Frank looked over at Burton. “I suppose you don’t have a recording of the conversation? I know that some of the communications here are recorded.”
The President answered. “Sullivan called my private line, Lieutenant. It’s a secure communication link and no recordings of conversations on that line are allowed.”
“I see. Did he directly indicate to you that he was involved in the death of Luther Whitney?”
“Not directly, no. He obviously wasn’t thinking clearly. But reading between the lines, the rage that I knew he was feeling — well, and I hate to make this statement of a man who’s dead, I think it was pretty clear that he had had the man killed. I have no proof of that of course, but it was my strong impression.”
Frank shook his head. “Pretty uncomfortable conversation to have.”
“Yes, yes it was very uncomfortable. Now, Lieutenant, I’m afraid that official duty calls.”
Frank didn’t budge. “Why do you think he called you, sir? And at that time of night?”
The President sat back down, threw another quick glance at Burton. “Walter was one of my closest personal friends. He kept odd hours, but then so do I. It would not be unusual for him to call at that hour. I hadn’t heard very much from him for the last few months. As you know, he had been under a considerable personal strain. Walter was the sort to suffer in silence. Now Seth, if you will excuse me.”
“It just strikes me as odd that out of all the people he could have called, he called you. I mean the chances were pretty good that you wouldn’t even be here. Presidents’ travel schedules are pretty hectic. It makes me wonder what he was thinking.”
The President leaned back, placed his fingers together, and studied the ceiling. Cop wants to play games to show me how smart he is. He looked back at Frank and smiled. “If I were a mind reader I wouldn’t have to rely so heavily on the pollsters.”
Frank smiled. “I don’t think you have to be telepathic to know you’re going to be occupying that chair for another four years, sir.”
“I appreciate that, Lieutenant. All I can tell you is that Walter called me. If he was planning on killing himself who would he call? His family has been estranged from him since his marriage to Christine. He had many business acquaintances, but few people he would call true friends. Walter and I have known each other for years, and I considered him a surrogate father. I had taken a very active interest in the investigation of his wife’s death, as you know. All of that together could explain why he wanted to talk to me, particularly if he was contemplating taking his life. That’s really all I know. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
The door opened. Frank did not see that it was in response to a tiny button on the underside of the President’s desk.
The President looked at his secretary. “I’ll be right there, Lois. Lieutenant, if there’s anything I can do for you, you let Bill know. Please.”
Frank closed his notebook. “Thank you, sir.”
Richmond stared at the doorway after Frank had departed.
“What was the name of Whitney’s attorney, Burton?”
Burton thought for a moment. “Graham. Jack Graham.”
“The name sounds familiar.”
“Works at Patton, Shaw. He’s a partner there.”
The President’s eyes froze on the agent’s face.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m not sure.” Richmond unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out a notebook he had compiled on this little extracurricular matter. “Don’t lose sight of the fact, Burton, that one very important piece of incriminating evidence, for which we happened to have paid five million dollars, has never turned up.”
The President flipped through the pages of his notebook. There were numerous individuals involved, to various degrees, in their little drama. If Whitney had given his attorney the letter opener along with an account of what had happened, the whole world would’ve known by now. Richmond thought back to the awards ceremony for Ransome Baldwin at the White House. Graham was clearly no shrinking violet. Clearly he didn’t have it. But then who, if anyone, would Whitney have given it to?
As his mind spun out neat blocks of analysis and possible scenarios, one name suddenly stood out at the President from within the lines of precise writing. One person who had never really been accounted for.
Jack cradled the carry-out in one arm, his briefcase in the other, and managed to wiggle the key out of his pocket. Before he could put it in the lock, though, the door opened.
Jack looked surprised. “I didn’t expect you home yet.”
“You didn’t have to stop. I could’ve made something.”
Jack went inside, dropped his briefcase on the coffee table and headed to the kitchen. Kate stared after him.
“Hey, you work all day too. Why should you have to cook?”
“Women do it every day, Jack. Just look around.”
He emerged from the kitchen. “No argument there. You want sweet and sour or moo goo gai pan? I got extra spring rolls too.”
“Whichever you don’t want. I’m not that hungry really.”
He withdrew and came back with two fully stocked plates.
“You know if you don’t eat more you’re going to blow away. I half feel like stuffing rocks in your pockets as it is now.”
He sat cross-legged next to her on the floor. She picked at her plate while he devoured his.
“So how was work? You know you probably could have stood to take a few more days off. You’re always pushing yourself too hard.”
“Look who’s talking.” She picked up a spring roll and then put it back down.
He put down his fork and looked over at her.
“So I’m listening.”
She pulled herself up onto the couch and sat there playing with her necklace. Still dressed in her work clothes, she looked exhausted, like a flower collapsed in the wind.
“I think a lot about what I did to Luther.”
“Kate—”
“Jack, let me finish.” Her voice snapped at him like a whip. In an instant her features relaxed. She continued more calmly. “I’ve come to decide that I’m never going to get over it, so I might as well accept that fact. Maybe what I did wasn’t wrong for a lot of reasons. But it was definitely wrong for at least one reason. He was my father. As lame as that might sound, it should’ve been a good enough reason.” She twisted her necklace some more until it congealed into a series of tiny clumps. “I think being a lawyer, at least the kind of lawyer I am, has made me become someone I don’t really like a lot. That’s not a real good revelation to arrive at when you’re hitting thirty.”
Jack reached out his hand to stop hers from shaking. She didn’t move it. He could feel the blood pumping through the veins.
“With all that said, I think I’m due for a radical change. In my life, my career, everything.”
“What are you talking about?” He got up and sat down be side her. His pulse had accelerated as he anticipated the line she was taking.
“I’m not going to be a prosecutor anymore, Jack. In fact I’m not going to be a lawyer anymore. I submitted my resignation this morning. I have to admit, they were pretty shocked. Told me to think about it. I told them I already had. As much as I’m going to.”
The incredulity was stiff in his voice. “You quit your job? Jesus, Kate, you’ve put a helluva lot into your career. You can’t just throw that away.”
She suddenly rose and stood by the window, looking out.
“That’s just it, Jack. I’m not throwing anything away. My memories of what I’ve done for the last four years add up to about a lifetime of horror films. That’s not exactly what I had in mind sitting in Con Law as a first-year debating grand principles of justice.”