The White House July 1
Sprinkles from a doughnut clung to Hamilton Kelly’s face. He was pacing inside McGreer’s office. Addis noticed a shaving cut on his cheek. Brew McGreer, Mike Finn, and Ken Byrd were in chairs. Addis was alone on the couch.
“It’s simple,” Kelly said. “You get a lawyer. One of those shit-storm specialists. I’ll call one for you. And we put out a statement that says we’ve given you a few days of leave, you’re cooperating with the investigation, you don’t know why this maniac came after you. And that you and she were … . What did you say, Ken?”
“Social acquaintances,” Byrd said.
“Yeah,” Kelly continued.
“And he expresses sorrow to her family,” Byrd added.
“Sure. And cool your heels for a few days. No Chicago. Then when the cops are done, you’ll make yourself available to the press.”
Why don’t I scream right now? None of this is about Julia. What’s to be done for her?
Kelly ceased his pacing. He wiped at the sprinkles. Byrd cleared his throat. “What is it?” Kelly asked, not hiding his irritation.
“You know, I was listening to the radio on the way in,” Byrd said. “People were giving their own cockamamie theories. Some said this had to have something to do with the assassination. And that it took the government so long to figure out who the killer was. How could that be possible? There has to be something more. And who would know? The CIA. And then a presidential aide is nearly killed with an ex-CIA agent—”
“Analyst,” Kelly said. “Not an agent. She studied reports. Damnit, if our own press secretary can’t get that right—”
“Well, I don’t think it means a fucking difference to anybody out
there,” McGreer interrupted. “She was CIA. Front group or not. So all this fucking shit is going to keep growing like fucking kudzu. Especially if Nick holes up. We all know the fucking rules. These guys are going be in a frenzy until we give them Nick. So it’d be fucking smarter to do it sooner than later. Get him out there. Sacrifice the first day of the convention. A press conference. A group interview with a few of them. Whatever. It’ll step all over tomorrow. But we still got the next two days. Besides, what do the fucking delegate counters say? Margaret needs the clean shot in Chicago. Not us. But we do anything that looks like we’re fucking hiding something, we’ll get hosed.”
Finn nodded his head. Byrd said he agreed, too. Addis knew that McGreer had the right read—that is if Addis could be trusted before a media audience.
“I talked to the President,” Kelly said.
Addis knew what was coming. He, too, often had used that phrase.
“And he agrees this should be put off for a few days.”
Kelly knows. He knows why this happened. Why she’s dead. And they want me quiet. Don’t scream. Don’t shout. Keep your shit together. Go along. For her. Find out, for her.
“So where do I cool my heels?” Addis asked.
“Not at home, obviously,” Kelly said. “We’ll find a place in town. And we can have security to keep people away. Grayton says it’s no problem. The life of a White House official was threatened. It’s an appropriate use of official resources.”
“Sure,” Addis said. “I’m sorry I never got that speech language to you last night. Should I work on that?”
Sound pathetic.
“I’d kinda like to keep busy,” Addis said.
“No, it’s done,” Kelly said. “Let’s find a lawyer. Have him come here. You stick around until then. Take it easy.”
“Okay,” Addis said. “But if I can be of any help—”
“We’ll let you know,” Kelly interrupted. “Now, I’ve got to plan a convention. At one it’s the Cabinet meeting send-off. Then at two, it’s wheels-up. First to Columbus, Ohio.”
The wife of the governor of Ohio had gone to college with Margaret. She would be there with her husband to greet the President. A nice slap, Addis thought.
“Then Nashville,” Kelly said. “An airport rally.”
Everyone knew the South, except for Louisiana, was going to be difficult territory for Margaret, Addis told himself.
“And then California for the night,” Kelly continued. “Announce we’ve squeezed out a few more dollars for cops for the cities.” He rubbed his bald pate. “Too bad, Nick, you won’t be with us.”
Addis entered his office and went straight to the bottom drawer of his desk. The file was gone. The one marked “Pension Reform.” The file that held the other copy of the Blue Ridge records. The phone rang. Addis ignored it and left the office.
Automatic pilot. Automatic pilot.
The door to Computer Services was locked. Addis waited in the basement hallway of the OEOB. Ten minutes later, Amy arrived. She was surprised to see him.
“I thought … you … How are … ?” she sputtered.
“Thanks for the concern,” he said. “Can you look something up for me? Again.”
“Sure,” she said too quickly. Then, Addis saw, she started thinking: Should I be doing this?
“It would mean a lot to me,” he said, widening his sad eyes.
I’m such a shit.
She opened the door. “What can I do for you?” she said.
“The WAVE records from last night,” he said. “For the West Wing. After nine. Who came and went.”
“Okay.” She tried to smile, but she was nervous. “You don’t have to wait around here. I’ll come by your office, okay? That’s what I’ll do.”
“Thanks.”
Addis was at his desk, looking through the phone book, when Ken Byrd opened the door without knocking.
“They’re showing the canal being dredged on CNN,” he said.
“Pass,” Addis said.
Shit, if my stomach tightens any more, I’m going to keel over.
“They said that according to police sources you were concerned about some papers you had with you.”
“I asked about some personal financial stuff.”
“Okay … . You know you’ve got Kelly freaked out on this.”
Addis decided not to be reassuring.
“Anyway, Kelly called Vic Parmenter, the lawyer, and he’s coming over later. Says if the police want to talk, tell them you have to talk to him first.”
“Fine,” Addis said.
Byrd looked at the opened telephone book.
“Just trying to get a number for her family.”
Now get the hell out.
Addis found the number and closed the book.
“And we’ll have to say something about Parmenter coming. I’ll take care of that,” Byrd said. He was rocking on the balls of his feet. “Something like, ‘Mr. Addis cooperated fully with the police last night. He merely wanted to speak to a lawyer before making any public—no we won’t say ‘public.’ This is better: ‘He merely wanted to speak to a lawyer so he would understand his rights as he fully cooperates with the investigation.’ Sound okay to you?”
Who the fuck cares? Can’t I just pick up the phone, dial a number, and hear her voice?
“Sure,” he said. “Whatever you think best.”
“Good,” Byrd replied. “Guess we’re done for now.”
On his way out, Byrd passed Amy from Computer Services. Addis could tell he was curious why she was here.
“Got it,” she said and handed an envelope to Addis. He removed the printout and examined it.
“Thanks,” he said to her, without lifting his head.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
Addis heard the disappointment. He looked at her. “I owe you one,” he said. “Or two. Maybe when things calm down I can make it up to you.”
The corners of her mouth lifted.
“Yes,” she said.
His eyes returned to the paper. He found what he was looking for on the log. “Thank you,” he said.
“I thought you might want …” She handed him a can of Coke.
“That’s kind of you.” He rolled his chair next to the mini-refrigerator and opened the door. It was empty. “See,” he said. “I’m out.” He placed the can in the refrigerator and rolled back to the desk. “I’ll have it later.”
“Well if you need …”
“Okay.”
“Uh, good luck,” she said as she left.
He put the log to the side of his desk and stared at the phone number for Lancette’s family. What could he tell her parents without withholding information or lying? he asked himself. But they deserved to know. He closed the phone book and tossed it on a bookshelf.
Not yet, he thought. Not just yet.