’t accept his brother’s death. The twins must have been very close, and when Johnny came to live with Rose and Stan, Johnny talked to Rubio like some children talk to an invisible playmate, and sometimes Johnny blamed his dead brother.”
“What do you mean, blamed him?” Billy Joe asked confused.
“Rose said that soon after Johnny came to live with them she found their cat, Pandora, floating in the bathtub dead. When she asked Johnny about it, he told her that Rubio drowned Pandora. Rose worried about it because she was afraid Johnny might be repeating his father’s abusive cycle, but then she learned how to turn that terrible incident into a joke.”
Billy Joe couldn’t believe his ears. “A joke?” “She used to call Johnny ‘Rubio’ when he misbehaved, and much later, Mr. Duffy sometimes called Johnny that after Rose told us the cat story. Mr. Duffy teased him and it became a private joke between them. When Johnny made a mistake, Mr. Duffy would say, ‘I guess Rubio did it.’
“Jesus, I remember Lilah said Gable worked for Mr. Duffy.”
“And they were close. Mr. Duffy helped Johnny get into Harvard and tutored him extensively.”
~ * ~
“How’s Lilah? Have you seen her?”
Billy Joe turned around at the question and faced Jay Cascio who was panting heavily, his face and neck wet with perspiration.
“No. Angela will be down in a moment. She’s with her mother now,” Billy Joe said, placing his hand on Jay’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.
Jay looked wild-eyed at Billy Joe. “I need to see her.”
“They’re not letting anybody on that floor. But Angela should be down in a bit.”
Destined to wait, Jay joined Billy Joe in pacing the corridor.
~ * ~
With echoing clomps, Angela’s chunky heels announced her arrival on the first floor. Her smeared mascara made her appear ill and tired.
She wrapped her arms aroun
d Billy Joe and Jay. “I’ll take you up to see Mama.”
As they reached the second floor, Angela brushed past the secret service agents and national guard stationed at the elevator. She casually introduced Billy Joe and Jay. Their IDs were checked and Billy Joe had to hand over his gun. “Looks like a third world country with the guards swarming all over,” Angela said before she greeted the soldier posted outside of Lilah’s room. Inside, they found Lilah propped up in the bed, a bandage around her head and a notebook computer on her lap.
Jay walked up to her and lightly touched her bandage before taking her hand. “How’re you feeling, Baby?” He noticed her dilated pupils. “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy?” He wondered if the bullet had damaged her eyesight.
“You can’t tell her anything, Jay,” Angela said. “She can be stubborn.”
Jay kissed Lilah.
She smiled. “Hi.”
“I love you,” Jay whispered in her ear.
“Looks like that bullet whizzed right on by,” Billy Joe said, standing next to Lilah’s bed.
Lilah hugged Billy Joe, then Jay. “Right now I’m kind of floating. I think they’ve drugged me.”
“The bullet grazed her skull and caused a slight concussion,” Angela reported. “This was one time I couldn’t criticize her for jumping all over the place taking pictures. It’s hard to hit a moving target.”
Jay and Billy Joe laughed.
“How’s the President? Do you know?” Lilah asked.
“A moment ago, I overheard someone say they’re running tests. That means she’s still alive.” Angela answered.
“I’m not sure exactly what happened. Have you heard anything about the shooting?” Lilah asked, glancing first at Billy Joe, then at Jay.
Billy Joe knew he had to talk to her and he wondered if she was in any condition to comprehend it all. He could barely comprehend it himself. How was it possible for Gable, a man he’d long admired, to go stark-raving mad and shoot Lilah and President Wilson? Had he also killed Comeaux and Dan Duffy? Maybe Lilah could give him more information.
“I’d like fifteen minutes alone with Miss Lilah, if you don’t mind,” Billy Joe said, gripping Jay’s shoulder and patting Angela’s back. “It’s official business.”
“Come on Jay,” Angela said, pulling him out of the room. “Let’s bust out of here and get something to eat. I’m starving.” She leaned over her mother’s bed and whispered, “Are you gonna be okay?”
Lilah stroked her face, “Don’t worry, Angel, I’ll be fine. Now, go take care of your growling stomach, but don’t stay away too long you two.”
As soon as Angela and Jay left the room, Billy Joe told Lilah about the gunman inside the Cathedral and his last phone conversation with Mrs. McLewie.
“Are you saying John Gable and Rubio-o...” She bolted straight up, tightly clutching the crystal.
“Are one and the same, a split personality,” Billy Joe said.
“Oh, God, Billy Joe, that means Gable killed Dan’s father.”
“But how did the truth stay buried all these years?”
“Money, power, Gable had all, plus he managed to make Tom Duffy’s death look like a suicide.”
“But what was his motive?”
Lilah looked at Billy Joe. She was having trouble concentrating. “Duffy wrote in his diary that Rubio wasn’t himself when he was drinking,” Lilah paused. “Duffy also wrote that Rubio had accused him of killing Stan Gambrini, the uncle who’d adopted Gable. Gambrini was the only real father Gable had ever known, and maybe Gable figured he needed to settle the score. He certainly had the opportunity, according to Duffy’s diary. The two men had agreed to meet at Loch Raven Reservoir the day Duffy’s died.”
“And in order to cover his tracks Gable kills Dan Duffy,” Billy Joe said.
“He was afraid Dan knew the truth.”
“What about Comeaux?”
“It sounds crazy but then he was crazy, crazy enough to steal my gun at his Mardi Gras party and use it to kill Comeaux in broad daylight.”
Billy Joe massaged his forehead. “What a fool I’ve been, Lilah. To think I admired that man, even campaigned for him. I told everybody how much I respected him.” Billy Joe frowned and closed his eyes as if he didn’t want to see the truth. “How could I have been such a fool?”
Lilah reached over and stroked Billy Joe’s arm to comfort him. “We were all fooled.”
Chapter Sixty-six
“Angela, why don’t you keep me company while I eat a salad,” Billy Joe said when she and Jay returned. I knew he sensed Jay wanted to be alone with me. “And I’ll treat you to a hot fudge sundae.”
“I should probably stick around. Mama looks pale.”
“Your Mama is improving by the minute.” Billy Joe led Angela out the door.
Jay grabbed my left hand, then gave me a tender, concerned look. His white ruffled tuxedo shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, the black bow-tie hanging loose. “This really messed up your parade, didn’t it? First, you lose your best friend, and then a maniac shoots me.”
“If I lost you, it wouldn’t just ruin my parade, it’d ruin my life.” He sat on the bed. “I have something I want to give you.”
My heart started racing.
“Remember when you said your mother wanted you to be engaged before you were married?” Jay whispered. He drew a small box from his pocket and lifted an exquisite platinum, diamond, ruby and emerald ring from its cushioned case. “Lilah, I love you.” He slipped the ring on my finger. “I want to marry you.”
I drew my hand closer to admire the sparkling stones. “It’s beautiful, Jay.” Tears brimmed and spilled over on my cheeks. “I love you too, Jay, although I never expected to love again.” I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close, falling back against the pillows as his mouth covered mine in a deep kiss.
Two Secret Service agents strode into the room interrupting our moment, then President Katherine Wilson appeared in a wheel chair with Huxley following behind. The President was wearing a thick gauze bandage over her left eye and head.
“I hear we’re sisters,” Wilson said, in a strong voice. She rolled her chair up to my bedside. “We have similar injuries, I see.”
I was completely flustered by her presence. “Madam President. How are you?”
The President smiled. “I’ll live, thanks to my costume designer.”
“That’s a great quote,” I said. “But I’m not sure I understand it.”
“Do you recall the criticism I received when I wore what one reporter called ‘an ultra-extravagant inaugural gown’?”
I nodded, still captivated by Wilson’s nearness.
“When Rene designed my Mardi Gras costume, he made my crown bullet-proof. I almost chose not to wear it today but,” Wilson paused. “I shouldn’t tell you this.” She lowered her voice, then flashed a childlike grin. “I wore the crown because Rene’s astrologer said...” Wilson hesitated again.
“What did the astrologer say?” I asked, eagerly.
“That I was in danger, but please don’t print that. Many of my media friends might compare me to Nancy Reagan.”
Jay and I chuckled at her remark although my laugh sounded hollow as I thought of Martha’s premonition.
“Therefore, at my press conference tomorrow, I’ll simply explain that Rene’s gowns are expensive because they’re bullet-proof.” Wilson laughed and looked at me with her visible blue eye. “But the primary reason for my visit with you, other than wishing you a quick recovery, is to ask a favor.”
“Anything.”
“You are in the process of writing about what happened today, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“And you have been researching an article on John Gable?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure you’ve uncovered valuable information that will produce lucrative articles. And, as a professional journalist, you should. However, I know you are aware the nation will mourn the passing of the Vice President. Millio
ns loved him and believed in him. They will find it difficult, if not impossible, to accept his violent side. Only his psychiatrist, Dr. Huxley, knew the extent of John’s mental illness.” Wilson motioned to Huxley as she spoke. “It was a secret they both guarded extremely well.”
I glanced at Huxley who studied the floor. Did he know that Gable killed Tom Duffy and possibly Comeaux and Dan? I asked him this, and he said it was Rubio, Gable’s split personality who was the murderer. “But how could you allow a murderer to become the second most powerful person in our land?” I demanded to know.
Huxley stared at me in silence.
“Tell me this, Dr. Huxley, did you know that a man named Dan Duffy was planning to visit New Orleans to find his father’s murderer.”
“John said the young Duffy had written to him about it, expecting to find his father’s murderer in exchange for money that Rubio believed was rightfully his. Sounds peculiar, I know, and I’m not sure it’s true, since John was clearly delusional.”
“Did you know Gable as Rubio stole my gun at his costume ball and killed a policeman with it?”
“No.”
The President interrupted my questioning of Gable’s psychiatrist. “Dr. Huxley said stress, alcohol and depression caused John’s dual personality to resurface, but whatever your information, Lilah, I’m asking you not to present it until my press conference tomorrow. At that time, I will attempt to explain his illness, his twin’s death, and the childhood abuse he endured. Of course, my explanation will be questioned. Therefore, I’ll need your help as well as Dr. Huxley’s to answer the doubtful disputations.”
“And you think I have enough information to make all of this seem credible?” I asked.
“Who knows,” the President said, sighing. “I’m afraid in spite of everything I say, or anyone else says, my administration will undergo harsh scrutiny. Before and after a Commission reports on John’s death, I’ll be subjected to a barrage of rumors and insults. I don’t expect the issue to fade away for decades. Smelling blood, many of your fellow journalists will attack. I predict the Republicans as well will prey on my administration, sucking the life out of my programs.”
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