pocket.
Fucking lawyers, couldn’t piss, shit or die without them.
That was because lawyers made all the laws. They had the rest of them by
the balls. Then he thought of Jack and smiled. Jack was not like that.
Jack was different. Then he thought of his daughter and his smile faded.
Kate was not like that either. But then Kate hated him.
He stopped at a camera shop and purchased a Polaroid OneStep camera and
a pack of film. He didn’t plan to let anyone else develop the pictures
he was going to be taking.
He arrived back at the hotel. An hour later he had taken a total of ten
photos. These were wrapped in paper and placed in a manila folder that
was then secreted far down into his backpack.
He sat down and looked out the window. It was almost an hour before he
finally moved, sliding over and then collapsing onto the bed. Some tough
guy he was. Not so indifferent that he could not flinch at death, not be
horrified by an event that had ripped the life out of someone who
should’ve lived a lot longer. And on top of it all was the fact that the
President of the United States was involved in all of it. A man Luther
had respected, had voted for. A man who held the country’s highest
office had almost murdered a woman with his own drunken hands. If he had
seen his closest relative bludgeon someone in cold blood, Luther would
not have been any more sickened or shocked. It was as though Luther
himself had been invaded, as though those murderous hands had been
around his throat.
But something else gripped at him; something he could not confront. He
turned his face to the pillow, closed his eyes in a futile effort to
sleep.
“IT’S GREAT, JENN.” JACK LOOKED AT THE BRICK AND STONE mansion that
stretched more than two hundred feet from end to end and had more rooms
than a college dorm, and wondered why they were even there. The winding
driveway ended in a four-car garage behind the massive structure. The
lawns were groomed so perfectly that Jack felt he was staring at an
enormous jade pool. The rear grounds were triple-terraced, with each
terrace sporting its own pool. It had the standard accoutrements of the
very wealthy: tennis courts and stables, and twenty acres-a veritable
land empire by northern Virginia standards–on which to roam.
The Realtor waited by the front door, her late-model Mercedes parked by
the large stone fountain covered with fistsize roses carved out of
granite. Commission dollars were being swiftly calculated and
recalculated. Weren’t they a terrific young couple? She had said that
enough to where Jack’s temples throbbed.
Jennifer Baldwin took his arm and two hours later their tour was
finished. Jack walked over to the edge of the broad lawn and admired the
thick woods, where an eclectic grouping of elm, spruce, maple, pine and
oak jostled for dominance. The leaves were beginning to turn and Jack
observed the beginnings of reds, yellows and oranges dance across the
face of the property they were considering.
“So how much?” He felt he was entitled to ask that question. But this
had to be out of their ballpark. His ballpark anyway. He had to admit it
was convenient. Only forty-five rush-hour minutes from his office. But
they couldn’t touch this place. He looked expectantly at his flanc6e.
She looked nervous, played with her hair. “Three million eight.
Jack’s face went gray. “Three million eight hundred thousand? Dollars?”
“Jack, it’s worth three times that.”
“Then why the hell are they selling it for three million eight? We
can’t afford it, Jenn. Forget it.”
She answered him by rolling her eyes. She waved reassuringly to the
Realtor, who sat in her car writing up the contract.
“Jenn, I make a hundred twenty thou a year. You make about the same,
maybe a little more.”
“When you make partner–2′
“Right. My salary goes up, but not enough for this. We can’t make the
mortgage payments. I thought we were moving into your place, anyway.”
“It’s not right for a married couple.”
“Not right? It’s a friggin’ palace.” He walked over to a