by P. K. Abbot
Ryan walked over to the governor and put a consoling hand onto his back.
“I am so sorry, sir,” Ryan said.
“No, no. It had to be done. It was better for me to do it than for Susan to do it.”
“Still, I am sorry, Sir.”
“I know. Thank you for your kindness, Sergeant,” the governor said. “I guess I should see how Susan and the girls are holding up on this terrible day.”
With that, they parted company.
Ryan and Mueller spent a few more minutes comparing their notes and being certain that the work at the crime scene was complete. As they were walking to their cars, they looked over at Trey’s house. There in the front yard they could see Jamie Jamieson, the most powerful man in the state, trying to cheer those two little girls, hugging them, and now and then wiping a tear from his own eye.
Chapter 5
Saturday, December 26
Early Saturday morning, Ryan and Mueller called Burton from their car as they were driving to the Jamieson estate. They expected Burton to be furious with them for ignoring his instructions about the Governor’s arrival last night, but they were surprised to find that Burton was actually civil. He had good reason to be.
“Forensics recovered a good print from the casing,” Burton said. “They matched the print to a person in the Department of Defense database – an Iranian national.”
“That gives us our prime suspect, Sir,” Ryan said. “Since the person is an Iranian national, the motive may have had less to do with Trey and more to do with gaining revenge or leverage on the Governor.”
“In light of this new evidence, Sergeant Ryan, it may be prudent for you and Mueller to narrow the scope of your investigation...in order to conclude the investigation quickly... but still you two have an intimidating amount of work before you. You still have a lot of ground to cover.
“One more thing,” Burton continued. “We must play this investigation very close to the vest. This is a very sensitive and potentially explosive case. We cannot afford a leak of any type. I do not want you to discuss this new evidence with anyone, not with the Governor’s staff, not even with the Governor himself. Do I make myself clear, Sergeants?”
“Loud and clear, Lieutenant,” Ryan replied.
“Mueller?”
“Understood, Sir.”
“Good. Let’s meet this afternoon at the CSU, after your interview with Governor Jamieson. You both can brief me on the interview, and I will bring you up-to-date on the forensics results. See you then.”
“See you then, Lieutenant.”
It would take Ryan and Mueller about forty-five minutes to drive from Hamilton Township, where their office and homes were, to the Jamieson estate on the far side of Princeton. They travelled up Route 206, which would pass in front of the governor’s official residence in Princeton.
The official residence sat on twelve acres and dated back to the early 19th century, but this was not the governor’s actual residence. Governor Jamieson – “Jamie” – decided to give this residence back to the people of New Jersey for the duration of his term. Jamie had lived near Princeton for years and decided to continue living in his private home. That seemed fitting for a self-styled Populist Republican, a man of the people, but it may have actually had more to do with the mansion’s early 19th century comforts and the vagaries of its ancient plumbing.
“Is this the place that Jamie gave back to the people?” Ryan inquired.
“It is. You have to admire his conviction. He has a mansion at his disposal but chooses to live at his own expense just to save the people money.”
“You don’t really believe that PR bullshit about him being a man of the people, do you?”
“Why not? He seemed very gracious and approachable last night.”
As they drove past the residence, Ryan smirked at Mueller and said, “If you believe that he is like most people because he seemed friendly last night, you are living in a different world, Pete. He is nothing like us.” Ryan just laughed at him now.
Mueller chose not to answer. He did not want to argue with him about it.
For another twenty minutes, Ryan and Mueller continued following Route 206 north through the Borough of Princeton and down Bayard Lane until they reached the rolling, wooded land beyond the Borough.
They eventually turned left, leaving Route 206 behind them. On their right was a square mile of densely wooded land – the Jamieson estate. The estate was surrounded by a twelve foot high, wrought iron fence. Mueller noticed that along the fence line there were motion detectors and cameras. They seemed to cover every linear inch of the perimeter.
After driving for a half mile, they reached a gated entry which was guarded by a state trooper. Once the trooper cleared them, they drove onto the grounds of the estate.
As they drove further into the estate, they passed by hundreds of ancient oak and spruce trees, which created a screen of privacy around the estate. Eventually they went up a slight rise and came out on an open plateau. A large lawn spread out before them with shrubs and flowerbeds along its edges.
The Jamieson mansion stood beyond the lawn. The house was easily three times the size of the official residence that Jamie had returned to the people.
Two helicopter landing areas, helipads, were at the far left of the house. A state police helicopter, apparently the governor’s helicopter, sat on one of the pads.
An immense satellite dish stood in the southwest corner of the clearing. This was not the type of dish that you would use to watch a game on ESPN; this was a dish for transmitting and receiving copious amounts of data; this was a dish fitting for use by a future President of the United States.
At the end of the drive, another state trooper directed Ryan and Mueller to a parking lot at the far west end of the building. “That door leads to the Governor’s office,” he told them. “Just be sure to announce yourselves to the receptionist there.”
When they pulled their car into the lot, Ryan looked at Mueller and grinned. “Do you still believe that Jamie is a man of the people?”
“Yeah, of course I do. It’s just that his people are a lot better off than our people.”
Mueller smiled at Ryan. Then they both laughed.
*****
Ryan and Mueller walked across the lot and into the reception area of the governor’s office. Since the receptionist was not at her desk, they sat down and waited for her return.
The door to the Governor’s office suite was ajar. Ryan and Mueller could not help hearing the heated conversation occurring inside the office. They recognized Governor Jamieson’s voice.
“No, Lucien, I refuse to do that.”
An excited, nasal voice replied: “I am telling you, Jamie, you are not going to have a choice. Thornton is still too far ahead of you in the polls. He has the advantage of being the senator from the neighboring state, and he is the sort of candidate that the evangelicals in Iowa love.”
“I still will not do it. It is too soon.”
“Right now Thornton is killing you in Iowa, Jamie. If he maintains his margin through the caucus and stays close to you in New Hampshire, you will have a dog fight for the nomination. You may not survive until the convention. You have to find a way to mitigate Thornton’s support among the Christian right in Iowa. The obvious solution for you is to play Trey’s death as your trump card.”
“No, no, no!” The Governor was bellowing at the other man. He was furious with him. “How can this come off as anything other than a shallow, self-serving maneuver, Lucien?”
“It is the only way, Jamie, but people have to feel it is genuine. And you have the ability to finesse it so that people will feel that it is genuine. You have done it before in other races. If you pull it off, you can steal the evangelical support away from Thornton in Iowa. If you come close or beat him in Iowa, you should be able to destroy him in New Hampshire. You should be able to knock that pious hack out of the race before South Carolina, but you cannot do it without using Trey’s death
to your advantage.”
“How am I going to do this, Lucien? How am I going to explain this to Laura and to Susan?”
“Laura will accept it when she realizes that it is her path to becoming the First Lady.”
“And Susan? How can I justify my profiting from her husband’s death?”
“Tell her to think of the girls, Jamie. Elizabeth and Isabel will have many more opportunities as the granddaughters of the President than they will as the granddaughters of a former governor.”
“I just cannot get behind it, Lucien – not yet anyway. It is too soon, and it hurts too much still.”
Just then a state police captain walked into the reception area. He was the same height as Mueller but stockier, more powerfully built. With a scar over his left eye and a nose that had been flattened years ago, he looked menacing. He stared at them suspiciously with cold gray eyes.
“Why are you two here?”
“We have an appointment with Governor Jamieson,” Ryan answered.
The captain walked behind the receptionist’s desk and leafed through the appointment book. He scowled at them and stated, “You are not on his schedule.”
“We made the appointment with Governor Jamieson personally… at his son’s house last night.”
“I’m going to check out your story. Don’t move.”
The captain walked into the Governor’s office and said something to him in muffled tones.
Governor Jamieson called out, “Come in here, boys. I have been expecting you.”
When Ryan and Mueller came into the room, the man with the nasal voice was still talking with Jamie. He was speaking quickly and trifling with the watch on his wrist. He was scurrying backward toward the door when he collided with Ryan and knocked him into the doorjamb. Although the man was much shorter than Ryan, he was muscular and very solidly built.
The governor laughed at the collision and said, “Lucien, you and your antics with that watch constantly amuse me.”
“As I have told you before, Jamie, it is not a watch. This is a chronometer — an esteemed Vacheron Constantin chronometer. It is a hundred times more accurate and more valuable than any of that American crap that you have to wear because you are a politician. This has been custom made for me. There is only one other like it in the world.”
“I imagine the guy who bought the second one got quite a deal,” the Governor laughed. “Besides, why do I need to spend $200,000 on a chronometer, when I have you to tell me the time, Lucien?”
Lucien gave Jamie a dismissive wave and said, “I have to leave.”
“Lucien, don’t leave just yet. I want you to meet Sergeants Ryan and Mueller. Sergeants, I think you have already met Captain Elliot, but let me introduce you to Lucien Black. Lucien is the manager of my presidential campaign as well as my special advisor.”
“It is my pleasure to meet you, Mr. Black.” Ryan smiled and extended his hand to him.
“That’s Doctor Black,” he replied. He turned back toward Jamie and left Ryan’s hand hanging in midair.
The Governor sought to lessen the tension between them and quickly changed the conversation.
“I want to congratulate you, boys. Lucien just told me that you have identified a suspect, based upon a fingerprint that was gathered from the site of Trey’s murder.”
For a moment Ryan and Mueller were at a loss for words. They did not know how to react. Realizing that they had been betrayed by the department or perhaps even by their lieutenant, they looked at each other in disbelief.
Finally Ryan spoke up, “How did you hear that, Doctor Black?”
“Oh, I have cultivated sources in your department for years, but I am afraid that knowing those sources is above your pay grade, boys,” he replied.
When Jamie used the term “boys” a moment earlier, they felt camaraderie with him; when Black used the term, they sensed that he regarded them as his inferiors. They took an instant dislike to Black.
“Well, be that as it may,” the Governor interrupted, “that was excellent police work, Sergeants, and it may indicate that you will be able to bring the murderer to justice quickly. Congratulations, Sergeants.”
“Lucien,” the Governor continued, “we are finished for this morning. I now need to spend time with Sergeants Ryan and Mueller regarding Trey’s murder. That is my main priority today. Why don’t you have Captain Elliot drive you to the campaign headquarters and then take you home when you have finished?”
“Okay, Jamie,” Black said as he backed quickly toward the door again. “I will call you later.”
“Okay,” the Governor said as Black and Elliot left the room.
Turning back to Ryan and Mueller, the Governor said, “Let me give this to you before I forget about it.”
He handed a memory stick to Ryan.
“I had called the president of Trey’s bank late last night for information about Trey’s accounts. Early this morning he emailed me these files for your investigation.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Ryan said.
“I am confident that you will find this information to be very thorough, boys, but, if you need additional information, tell me, and I shall see that you get whatever you need.”
“We will get right on it,” Ryan said.
“One more thing,” the Governor said.
He looked away for a moment, then took a quick breath, and continued.
“When you check Trey’s phone records, you will find that his final call was from me.”
The detectives had not expected to hear this.
“Did you hear the shooting then?” Mueller asked.
“I think so.”
“Tell us about the call, Governor.”
“I had called Trey about a tax issue. When I heard my granddaughters laughing in the background, I was about to ask him to let me talk with the girls.”
“Did you get to talk with them?”
“No. I heard footsteps approach, a heavy shoe or a boot on the pavement. Then quickly I heard what sounded like a puff of air and a single grunt.”
The Governor looked away again and was quiet.
“Then what happened?” they asked him.
“Nothing. For a few moments there was silence, just silence, except for the footsteps walking away.”
“That was it?”
“No. In a few seconds I could hear the girls start shrieking, It was horrible, absolutely horrible.”
His eyes were tearing, and he was short of breath now. It was as if he were reliving the murder again.
“You have to find the bastards who did this.” he pleaded. “Make them pay for it.”
“We will, Sir,” Ryan said.
“Lucien had mentioned that the murder weapon is probably an FN Five-seveN.”
“They told him that as well?”
The Governor nodded.
“Sergeants, do you know who uses the FN Five seveN as their primary service weapon?”
“The weapon is in restricted distribution,” Mueller answered. “It is used by NATO armed forces, war contractors, and select police departments.”
“You forgot one.”
“Who?”
“The United States Secret Service.”
The Governor waited a beat for this to sink in, and then he continued.
“It would not be out of the question for a sitting president to want to eliminate a strong challenger to his own reelection.”
“Are you serious, Sir?”
“I am serious, Sergeants, and that is why it is critical for you two to solve Trey’s murder quickly, as soon as possible, before the Feds can insert themselves into this case.”
“We are already making progress, Sir.”
“What you do not know, Sergeants, is that already there is pressure to turn this case over to the Secret Service. I do not want that for obvious reasons, but I will not be able to avoid that for more than a few months. The law dictates that by July the Secret Service shall assume responsibility for the security of all presidential
candidates. By July the Secret Service will assume responsibility for my security, and at that time they will also assume control of Trey’s murder case – whether I want them to or not.”
The Governor paused for a moment. When he spoke again, he had tears in his eyes.
“Last night I was fearful that Trey was killed because of me, because of his connection to me. Today I am certain. It should not have been a surprise.”
“But how could you know, Sir?”
“The Presidency is the most powerful office in the world. People have spent their careers seeking it. They will do anything to attain it. So, why not murder too?”
“Murder? Then you are sure that Trey’s murder was politically motivated?”
“Exactly. The Presidential election has always been a blood contest. I should have expected it. I should have warned Trey. I should have protected him.”
The Governor turned away and was quiet for a few seconds. When he turned back to them, he spoke with a cold, flinty resolve in his voice.
“I want the bastards who did this to my boy to be punished. I am counting on you two to solve this case quickly.”
Chapter 6
Ryan and Mueller had agreed to meet Ryan’s Uncle Mike for lunch at Rocco’s Bar in Trenton.
Trenton was only ten miles to the south of Princeton – close geographically, yet a world apart. While Princeton was still a vibrant center of academia and corporate power, Trenton had become a ghost of its former self.
Before 1950 Trenton had been a prosperous East Coast industrial center. Trenton’s mills had produced the iron framework for the United States Capitol Dome and the suspension cables for the Brooklyn, George Washington, and Golden Gate Bridges. It was a feeling of self-importance which prompted the city’s Chamber of Commerce in 1912 to erect a sign on the Lower Bridge across the Delaware River. The sign faced the railroad bridge and was clearly visible to all train passengers travelling between New York and Philadelphia. In large, illuminated, block letters, the sign boasted:
TRENTON MAKES – THE WORLD TAKES
But that was then. By 1950 industry in Trenton was in steep decline. In 1974 the last major industry in Trenton, the Roebling Wire Rope Mill, finally closed its doors too. When the jobs left the city, much of the population left as well. The people who remained were unskilled and just too impoverished to escape.