Full Disclosure (27 page)

He was finishing the police report concerning the eighteenth and final missing-person case when she interrupted.

“Paul.”

He put his thumb on the page to mark his place and looked up at her.

“It's almost midnight. I didn't mean for you to read for hours without a break.”

“I don't mind—it's what my day job is often like.” He gestured to the murder board. “You obviously know more about the reason behind this request than I do. How urgent is this?”

“No one's life is on the line. It's a closed case. Or cases. But when you know the reason, when you find out why you were asked to know this case inside and out, it's going to get very urgent.”

“Then I'll work for a bit longer.” She was deep into a yellow
legal pad of notes and had a cold drink sweating on the coaster beside her. She didn't look sleepy—she looked like she was in the middle of a workday. “Kick me out when you're ready to call it a night,” he told her.

“I would normally do a couple more hours.”

He finished the initial read-through of the case and the boxes at three a.m. Ann was settled on the couch, her eyes closed. He shifted the legal pad to the table and gently shook her shoulder. “Ann.”

She woke with a start. “Sorry, I drifted off.”

“One moment I looked over and you were awake and briskly writing, the next you were asleep with the pen in your hand.”

“It happens.” She looked at the time and her eyes widened. “Three o'clock. Paul, you should have stopped hours ago.”

He let her reorient herself and get a bit more alert before he nodded to the board. “I've done the initial review of the boxes. You have a killer, his confession, his victims. The case files appear to be in order and complete. I didn't see any sloppy police work in the history I've read.”

She relaxed. “That's my read of the case file as well. The cops did a good job with what was there.”

“I'll be back tomorrow whenever I happen to wake up. I want to spend some more time going through the files, now that I've seen the scope of the case. And I want to read what you've written about the victims.”

“Okay.” She dug keys out of her pocket. “Take my car. House keys are on that ring. Let yourself in if for some reason I'm not here.”

Ann was heading out for a walk with Black when he returned the next day. “There's no need to stay,” he told her. “Enjoy yourself and make it a long walk. I'm just going to be reading.”

“I put coffee on just for you, and there are bagels in the drawer.”

“I'll be fine. Go enjoy yourself.”

She headed after a still-sleepy Black.

Paul found the bagels, poured his coffee, and settled into the same chair as the day before. He started reading the book she had written about the victims.

An hour later when he heard the front door, he marked his page and set aside his notes.

Black raced into the living room, diving toward the couch to wrestle an old sock from under the end. He lay down to begin chewing it apart. Ann appeared.

Paul smiled at her. “I saw the dog have energy for a brief instant.”

“Walks wake him up.”

She saw his sketched notes on a legal pad. “You found something?”

Paul handed her the pages. “There's a progression in the victims, not only in complexity of how they disappeared—larger city, more people around, middle of the day—but in who they were. They get more significant, for want of a better word. It starts with the lady who runs the Red Cross chapter and is married to the bank manager, then it's a county judge, a lady reporter, a venture capital CEO, an award-winning economist with a visiting teaching position at Harvard. The victims get harder to reach without leaving a trace, more prominent in their community, their jobs. This wasn't a blue-collar killer. This was someone who could fit into the environment of the victim and take them without someone noticing him.”

“I noted that too. He moved up in influence, up in the level of risk.”

“He chose them. It doesn't feel random to me. Not with the progression in who he kills. The list looks like his victims were deliberate choices.” He got up to pace and loosen stiff muscles.

“It's your turn to take a break and get in a walk.”

“In a bit. It's easier to keep reading now. The saturation helps. Little pieces start to click together when I see pages and pages of information.”

He settled back in the chair and picked up the police report for victim nine. He was beginning to understand this case. At least to see the questions it presented.
Why these victims?
He could feel the tug of something, and he was trying to put together the idea that was working around in the back of his mind. He read for another two hours, thinking over what he found.

He put his finger on a note in the police report about victim sixteen, flipped open Ann's book and checked victim four. He closed his eyes and mentally went through what he had read about each of the victims.

“Ann, it's political.”

She set down her writing pad and gave him her attention.

“Or more to the point—he's political.”

She rested her forearms against her knees, studying him. “What did you notice?”

“All of his victims have politics in their history. That's not random, not with eighteen people. A sampling of the general population would never have turned up all eighteen as being active in politics. They are Republican, Democrat, state politics, national politics—the victims aren't linked to each other, but we know they are linked to the killer. All the people who crossed him to the point he wanted to kill them had politics in their life, and that tells me it is politics that is his world. He's a pollster, a fund-raiser, a political campaign operative, some job that comes around every two or four years. And given the variety of states, he was probably working at the national level. The victims were chosen because they intersected with his world, and his is a political world.”

He saw her face. “I'm right?”

“I can't comment on the theory. But you did what I asked. You've learned the case and the victims deep enough to see
a possible connection. That's what I desperately needed you to do.”

She held up a finger. She reached over for the phone and placed a secure call. “Good evening, sir. Yes, sir. He knows the case. It's my recommendation you give him the chapter.”

She glanced at the clock. “Yes, sir.”

She closed the phone. And then she took a deep breath before she looked over at him. “The VP would like us to come over for coffee.”

“A chapter of the VP's autobiography?”

“Yes.”

“Does the VP know who the John Doe Killer is?”

“Yes.”

“He's going to name him?”

“Yes.”

He looked at the book she was writing about the victims, the profiles she had taken such care to craft. “The victims will get lost in the press focus of who he will name.”

“Not with my book releasing alongside the VP's autobiography. It's why he asked me to write it.”

“You've read the chapter; you know who it is?”

“That answer is so far above my pay grade, I'm going to pretend you didn't ask the question,” she replied. “Would you mind if we wait on dinner until after we speak with him? I've got butterflies.”

“I admit to a few myself. I wasn't planning to meet the VP today.”

She smiled and offered him her keys. “We'll take my car, as Black is going over with us, but I'd prefer it if you drive. We can stop and pick up your suit jacket if it would make you more comfortable. I'm going as I am. But you look quite dignified in a suit.”

He grinned. “Really?”

“I have lots of flaws, but I'm not blind. Black, you want to go see Jasmine?”

He darted away and came back with a rubber-duck chew toy and then pranced around, as they were not quick enough to follow him to the front door.

Ann laughed, then caught up with him and ruffled his ears. “She'll like it too, buddy.”

T
he VP's estate was set on forty acres in the rolling hills near the river. “Pull up to the gate. Security will come down to meet us.”

Paul pulled to a stop.

Ann saw the guard walking down to meet them and lowered her window. “Good evening, George. I have one guest tonight.”

“Good evening, Miss Silver.” The dog tried to lean around the headrest to put his head out the open window. “And to you, Midnight.” The security guard circled the car, checking the underside of the vehicle with a mirror and stopped at the driver's door. “May I see your identification, sir?” He accepted Paul's credentials, made a call, and returned the items. “Thank you. Please follow the drive, pull around to the north side of the house, and park next to the silver van.” The gate slowly opened.

Paul proceeded up the winding drive. Six cars were parked in a side lot. He parked. Ann stepped out of the car and let Black out. The dog got a hold on his rubber toy and led the way to the side door. Ann entered a security code and held open the door. Paul stepped inside with her. They were in a spacious kitchen. Black paused to check the counter, where cookies were cooling, then disappeared down a hallway.

A man joined them from the front of the house. “Welcome, Ann.”

“Hi, Reece.” She made introductions. “Paul, this is Jim Gannett's lead Secret Service Agent Reece Lion. Reece, FBI Special Agent Paul Falcon.”

The two men sized each other up as they shook hands. “It's good to meet you.”

“And you.”

Reece turned his attention to Ann. He interlaced his fingers with hers as he studied her face. “You look pretty good tonight.”

“I'm doing fine. Black came along. He went searching for Jasmine.”

Reece grinned. “That's my boy. I was hoping you'd bring him. Head on back. Jim's in the library. I'll join you in a minute.”

Ann led the way through the house and knocked lightly on a partially closed door.

“Come in.”

“Ann.” The former vice president rose from his seat by the fireplace and came over. “You made good time.” He greeted her with a hug, studied her face for a moment, and smiled. “I had a private bet with Reece that you would call tonight.”

“It looks like you won. I'm not one for delays.” She turned. “Sir, I'd like to introduce Paul Falcon. Paul, Vice President Jim Gannett.”

The VP offered his hand. “It's good to put a face with a name. I appreciate you coming on such short notice, Paul, and for putting up with this bit of mystery.”

“I'm inclined to trust Ann.”

“A good answer and one I would endorse. Please, have a seat. May I get you coffee, a drink?”

“I'm fine, sir.”

They settled into comfortable chairs, and Reece joined them, standing by the fireplace.

“If you don't mind,” the VP began, “I will leave the casual conversation I would like to have with you about the lady shooter,
about the Chicago bureau, and many other things which interest me, for another time, and simply get to the reason I asked Ann to bring you over.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gannett leaned forward in his chair. “I'm about to ask you to do something that will be both a large favor and a significant imposition on your life. I'd like you to hear me out, talk it over with Ann, think about it overnight, then accept or decline my request. Only five people know this information. It's been closely held for a reason. Before I begin, I need your word that what I tell you will remain confidential until the final volume of my autobiography is released at the end of the year, regardless of your decision.”

“You have my word.”

“Good. Thank you.” He leaned back in his chair. “Sixteen years ago there was a serial killer in the Midwest who was active for nine years. Ann has shown you his eighteen victims.”

“Yes.”

“The John Doe Killer wrote a diary, or rather he dictated it. Who he chose to kill and why, how he snatched them, where he buried their remains. He began his diary with the words ‘I have killed twenty people, each more famous than the last.' He had killed just eighteen when he dictated that line.

“I didn't have a boating accident nine years ago. I was abducted. I was to be victim number nineteen, and he was going to kill himself to become victim twenty. He was going to make himself the most famous serial killer in history, the serial killer who killed a vice president.”

Gannett reached for his mug. “Ponder that for a moment while I get myself some more coffee.”

He walked over to the beverage cart.

Paul suddenly felt overly aware of every sound and motion in the room, including how his chest was feeling as he took his next breath. Surprises went with his job, but this was more than a surprise. The news began to crystallize. The VP had been the
near victim of a serial killer, the near victim of a man who had put eighteen people in the ground.

Paul looked over at Ann. She was settled back deep in her chair, relaxed, watching the VP as he stirred sugar into his coffee. If she had any of those butterflies, none were apparent on her face. She wasn't surprised or appalled or even particularly curious. None of this news was news to her. She'd kept a secret. And understated just how big a secret it was. Ann Silver continued to surprise him at every turn.

Paul waited until the VP was again seated and had gestured with his coffee mug for the first question. Paul appreciated the man's wide-open invitation to ask whatever he wished.

“You were abducted by this man.”

“Yes. I was at my vacation home in Florida. He snatched me off my own boat. He also abducted a lady to write his diary. She's off-limits by her own request. The rest you can ask.”

“You didn't have Secret Service with you?”

“I had dismissed most of the detail after two years of retirement, keeping private security for the house and grounds. I had one agent assigned to my family, and I had asked him to accompany my wife that day as she had a public appearance.”

Paul nodded and went for the heart of the problem. “According to the police reports, John Doe called to confess, gave the location of his victims, then shot himself in the head while the cabin burned down around him—that was all a cover-up?”

“Most of it was true. The cabin, the fact he shot himself in the head, the location of his victims—those were the truth. But John Doe never called to confess, and the fire was set in order to destroy fingerprints and hide the fact I had been there, and to help conceal the killer's identity. That was the cover-up.

“There were only two survivors to what the man had done. The lady he abducted to write his diary, and myself. Neither of us wanted to face the press that would descend when the truth was known. We had those eighteen families to think about as well. They needed their loved ones back, time to properly bury
their dead and grieve, without the press hounding them. We could do nothing for the victims he had killed, nor could we further punish the man who had committed the crimes, since he was dead, and we were convinced by the diary details that he had acted alone. We decided, as the only two living victims of the man, to make sure we survived how the rest of it would unfold. She was in pretty bad shape after a week in his company.

“So I made the decision to cover up the truth of what occurred. Three people helped me. My Secret Service agent”—he nodded toward Reece Lion—“a retired Secret Service agent, Ben Harmon, who passed away five years ago but who left a detailed video and written interview of his actions regarding this matter, and a person who will remain unnamed, whom I trusted to help the lady who wrote the diary recover and reenter her life.

“We gave the families closure with recovery of their loved ones, made sure the police knew the cases were closed and the right killer identified, and then I made sure the man who committed the crimes was unidentified by DNA, was cremated, and left in the case files as the John Doe Killer.”

“Who was he?”

“The John Doe Killer was my former chief of staff, Aaron Crown.”

Paul had braced for several names, but that one caught him off guard. “Your chief of staff?”

“That was about my reaction too. He shot himself in the head in my presence and died the same day he abducted me.

“We claimed he was found dead of a heart attack at his vacation home due to the stress of my being missing and presumed dead in a boating accident. We buried an almost empty coffin. What we did put in his casket were the photos of the scene at the cabin, along with a handwritten contemporaneous statement I wrote that day concerning what had occurred, and the cover-up we were going to attempt to keep it from becoming public. When you exhume the coffin, you will find that evidence.”

“Why are you revealing this secret now?”

“We didn't keep the secret to protect the man from scandal or to protect me from the negative fallout of his close position. We did it to give us time to recover from what happened, to protect his victims and their families from the press. And we didn't want to give the man the notoriety he craved. So we denied history his name. But the truth was always going to come out. This is the most controlled way I could figure to do it. I've written the account in detail for a chapter of my autobiography.”

The VP took a deep breath, then looked directly at Paul for a moment before continuing. “An autobiography is by nature a matter of making decisions about what is included and what is left out. But the account of the day, from the point when the chief of staff on my boat pulled a gun until I was back at my home from the hospital three days later, is complete to the best of my recollection and those who helped me.

“I would like you to choose one or two agents whom you trust and independently verify what I've written. I'll clear whatever time you need with your office. You may use what you learn now and in further investigation after the book is released to write the official FBI report on the matter. Based on what you conclude, you may choose to add a chapter to the book that will be only your words. The book is tentatively scheduled for December of this year, so you have about thirty days to conduct your initial inquiry if you wish to include a statement.

“I'm going to have Ann walk you through the extensive material that has been collected on this matter, give you a copy of the diary text along with the detailed chapter I've written. I'll be available for as many interviews as you wish to have, as will Reece.

“The lady who wrote the diary wishes to remain anonymous. For that reason the diary in her handwriting will not be released, but the text of it will be. Ann has verified the text is word for word identical to the diary. I will in the book mention by name the people who did
not
write the diary so as to avoid the press descending on them when the guessing begins. I am
withholding three things: the name of the lady abducted to write the diary, the person I trusted to help her reenter her life, and the handwritten diary itself.

“Paul, when you have looked through what is here and thought about it overnight, let me know your decision. I'll make arrangements based on your answer. If it is not you to conduct this investigation, I would ask for your recommendation for who should do so.” Gannett looked over at his agent. “Reece, anything you would like to add?”

“I have a comment about the cover-up after the fact. The official Secret Service logs on this incident do not show the chief of staff was in Florida that day, nor do they show anything other than the VP being involved in a boating accident. Both those facts turn out not to be an active attempt to conceal on my part—I simply didn't correct what other people assumed. For his own purposes, the chief of staff had stayed under the radar about his travel plans, and the boating accident was the working assumption for the VP's disappearance. I used what people presumed had happened to slip the VP back into his life. By confirming their assumptions he'd had a boating accident, both the VP and I covered up the truth. But I didn't have to add new information to try and misdirect people. I would have if required, but it turned out not to be necessary.

“The writer of the diary was missing, the police were investigating, and they had a working assumption of what had happened. She was slipped back into her life in a similar fashion. By agreeing with what other people thought had happened, by confirming their assumptions rather than correcting them, she covered up the truth. But she didn't have to change what people assumed had occurred.

“To the best of my knowledge, neither cover-up caused a problem for an innocent third party. No one was blamed for a crime. This isn't an attempt to excuse what was done; it is simply a statement of the consequences of these events as I was able to assess them.

“There are numerous people who will rightfully be furious they were at a funeral for the chief of staff, not knowing they were witnessing the burial of an empty coffin, and the memorial, if you will, of a serial killer. There will be numerous members of the families of the victims who are going to be furious we knew the truth and did not reveal it. There will be legal fallout of all kinds for the cover-up that was done. But to the best of my knowledge, the harm done is limited to the embarrassment of not knowing the truth, along with the passage of time that has elapsed before this is made public, rather than the silence causing the wrong outcome for someone.”