(Pause.)
“He was Carl Buckman’s brother.”
(Longer pause.)
“Was the last sentence really that important?”
(Different baritone voice.)
“There’s a reason for the Second Amendment!”
We did that in print as well as radio, deflecting the murder into a defense of the Constitution. I wasn’t so sure how well that was going over. Polling just didn’t say.
The strangest part was when Andy Stewart tried to turn my family’s abandonment of me when I was young back against me, as if it was my fault. If they had thrown me out and disowned me, then it must have been my fault. I must have been evil to deserve the treatment I received.
By August it was getting totally surreal. The national news had begun following the story of the billionaire running for Congress, and Stewart’s narrative of my murder of my brother and my denouncement by my mother, who finally calmed down enough to give a statement damning me. It culminated with a dual interview on Meet the Press. Andy refused to meet with me, since that would be a debate. He went to the NBC studios in Washington, while Brew and I drove down to the WMAR-TV studios on York Road in Towson. I would be broadcast from there.
The regular moderator, Garrick Utley, was out sick and the duties of host were being performed by Tim Russert. I had met Russert before, during an appearance on the show the previous year, and two dinners since then. We were friendly, but I wasn’t ready to call him a friend, and I didn’t think he was going to be favorable to me.
The interview started out pretty normal. We were introduced with a quick head shot and a hello from each of us, and then Russert turned to the camera and announced that we were the contenders in “… one of the nastiest campaigns in recent American history. On the one side we have the Republican contender, Carl Buckman, billionaire investor and one of the leaders of the ‘Young Republicans’ vying for public office. His opponent is eight term Democratic Congressman Andy Stewart, a member of the House Banking Committee, now fighting for his political life.”
Tim turned to Andy, and asked, “Is that a fair assessment, Congressman? Is this a fight for your political life?”
Andy snorted derisively. “Hardly! Carl Buckman’s candidacy is a symbol of the Republican Party’s contempt for the struggles the average American is having in today’s difficult economy. They are running a billionaire with a bottomless wallet who plans to buy a Congressional seat. I have called on both the Federal Election Commission and the Department of the Treasury to investigate this flagrant violation of the election laws in the State of Maryland.”
“Mister Buckman, are you trying to buy the election? Have you heard from the FEC or Treasury Department yet?” asked Tim, turning to the camera he was using to talk to me.
I smiled and shook my head. “The Federal Election Commission and the Treasury Department? Those are new ones. The Congressman has been complaining about me to the Maryland Board of Elections, the IRS, and the Securities and Exchange Commission, and they’ve all told him to go jump in a lake. I can’t imagine who’s next. The real issue is that somebody dared to actually run against the Congressman, and who has a program aimed at solving the very problems he admits his constituents are having a problem with under his representation.”
Russert turned back to Stewart. “Congressman, Mister Buckman is not the first wealthy man to run for office, and more than a few of them have been Democrats. Jack Kennedy comes to mind, and it wasn’t even his money. It was his father’s.”
“That may be true, but Jack Kennedy was representing the people. Carl Buckman is only representing himself. He has a history of eliminating his problems, problems like his brother, a problem he eliminated by murder!”
Tim knew of the current allegations being thrown around by my opponent, but hearing me being bluntly called a murderer was still unusual. Most politicians would weasel around it, calling me a killer, or saying ‘alleged’ or ‘presumed.’ He had a shocked look on his face as he turned to face me. “Those are astonishing allegations, Mister Buckman. What do you say to them?”
“It’s simple, Tim. Congressman Stewart is a liar. There are no allegations of a crime. Does the law allow a sitting Congressman to lie and slander anybody he wants? He is lying to you, just like he has been lying to the voters in the Maryland Ninth. What else has he been lying about?”
Stewart didn’t even wait for Russert to ask him anything. He immediately protested. “I did nothing of the sort. Carl Buckman killed his brother and then used his fortune to cover it up! His own family knows the truth about him. They threw him out of the family when he was sixteen, and then had him disinherited and disowned a few years later. Who would know him better than his own parents?”
Off camera I could see Brewster wincing. We knew it was coming, but it still sounded terrible. Nothing to do but brazen it out. “Yes, I killed my brother, a paranoid schizophrenic with a long and documented history of aggression towards me and my family. I covered up nothing, and was thoroughly investigated by both the police and the district attorney.” Then I reached into my inside jacket pocket and pulled out a sheathed Bowie knife. I unsheathed it on camera and held it up. “This is the knife that my brother came after my family with. I got it from the Baltimore County Police Department after the investigation was over. He brought this into my home and told me he planned to butcher my wife and baby son, and then he attacked me and I killed him. As for my mother, she has a history of instability, and she is the one who purchased this weapon and provided it to my brother, along with the vehicle he used to carry out his attacks on us. I’m not sure how seriously you should be taking her statements.”
“That’s the knife?” asked Russert, his eyes wide open.
“I have the evidence tag available, along with photos to verify it,” I replied.
“That’s almost a sword!” he exclaimed. I nodded silently, and Russert turned to Stewart, visibly angry at being upstaged. Wild accusations are great, but I had evidence!
“Movie set props aside; Carl Buckman cannot deny his cold blooded killing of his brother!”
“Cold blooded!? Movie set props!?” I was outraged! “Does this look like a prop!” I held up my left hand and drew the blade across my palm. A red bead of blood welled up, and I held my hand up to the camera. “This is what my brother wanted to do to my wife and son. Andy Stewart would have been rooting for him, I’m sure, since at least it wasn’t a gun!” Then I stabbed the knife point down into the surface of the mahogany table I was sitting at, to leave it standing vertically.
The screens immediately went blank. Tim Russert knew he had lost complete control of the show and he pulled the plug, going to commercial. I held my hand over the desk, slowly dripping blood, while I fished out my handkerchief. It wasn’t a bad cut, nothing I hadn’t had happen over the years from any number of things, but I was sure it looked gruesome on camera. A staffer from WMAR ran out and then came back with a first aid kit. Brewster came hustling up to the desk. “Jesus Christ, Carl! What the hell were you thinking there!?”
“He just pissed me off!” I responded.
“Jesus Christ!” he repeated. He took the first aid kit and fished out some gauze and some tape. He kept muttering while he bandaged my hand. Around us people were staring at me.
Finally he sat back and stared at me. I shrugged at him. “I guess I fucked up big this time.”