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“You may keep those copies, David. I have others. By the way, in case you’re thinking of sending Spence or one of his thugs after me, my attorney also has copies of the photos and the tape. He’s been instructed to release them to the media in the event of my death by anything other than natural causes.”
The chauffeur pulled the limo to a stop at the curb in front of the senator’s home. “Wait a minute,” David said, grabbing Clete’s arm as he was about to alight. “You’ve guaranteed your silence, but what about Barrie Travis and Gray Bondurant? Aren’t you in with them?”
Clete bristled at the thought. “With the airhead journalist and the man who seduced my daughter? Hardly. Leave them to me.” He patted David on the knee. “Think over everything I said and get back to me. I’m sure you’ll come around to my way of thinking.”
Chapter Forty-Four
The attorney general stood at the window, his fists pressing against the small of his back, stretching. Barrie wished she knew what he was thinking. Did he believe her? During the telling of her story, he’d interrupted occasionally to ask her to clarify a point, but when she finished, he’d stood up and begun to pace the room, without giving any indication of whether he thought she was telling the truth.
Gray had separated himself from them and was now watching the TV, on which the big news story of the day was being documented. He cursed beneath his breath when the President made his brief statement to the media at the hospital, but when a doctor reiterated that the First Lady would enjoy a full recovery, Gray couldn’t hide his profound relief.
Naturally, Barrie shared it. But she wouldn’t be human if she hadn’t felt a twinge of jealousy.
At some point during Barrie’s monologue, Daily had fallen asleep. She was glad he was able to rest. He looked completely done in.
“What I don’t understand,” said the attorney general, turning to face the room, “is why Mrs. Merritt didn’t blow the whistle on him herself.”
Barrie replied without a moment’s thought. “Fear. She was afraid of him, Bill. The day we met for coffee, she was about to jump out of her skin. I don’t think all her jitters could be attributed to her manic-depression. That’s when she first began to suspect that her days were numbered and that he would try something like this. Making that appointment with me was the first smoke signal she sent up.”
Yancey looked over at Gray. “What about George Allan?”
“He’s David’s puppet. He hasn’t got the balls to be anything else. David’s got him by the short and curlies. Mrs. Allan admitted as much to us.”
“That’s right, Bill,” Barrie said. “I’m sure she would substantiate your case.”
“Case?” he repeated, snorting. “I don’t have a case. I’ve got nothing except the word of two fugitives who are being sought for kidnapping.”
“But you believe us,” she said. “I know you do, or you wouldn’t have brought us here in the first place.” She joined him at the window. “Is it so hard to believe that a chief executive is capable of murder? Look out there.” In the early morning sun, they could see the tip of the Washington Monument.
“Monuments to presidents. Some were scoundrels, some were good and honorable men. Tall, short, warriors, statesmen. But their one common denominator, besides the office to which they were elected, is that they were human. History has exalted them, made them larger than life, in some instances elevated them to demigods, but they weren’t.
“They were men, mortals with character flaws. They laughed, cried, got mad, got constipated. They had no immunity from pride or pain or heartache or…” She looked at Gray. “Or jealousy. David Merritt knew that his wife had cheated. She bore another man’s child. He couldn’t tolerate that. So he did something about it.”
He’s done it before.
The thought struck her so hard, she shuddered. The words were so clear, she thought someone had spoken out loud. “What?”
Yancey looked at her. “I didn’t say anything.”
Gray said, “You were saying that—”
“Wait.” She held up her hand for quiet.
The sudden revelation had so much impact it was almost biblical. Its power brought her to her knees. Literally. She sank to the floor.
“Barrie.” Gray shoved Yancey aside and knelt down in front of her. He took her by the shoulders and looked worriedly into her eyes. “Barrie, what is it?” His voice seemed to come from a great distance, barely heard above the roaring inside her head.
He’s done it before.
Where had she heard those words? Or had she read them? Why had they popped into her head now? Why did they seem vitally important?
Then, in a blinding moment of clarity, she remembered where she’d read them, and she knew the answers to those questions, and the back of her neck began to itch.
“Barrie, are you all right?” Bill Yancey was crouched beside Gray, his concern evident.
“Say something, dammit!” Gray said.
“What’s happening?” Daily sat up and scratched his scruffy head. “What’s going on? What’s the matter with her?”
