CHAPTER 8

 

 

LAUREN THOUGHT SHE was dreaming. The sound of rustling slipped into her mind, mingling with visions of a wind brushing through trees and hews of gold and red autumnal leaves playing against her subconscious. But, with surprise, she realized her eyes were now open, adjusting to the blackness of her Berlin, New Hampshire, hotel room, and the rustling sound was real.

She sat up in bed and the sound stopped. It came from her door and her eye suddenly caught a shadow move across the thin plank of yellow light that shone under the doorframe. She rubbed her eyes.

“Hello?” she called quietly to the darkness. Then she felt foolish and laughed nervously. She reached over to fumble for the bedside lamp, which stood by a radio alarm that glowed with the time. 4:34 a.m. She switched on the light and looked back to the door. A sheaf of paper had been pushed under it. It was yellow and folded in on itself. For a moment, she thought it was just the hotel bill, shoved there by a maid. But there was something about the paper that did not look like a bill. She padded across the room to pick it up. She unfolded it and immediately frowned. It was a bank statement of some kind: a photocopy of a Western Union money transfer order.

“What the hell?” she said, assuming it was pushed under the wrong door.

She examined it and walked back to her bed and pulled the covers around herself. She put on her glasses and peered at the rows of figures. She looked at the depositing account and read the words “Banco Nacional de Gautemala.” She frowned and looked at the branch location. Livingston, Guatemala. For 9,995 dollars. In the name of Rodrigo Estrada Carillo. It made no sense. She scanned the figures again, looking for an indication about who sent it. Then she saw a name and she dropped the paper onto the bed with a little yelp.

Christine Maitland. Or, as Lauren knew her better, with the addition of a married name: Christine Maitland Hodges. Lauren stared at the paper again, making sure she was correct and that she was indeed holding a bank transfer agreement wiring almost 10,000 dollars to Guatemala from the account of Senator Hodges’ wife.

She jumped off the bed and flung open the door, realizing too late, how ridiculous it would be if someone was still there. Nevertheless she looked down the empty corridor and half-expected to see a figure, her mind racing with a mix of fear and excitement. But it was silent and empty. Nothing but the dull, aching, dead artificial light of an anonymous hotel. Just another slice of life on the road. But a road now changed beyond recognition.

 

* * *

 

MIKE JUMPED at the sound of the ringing phone and stumbled through the darkness of the room to answer it. He worried that Jaynie, lying on his bed, would awaken. But she did not even stir. Whatever substance she abused left her in a vice-like sleep. He picked up his mobile. He glanced at his watch and his eyes widened at the time.

“Hello?” he whispered.

It was Lauren. She spoke in a lightning quick babble that he couldn’t understand.

“Slow down,” he said.

He heard her take a deep breath and when she spoke again her voice was loud, calm and clear.

“Mike,” she said. “I’ve got a document that you should know about. It’s related to Christine Hodges. It’s a money order showing she has been sending money overseas. I think someone’s trying to play dirty tricks on you guys and I want to talk to you before I go public with it.”

Mike was awake now. Any trace of sleep was blasted out of his system by an adrenalin surge that coursed through his body at the mention of Christine’s name. He needed to stay calm though.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s meet downstairs. Ten minutes?”

“See you there.”

Mike hung up. Dirty tricks? If someone slipped Lauren information, he was sure it came from Stanton’s campaign. He pulled on some clothes, treading carefully so as not to make any noise that might wake Jaynie. But his mind raced as fast as his heart. He knew these things happened. Christ, he’d been the victim of endless plots and stunts in Florida. But this was national politics. This was a presidential campaign. The stakes were higher. Had they really rattled Stanton so much that they were trying such things now?

Mike headed for the door and glanced back at Jaynie. She was curled in a fetal position, her eyes closed, mouth half-open. He wondered how many times he shared a bed with her and looked across at her face. He gazed at her closed lids, watched the twitching movements of her eyeballs, hinting at unknown dreams within. He tucked the blankets around her to make sure she stayed warm. A sadness welled up in him and for a moment his throat felt dry. I’ve lost her, he thought. Years ago. Long before our divorce. Yet there she was, like a ghost in his bed, sleeping as peacefully as he had ever seen her. He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He leaned over, kissed the top of her head softly, and got up to leave. He had work to do.

 

* * *

 

LAUREN WAITED for him in the lobby. She sat in the empty breakfast area across from a deserted reception desk.

“I think the reception guy is playing computer games in the back,” she said with a laugh. “So we have this place to ourselves.”

Mike settled down opposite her. She looked calm and, he could not help notice, beautiful without her makeup. There was a flashy determination in her eyes that was at odds with the confusion and panic in her voice when she first called him. Clearly she had gathered her wits. Just as he had. This would not be a conversation. This would be a chess match. Two opponents, each wary of the other’s intentions, yet each needing information from the other. Lauren smiled sweetly and pushed a paper across the table between them. He picked it up and scanned the figures and words.

Guatemala.

Shit.

His nerve-endings screamed like a tripped alarm. With an iron will, Mike kept his eyes trained on the page. He could not give away anything. He kept staring, moving his eyes rapidly up and down the sheet of paper. Lauren knew nothing about the shooter being Guatemalan, he thought. She couldn’t. He was ahead of her. He looked up and shrugged.

“I don’t understand what this is,” he said.

Lauren looked at him.

“Christine Hodges has been wiring money to someone in Guatemala. Someone thinks that’s interesting enough to slip this under my door at night. Someone wants this information out there,” she said.

Mike felt a hint of relief. She was new to this game. She had nothing yet. She fired her shot too early. Mike would try to play dumb, even as he took in the implications of her words: some bastard literally pushed this stuff under Lauren’s door. And perhaps other doors too, hoping someone would have the balls to just put it out there and see where it went.

“So?” Mike said, trying not to sound abrupt. “They spent time there in the 80s, or maybe even the early 90s. I can’t quite remember. It’s probably some charity donation or something.”

He looked at her face to see how she reacted. He watched her watching him for his own expression. Mike had a brief mental flash of poker games back in Corinth Falls, bluffing with Sean and his friends, laughing and joking as Jaynie took all their money. She was always best at convincing everyone she was on a bluff while she sat with aces in her hand. He sensed Lauren was like that too. He desperately wanted to ask if she planned to write something. But he knew to do so would only arouse suspicion. His only chance was to feign indifference.

“Someone on the other side thinks it’s important,” Lauren said.

“Maybe. But it’s not enough to get me out of bed,” Mike joked.

Lauren smiled an apology.

“It’s just Stanton’s people playing with our minds,” Mike said. “I can understand why it might freak you out when someone creeps around a hotel like that. But I’ll check it out and get back to you. Can you get me a copy of it, so I can run it by our people?” he asked.

Lauren nodded. “It’s the least I can do for disturbing your beauty sleep,” she said and jokingly added with a flirtatious smile: “I’ll slip it under your door.”

“You know this does show one thing,” Mike said.

“What?”

“Stanton’s campaign is scared. We must have put the fear of God into them in Iowa.”

Lauren smiled. “I guess this is where the fight starts for real then,” she said.

Mike walked back through the lobby, knowing she watched him from her seat. He did not turn around. He wanted to give away nothing. He yawned and stretched his arms, wanting to signal tired boredom. But as soon as he was out of sight he ran back to his room. He needed to get hold of Dee. He fumbled with his door key, his hands now in a cold sweat as he burst into his own room.

It was empty. Jaynie was gone. The blankets were rumpled on the unmade bed. He stood still for a moment, wondering how she got out of the hotel without going through the lobby. Wondering why she suddenly left. Then it hit him; an old familiar feeling of being conned. He saw his wallet open and empty on the bedside table. A handful of dollar bills that were inside it last night were gone. He noticed a note scrawled on hotel paper beside the wallet.

“I’ll pay you back!! Love J.” it read. She even scrawled a smiley face after her initial.

Fuck! Mike thought. The sun was not yet up and already two women tried to play him for a fool. He only hoped both of them did not succeed.

 

* * *

 

THERE WAS no disguising the look on Dee’s face as Mike sat opposite her in her hotel room: stone cold fury. Her firm jaw, already broad and square, jutted out of her face and she rubbed her chin with her hand. Her eyes were wide and saucer-like, burning with anger. But she said nothing as Mike detailed what Lauren told him. Then he passed over the photocopy of the money transfer. She briefly glanced at it, just to confirm what Mike had said. Then she sat back in her chair. Mike studied Dee’s face for any hint of her thoughts, striving to see the gears turning in her mind, knowing she’d make swift calculations as to what was going on and what she could do.

“You told her it could be a gift, right?” she asked.

Mike nodded. She smiled thinly.

“That was quick thinking, Mike. Real good. You’re a natural at this.”

Mike nodded at the praise but could not help wondering what she meant by “this.” Telling a swift lie? Spinning a story that would buy some time?

“Fuck!” Dee suddenly spat, the cracks starting to show in her stern face.

“God, I hope this is not a sex scandal. We can’t survive a John Edwards. There’s nothing worse than that. It’s a campaign-killer. The American public will take pretty much everything else but they have a Puritan streak a mile wide. If you screw someone who ain’t your spouse, you’re dead in the water.”

Mike was taken aback. He felt suddenly naïve. He had not thought of that.

“You think Hodges might…” he said, but Dee cut him off with an ugly, sharp laugh and a comically raised eyebrow.

“He wouldn’t exactly be the first to stray from the marital bed now would he, Mike?” she said. “I mean, as far as I can tell, he keeps his dick in his pants. But this is some strange shit here and in my experience when something’s weird it’s usually headed to the goddamn bedroom.”

Dee shook her head and walked to the window. She looked out over the snowy white streetscape of Berlin. It was still early and barely a soul was moving outside in the half-gray morning light.

“What is it with you men? You can’t trust a single one of you not to follow your cock into the strangest damn places. Ya’ll ain’t got the discipline that we women have. I mean we have the same desires. Believe me, I’ve been tempted by enough skirt in my time. But, by Christ, I’ve got my priorities straight. I know what’s important.”

Mike opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it.

“It’s especially true with big dogs like our Jack. I mean just look at Bill Clinton. That fool had the world at his fingertips and he let it all slide for a blow job from the office intern.”

Mike did not know what to say. Dee turned around and looked at him. She sounded more puzzled than angry.

“But I tell you one thing, if this is somehow linked to a woman then I’m amazed Christine hasn’t cut his pecker off. She may look like she’s just a country club blonde but that one’s made of steel underneath those nice clothes. There’s some cold, hard metal tottering around on those stilettos.”

Mike was surprised. He did not think of Christine like that. She appeared such a typical candidate’s wife. Perfect for any occasion, an asset in front of the TV cameras and also in private at any number of fund-raising dinners. Politically, the only disadvantage to their marriage was she and Hodges were not able to have children; denying them the picture-perfect image of the All American nuclear family. But Christine more than made up for it. She created a virtue of the issue by becoming a sympathetic and powerful spokesperson for childless couples and infertility clinics.

“But she sent the money, not Hodges,” Mike said.

“Yeah,” said Dee. “That’s what gives me hope. I guess the truth is we don’t know what this means. My guess is Stanton’s people don’t either. They just want to put the information out there and see where it goes. But I don’t like the coincidences here. Our friend in jail is from Guatemala. Now it seems our candidate is sending money down there for God knows what reason.”

Dee sat down again.

“We have to run a deeper game on our own man. I want you to get yourself back to Iowa. Keep digging on our shooter. Then follow up this lead. Go to this place in Guatemala on the money transfer… what the fuck is it called…? Livingston? Find this guy Carillo who collected the cash.”

Mike knew this was coming. But still it felt like a shock. He was going to dig up dirt on Hodges himself. Investigate his own candidate. For the good of the campaign.

“You okay with this, Mike?”

Mike nodded. Dee came up to him and rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Jack can’t know anything about it, Mike. We need to find out the truth if we are to protect him. Maybe even protect him from himself.”

She held his gaze.

“You trust me, Mike, right?”

He looked back at her.

“I trust you,” he whispered.

 

* * *

 

DEE WATCHED from the back of the hall as Hodges walked into the high school gymnasium. It was the last stop in Berlin before they drove south for a lightning set of meetings in the rest of New Hampshire. There was not going to be time here for much of a speech, just a few words and a wave at the mob of school kids herded obediently into the room. Hodges walked a line of teachers and shook each by the hand as the crowd of children applauded and cheered. The youngsters actually looked interested, she thought, which was rare. Still, there was one sure thing that kids these days were impressed by: celebrity. Hodges was definitely that now.

She watched him carefully. She traced the lines of his face and read his lips as he spoke with each person he met. Her mind still rang from this morning’s bombshell. Perhaps if she peered hard enough she could read Hodges’ mind, discover if any dark secrets lurked there. But, of course, there was nothing. Just Hodges flashing his winning grin, seducing people with his glow, giving them hope and making them believe in him. Dee folded her hands across her chest. A surge of anger stirred deep in her breast. Images of her childhood rose up; her family, mired in poverty struggling in Louisiana. She could almost hear her grandfather’s native Cajun French whispered in her ear, swearing at the injustices of a forgotten world in the language of the bayou.

“Don’t you let me down, feet pue tan,” she thought. “Don’t you ever let me down.”

 

* * *

 

IOWA WAS different to Mike now. As he pulled up at the familiar gates of the jail he felt like someone left behind after the party ended. The streets were still lined with placards and posters. The gardens, covered in snow, still had yard signs poking out of the drifts. But many of them were for campaigns that had now collapsed. The lights were on, the glasses swept away, the floors mopped. The party was over and moved on to New Hampshire. Iowa was a state with a political hangover.

Mike even felt his own senses dull from being back here. He felt a throbbing ache pound at the back of his head that did not dissipate as he walked into the harsh light of the jail and smiled at the guard assigned to meet him. Mike was amazed at how easy it was. They could dodge normal procedure simply because the governor liked Hodges and Dee had the governor’s private number on speed dial. But that was the way the world worked and Mike knew he must take full advantage of it. As a guard led Mike through the jail to the interview room he quizzed his companion. Prison gossip was hardly a reliable source of information but it had already paid major dividends.

“You guys got anything new on this woman? A name even?” Mike asked.

The guard shrugged his shoulders.

“We’ve been running checks on all the mental health institutions from here to Maine, seeing if any of them have a psycho missing. We’ve got nothing. No matches at all,” he said.

“She spoken a word yet?”

The guard laughed. “Nope. She’s a Grade A nutjob. They’re the ones no one can legislate for,” he said. “I just thank God she missed your Senator. Didn’t get anyone killed.”

“Well,” Mike said. “I thought we’d give it one last try and see if we can get something out of her. She might prefer to talk to a civilian and not a cop or a guard.”

The man held open the door to the interrogation room and ushered Mike in. The shooter was already there, her jumpsuit a flash of color in the bright, white room. The guard carried on talking about her as if she was not present.

“Maybe,” the guard said. “But I doubt it. It’s time to just shut the door and throw away the key on this one. She’s not going to see the light of day again for a long, long time.”

Mike didn’t respond, but sat down and waited to hear the door clang shut behind him. Silence now filled the room. There was not a flicker of recognition as he looked at her. He waited for a few moments and gathered his thoughts. He came here with a speech planned, a monologue to tease something out of her, prompt her to react again like last time, with a terrifying flash of temper. But, facing her, it faded from his mind, sucked out of him as she ate up all the energy from the room. He sighed and closed his eyes. What did he have? Just one fact. Just one thing he knew that no one else did. No one apart from an immigrant meat plant worker in the frozen wilds of west Kansas.

“You are from Guatemala,” he said. “You are a Mayan. You speak Kaqchikel.”

She looked at him now. Mike felt the hairs on his arms stand up as she lifted her head and stared. It was like the temperature of the room plummeted to below freezing and he stifled a shiver that trembled down his spine. He forced out more words, half-expecting to see his breath freeze.

“Before you tried to kill the Senator you prayed. You said the Lord’s prayer in your native language.”

Her eyes were suddenly alive. Her mouth opened slightly and she seemed human, shrinking in front of Mike’s eyes, her tanned skin warming. She hesitated and Mike nodded. His gaze never left hers and pleaded with her to break the silence. It seemed like a benediction and she opened her mouth.

“I meant to leave no sign,” she said in slow but fluent English.

He had wondered what her voice would sound like. Imagined it as hard and full of menace. But it was soft and whispering, edged only by a harshness from using muscles that were silent for so long.

“Who are you?” Mike asked.

She shook her head. “I am an Angel of vengeance,” she said.

Mike felt a pang of fear strike him and remembered the violence he glimpsed behind those eyes on his last visit. The words of the guard echoed back to him. Perhaps she was insane.

“Why did you try to kill Senator Hodges?” he asked.

“In my bible there is a description of this man. It says: “Be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walks about, seeking whom he may devour.”

“You believe the Senator is the Devil?” Mike asked.

She laughed, a ragged sound. “After a lifetime of sin, I decided to finally obey my God,” she said.

She reached out a hand, slowly, wrapping her fingers gently around Mike’s wrist. Her touch was warm, but firm.

“You know nothing, Americano,” she said.

Mike knew she would not speak again. He looked at her and it was like she had faded out of the room, appearing and disappearing in front of him. He stayed there for ten minutes more, looking at her, following her eyes as they wandered around the room, wondering at what she saw. He was certain it was not the same four walls that he did. Her mind doubtless gazed beyond the jail back down whatever unimaginable path brought her here. Eventually Mike got up and walked out, turning his back on her. The guard outside looked up from reading his newspaper.

“She say anything?” the guard asked.

“Not a word.”

The casual lie barely left his mouth when he felt he heard Dee’s voice in his ear, whispering her praise at his talent for deception. “You’re good at this, Mike,” she had said.