Up in Smoke (22 page)

These were people who could avoid talking to her if they thought it was in their best interests. “Is there some place where I can tell you?”

Todd looked at her. Weighing options, running through responses?

“The governor's office?” Bernie suggested.

Todd waited a beat, then nodded. “Right.” He pointed down a hallway.

“Where is the governor?” Susan, without even looking at Parkhurst, followed Todd. Parkhurst would stay where he was to keep a cop's presence in the room, discourage them from talking with each other.

“Asleep.” Todd ushered her into a room with a beautiful cherry-wood desk, surface bare except for two phones, file cabinets along one wall, two burgundy leather easy chairs, an aerial-view photo of what she assumed was the farm with the house, barn, pond, outbuildings and windmill on another wall, and on another a photo of two people standing side by side, perhaps his parents.

“Please take a seat, Mr. Haviland.” She went around the desk and sat in the chair.

He blinked at her, not used to being given orders, and not liking her sitting behind the desk, but he hitched up his pants and lowered his skinny rear to burgundy leather.

“When did you last see Wakely?” She leaned forward and put her elbows on the desktop.

“Last night.”

“What time last night?”

“It must have been around seven.” He took off his glasses and chewed on an ear piece. “We were just getting ready to go to the fundraiser in Omaha when Wakely decided he didn't want to go.”

“Why not?”

“Who the hell knows. He does that sometimes. Plans all set and we're ready to leave and he decides he doesn't want to. More plans have to be made to take care of whatever it is he does want.” Todd sounded tired of being jerked around at Wakely's whims, fed up with Wakely in general.

“Who do you mean by
we?
”

“The governor, Molly, state troopers, Bernie, Leon,” he rattled off, took a breath and tacked on, “Nora Tallace.”

“Does she usually go with you?”

“Yes. What's all this about?”

“I'm sorry to tell you Wakely Fromm is dead.”

“Dead?”

Was he surprised? Pretending shock? She could see his busy mind run through implications.

“What happened? Heart attack?”

“Did he have a heart problem?”

“Yeah. Was that it?'

“No, Mr. Haviland. It appears he shot himself.”

“Shot himself? Oh, fuck.” Todd bent forward, resting his forehead in his hands. He started to rise. The chair wasn't as easy to get out of as into.

“A few questions,” she said before he could propel himself upright.

“No time. We have to figure out how to handle this. What kind of spin to put on it. That son-of-a-bitch, I knew he was going to be trouble.”

“Has he been trouble?”

Todd shook his head. “No, not really. He lived in that chair. Not the easiest thing to travel around with. Poor old Wakely.”

“Was something on his mind lately?”

“Oh, yeah.” Todd took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “He's been talking about being a burden and Jack should just go on and do this campaign and leave him out of it.”

Todd had gotten his thoughts together and gave her what was, no doubt, going to be the party line. Wakely Fromm didn't want to be a burden to his old friend, so he killed himself. “You sound like you think leaving him out was a good idea.”

“Murray mostly took care of him. And there was the plus side.”

“What was that?”

“Jackson Garrett never forgets an old friend. Saved his life. The friend has special needs? Jack sees to it. He's a caring man. Vote for him, he'll take care of you too. You have special needs? He'll see to them.”

Susan asked questions, including where he'd been earlier in the evening. She might as well have saved her energy. Todd's mind was on the campaign and what kind of mileage he could make from the tragic death of his candidate's old friend.

“Why was Wakely with the campaign?”

“Jack wanted him,” Todd said.

“And you didn't?”

Todd shook his head. “Only because Jack needs to stay focused. Keep his mind on the goal.”

“The campaign, winning the nomination.”

“Yeah. And Jack was worried about him.”

“You didn't want him wasting energy worrying about his friend?”

Todd took a fast breath and let it out with a grunt. “I didn't mean that, not really. It's late, I'm tired. I say things I shouldn't.”

Accustomed as he was to being thrown questions and avoiding answers if he wanted, she couldn't tell if he actually was tired and made a slip, or simply wanted her to think so.

When Todd went back to the living room, she heard him announce to the room that Wakely had shot himself. Why? To give someone a chance to make up an alibi? To plant that thought firmly in everyone's mind?

She talked with Leon Massy next. He moved like his feet hurt and dropped immediately into one of the chairs, which groaned in protest on receiving his bulk.

“Wakely offed himself?” Leon stroked his jaw with thumb and forefinger. “Jesus, poor bastard. Why'd he go and do a thing like that?” He had a soft compelling voice with a hint of the south, a voice that had you leaning closer to hear better.

“Give me a reason?”

Leon shifted, working out a more comfortable position. “Hell, I hardly knew the man. He was just always there. Poor son of a bitch.”

“Did he own a gun?”

“He shot himself?” Leon shook his head vigorously, maybe to dislodge the image of Wakely pulling the trigger. “Jesus.”

That, and variations thereof, was about all she could coax from Leon and while he appeared willing to be of help, he didn't actually say anything. These political people were so used to dealing with reporters that their skills for talking but not saying anything were well honed. She asked him where he'd been since seven this evening.

Bernie Quaid seemed saddened by the death, but had nothing to say on the question of why Wakely might kill himself.

“Did you like him, Mr. Quaid?”

Bernie looked startled, then slightly ashamed. “I don't think I ever thought about it. Wakely was just Wakely. The governor's friend. Part of the team.”

“Was the rest of the team nice to him?”

Bernie took in a quiet breath. “We mostly just ignored him.” He looked at her. “A campaign takes up all your energy.” Apology in his voice. “All your time, all your thoughts. You don't have anything left to use on anything else. Was Wakely unhappy? Did we like him? If it didn't affect the campaign, it wasn't of interest.” He gave her a thin smile. “That makes us all selfish bastards with an eye firmly fixed on the main chance.” He nodded. “It's the nature of the beast. We're not heartless, not really, just doing a job.”

“With high stakes.”

“Yes, ma'am. The highest. Winning is everything and if we win, we win big.”

“Was Wakely a liability?”

Bernie scratched his jaw. “Not really. He told everybody who'd listen what a great guy the governor was and he wouldn't be here today if the governor hadn't saved his life.”

Save a life and that person is yours forever. Sooner or later did the saved person turn into a burden? Maybe such a burden, the saver resented ever having saved him in the first place?

“How did Governor Garrett save Wakely's life?”

“It was a long time ago. They were caught in a fire. Wakely was injured and the governor carried him to safety.”

Having been a firefighter should be a big plus for him when voters were making selections. She prodded Bernie a little, asked more questions, asked where he'd been during the evening. She couldn't get a hold on whether he was lying or withholding. Like he said, they simply kept firmly focused on their goal, get Jackson Garrett the nomination and even the death of one of their own didn't deflect them.

She rubbed fingertips across her forehead where a dull ache had started some time ago. It was late. Maybe Dr. Fisher would turn up something interesting in the autopsy. By interesting, she meant something that would show, one way or the other, suicide or homicide.

Carter Mercado, the pollster, answered her questions, but didn't give her anything. Wakely was always there. Carter barely knew him.

Nora was miffed at being questioned last. Not because she had anything to say, but because she was a woman who wanted everyone to recognize her importance. Susan wondered vaguely about her background. How had she gotten this sense of her own entitlement? Or was she supremely unimportant in everybody else's world and had to grab whatever opportunity came by to show herself this wasn't true?

“I don't understand it, really,” Nora was saying. “I mean, Jack supported him. Gave him money for everything he needed and paid that man—that physical therapist person—that looked after him all the time.” She crossed her legs. “We're always talking about money. There's never enough for this, never enough for that. Well, right there's a place we could save.” She said this as though she'd said it many times and nobody listened.

Susan didn't think campaign funds could be used to pay a physical therapist. Money spent on Wakely would come from the governor's own accounts.

“How Molly put up with it, I don't know,” Nora continued. “I keep telling her she ought to put her foot down.”

“She disliked Wakely Fromm?”

Nora opened her mouth to say something, gave Susan a quick glance and then said hurriedly, “Oh, no, of course not. He was Jack's friend. It's just that—” Nora brushed imaginary lint from her pants.

“What about you? Did you like him?”

“Well, I can't say he was my best friend,” Nora said with a slight smile. “But I certainly didn't dislike him.”

Susan started to ask her the same questions she'd asked the others: Where were you this evening? Suddenly, Susan heard voices in the hallway.

“Why the hell didn't you tell me?”

“It's late. You need—”

Before she could rise to find out what was going on, Governor Garrett slammed in. She shot up.

Todd was right behind him. “Governor, we've got to be in Chicago at nine. There's no—”

“Go away, Todd.”

Nora popped up and scuttled off.

“Don't keep him long,” Todd said to Susan over the governor's shoulder. “We're in the middle of a campaign and it's important—”

The governor, in gray sweatpants and gray sweatshirt, shut the door in Todd's face and turned a blazing fury on her. Even with his eyes puffy from sleep and pillow creases on his face, Jackson Garrett was a formidable presence in the small room. To her relief, he reached inside for hobbles and got himself under control. At the cabinet under the window, he opened a door and got out a bottle of brandy. He unscrewed the cap and tossed down a gulp. He asked her if she'd like anything. She declined. He replaced the cap, returned the bottle, and sat in one of the burgundy chairs.

“Wakely shot himself?” He waved at her to sit back down.

“Yes, sir, that appears to be the case.” Feeling slightly one-upped, Susan sat at his desk. “I'm very sorry.”

“Appears,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“You wouldn't be asking all these questions of my staff if you didn't feel uncertain.”

“Yes, sir, that's true.”

“Did you come to ask me if I killed my old friend?”

“Did you?”

“No.” He hunched over and rested his forearms on his knees. “I feel like I've lost part of myself.” His voice was so soft she had to strain to hear. “We were friends from the time we were boys. No one else shares the memories we have.”

If the governor felt Wakely'd been a nuisance or a burden, he was thinking fast and showing her a grieving man. An act? She didn't know.

“Was he depressed?”

“We should have known.”

“Known what?”

“That death was coming at us on that mountain.” Garrett pushed himself up, went to the window and stood looking out. With his back toward her, he studied whatever he was seeing outside and said, “‘About, about, in reel and rout, the death fires danced at night.'”

“Excuse me?”

Garrett turned, leaned against the window sill. “He's been depressed for years, every since the Pale Horse fire and he ended up in that chair. He hated it, being in that chair, dependent on somebody else for anything.”

“More depressed than usual lately?”

“I don't know. Truth is, I haven't paid as much attention lately as I should.” He pounded his fist against the wall. “Aw, shit. Wakely, why'd you have to go and do this?”

Susan pushed him a little. Why would Wakely pick this time to kill himself, what did the other staff members think about him, was there anyone who didn't like him, who might want him out of the way? Where was Wakely all evening? Where had the governor been? But she didn't push too hard. He was the governor, after all.

“Right now,” he said, “is when I should be saying if only I'd known. If only I'd known what he was thinking, I might have done something, I might have helped, I might have stopped him. With Wakely, it wouldn't have mattered.” The governor turned and leaned wearily against the wall. “Whatever he decided to do, he did, there was no way to stop him.” The governor's voice was thick and his eyes teary. “He was a good friend. I'll never have another like him.”

“Did he own a gun?”

“Yeah. A couple handguns and a rifle.”

“Do you know what kind?”

The governor rubbed his eyes. “An old thirty-eight and a Glock. The rifle, I think, is an old Remington.”

There was a tap on the door and Molly Garrett came in. “Jack, what's going on?” She'd taken the time to put on a green silk dressing gown and comb her hair.