Full Disclosure (35 page)

Paul set his suitcase and briefcase down on the second hotel bed, out of habit turned on the TV to hear the news, and found the temperature dial to kick on the air-conditioning. He'd been able to get a room in Washington, D.C. on short notice, but it was next to the vending machines and across from the stairs. He was tired enough tonight it probably wouldn't matter. He was tired of the travel, of the weeks of investigation, of how things had been left with Ann.

He had an appointment with the FBI director first thing in the morning. His boss was flying in from Chicago to meet them. Paul opened his briefcase and retrieved Sam and Rita's report. He'd begun reading it on the plane trip. He sat on the couch and finished his review. It was a good, solid piece of work. That
left only his conversation with the director, and his work on this would be wrapped up until the book released.

He considered the time change and tried again to reach Ann. Her phone didn't go to voice mail this time. She answered on the fourth ring. “Ann, it's Paul. How are you?”

“I'm fine. Sorry to duck out on you so abruptly.”

“You don't sound fine.”

“It's relative. I've got a headache, and I need some more sleep, but it's nothing time won't help cure. How's it going with you? Where are you?”

“I'm in D.C. I have a meeting with the FBI director in the morning. We're confirming the contents of the VP chapter. Sam and Rita have written the official report. After the meeting tomorrow we will be on hold, waiting for the VP to release his book.”

“I'm glad. Thank you, Paul. For all of this.”

He felt uneasy at what he heard in her voice, a kind of stress shimmering just under the words. “Take it easy on yourself the next few days, okay? When you get home, call me. I'll be down to see you the first chance I get. You still owe me a movie.”

“I would like a movie.” He was relieved to hear a bit of a smile in her answer.

“Then it's a date. I hope you sleep well tonight.”

“So do I. Good night, Paul.”

“Good night, Ann.” He hung up and set the phone on the nightstand.

He hoped she found the courage to tell him before he had to ask. When the VP's book came out, they were going to be dealing with this all over again. He had to help her get prepared for that, for the reporters who would be calling her at all hours, wanting the rest of the story. He couldn't do that unless they had a conversation about what really happened in that cabin.

Paul had walked the upper floors of Washington's FBI office often enough to not need more than a few minutes of cushion
time for his appointment. His credentials were checked by the executive assistant coordinating the director's schedule, and he was escorted right in.

The FBI director rose to greet him. “Paul, it's good to have you in D.C.” They shook hands, and the director waved him to a seat next to Arthur. “Jim Gannett called last night and apologized for the fact he was about to give me a stressful day. I'm going to assume that's why you are here.”

“It is, sir.”

“If you didn't know it, the VP and I go back several years. He was influential in my becoming the director.”

“He speaks highly of you, sir.”

“You look tired, Paul.”

“An understatement, Arthur.”

Paul opened his case and removed the letter Gannett had written. He handed them each a copy. “I'm instructed by the VP to burn these pages after our conversation.” The VP had done him the favor of laying out in a two-page letter the core of what had happened.

The director read the letter twice, looked at Paul, then got up and carried it to the window and read it again.

Arthur read it, and half smiled. “At least it's not going to be a boring day.” He got up to cross to the drink cabinet. “What'll you have, Paul?”

“Coffee, sir.”

Arthur poured coffee for all three of them.

“You believe this is true.”

Paul turned to the director. “Yes, sir. The chief of staff murdered eighteen people and planned to murder the former VP. It's probably not the entire story, but what is there is supported by the evidence. The book becomes public in December, along with a release of the diary text.”

“How many know?”

“Five at the time of the incident, but now my investigators and security make it nine. This meeting brings the total to eleven.
We keep it at that, there's a chance it stays under wraps until the book is released.”

“There's no upside to us breaking this news before then. The fact the chief of staff got away with eighteen murders puts into question our security clearance review of the man,” the director said dryly. “The Secret Service is going to have a black eye. At a minimum we're looking at a congressional inquiry. Where else is this going to bite us, besides the obvious that it happened under our noses and we didn't know it?”

“It's a bombshell, but so far it is contained to what is here,” Paul said. “The case files are complete, the evidence solid, the questions left open very few. The VP withheld the names of the one who wrote the diary and who helped that person recover. We have an idea who may have written the diary, but no idea who helped her return to her life. I haven't pursued those questions, and don't see a need to do so. I wouldn't put the answers in any public document, even if I were certain of them.

“There will be numerous questions for who knew what, when, and why it wasn't all put together before the climactic abduction and confession. You need to find out if the chief of staff was ever suspected of a serious crime, and if he was allowed to slide underneath the radar because of his position. I can't investigate that question without raising questions about why I am asking. That's the biggest risk I can see, but it's hard to mitigate it until the book is released. It's not worth raising a flag by looking now.”

Neither of the two men seemed to question that conclusion.

“The book's being embargoed under conditions I think will hold,” Paul continued. “There is time to prepare. I would recommend the report Sam Truebone and Rita Heart have written be released once the book is public. What worries me, though, is the unknown. If you can keep a secret of this magnitude for this long, you can keep just about anything secret. I haven't seen a copy of the VP's full autobiography, just this chapter of it.”

The director nodded. “You've finished your investigation of this matter?”

“I'm done, sir, unless questions arise you need me to cover. I have some catching up to do with my family, and then I plan to head to Chicago and dig out my desk. The less it appears there is something out there to be worried about, the less likely there is to be a leak. Staff in my office believe I'm taking some vacation time to visit a girlfriend. Sam and Rita are believed to be traveling for a few days to cover interviews for me. We go back to work and let this become public at its own time.”

“He's seeing Ann Silver, Edward,” Arthur put in.

“Annie? I'm inclined to think more highly of you than I already do, Paul. Good choice.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It's nice to know I've got some gossip my wife is going to love to hear.” The director took a seat behind his desk and tapped the letter. “Best case, Paul?”

“The VP does several interviews with the press the day the book is released, he comes across as sympathetic, and nothing else comes out that will change the chapter or the report we've put together. The Secret Service decides to be kind to its own, Congress wants to keep their Christmas vacation, and a heavy snowstorm takes the lead in the news cycle. Reporters will dig, television hour specials on the crime will air in prime time. Best case this is six weeks of a firestorm, and six months of depositions and hearings and reports, and it dies out as news. If the full story is out there on day one and never materially changes after that point, this will be survivable.”

“I'm going to want you in front of the press when it's time for those interviews,” the director said. “Truebone and Heart as well. The public will want the inside story on the investigation. We should plan to give those interviews the first week.”

“Yes, sir. We'll be prepared.”

“For now, my main concern is keeping this from leaking. This is the VP's story to break. So while we'll mull this over and
decide what other steps need to be taken to get ready for this, let's do it quietly and not bring anyone else in.” The director rose, struck a match, and burned the two copies of the letter. “If I don't tell you this later, Paul, thanks for saying yes when the VP handed you this chapter. It's going to matter, having your name on the investigation.”

“Let's hope that's still true after this becomes public.”

“I don't suppose we've heard anything more from the lady shooter?”

“Zane is watching the mail, but there has been no word from her. She's still sitting on twenty tapes. My guess is she'll deliver them in two or three more lots, as she takes a lot of risk retrieving these agreements. The way this is timing out, we'll be making the thirty arrests a few weeks before the VP autobiography is released.”

“You've got a green light to make the arrests as soon as we have all the tapes. I'll just hope for a couple of weeks' gap either way of the book release or else it will look to the press like we're using one case to divert attention from the other. Paul, you are welcome to stay or head on back to Chicago. I'm going to get Jim Gannett on the phone, and Arthur and I are going to start talking through the details of the book release with him.”

“I'll head on back, sir, if you don't mind.”

Paul rose and shook hands, thanked Arthur, and headed out.

A
nn accepted the hot chocolate Vicky handed her with a quiet thanks. She was curled up on her favorite seat, the kitchen bench where the sun came in and warmed her back. She hadn't slept much, and Vicky was kind about not mentioning the fact her guest had been up pacing in the middle of the night.

“What am I going to do, Vicky?”

“Tell him. You aren't comfortable going forward with him if you're hiding something this big. It will bother you forever. Paul is coming out to see Boone on Saturday for some family matters. Stay a few more days and talk to him. He already suspects, you know.”

“What he suspects versus the truth is a long bridge to cross.” She sipped at the hot chocolate. “Either way, will you be okay with Boone?”

“Don't worry about Boone. He already accepts there's a lot I've never told him.”

“I don't think I want to tell Paul. He's a friend, Vicky. A good one, but still only a friend.”

Vicky pulled out a chair and turned it so she could sit and prop her feet on the bench beside Ann. “He'll never be anything more than that if you don't step off the ledge and take a risk with him. You can trust him, Ann. If you don't believe your own
assessment of him, believe mine. Paul's a protector, and he'll instinctively do everything he can to help you.”

“That's my read of him too.” Ann rubbed her eyes.

“You'll need his help. When the book is released, I give it three days before the reporters are publishing your name and photo and the dates you were missing and asking your former boss for comments about the accuracy of their police report on your disappearance.”

“I figured two days max.” Ann warmed her hands around the mug. “I've already written the press release. I don't mind if they are going to think I wrote the diary, Vicky. As long as that's all they think.”

“Why not confirm it? You'll be asked by everyone who meets you if you're the one.”

“I helped write the VP's autobiography, and I wrote the book on the John Doe Killer victims. I knew the truth of the abduction years before the public did. That's where the line will always stay. The rest I can simply leave as no comment.” She sat quietly, thinking about that reality and feeling like a train was heading toward her. She shook her head and pushed to her feet. “I need to walk. Thanks for the hot chocolate.”

“Wander to your heart's content. Here, I'll put the rest of your chocolate in a thermal cup to take with you. We're having spaghetti for dinner, and it will be ready whenever you get back.”

Ann walked because she didn't know what else to do. She craved the time to think and hoped for a decision that could give her peace.

Vicky said to trust Paul and tell him.

The thought made her feel slightly nauseous.

She would be opening a door she had never opened for anyone else.

She trusted Paul. He would listen to what she told him and not use the information to hurt her. But the news would change how he saw her.

If they were ever going to be anything more than friends, she had to tell him. She didn't want to make this decision, but she had no choice. Life events had forced the point. Her secrets were either going to stay hers alone or were going to belong to both of them, but either way their relationship would change, for better or for worse. It would never go back to what it was before.

She could make the decision for them both by leaving to see Rachel—and this would stay only a friendship. Or she could give him the information, give him time, and let him make the decision for the two of them. A friendship only was probably where this was still going to end up, but she could make that decision or let Paul do so.

She wanted to avoid the pain. But she wouldn't take the easy way out and leave. She would tell him. And this relationship was going to go somewhere she could not predict.

Paul was glad to have the trip over. He parked in front of the new garage, smiling at the memory of the novel and Ann's description of why it had to be rebuilt. It would be good to see Boone and Vicky. It had been too long since he'd last been here. He'd gone from D.C. to New York to see his father, back to Chicago, then decided to drive out to Colorado rather than fly to give himself time to think and unwind.

His brother came out to meet him as he pulled his bag from the back seat. “You made good time.”

“Hey, Boone. I did. Traffic stayed light.” He reached for a box, a gift for Vicky—half a dozen jars of Nick's Spaghetti Sauce.

Boone grinned when he saw it. “She'll appreciate it.” Boone took the box and tucked it under one arm. “Ann's still here.”

Paul stilled. She'd been leaving for home two days ago, planning to make a stop to see her friend Rachel on the way. He'd been relieved to hear the more normal tone in her voice when she'd told him her plans, relieved enough he hadn't asked her to stay until he arrived. “How is she?”

“Looking rough enough around the edges that Vicky didn't have to push very hard to get her to stay a few more days. Sorry, man. I don't know what's going on, but I'm truly sorry for what it's doing to her.”

“So am I.”

Paul walked with Boone to the house and set his bag in the entryway. Boone nodded toward the kitchen. Paul headed that way.

Ann was sitting at the kitchen table with Vicky, eating a piece of pie. He could almost feel Ann's exhaustion, could see it in her hollow eyes, and face tinged gray. So much for hoping she'd been able to get some sleep. She offered a tentative smile. “Hi, Paul.”

“Hi.” He made an effort to put some warmth in his smile, for he really was glad she had stayed.

She relaxed just a fraction. “I need to talk to you.”

He pulled out a seat at the table. He glanced at Vicky, who looked worried, her attention on Ann. Vicky caught his look and shook her head slightly to stop his question.

Ann pushed away the pie. “Did you have a good drive?”

“It was fine.”

Ann picked up her flight bag from the floor beside her chair. She hesitated, then opened it and pulled out a cardboard box. She slid the box across the table.

“I wrote the diary, and Vicky helped me return to my life.”

He looked at his sister-in-law, caught by surprise at the second part of what Ann said. He looked back at Ann. “You've been protecting Vicky.”

“Among other things.” Ann looked sick rather than relieved to have told him. “Vicky, you and Boone go for a walk. You've lived through this nightmare enough to not have to listen to it again.”

“I can handle it.”

“I can't. Go and tell Boone. Tell him I'm sorry.”

Vicky hugged her, and did as instructed.

Ann waited until Vicky left. “My blood is on the diary pages,
that is why the VP had no choice but to conceal it in order to protect my name.”

Paul closed his eyes. “Okay.” He reached over for her hands. “Tell me.” He didn't want the images in his head that her statement prompted, but he had only one thing he could give her now, and that was a willingness to live with the images too. He couldn't help without knowing.

She struggled to start, but then she told it with quiet words she had obviously carefully thought out. “The chief of staff chose me because I was a young, good cop; he chose me because I was a writer. He wanted a cop so the details would be remembered accurately, he wanted a young cop who would be around for decades and able to tell his story to those who asked, and he wanted a writer who would one day write a personal account of what had happened.

“I knew him as the chief of staff, as someone careful about the details, as someone protective of the VP. I found him a hard man to get to know, but I respected the position he held, even if I wasn't sure I liked him. He was a cold man, holding on to a great bitterness that the VP had lost the presidential election.

“That last day he came to my home. I wasn't expecting him. He said the VP had found some documents he needed to show me before leaving for Florida. I went with him out to the car. He caught me in the back of the shoulder with a syringe as I was getting in.

“I woke up tied to a chair in a small, plain room—rough floor and rough walls, and it smelled of humid earth. I could hear birds and hear branches rubbing together in the wind and see thick foliage out a window with a broken pane across the room. From the cobwebs and the dead insects, the place hadn't been occupied in months.

“He put a composition book on the table in front of me and told me to write what he dictated. He confessed to being a serial killer. He took five days describing the people he had killed and why.

“When I refused to write, he'd deliver a backhand to the face. When I wrote anything other than what he said, he'd kick the legs of the chair and topple it, and I'd slam onto the floor. When he occasionally left, he'd leave me shackled in the bathroom. When he returned, he'd open the door and hit me with a dart of that drug again. I'd wake up tied to the chair. And we'd repeat the process. He finally left. He didn't come back. I thought he'd left me there to die.

“Two days later he reappeared, bringing a bound VP with him. He had me read the diary to the VP, and then he started dictating again, describing what he was going to do. Kill the VP, then himself, and become the most famous serial killer to ever exist. I was to be his witness to what happened.

“The VP tried for the chief of staff in a desperate attempt to stop him. The fight ended with the chief of staff dead, Gannett looking like he was having a heart attack, and my left arm broken. I don't think the chief of staff planned to kill himself at that moment—he simply didn't want to give ground on the gun. I was on his back using my weight and the chair to force him off-balance, the VP was under us both, and the chief of staff was trying to shoot me. He'd twisted the gun around aimed at my face to try and shoot me off his back. I caught his elbow with mine, and the next second he was dead of a gunshot to the head.

“The VP helped me out of the room and outside the cabin, where I could sit on the steps of the porch and get some fresh air. The VP went out to the car the chief of staff had driven, brought up the dashboard map, and called Reece. He gave the agent directions on how to find the cabin, told him the only two people he should bring with him, then came back to sit beside me. And for the next twenty minutes we didn't say much.

“Then the VP started to talk. We were the only two survivors, he said. There were eighteen victims and their families to think about. And I wasn't holding up very well. We could let it play out, or we could manage what was going to happen next. He
asked if I could live with the full truth being known only to the two of us.

“He thought it could be contained with three people to help us. One to deal with the chief of staff and the cabin, one to slip the VP back into his life, and one to help me get back into mine. He said Reece had told him the public thought he had suffered a boating accident, and a search was under way for him at sea.