in perspiration. Her throat was devoid of saliva.
Richmond had sat back down and slowly crunched the ice from his cocktail
and finally turned his gaze out the window.
He was still dressed in a monkey suit from yet another engagement but
the tie was undone. He was still looking out to nowhere when he spoke.
“How long, Burton?”
Burton stopped looking at the floor. “Who knows? Maybe forever.”
“You know better than that. I want your professional assessment.”
“Sooner than later. He’s got a lawyer now. Somehow, some way the guy’s
gonna pop to somebody.”
“Do we have any idea where it is?”
Burton rubbed his hands together uneasily. “No sir. The police searched
his house, his car. If they had found the letter opener, I would’ve
heard.”
“But they know it’s missing from Sullivan’s house?”
Burton nodded. “The police realize it has significance. If it turns up
they’ll know what to do w ‘ with it.”
The President stood up and played his fingers across a particularly ugly
gothic crystal collection of his wife’s that was displayed on one of the
tables. Next to them were photos of his family. He never actually
registered on their countenances. All he saw in their faces were the
flames of his administration. His face seemed to redden before the
invisible conflagration. History was in jeopardy of being rewritten and
all because of a little K mart bimbo and an overly ambitious and
incredibly stupid Chief of Staff.
“Any idea who Sullivan employed?”
Burton again answered. Russell was no longer an equal.
Collin was there only to be told what to do. “Could be one of twenty or
thirty high-priced hit men. Whoever it is he’s long gone by now.”
“But you’ve laid the mental trail with our friend the detective?”
“He knows that you ‘innocently’ told Walter Sullivan where and when. The
guy’s plenty smart enough to follow up on that.”
The President abruptly picked up one of the crystal pieces and hurled it
against the wall where it shattered, sending Is fragments all across the
room; his face contorted into a mass of hate and anger that made even
Burton shudder. “Dammit, if he hadn’t missed, it would’ve been perfect.”
Russell looked at the tiny shards of crystal on the carpet.
That was her life. All those years of education, toiling, hundred-hour
weeks. For this.
“The police are going to follow up with Sullivan. I made sure the
detective on the case understood Sullivan’s possible involvement.”
Burton continued, “But even though he”s the most likely suspect, he’ll
deny everything. They won’t be able to prove anything. I’m not sure
where that gets us, sir.”
Richmond strolled around the room. He could’ve been preparing for a
speech or getting ready to shake hands with a troop of Boy Scouts from a
Midwestern state. He was actually contemplating how to murder someone in
a way that absolutely no blame, not even a hint of suspicion, would ever
fall his way.
“What if he tried again? And this time succeeded.”
Burton looked puzzled. “How do we control what Sullivan does?”
“By doing it ourselves.”
No one said anything for a couple of minutes. Russell glanced
incredulously at her boss. Her entire life had just gone straight to
hell and now she was compelled to participate in a conspiracy to commit
murder. She had felt emotionally numb since all of this had started. She
had been absolutely certain her situation could not get any worse. And
she had been absolutely wrong about that.
Finally Burton ventured an analysis. “I’m not sure the police would
believe Sullivan would be that crazy. He’s gotta know they’re on to him,
but can’t prove anything. If we pop Whitney, I’m not sure they’d look
Sullivan’s way.”
The President stopped strolling. He stood directly in front of Burton.
“So let the police reach that conclusion themselves, if they ever do.”
The reality was that Richmond no longer needed Walter Sullivan to regain
the White House. Perhaps more important, this was a perfect way to rid
himself of the obligation to back Sullivan’s Ukraine deal over Russia; a
decision that was growing into more and more of a potential liability.
If Sullivan were even remotely implicated in the death of his wife’s