‘I’m asking the United States Justice Department to launch an investigation into this attempt to destroy not only my campaign but the life of a very decent young man who is now in great jeopardy.’
She didn’t try to stanch the applause this time either. The boos and shouts were correspondingly louder as well.
Admitting that the assassination attempt had been staged and then calling for a federal investigation to be launched at least demonstrated to our admirers and our detractors that we were eager to fight back.
It was just then that two gunshots cracked through the air. Shouts. Screams. Two state policemen grabbed Jess and rushed her down the stairs.
Some in the crowd were frozen in place. Some gaped and moved around. Some sobbed and grabbed their loved ones. Some rushed to their cars.
They hadn’t been gunshots, of course. They’d been the kind of firecrackers designed to scare folks into believing they were gunshots.
A state officer was now reassuring the crowd that the congresswoman was safe, number one, and, number two, that somebody who would soon be found had set off two firecrackers.
As a matter of fact, another state man dragging a skinny man in a dirty white shirt way too thin for the temperature appeared and basically flung the man into the arms of another state man. Out came the cuffs and a violent shove in the direction of the state police cars.
Now that I could see him in some detail he resembled a poster icon for meth addicts. Even from a distance I could see that the cheeks had caved in and that the eyes had the zombie look that could frighten even old pros. He was screaming: ‘I was just foolin’ around! I was just foolin’ around!’
A half-ass DA could make the case that he had endangered lives in several ways, not least by risking the health of the elderly present tonight. People with heart problems could suffer an attack or even death.
But forget the half-ass mythical DA. I was worried as a campaign manager that this sad, crazed creature had stepped on our message tonight. Would the TV news spend more time on the screaming, terrified crowd than they would on the message we’d carefully crafted over the phone ninety minutes before Jess left the house to come here? We’d thrown out the speech we’d planned and decided that while it was all right to complain that we’d been set up, doing that risked turning Jess into a whiner. Invoking the Justice Department showed that we not only proclaimed innocence, we demanded that it be proven.
The hitch of course, which both Dorsey and the smarter reporters would point out, was that getting the Justice Department interested would likely take some time — if they ever got interested at all. But now we were on the offensive and making at least some average citizens wonder if Dorsey and his associates might not be behind this.
When Jess returned to the microphone it was easy to tell in her voice and posture that the firecrackers had shaken her.
‘I remember when Bobby Kennedy said not long before his assassination that if they wanted to kill you, they would. I’m beginning to see what he meant.’ She was recovering quickly. ‘Now it’s family time, everybody. Time to get home on a cold night like this one. And if you don’t have a family, I hope you at least have a cat or a dog.’ Laughter. ‘Over the years my cats have given me a lot of comfort.’ Then, in a gush, ‘Thank you so much for coming here tonight. Even those of you in the back who don’t like me — I thank you, too. Standing around in the cold listening to me — well, there are a lot better things to do than that.’
More affectionate laughter. No boos this time.
‘Good night, everybody. Stay safe!’
She walked inside the bears again. The sharpshooter on the bandstand redoubled his stance and his scan of every inch of ground his eyes were capable of assessing.
Then Jess was in the police caravan and headed back to the family manse.
Abby was beside me now. ‘I can’t believe how well this went. Except for the firecrackers, I mean. I hope they put him in a cell with a homicidal maniac.’
‘I’ll bet you didn’t learn that from the nuns.’
‘You’d be surprised what I learned at Catholic school.’
‘I probably would be.’
She laid her head against my arm. ‘God, we’ve worked so hard on this one. And it all just came crashing down.’
‘It’s not over yet. And the press should be having sex, they’re so happy with tonight.’ I didn’t mention the possibility that they’d let the firecrackers overwhelm the message. Then, ‘Feel like getting a drink?’
‘I wish I could.’ Abby was sliding away from me now. ‘But I have an actual date.’
‘Well, it was bound to happen to one of us.’ I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Good luck, Abby. It’s your turn.’
Not too long after I was in my hotel room in my boxers and T-shirt, checking out my other campaigns. My phone rang just before eleven o’clock. Karen Foster.
‘I hope I didn’t wake you up.’
‘I’m glad to hear your voice.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear yours. So there.’
‘You home?’
‘Yep, and in my jammies watching Jimmy Fallon.’ Then, ‘I wanted to invite you for dinner tomorrow.’
‘Well, thank you. I look forward to it.’
‘I have to tell you I’ve had a number of bad relationships in my life so I’m kind of nervous about putting myself out there again, but you seem like a very nice guy.’
‘I don’t know about that, but I like it when we’re together. I’m not only attracted to you, I admire you. You’re another very rare species of human being.’
‘Yeah? What’s that?’
‘A tough cookie. You’re going to get Showalter no matter what.’
‘I didn’t do a very good job when he murdered my stepbrother.’
‘He’s smart and he’s ruthless and he protects himself with his badge. That makes him a difficult target.’
‘Maybe with both of us working on it—’ She yawned. And laughed. ‘I’ve learned that to get a man in the proper mood for seduction, yawning really works.’
‘No argument here. Just the one yawn and I started tearing my clothes off right away.’
‘Well, I don’t want to get you worked up any more than you already are, so I’ll just say goodnight. Oh, let me give you my address and landline number. Let’s say seven o’clock.’
She might not have wanted me to get worked up, but worked up I was. I had a very nice wild dream about her. About us.
Thirty-Two
There were two press conferences in the morning.
Mike Edelstein had invited a print reporter and two TV teams to our campaign office where he sat behind a long table with a slender, middle-aged bald man in a blue button-down shirt. This, Edelstein said, was Tim Rosencrantz from Chicago, who had testified in numerous trials as a lock-and-key forensics expert.
He’d told me yesterday about this presentation. I had to admit that I’d never heard of a lock-and-key forensics expert. Few in the home audience would have either, making Mr Rosencrantz all the more interesting.
That morning he briefly set the scene, recalling the night of the gunshots and the police discovery of the rifle in Cory Tucker’s trunk.
Edelstein said, ‘The police claim that Cory Tucker’s trunk lock had not been tampered with. This was supposed to mean, I guess, that there was no chance that the rifle had been planted in his car trunk. I found this conclusion to be rash and reckless, so I consulted with Mr Rosencrantz here. I’ll let him take it from here.’