First Family (58 page)

“Little Miss Cassandra doesn’t scare me at all, Jane.”

“I also discovered that Aaron Betack apparently broke into my office and took something from my desk. And I think the facts will show that he did so at your behest. Not only will Agent Betack’s career at the Secret Service be over but the three of you could go to prison.”

“If you can prove it, go for it. But getting back to the list of your wonderful husband’s accomplishments, I think you left one out.”

“Which one?” she said coldly.

“Being an adulterer? That one get lost off your little checklist somehow?”

“And how about being a rapist?” said Michelle.

Jane rose. “You have no proof of anything. So I strongly suggest that you keep such ludicrous accusations to yourself unless you want to find yourselves in very serious trouble. He is the president of the United States. Show some
damn
respect.”

“Respect for what?”

“I don’t care what lies you might have seen on those walls in that house, you have no right—”

Sean cut her off. “What we saw on those walls was the
truth
. You knew it too, and that’s why you burned the place down. And we have every right, lady.”

“
First
Lady,” she said.

Sean rose too. “When did you stop caring about the truth, Jane? When did it stop mattering to you? After the first cover-up? The second? Did you just convince yourself that it was always somebody
else’s fault? Or that he’d come around one day, take some pills, and it would all be better? The past, the hurt, just wiped clean? That a guy like Sam Quarry would just walk away, let it go? Like everybody else had? Because your husband was such a rising star? Because he’d make such a great president?”

“You can’t know what it’s like to be here, in this house. To always having to be on. To never once letting your guard down. Knowing that the smallest mistake you make will be broadcast all over the world.”

“Hey, nobody twisted his arm. Or yours.”

“I’ve worked too damn hard—” She broke off and dabbed her eyes with a cloth.

Sean stared at her. “I really thought I knew you. I thought I respected you. I thought you were real. It was all bullshit, wasn’t it? All smoke and mirrors. Just like this town. Nothing behind the curtain.”

“I think it’s time for you to leave
my
house.”

Michelle stood next to Sean.

He said, “Fine. But just remember one thing,
Jane
. It’s not
your
house. It belongs to the American people. You and the hubby are just renting.”

T
HE NEWSPAPER BUSINESS
sucks, doesn’t it, Marty?” said Sean loudly. “Nobody wants to wait for the paper anymore. They can get it all online all the time. Even if it’s all made up.”

It was midnight. He and Michelle were standing next to a support column in an underground parking garage in downtown Washington. The man walking toward them stopped and then chuckled as Sean and Michelle stepped out into the wash of light from the overheads.

Sean shook hands with Martin Determann and introduced Michelle to him.

“What business doesn’t suck right now?” said Determann, who was short, with thick, graying black hair and a loud voice. Sharp eyes danced behind slender glasses. “And asking people to take the time to read and actually think about stuff? Heaven forbid.”

Sean grinned. “Nobody likes a whiner, Marty.”

“So why all the clandestine stuff?” He looked around at the empty garage. “I feel like I’m in a scene from
All the President’s Men
.”

“Think your own Deep Throat will help you sell a few more papers?”

Determann laughed. “I’d prefer a Pulitzer but I also keep an open mind. Hey, maybe I can ghostwrite your autobiography. What with all the ink you two have gotten lately, we could probably sell it to some publisher for seven figures, easy.”

“I’m not kidding about the Deep Throat thing.”

Determann turned serious. “I was actually hoping you weren’t. What do you got?”

“Come on. This is going to take a while.”

Sean had rented a motel room a little north of Old Town Alexandria. They headed there.

“So how do you two know each other?” asked Michelle as they drove on the George Washington Parkway alongside the Potomac.

Determann clapped Sean on the back. “This guy represented me in my divorce. Unknown to me, my ex was a cokehead who burned through my savings, cheated on me with the UPS driver, and actually had the nerve to poison my goldfish. And she still wanted half of everything I had when I caught on and filed to kick her out of my life. By the time Sean was done with old Ursula she got zip. I even got her dog. Which was a good thing, because he always liked me better anyway.”

“I think Marty is exaggerating my accomplishments, but even though he sometimes stretches the truth, he’s a helluva reporter.”

“But still looking for that first Pulitzer.” He eyed the large and packed accordion file Sean had beside him on the seat. “Is it in there?”

“You’re going to find out soon enough.”

They got to the room. Sean closed the door behind them, took off his coat, and said, “Let’s get to it.”

They methodically went through all the photos that Michelle had taken at Atlee as they filled Determann in on everything they had found out, from the AWOL report to the story Quarry had built on the walls in the basement to their near deaths in the mines.

When they got to the part about the First Lady burning down the house and killing Ruth Ann, Determann said, “You’re screwing with me!”

“I wish we were.”

Sean also showed him all the files he’d taken from Atlee that contained some of the background details on Quarry’s hunt for justice.

Determann took copious notes and asked many questions. They ran out for coffee and drank it down as the hours drifted by. As the sun came up they went out for some more caffeine and breakfast at a restaurant in Old Town. While eating they kept going through it as the smooth waters of the Potomac sat in front of them and a jet
lifted off from the nearby airport and soared across the sky. Back in the room they endured too much secondhand puff from the chain-smoking reporter and kept plowing through what they had learned and also what they suspected. By the time they were done the sun was high in the sky and it was past time for lunch.

Determann sat back and stretched. “Can I tell you that this is the most amazing shit that I have ever heard?”

“Don’t suck up,” said Sean in a joking tone. “It’s unseemly.”

“No, really, I mean this makes Watergate and Monicagate look like teepeeing a yard after a high school football game.”

“So you believe us?” asked Michelle.

“Believe you? Who could’ve made this stuff up?” He motioned to the photos and pages of notes spread over the table. “And it’s not like it doesn’t come without proof.”

He lit another cigarette. “But what I don’t get is, why kidnap Willa? I mean, she is the niece and all, but how could they be sure that the president would go along? It wasn’t his kid after all. No one could really blame him if he’d ducked that one.”

Sean pulled out another file he’d taken from Quarry’s records. They had purposefully withheld this part of the story from the reporter until he’d asked that question.

“These are the results of DNA tests that Quarry had done. These on Pam and Willa Dutton’s blood. And then this one on Diane Wright. Quarry penciled in the names under each test result.”

“Diane Wright a.k.a. Diane Wohl,” said Determann, who had proven a quick study, and had a strong command of the story and principal players already.

“Right.”

“But why a DNA test?”

“It shows that Diane is Willa’s mother and Pam isn’t.”

Determann took the papers and studied them. “Call me stupid, but I’m not following you, Sean.”

Sean explained about what had happened in that back alley in Georgia nearly thirteen years ago, the first time he’d told anyone other than Michelle. Loyalty to Jane Cox had caused him to keep his silence. However, loyalty had its limits and he had reached his
with the First Lady. He had told Sam Quarry back in that mine that he wanted to help the truth come out if he let Willa go. The man had kept his part of the bargain, and while Sean had initially decided to keep quiet, after he’d found out what the First Lady had done at Atlee he intended to honor his promise to the dead man.

Determann sat back and took off his glasses. “Then Senator Cox with Diane Wright on top? Nine months later out pops Willa? She’s his kid? Jesus. And then what he did earlier to Tippi Quarry? What a prick!”

“That’s exactly the part of his anatomy that he couldn’t seem to control,” pointed out Michelle.

Sean picked up a photo that showed the image of a sour-looking man in his late forties. “And Quarry found out that Jane Cox knew the butcher who performed the abortion on Tippi and ended up cutting into an artery. The police found her in the basement of an abandoned building, probably where the scum dumped her after he realized what he’d done. He’d lost his license to practice medicine because of drug and booze problems, but he was still open for business for his old friends.”

“And no regular doc or hospital because Tippi might spill what had happened? Or people might start asking inconvenient questions?”

“Exactly.”

Determann sat forward and studied the papers. “But no one checked the president’s DNA?”

“If they did, it would be a match.”

“Well, they have the man’s DNA on file. Maybe this story will prompt one more test to be run.” He started scribbling notes down but stopped when Sean put a hand over his. He looked up with a questioning expression.

“Marty, can I ask a favor?”

“After giving me the story of the century? Yeah, I think I can spare one.”

“I don’t want you to write about this part of the story. About Willa.”

“Come again?”

Michelle spoke up. “Willa’s lost her mother. The woman who actually gave birth to her is dead too. We just think it would be too much. It wouldn’t be fair to put her through all that.”

“And you have plenty enough without it,” added Sean. “Including very compelling circumstantial evidence that the First Lady torched a house and killed an innocent woman to cover up her husband’s misdeeds. But you’re the reporter, so it’s your call. We won’t make you withhold it.”

Determann looked uncomfortable. “You think Jane Cox intended Ruth Ann to die when she burned down the house?”

“I hope she didn’t. But I guess no one other than her knows that. I do know that Willa has been through enough.”

Determann nodded and reached out a hand to Sean. “Deal.”

“Thanks, Marty.”

Determann said, “It’s a great story, Sean. And I can completely understand why you both would want the truth to come out.”

“But?” Sean said warily.

“But it’s going to rock this country to its soul, man.”

“Sometimes you have to, Marty. Sometimes you just have to.”

W
ILLA SAT ACROSS
from Sean, Michelle, and Gabriel with her hands in her lap and her head turned downward. They were at a house that Tuck had rented about a mile from their old one, which was up for sale. None of them wanted to go back there to live. Tuck sat next to his daughter, one arm protectively around her.

“I’m sorry that your ma died,” Gabriel said, not looking directly at Willa. He was dressed in a new white polo shirt and blue jeans and he held a new Atlanta Falcons ball cap that Sean had bought him to replace the one he’d lost in the fire. He had one hand in his pocket, his fingers curved around the only thing of his that had survived the fire: the Lady Liberty coin that Sam Quarry had placed on his nightstand before he’d departed Atlee for good.

“I’m really sorry about your mom too,” Willa said. “And you were very brave in that mine. I don’t think I’d be alive except for you.”

Gabriel glanced sideways at Sean. “He pulled me out. I sure wouldn’t have made it without Mr. Sean.”

Willa looked around the interior of her temporary home before gazing back at Gabriel. “He had a daughter. Her name was Tippi.”