"So, it's kind of funny. I was talking to her about the story you're working on -- the stuff about the tech companies. We were talking about the shutdown and everything and it sort of just came up. So she said she would love to talk to you because she has a lot of extra info she could pass along your way. Not sure if it's going to be off the record or not."
My throat dries out like the desert as the worry continues to build. I hear what he is saying, but I know there's something a lot deeper going on here. The coincidences are too high to simply be coincidences. I'm reporting on the senate hearing that she's directly involved in -- the same case where the last person to testify was killed just a few nights ago. And now she wants to chat with me.
What makes matters worse is that I still can't get rid of the photo in my mind of her shadow killing Kayleigh by the national mall. I know it was her. The frame of her shoulders, the outline of her jaw. It doesn't matter that her frame was covered with a black shadow. It was her. I know for sure it was her.
Still, none of this answers why she would want to talk to me.
And I can exactly say no, either. She's asking Ben for a favor. She's asking Ben for some help. And if I turn down his request, then it's almost like he's turning her down. That won't help his career at all. The last thing you want to do is make it seem like you can't help your boss. And it's never a bad thing to owe your boss a favor.
"What does she want to talk about?" I'm worried that my voice is a little more shaky than I'd like.
"I'm not really sure," he says back. "I mean, other than the tech stuff. I don't know anything else, though. She wouldn't really say."
"You think it's fine."
"It's not a bad idea to have a senator's interview on the record. And if you can link it to your stories, that has to be good, right?"
I think back to what this would mean if I was still running my podcast. Having the senator's voice on the record would definitely add credibility to the story and my reporting. It would add another layer of intrigue because people would know that a senator is on the record.
The same idea has to apply to articles, I would imagine. Her voice will add an interesting piece of information to any article I write about the New Surge and Up Sync story. She would be an authoritative voice. And even if she didn't agree to go fully on the record, I could learn a lot of details that I could later use for reporting purposes. Maybe she leads me down a path to find the real person who murdered Kayleigh. Or she tells me something about New Surge that I can use later.
There's also the possibility -- and this is something I've experience before -- that she will say something that will help me identify her as the killer at the national mall. Most people who think that they're off scot-free usually are prone to make a mistake.
"Okay. Should I come over now?"
"She said she would have some free time around eight or so. So like, maybe head over in like thirty minutes? We're working on a few different things tonight so it'll get busy. I'm not sure I'll have a lot of time to chat with you."
"Wow. My busy boyfriend."
"Something like that. Or at least extremely focused."
"Sure," I roll my eyes. He chuckles on the other side of the phone call so I know he grasps my joking nature.
I decide it's better to wear something a little more professional if I'm going to spend time with the senator. You always want to dress up when you're meeting with people who are in a position of power. I throw on a black-and-white blouse with cut up sleeves at the shoulder and a black blazer. I slip on a pair of khakis as well. I do my hair up just a little bit to make it seem like I actually took effort to make it look a little better than it looked before.
When I'm finally done getting ready, it's time to leave. I close the door behind me and walk down the empty hallway of the hotel. The smell of smoke is still hovering in the air. The elevator ride takes me a few minutes to get down as ti stops on every other floor to pick people up.
I walk outside of the hotel as my Uber arrives across the road. He waves at me and I wave back at him. I hop and skip and jump across the road and slide into the back seat, closing the door behind me.
It's about ten minutes later when we finally arrive at the hotel. The driver didn't want to talk to me much, which is always disheartening when you get inside of a car with one of these ride-share drivers. I like getting to know people more and learn more about their personalities. Some are little more uptight and less willing to share.
We pull up to the hotel and I hurry inside. I'm going to be a few minutes late if I can't find the right location. Thankfully, Ben is standing in the lobby when I get there. Ben, with his hard jaw, his thick glasses, his mirky, goofy look. He wraps his around me for a tight hug. I smell the fresh Lacoste cologne on his person.
"I didn't think you were going to show up," he says.
"Oh come on. When I have I ever turned down something like this."
"Well, come on. The senator's waiting for you."
We run through the lobby toward the elevator and ride it all the way to the top floor. He walk down the hallway. This one smells a little more smoother than the one back where I was smelling. The overwhelming ghost of tobacco is gone.
We stop at a door at the end of the hall. Ben inert this key card and swerves inside. He asks a question or two, gets the answer he wants and then comes back out to face me.
"Good luck."
"You're not staying?"
"Sorry, I got more work to do downstairs. I just had to bring you up here."
I grab his cheek and kiss him right on the bottom of the lips.
"You're such a goof."
"And you're such a harass. Don't forget that when you talk to her. Give her hell."
That's not such a bad idea. I guess I can keep my hard ass hat on when I talk to her. But the fear begins to climb up my body again. What if she knows about what I saw? What if she knows what I think I saw?
I'm not sure I'll handle this right.
Chapter 10: The Interview
The door opens with a screech. The pale streetlight floods the far corner of the room. A warm yellow light glows in the corner of the room, casting the shadows on the left side. A bed sits empty and untouched. The TV on the left side of the room is black as night. A laptop sits on the desk with a stack of papers on top.
Senator Simmons sits on the couch that's placed against the far wall. A thin cigarette lingers between her forefinger and middle finger. She brings it close to her mouth and takes a drag. She sucks it in and releases a cloud of smoke. I don't know if such a cloud can reach me, but I taste the smoke in the room. This isn't your normal room. She's been smoking in here all day.
My eyes drift away from her for only a second when I noticed the security guard standing in the corner like a watchful crow. Black shades cover his eyes. A heavy black jacket with too many pockets protects him from attacks. His hands are clasped together at the center of his body.
"Welcome, Ms. Gardner," the senator says. "I'm happy to see that Ben found you and brought you here. Right on schedule."
Schedule? She was a little late to getting here. But maybe the senator had planned on that. Maybe the senator anticipated a journalist like me would be a little sloppy.
When I step closer to her, I finally see her face for the time. Lines represent age have carved up her cheeks and jaw. A pink rose blush paints her face. Her cigarette has the light pink fade of her lipstick. Her brown hair hangs over her eyes so she flicks it backward.
"Please, have a seat," she says.
I've been in plenty of dangerous scenarios throughout my life. That shouldn't be a surprise to you if you're reading this. There's always a nervous feeling that creeps up when you're caught in a situation that's not good for you or for anyone else. When you're in danger, your body recognizes it. And I can feel that dangerous, nervous feeling creeping inside me. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have come to the room. I really should have stayed home.
But there's not much I can do to avoi
d this conversation. I tried to find a way before but I knew this would be helpful to Ben.
So I stroll to the far end of the room, dragging my feet all the way toward that side of the hotel. Simmons points to the empty chair next to the desk that's attached to the entertainment center. I don't protest. I grab the back of the chair and slide onto it. Our eyes meet at last. I collect myself so I can have some level of composure as I face her. I can't let think that I'm worried about what she plans to do to me or what we're going to talk to me. I can't let her see the fear of her being a murderer show on my face. I need to remain calm and poised.
She Lenas backward in her seat so that her mouth draws closer to the security guard.
"Leave us," she says.
"Madam senator, I don't think that's a good idea."
"She's not going to do anything to me."
"How can you be sure? We have records on her. She's been involved in a number of accidental deaths, homicides. It's dangerous to leave you with her."
"Leave us," she demands.
The guard, humbled and embarrassed, nods with all the force he can muster and steps right by the senator. He strolls across the room until he reaches the door. As he pulls the door open, he gives Simmons one last, longing look, like he's about to make the worst decision of his life. She ushers him once more with a flick of the cigarette. And then he dips out into the hall.
We're alone now.
It's so quiet that I can hear the clock of the room tick away like someone tapping against a counter. We're sitting here in silence. The smell of smoke still hovers in the air. She looks at me with a slight grin, a light smile, like an older sister who has one on her sibling.
"You don't need to be afraid," she says.
In my experience, when someone tells you that you shouldn't be afraid, that's exactly when you should be fearful to the max.
"I'm not."
"Oh, Annette, Ms. Gardner. Annette? What should I call you?"
"Annette."
"Beautiful name, truly. I could see myself naming my daughter Annette. Not after you, of course. My grandmother's middle name was Annette."
"Well, I'm partial to the name."
"That you are," she says. "Annette, I really appreciate you coming by. I know it's late and that you have no idea I wanted to talk with you, but I thought it was time that we meet face-to-face, finally. I know we've heard each other's names for a long time so I thought it was important we have a little chat."
I don't like the way she's talking to me. She's walking around the words she actually wants to say. She has something to talk to me about, she's just being slow to get there. Come on, senator. Get to your point.
"I know that Ben is working with the team, and he's been away from you for awhile. And he's told us how accommodating you've been. How you're here working on special projects for the Scribe. I think that's great. And it really seems like the two of you are really working well together."
I smile. Okay. Talking about my relationship isn't the worst way to handle a conversation. I can talk about Ben until I'm blue in the face. We really do go well together. We're a beautiful mix of a couple. Sure, we don't always have time to see each other. Sometimes there are stretches of time where we don't talk. Those are the hardest. But it's worth it for those Sunday mornings where we can slowly peel ourselves out of bed, find thick cups of coffee, and watch the sunrise.
"Yeah, we're really happy together."
"Of course. I figured you were. He talks so highly of you that I just had a feeling that you would be such a good relationship."
"You guessed right."
"But Annette, and I want to be frank with you here because, as you know, I am running for president. And a president who can't speak to her voters on the ground they walk on isn't someone who deserves to be presidents. I should be just as careful having a conversation with you about your relationships as I should talking tax policy with the finest minds of a Washington think tank."
I can't tell if she's giving me backhanded compliments or insulting me. I also can't tell if she's trying to convince herself that she's that good of a leader or if she wants me to know that she has an impressive resume.
It's no surprise that I'm having trouble reading her. Politicians always bugged me in that way. Many times they're easy to talk with, and it's almost one of the easiest conversations. But in the back of your mind you're always wondering if they're lying to you. I hate when that's the case. Wondering if someone is lying is so mentally taxing.
"Well, you can talk to me about anything. I'm almost obligated to vote for you, and I can handle anything people say. Trust me. My life hasn't been easy."
"That's very true. I remember reading about what happened to you all that time ago when you were at the college, and then again just last year. I'm sorry that you go through so much."
I shrug. It doesn't bother me a much as it used to. "I'm done playing the victim. I could sit here and moan and groan about all of these things or I can find ways to slide past it. I definitely prefer the latter."
"The latter is a really good idea," she says.
The room is still super quiet. Someone above us walks across their room, making the walls around us shake and the ceiling rattle only just a little. The room is still dark -- dark in fact because the the pale moonlight seems to be flickering outside.
"Here's the deal, Annette," she begins, "I know what this campaign is doing to you and your relationship with Ben. Okay? I get that. I get that it's not easy. Did he tell you how I was searching for a position for you? Nothing glamorous of course, but you'd be in charge of our press relations, or even our podcast strategy. But, as you know, one thing goes wrong and then you're on fire. I can't really say I enjoy that."
"Same here."
"And so I can't afford to see any of my issues fall apart. With President Hicks in charge, and Senator Gates running for the White House, I have to make sure I don't slip up in anyway. I have to stick with this, and I have to make sure I'm giving the best campaign possible."
"Makes sense to me," I say. "I wish there was a way I could do that or I could help this whole thing."
"There might be," she says at last.
And now I finally understand why she wanted me to come to the room. She has a goal she needs to meet. She has an idea she wants to pass along. She wants me to be one of her suits, one of her lapdog interns who can fish her what she wants. She doesn't care about what it means to me or what happens to me. She only wants to help herself.
"I think it's best if you and Ben didn't see each other anymore."
"Sorry. What did you say?"
She shrugs. "I think it's best you don't see him anymore. I think it's better if the two of you take a break."
"And why do you say that?"
"Well, he's a busy man. He spends a lot of time working for my campaign and organizing information for my campaign, so I can't have him coming in here stressed about spending a lot of time with you. I can't have him walking into these rooms tired from spending too much time with you and not organizing for the campaign. I know, that's selfish of me. But you can't have your staff acting all of sorts when you're trying to run for office."
She's damn right she's being selfish. Politicians are selfish most of the time. You have to really enjoy yourself if you're willing to spread your own message across the country. How dare she ask me to break up with my boyfriend.
She's smart though, I'll give her that. I want to yell at her and sound off on her for how she's treating me. I don't care if she blackballs me in the city. I'm known far and wide. And I can always find another job.
But then it hits me. Her words fly back at me like a smooth breeze.
She said she can't have people on her campaign staff who are tired. She can't have people on her staff whoa re worried about other things.
She'll fire Ben.
She's planning to fire Ben if I don't break up with him. That's what she's really telling me. She'll fire Ben if we don't end the relationship. S
he needs someone on the team who can be completely attentive to her every wants and need.
I should scream at her. I should tear her a new one. I should let her know how I really feel.
But even that could lead to something horrible for Ben.
She's never met me before, and yet here she is, threatening me, blackmailing me, trying to ruin my relationship. It's a callous, horrifying move, especially for someone who is running for president. And to pull that on someone in the media? We didn't say any of this was off the record. I could use any of this for an article, full stop.
The look in her eyes goes deeper than the surface, though. She's not just looking at me. She's looking through me. And there's the slightest hint of a smirk on the corner of her lips.
I only have one card to play against this woman. But I can only play it once.
And I have to play it now to save my relationship, and to, potentially, save the country.
"Where were you on Sunday night?"
I look at her dead in the eyes. And for the briefest of seconds, I see a slight twitch in her jaw. Of all places, the point of her jaw twitches. But her eyes don't move. They stick on me. She's reading me, trying too see past my face, trying to see if I know something more. I know that look fully well.
The silence says a lot too. Wouldn't she have an immediate denial if she wasn't concerned about what she was doing the other night?
She cackles as she leans back in the chair. Smoke still lingers out of the tip of the cigarette. She silences her laugh by taking a quick drag of the cigarette. And then she fixes her eyes firmly on me once again.
"I was wondering when we were going to talk about what happened."
My eyes grow wide. "What?"
"What? You didn't think I saw you there, standing at the memorial the night it happened?"
"So it was you."
"It was."
"And you saw me."
"I saw you. I recognized your face. I do all kinds of background checks on people. I looked into Ben, so I looked into you. And who wouldn't recognize your face after everything that happened to you? Honey, I knew you fully well."
Into the Night Page 8