by Sydney Bauer
Privacy my ass, he thought to himself. Whatever Karin was saying, he was sure Croft, who he had crossed before in the course of various defence investigations, had every intention of making it as public as possible within the next twenty-four hours. Newsline aired on Fridays and David knew Croft would turn any interview with Karin into a major headliner for tomorrow night’s show.
He put his foot on the accelerator and saw the familiar front lights of the Bull and Finch Pub at 84 Beacon just ahead and to his right. The pub was better known as the famous Cheers bar, the same watering hole on which the popular TV show was based, and as usual there was a queue trailing up the famous front steps and along the sidewalk, and worse still, a traffic jam right out front.
‘Come on,’ David honked his horn. ‘Move it.’ But it was no use, the procession of cars was at least ten thick with hopeful restaurant patrons alighting slowly from vehicles, their drivers no doubt promising to find a place to park while their friends and family waited in the queue.
‘For God’s sake.’ David pressed his palm flat on the car’s horn again. ‘Come on!’
At last the congestion cleared and, ignoring the looks of anger and several calls of ‘asshole’ or ‘jerk’ from drivers’ car windows, David overtook a large Mercedes SUV to reach Arlington Street, taking a sharp left towards the Regency Park. He broke with a screech outside the elegantly lit four star institution, turned off the ignition and jumped out, throwing the keys to a valet and telling him to leave the ticket with the concierge.
And then he was in the lobby, bounding over the ornate thick pile rugs, crossing the marble floor and leaning over the reception desk, asking a fresh faced young man if he would call Doctor Karin Montgomery’s room and tell her David Cavanaugh needed to see her – urgently.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Cavanaugh. I’m afraid that’s impossible,’ said the young man who, David noticed, wore a name tag bearing the moniker of Tobias, Reception Manager.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I am afraid Dr Montgomery left strict instructions that she not be disturbed under any circumstances.’
‘Now you listen to me, Toby, I need to talk to Karin Montgomery and I need to talk to her now.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I . . .’
And just then he remembered it, the beer coaster from Bristow’s. She had written her cell number on it. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and retrieved the still damp coaster from an inside pocket, thanking God the ink had not run. And then he brought up his cell and punched in the number.
‘There is nothing to worry about.’ Karin heard the words and saw the practised look of comfort in Croft’s eyes. ‘We’ll take it slowly, perhaps starting with how you first met your husband, and how you . . .’
‘No,’ said Karin, ‘I told you, no questions about David Cavanaugh.’
‘No, no my dear. I meant how you met the Professor – your second husband, your current husband.’
‘Of course. Yes. I’m sorry.’ God, what was wrong with her.
‘That’s all right, my dear, a natural mistake. Then we’ll progress through some of your professional milestones and those of your husband and gradually move on to more recent events.’
‘All right.’ But, thought Karin, it wasn’t all right, was it?
‘I know you have some very important things to say,’ Croft went on, ‘and my advice is to tell your story openly and honestly. Do not be afraid to tell the American people the truth, for if what you say is correct, and I am sure it is, they have been fed some very destructive propaganda over the past few months – at yours and your husband’s expense.’ Caroline stopped here for effect. ‘I promise you we shall treat your account in the same open and honest manner that you convey it. If we feel we have a good flow of material your interview will run uncut. You have my word on that, Karin.’ Another pause, and a warm smile of understanding. ‘Are we on the same page then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Great,’ cue smile, place right hand on Karin’s left, and give gentle squeeze. ‘Then let’s begin.’
Beep . . . beep . . . beep.
‘Whose cell is that?’ And in that second, Caroline turned on her staff, her congenial demeanour temporarily forgotten.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Karin. ‘It’s mine. I’ll turn it off.’ Karin went to her handbag and retrieved her cell, first checking the incoming number to see if she recognised it. It was another cell, the number somehow familiar but now was not the time to be taking calls. She pressed the top corner button, turning off her cell and returned to her chair by the window, ready to begin.
‘Shit,’ said David, prompting a stern look from Toby who looked all of twenty-one going on twelve. She had answered but immediately turned off her cell. The interview had already begun. ‘Shit.’
His mind was racing. How could he find out her room number? Certainly not from Toby who was already whispering to the bell captain – no doubt about having a certain visitor removed. He could try the hotel operator but there was no way they would give out a room number – especially one of a guest who would have been plagued by the press all week.
There was only one solution, but it was slow and risky. He figured Croft would have hung the customary ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the appropriate door handle, and he also figured Karin would be on one of the hotel’s more exclusive upper floors.
He would start at the top and work his way down, knocking on every door which carried the ‘Do Not Disturb’ notice. One thing was for sure, he was about to become the most unpopular man in the building and if Toby or his security friends found out, he would be out on his ear within minutes.
No other choice, he said to himself. And with that he moved to the lifts and pressed the arrow indicating up.
Karin was relieved. Caroline had indeed been true to her word. The questions were easy, chronological, and she found herself relaxing as she answered each one calmly, stopping only once to refresh her dry throat with a sip of iced water. She had taken her through her internship, registrarship and early days with Stuart. Karin told of her marriage, her love for her work at Washington Memorial and the various cardiac medical milestones both of them had achieved over the past decade.
‘My work has always been hands on, while Stuart’s position became more administrative,’ she said. ‘By that I mean he was called upon more and more to be involved with broader medical decisions – with the Department of Health and Human Services and the Latham administration in general.’
‘Were his new duties largely due to his relationship with Vice President Bradshaw?’ asked Caroline.
‘Not really. Stuart had been Tom Bradshaw’s physician for some years. The Vice President had suffered from mild endocarditis or cardiac infections in the past. These infections are common in drug abusers and can be successfully treated with no side effects or threat of future complications. Tom Bradshaw took care of himself. His good health was public record.’
Caroline nodded at Karin, urging her to go on.
‘Basically,’ Karin continued, ‘their doctor/patient relationship was separate from their professional one. I think the Vice President recognised Stuart’s potential and certainly encouraged and supported his move into departmental politics, but if you are asking me if Stuart’s increased role in national health issues was a result of the Vice President favouring his personal physician over others, the answer would be no.’
‘I see,’ said Caroline, now uncrossing her legs, and leaning forward in her chair. It was a subtle move but one that put Karin slightly on guard, their personal space was diminishing and Karin instinctively sat further back in her seat.
‘How would you describe the relationship between your husband and the late Vice President?’
Karin paused, unsure of how best to answer this question. Caroline noticed her hesitancy and began to direct Karin down a path along which she hoped the woman would follow.
‘Were they friends?’
‘Yes.’
‘Colleagues?’
‘Stuart consulted on governmental health initiatives, so I suppose they were colleagues to some degree.’
‘And your husband was considered by many to be the most likely candidate for the position of US Surgeon General when it became available later this year.’
‘Well,’ said Karin, starting to feel uncomfortable, not sure where this was going. ‘Many considered him a solid alternative.’
‘Karin, I appreciate how difficult this is for you. Your husband, as we all know, has been the subject of much conjecture in regards to more recent events which affected his relationship with Tom Bradshaw. There have been rumours that the Vice President and your husband had a major falling out – over the funding for the Professor’s cardiac research program, the Vice President’s sudden open support of Dr Alexandria Weiss as the next US Surgeon General and, more specifically, your husband’s affair with Jessica Douglas, the wife of one Senator Raymond Douglas, one of the Vice President’s oldest and dearest friends. How do you, as the Professor’s wife, respond to such rumours? Perhaps you can dispel them for us once and for all.’
Karin was trapped. Caroline Croft had her in a corner and she knew it. The only reason Karin had orchestrated this interview was to make the outrageous claim that she knew the true identity of Tom Bradshaw’s killers, to ‘Plan B’ the situation by giving the public, and a potential jury, another scenario to consider. But truth be told, while she was sure her husband was innocent, she had no idea who the real murderers actually were, and now she realised her ‘strategy’ may not have been so clever after all. Even if she managed to create doubt in the minds of the public, the second part of her plan, to reveal on national TV that she and her husband had confided in their lawyer – one David Cavanaugh – as to the identity of the real murderer, could just as easily backfire. She had hoped such revelations would coerce David into taking on the role she had created for him, but he could just as easily turn around and tell her and her husband to ‘go jump’ which in reality, he probably should.
And so the success of her strategy was based entirely on her belief, her hope, that David was still the man she had married all those years ago. Perhaps if he saw her open claim of Stuart’s innocence – on national TV no less – he would realise how much she needed him and that Stuart, no matter how David felt about him, was an innocent man heading for a lethal injection unless her lawyer had the courage to find and reveal the truth.
If she was wrong, and the years of rejection had strangled her ex-husband’s idealism, then this entire charade was for nothing – worse still, it could bury her husband and herself along with him. Whatever the case, she knew it was too late to turn back now. Caroline was forcing the issue of Stuart’s motives, and Karin knew, if she had any hope of achieving what she had set out to, she would have to answer Caroline’s questions as honestly as possible until the opportunity arose for her to execute her now seemingly pathetic plan.
Caroline was smart enough to drain this interview dry before allowing Karin to fulfil her own agendas. They were two intelligent women using each other for their own objectives and underneath all the pretence and platitudes, both were aware of it. Right now Caroline held the upper hand and Karin had no choice but to play along.
‘Dr Montgomery?’ said Caroline. ‘Do you need a break?’
‘No,’ said Karin. ‘I’m fine, let’s continue.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said David, who had started on the twelfth floor, was now on the tenth and working his way down. ‘I was sure my wife told me room 1005. You see, she checked in this morning and left me a message giving me the room number and, well, obviously I got it wrong.’
The large hairy man with the cigar in his mouth and a too small bath towel hanging loosely about his waist said nothing, just stood there and grimaced through yellow teeth. ‘I just got in from a thirty-one-hour flight from Melbourne, via South East Asia with a four hour delay in LA and an unscheduled three hour stop in Denver due to engine trouble.’
‘I’m sorry I . . .’
‘You knock on my door again, I’ll beat the crap out of you.’
‘Right,’ said David, becoming accustomed to having doors slammed in his face. That was the last ‘Do No Disturb’ sign on the tenth floor so David headed down the corridor for the elevator, ready to tackle level nine.
‘Hold the elevator please,’ he called out to an attractive elderly couple who had just disappeared behind the now closing elevator doors.
‘I’m sorry, son,’ said the old man, holding his foot against the doors. ‘Like Central Station ’round here tonight. Houston is a big city – but it’s a long way from Boston, if you know what I mean.’
‘Sure,’ smiled David, pressing the number nine.
‘You with the famous people?’
‘No, I . . . What famous people?’
‘With all the lights and cameras,’ he said.
‘Oh yes,’ said his cherry-haired wife, the elevator now slowing as it reached the floor below. ‘It was that news lady, the pretty one who looks like Dianne Sawyer – but it’s not Dianne Sawyer. What’s her name Roy?’
‘Caroline Croft?’ interrupted David.
‘Yes, that’s her. She looked very professional. All dolled up, but not in a tacky way, more . . . well . . . more like Dianne Sawyer.’
The elevator light indicated ‘9’, as it slowed and the doors opened.
‘Where?’ asked David quickly. ‘Did you see what room they were going to? I’m sorry but this is important, I have a message for Ms Croft and . . .’
‘Well that’s easy,’ said the old man. ‘1012, right next door to us!’
The doors started to close and David, mid-thought, was too slow in his efforts to force them back open – he should have jumped out at nine and taken the stairs back up.
‘Does that help, sonny?’ asked the man.
‘Yes, I’m sorry. Thank you,’ said David, now frustrated by the elevator’s slow descent.
‘Our pleasure,’ the man beamed. ‘My name is Roy by the way,’ Roy extended his hand. ‘You drop us at the lobby and you can mosey on back up.’
‘Great, thanks.’
‘And if she has time to sign autographs,’ said his wife, ‘my name is Edith, Edith Ranch, which is kind of appropriate given our home State.’ They both smiled at each other, and laughed at a joke they had no doubt told a hundred times. ‘If you could ask her to sign something on our behalf then you could slip it under our door if that’s okay. Room 1011,’ she said.
Level 8, level 7 . . .
‘Suite 1011 actually, dear,’ countered Roy. ‘It’s an executive suite. It’s our fiftieth wedding anniversary and the kids chipped in to buy us this holiday. We met in Boston don’t you know – back in ’54. Edith was on summer vacation with her folks and I was on leave after a stint in Korea, just some skinny marine who had never stepped two feet from home until Uncle Sam came a callin’. Anyways, me and my buddies were up at Bunker Hill and I see this flame-haired beauty walkin’ the tour with her family. And whatta ya know. Turns out she’s Texan too and open minded enough to consider stepping out with a mangy lookin’ fellow with the crazy name o’ ‘Scrawny’ Roy Ranch Jnr – and the rest, as they say, is . . .’
‘History,’ finished Edith.
Level 3, level 2 . . . David could feel his heart pounding in his chest, making it almost impossible to concentrate on what the Ranches were saying. He felt like he was stuck in a world of slow motion, waist deep in a tub of the thickest molasses, and desperate to move – now.
‘Best decision I ever made hookin’ up with this now not so scrawny sailor,’ grinned Edith, with true admiration in her bright green eyes. ‘Yes Siree, this city holds a special place in our hearts. The good Lord was definitely on hand on that fateful day when we just happened to be in the same place at the same time and we . . .’ But Edith Ranch was interrupted by the ‘ding’ of the elevator chime indicating they had finally reached the ground floor. A relieved David pressed the open door button before st
anding back to let them pass.
‘Well, good luck, son. We’ll be seein’ ya,’ said Roy as David pumped the ‘close door’ button with his right hand and watched the pair disappear again, arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder, with not a care in the world. And in that moment, as the doors squeezed shut, pinching Roy and Edith from his view, David felt a rush of emotion for Mr and Mrs ‘Scrawny’ Roy Ranch Jnr of Houston, Texas – everything from admiration and respect to regret and envy, that they had what they had and he had lost what he’d lost.
I could lose Sara over this, he said to himself. And for what? For Truth? For Justice? For Joe? For Karin?
But it was too late. The indicator ‘dinged’ 10, and despite what he knew were valid hesitations . . . despite his feelings of shame and remorse, he found himself allowing Sara to slip from his mind and sprinting towards Suite 1012 – towards trouble, towards confrontation, towards his future, towards his past – towards Karin, as if his life depended on it.
God, she was good. One of the best Caroline had ever seen, which was saying a lot considering her interviewing expertise had cornered and crucified former Presidents, Prime Ministers, royalty. At first Caroline assumed Karin would be just another emotional subject so consumed with stress, fear, regret, and better still, anger, that she would basically spill every bean on her plate with some more thrown in for the bargain.
But she was wrong. Karin was smart, calculating even. She was charismatic – straightforward but approachable, stunning but accessible. She faced every question with interest and honesty, denying her husband’s infidelities, backing up her claims of his hard work and compassion with examples, and admitting that while the rumours were hurtful, she knew they were part and parcel of a situation such as this. Was she frustrated? ‘Yes.’ Was she bitter? ‘Not yet.’ Was she hopeful? ‘Of course.’