‘Here now from the Bradshaw home is Ted Bradshaw, a man well known in Washington for his political skills, where he works closely with his wife in fighting for the legislation they believe in. He is considered a role model for the modern Congressional spouse. Good morning, Mr Bradshaw.’
‘Ted is fine.’
In the vast universe all eyes were focused on him and the black turtleneck that — surprise! — only seemed to enhance the bulk of his little tummy. Even through the screen you could feel the emanations of ecstasy that must be putting him in heart-attack range.
I’m on network TV!
Fortunately, he wasn’t bad at fake solemnity. And mixed in with the fake solemnity there was no doubt some honest solemnity. He loved Jess; he feared for her. And always pressing on the edges of his consciousness were thoughts of her someday Senate run. Imagine the kind of respect he’d get at the D.C. parties when he was the hubby-wubby of a senator.
The interview was pretty good. Host and guest were both practiced at said fake solemnity. They discussed how the local police had joined the state police and an FBI agent to search for the shooter, and said that the congresswoman was resting and was under twenty-four-seven state trooper protection.
Then the questions: what is this country coming to? Wasn’t it wonderful that House members from both sides were overwhelming her with praise? Was the murder attempt the inevitable result of our gun culture? When will the congresswoman be back on the campaign trail? What is this country coming to?
Then it was over.
Roger Hallahan stepped in and said, ‘You did a good job, Mr Bradshaw. Thank you. And give my best to your wife.’
‘Change your mind about the turtleneck yet?’
I felt sorry for Hallahan. Ted not only had to be right, he had to punish you for not having agreed with him.
‘Yeah,’ Hallahan said, a familiar weariness in his voice, the weariness that all operatives feel working with the Ted Bradshaws of politics. ‘Yeah, you looked great.’
I left the den abruptly. It was too early in the day for the ass-kissing Ted would require. I have a rule about that. No ass-kissing before ten-thirty. Before then it causes acute acid reflux.
In the hall, I found Nan. ‘You happen to know where Jess is?’
‘I just fixed her two eggs, toast and coffee, and she’s sitting alone on the patio. I’m sure she’d love some company.’
She was wearing sandals, jeans and a crisp, white short-sleeved blouse. The breakfast Nan had prepared for her was down to a single half-slice of toast. A delicately sculpted silver coffeepot was next to her on the table. The beautiful blue of cigarette smoke coiled up from a tiny faux Mandarin-style ashtray. There was a symphony of morning birds and the cool, thin shadows of early morning. It was so idyllic, it was easy to forget that the woman sitting here had almost been shot to death less than twelve hours ago.
‘Don’t ask me how I’m feeling.’
‘All right.’
‘But please sit down.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Coffee?’
‘Please.’
‘You’ve noticed the cigarette?’
‘I’ve noticed the cigarette. Hard to miss.’
‘First one in eighteen years. Since I was in college.’
‘I’d say it’s well deserved.’
‘How do you like the coffee? Nan made it.’
‘It’s very good.’
There was an atonal quality to her voice. Almost as if she’d been drugged. And maybe she had.
‘How did Ted do?’
‘You didn’t watch?’
‘I was too afraid for him. It’s not easy for him, living in my shadow.’
‘He did very well.’
‘You don’t like him, do you?’
What the hell. ‘I don’t hate him.’
The laugh was the first sign of her usual self. ‘Was that supposed to be diplomatic?’
‘Sort of.’
She took a deep drag of her cigarette. The pack had been depleted by several smokes. ‘I wish Ted had a little of you in him and I wish you had a little of Ted in you. He can be a child a lot of the time, but there’s a sweetness to him.’
‘Tell me where they sell it and I’ll buy some.’
She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. ‘But you’re a lot more reassuring than he is. Tell me not to be afraid. I’m feeling a little bit paralyzed right now.’
‘When I get the chance to speak to the chief of police—’
‘You’ll get that chance in a few minutes. He’s on his way out here to talk to me.’
‘Good.’
‘So what about me being so afraid?’ She watched me again.
‘I’m glad you’re afraid. That means you’re taking this seriously. And that means you’ll do everything the police and the state troopers tell you to do. I was afraid you’d insist on going right back to walking rope lines again. Shaking hands. Meet and greets.’
‘They tell me I’m pretty good at it.’
‘You’re excellent at it. But we’re going to change your schedule so you’re in situations where security can really protect you. Every appearance will be indoors until further notice. I can guarantee you they’ll insist on that.’
I saw the chief of police through the glass doors. He was even more military in person than he had been on the screen. He moved in quick, certain steps.
‘Sorry I’m late, Congresswoman. I’m sorry I have to put you through this.’
‘Chief Showalter, this is my friend and campaign manager, Dev Conrad.’
He had a hard, calloused hand. This morning he wore a white button-down shirt under a black leather jacket of the fashionable kind. Gray slacks and black loafers completed the attire. And being a cowpoke, he still wore that damned white Stetson. He at least took it off now in deference to the lady. Cowpokes are nothing if not polite.
He then introduced the appealing Detective Karen Foster, who’d stood silently by him in his TV interview. Today the suit was an autumn brownish-red. She shook hands with Jess and then with me. I liked to think that she held my hand a little longer than necessary because she thought I was downright irresistible.
Showalter did the talking for the next five minutes. He advanced a few theories which didn’t sound plausible, said that he had even more officers going over the area where the shooter had stood now that it was daylight, and assured Jess that the shooter would be identified and apprehended. He wisely didn’t put forth a time when this miracle of detection was going to take place.
Meanwhile, Detective Foster kept watching me. Not just looking at me, watching me, as if she thought I was going to do something suspicious. At least I wasn’t foolish enough to interpret the scrutiny of those dark eyes as reflecting any romantic or sexual interest in me. But then she smiled at me. She hadn’t spoken a single word since talking briefly with Jess. Then the watching. And now the smile. Neither Jess nor Showalter seemed to notice it. I luxuriated in it.
Showalter was still the man in charge. He’d started lifting his Stetson up and then setting it back down. Maybe he was lonely without it.
‘When I talked to the congresswoman earlier, Mr Conrad, I told her about the information you left with my office this morning. We’re following it up right now.’
‘I hope I’m not wasting your time.’
‘I Googled you. Since you were an army investigator you should know how these things go. This could be nothing but I need to follow it down. I had an officer at the Skylight at seven o’clock this morning. The day man wasn’t much help. He gave my man the home phone number of the night bartender but says the night man shacks up with different female customers, so he wasn’t sure he could contact him until he showed up for work.’