“Again.”
“Without a hello?”
Wheaton realized he had pushed through the chief’s door without an invitation. Both stupid and dangerous in any police station. “‘Hello.’ Now come. You’ve gotta see it. This time really closely. I can’t believe I didn’t catch this before.”
“I’ve seen it a hundred times. What the hell are you talking about?”
“I can’t explain it. Just come on.”
Marelli stayed put. “This better not be about you playing cop.”
The Hudson Police Chief knew that it was only Wheaton’s football injury years ago that prevented him from pursuing his earliest goal of becoming a policeman. In the fourth quarter of a championship game his senior year, a bulldozer disguised as a seventeen-year-old Albany Academy student blindsided him as he faded back to pass. Wheaton took the full force of the human Caterpillar in his knees. And his opponents took the game. Surgery and physical therapy ultimately restored much of the mobility he lost on the field that night, but it didn’t give him the dexterity and strength required for police department entry.
Marelli was right, though. It was in Wheaton’s DNA. Even after all these years, he wanted to think like a cop. Maybe that was why he slept with the policeband radio on and he was typically the first freelance cameraman in Columbia, Greene, and even Dutchess Counties to show up at a crime scene. Maybe that was why he couldn’t stop screening the footage he shot.
“No,” he answered. “Well, maybe yes. Who the hell knows. But don’t give me any shit now. If you don’t want to see it, I’ll go directly to that FBI shithead. That’ll look really good, won’t it?”
“Alright already. I’ll follow you.”
“No tickets on the way?”
“No tickets. But don’t push it.” Marelli grabbed his hat and shooed Wheaton out the door.
After a near-record eleven-minute run, Wheaton was at his gravel driveway. He slammed his car door and tore into his studio to warm up his PC driven-digital edit bay before Marelli caught up.
“Coffee’s over there behind me, just flick the switch. The water will start to drip,” Wheaton said without looking.
“So what’s got you all hot and bothered?”
“Today I flashed on something crazy. Here, watch.” He pressed a green key on his keyboard and the video came up well into Congressman Lodge’s now fateful speech.
Congressman Lodge was speaking with great enthusiasm. “We strike partnerships by sharing food and building up economies. We give. We get. We educate the world’s uneducated, we make them intellectually stronger against dictators who would take advantage of their people’s lack of knowledge.”
Marelli was surprised how much he had memorized himself. Lodge’s complete speech was embedded in their consciousness.
“We give and we get. And yes, we share our knowledge of arms and our technological know-how to fight emerging terror in third world nations so we won’t have to rush in at an unacceptable cost of American lives. We give and we get.”
“We build bridges to former adversaries and make them our friends,” Lodge proclaimed on a close-up. Wheaton and Marelli heard the crowd, unseen at the moment, clamor, “We Give and We Get.” They saw the congressman step back and smile, then approach the microphone again.
“Soon you will have to make a major decision,” Lodge predicted on the playback. “But it is not about one man over another. One candidate versus another. We are all responsible individuals, devoted to serving you. No, the decision is not about a person. It’s about policy.”
“Walk with me to the future. We’ll make a partnership for peace celebrating all people of the world with the United States of America as a full and valued partner.”
“Better we go to welcomed arms than with arms unwelcomed.”
“It will mean we take what we know to the world so the world will know more. And by so doing….”
And everyone cheered, “We Give and We Get.”
Congressman Lodge peered over his left shoulder to Jenny then back, smiling to the crowd that continued to chant, “We Give and We Get! We Give and We Get!” Over and over. “We Give and We Get! We Give and We Get!” Lodge raised his arms to quiet the crowd.
“It’s time for a family of nations in a world apart,” continued Lodge softly.
“Time for a family that will last into all of our tomorrows.”
“Here’s where I zoom out a little to include Jenny,” Wheaton whispered during the congressman’s pause.
“…a family for you…and,” then another pause, “and…a family for me.”
“And he’ll bow his head forward in a second, just a little and wipe his eyes.”
Then the moment Marelli and Wheaton would never forget. The instant that Jennifer Lodge died in front of their eyes.
The policeman looked away. “Enough. I’ve seen this enough.”
“You haven’t begun to see it,” Wheaton demanded. “Now again.” The camerman reset his computer with a thirty-second roll cue from the gunshot and hit play. Marelli took a deep breath.
“Really, no more, Chuck,” the Police Chief complained.
But Wheaton ignored him. He slowed down the audio and video and described what he was seeing on screen.
“‘And by doing so,’ yadda, yadda, yadda. The next string of ‘give and get.’ Everyone’s charged up. Now watch carefully, Carl. Very carefully.”
He skipped forward a few seconds. The congressman spoke at one-quarter speed, the words stretched out. “Time for a family that will last into all of our tomorrows.”
“My zoom out,” Wheaton said again, then, “There.” He pointed to the screen. As the camera widened to include Jennifer, Wheaton froze the shot. “His fingers. Watch his fingers on his right hand, by the side of his leg.” He rolled more. Lodge finished saying “a family for you,” and the cameraman counted “one” aloud in sync with Lodge putting his index finger down and then “two” as Lodge added a second finger. Then the second phrase, “a family for me.” And again Wheaton whispered “three” and “four” as Lodge repeated his action.
“He’s counting, Carl. It’s amazing. He’s really counting the beats. I’ll bet you a steak at Kozel’s he’s counting. Watch again.”
Wheaton rewound the video. “Watch. The words have a rhythm to them. So do the pauses. I swear he’s timing the pauses. Two beats each.”
As the tape played, Marelli moved closer to the screen.
“He’s going to lean forward slightly to wipe his eyes. But now watch his count. Four seconds, Carl. Watch. He’ll count it for you. One…two…three…four.” And in the background Jennifer Lodge straightened her body never realizing that death had just gripped her.
Wheaton froze the shot on Jennifer. “He was timing it, Carl. Lodge was timing his move.”
The police chief stared at the image, looking at the four fingers Lodge barely extended on his right hand. He looked down at his side. This time he had done exactly the same thing.
Wheaton’s body shook and sweat poured down his forehead despite the air conditioning in his editing room. Marelli reached for a chair behind him. He swung it around, pulled up next to Wheaton and quietly said, “You may make rookie yet. Play that again for me, Chuck.”
CHAPTER
39
Friday 10 October
The man hadn’t worked in over a month, but on balance it had been a very good year. His off shore accounts had swollen by some three million dollars. All of it earned tax-free. The IRS wouldn’t have approved of the deposits for any number of reasons, the least of all murder.
He read the news and surmised that his first shot had done as intended. The subsequent assignments fell more into the category of “insurance.” Since he held no practical political positions and none of his various identities ever cast a vote, he really didn’t care about any American presidents except the dead ones on U.S. currency.
Little got to him. Not even the urge to kill. Assassination was simply his profession. He could walk away from it,
and happily would, if no other work came along. He did, however, answer his sexual desires. And one had been building for months. The hotel maid in Hudson, New York.
“Carolyn, it’s for you,” the front desk clerk at the St. Charles said. He’d found her cleaning a room on the third floor. “I’ll put the call right through. Hang up. Here it comes.”
“Hello,” Carolyn Hill said a moment later. She didn’t recognize the voice.
“Ms. Hill, this is Roger Waterman. I met you during the summer when I….”
“Yes, yes, of course.” The call caught her off guard. “You haven’t been here in months.”
“Quite right. I’ve been busy traveling. Pennsylvania, Virginia. Scouting antiques. But I’m in the area, and I wanted to see if you had time for dinner?”
“Dinner?” This really surprised her. “Me?”
He instantly read it. “Absolutely, you.”
She’d fantasized about this call. Now it had happened. “You’re coming into Hudson?”
“Actually I’m not. I can’t seem to get any further north than Poughkeepsie this trip. But, you could drive down, or better yet, just take the train.”
“I don’t know, I mean, I’m working…”
She wasn’t. He’d memorized the schedules of everyone who worked at the hotel. “Don’t you have Saturday’s off? How about tomorrow afternoon?”
“Tomorrow? This tomorrow?” she laughed, knowing full well she hadn’t felt this excited in years.
He instinctively sensed her interest. One more thing will put her over. “Well, yes. This tomorrow. I think we’d have a good time together. Besides, I have a pair of picture frames for you. Remember?”
“Oh my god, yes!” she replied. He’s really giving them to me, she thought. Then she let her mind drift further, to where this all might lead. He’s good looking. He’s successful. He’s asking me out. Out of town!
“I don’t know, I guess I could have my mother baby-sit.”
“I’m sure she would.”
The twenty-eight-year-old single mother chuckled. “Yes I know she would.”
“There’s a 2:40 out of Hudson that gets in at 3:16.” Waterman also commited the train schedule to memory. “I can meet you.”
Carolyn Hill was so flustered she didn’t even notice he never mentioned the train ride home. But Waterman had no intentions of getting her back that night. None whatsoever. He was going to have her. Risky as it was, it was also sport to him. Dangerous and exciting. Add sex to the equation just increased the drama and his erection. Of course, he would make a surveillance pass through the Poughkeepsie station well before she arrived. If anything looked remotely suspicious he’d leave. If she had a tail when she disembarked, which he’d easily recognize, he’d never show himself.
“So what do you say, Ms. Hill.”
“Carolyn. It’s Carolyn.”
He had his answer. He was going to get laid.
Saturday 11 October
He was quite taken by the woman who got off the train. He’d only seen Hill wearing plain hotel whites. Now she had on a black cocktail-length skirt with a perfectly fitting red blouse, which allowed for his immediate enjoyment. She wore a red print scarf for accent and carried a black jacket on her arm. None of her wardrobe was expensive, but it all looked nice. She did her hair up in a sexy twist. A shiny red gloss made the most of her lips. And then he saw her legs. Carolyn had great legs and he immediately imagined them wrapped around him. He had all night to make it happen.
“You look wonderful,” he said completely certain that she was alone. No police.
“Thank you, Mr. Waterman,” she replied somewhat shyly, though her outfit had already given her away.
“Please. If you’re Carolyn, I’m Roger. I’m not your guest now. I’m your dinner date.” He kissed her on the cheek for emphasis and to see how she’d react.
“Mmmm,” she said without pulling away. “Okay, Roger. You’re my date. But you know we’ll miss the first debate. It’s on tonight.”
“That’s just fine. They say most people really can’t do anything about politics anyway.” And with that, Waterman smiled and led her to his rental car.
He was polite and classy, she thought. And he was obviously rich. He called her. That was the amazing part. During their drive, Carolyn felt like a teenager on a really important night.
“Well, where are we going?” she asked.
“I like Le Pavillon, a French restaurant fairly close.” He glanced away from the road and at Carolyn. “It’s romantic. At least you’ll make it that way.”
She took a deep breath. Yes.
“It’s up Salt Point Turnpike,” he said demonstrating his knowledge of the area. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“Well then, I’d love to go there.” In truth she’d never had French food before, but on the way down to Poughkeepsie she vowed almost ironically, What would be would be.
“Then Le Pavillon it is. You’re in charge,” she said moving her hand across the seat and letting it touch his thigh.
“We do have some time before dinner. Let’s drive a little; get to knew each other better. Does that sound good?”
Everything sounded good to her right now. “Sure.”
After spending two hours sharing stories about their lives, his made up, hers limited, he pulled up in front of what Carolyn thought was a three story colonial home. But instead she discovered that this was Le Pavillon. They entered a warm, inviting dining room, where white walls broken up by gold curtains and freshly ironed table clothes marked a degree of grace she’d never experienced. As they were led to their table he told her that Zagat had given the restaurant a wonderful review awhile back. Not that it mattered, she was already impressed.
“Let me order for you,” he offered, wanting to make certain that Carolyn enjoyed dinner.
He decided against mixed drinks and asked about the wines. He easily settled on a New York State Cabernet Sauvignon from Bedell Vineyard for $38. “Are you sure?” She had never tasted a wine that expensive.
“For you, yes.”
She watched as he swirled the wine in his glass, took in the bouquet, then sampled the Cabernet. His approval led the waitress to pour a glass for Carolyn.
“I like it,” she said taking a healthy sip.
“How would you describe it?” he asked. “A good wine like a beautiful woman deserves appreciation, comment and savouring.” She’ll like that, he correctly surmised.
“I guess I’ve never actually thought about the taste much.” Carolyn smiled then lowered her eyes out of embarrassment. She suddenly became aware she sounded unsophisticated.
“Try.”
She took another sip, more delicate than the first. “Spicy? Maybe a little spicy.”
He swirled the wine in his glass, then sipped it. “Very good. There is a spice to it. What else?”
“What do you mean?”
“The aroma. The nose. Smell it.”
She took a casual sniff.
“No, no, no,” he explained, enjoying his performance. “Really put your nose in the glass. Like this.”
“Okay,” she replied, laughing as she followed his lead. “I think I smell a little cherry.”
“That’s called the ‘nose.’ And you’re very close. Now sip again. There’s a hint of raspberry.”
“Mmmm,” she added. “Yes. It’s there.” She was loving it. She was loving the evening.
“It’s a Merlot blend. Helps to create a depth of flavors.”
“What goes with it?”
“You,” he said, his second seductive line of the evening.
“Roger, you’re trying to flatter me.”
“I’m complimenting a ravishingly beautiful woman.” Three’s the charm.
“Like a good wine?” she quickly responded.
“Oh, far better than the wine,” he added. “Now if you’re asking about what foods it complements?”
She nodded.
“On tonight’s menu…oh let’s see. The s
irloin steak au poivre. The grilled Bordelaise. Or we could switch to a fine white for the salmon sauté with shrimp, if you’d like.”
“This is just fine,” she said through a sensuous smile. Her first. “How do you know so much about wine?”
“I travel a great deal. I look for the character in everything and everyone. I analyze and I explore.” At that moment he stared deeply into Carolyn’s eyes. She didn’t retreat. No defenses. He felt himself getting hard.
“To us,” he proposed raising his glass. Carolyn liked that. They clicked glasses and after a long beat, he turned back to the menu. “I think the escargots may be too exotic an hors d’oeruvre, but how about starting with the trio of pasta with basil garlic and olive oil and, of course, the Hudson Valley foie gras. After all we’re here.”
“I’d love it all,” she said still focused on him. She didn’t give the foie gras, which she had never tried, a second thought.
“You don’t have to rush right home?” he said sensing the right moment.
“No, I told my mother I might be late.” Very late. She moved her leg up to his under the table.
As the dinner plates were cleared, he ordered espresso and Grand Marnier. The caffine to assure they’d stay awake. The liquor to level out any of Carolyn’s lingering nervousness. There was none.
They drove for barely 11 minutes; the time it took Waterman to get to the Copper Penny Inn on New Hackensack Road. She made no objections when they pulled into the parking lot of the restored 1860s colonial farmhouse. When they stopped, Waterman faced her and pressed forward, kissing her forcefully. Very soon her legs would be completely around him.
Roarke decided to visit Katie over the weekend. They ate take-out from DeLuca’s and watched TV, though only partially committed to the first debate. The president drilled down on his successful peace initiative which backed two nuclear powers away from the launch buttons. India and Pakistan were still within ten launch-to-detonation minutes of one another, but their WMD’s were at stand down.
“The world owes a debt of gratitude to Morgan Taylor for his courage,” the Democratic nominee proclaimed, never addressing him as president. Instead of attacking Taylor on his success, he chose to congratulate him.
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