Gideon (57 page)

Augmon began to remove his arm from hers, but the priest said, again in a hushed and reverential tone, “You’re certainly welcome, Mr. Augmon.” Elizabeth nodded, just once, and then he took her arm more firmly and led her behind the pulpit, following the priest. Together they would make the final arrangements.

* * *

The priest led them inside. Elizabeth expected him to leave, but he joined them in the room and closed the door behind him. She saw him nod to Nora, who was seated in a chair in the center of the bishop’s office, stone-faced, her arms folded across her chest. Augmon walked up to her, kissed her gently on the top of the head, murmured his condolences.

Thomas Adamson’s mother did not acknowledge his kiss or, for that matter, Augmon’s presence. “Thank you, Father Patrick,” she said to the priest, who retreated to the doorway, his hands clasped before him.

Elizabeth now stared over at the priest, startled. Shaken. She hadn’t recognized him outside, hadn’t paid attention. How had this priest gotten here? He wasn’t supposed to be here. She turned to look at Augmon, who was looking down at the floor, unmoving.

“Where is the bishop?” Elizabeth asked. “Shouldn’t he—”

“Bishop Moloney doesn’t have to be here,” Nora answered stiffly. “I’m the one who needs the final arrangements. A mother’s job doesn’t end just because her boy is … is …” She broke off and shook her head, eyes filling with tears.

“There now, dear,” Elizabeth said to her soothingly. She looked up at Father Patrick, then back at the old women in the chair. “We’re going to be fine. I promise.”

One tear slid down Nora’s cheek. She wiped it away, struggling to hold on to her composure. Her cheeks were unusually flushed, Elizabeth noticed. She wondered if her mother-in-law had been drinking.

“I told him,“Nora said slowly now, her gravelly voice trembling. “I told my Tommy when he first met you. You didn’t have a heart. I could see it then, maybe because I was a woman—we’re better at that than men. I’m telling you, Lizzie, it gave me a chill when you walked into a room. Froze my blood. But, Tommy didn’t listen. How could he? He was in love. For the first time, too. And my boy deserved some happiness. Lord knows I didn’t give him much. So, after a while, I kept my feelings to myself.”

“Nora,” Elizabeth said kindly, “would you like to lie down somewhere?”

The old woman pressed on, ignoring her question. “Somehow, over the years, I thought you changed. You got so … polished. Fancy and fine. And everybody just took to you, didn’t they? Just like he did. Oh, Lord, he loved you so much.”

“And
I
loved
him
. You and I both loved him. We’ve both lost him and we’re both in pain. But what does this—”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Nora turned to Augmon, “
You
know, don’t you sir? You know what it has to do with.”

“Madam, I assure you I do not,” he responded quickly.

“Well, then sit down and listen,” she barked at him, “because it so happens I’m in a talking mood.”

Augmon nodded politely but made no move to sit. He stood where he was, his eyes flicking curiously over to Elizabeth, whose own eyes had not left the old woman.

Nora turned back to her daughter-in-law. “What is it you fear most in life, Lizzie? I know what it
used
to be. Tommy told me once. Tommy told me everything. Did as a child, did even when he was a grown man. He told me what you said to him. It was a long time ago, but I never forgot.”

“What did I say to him, Nora?”

“That you were afraid he’d come back to me someday. That he’d lose an election, lose some ambition, decide that it was time to pack up and come home to Mississippi again. Home to his people. Home to his mama. And that you’d have to come home with him. No more fancy Elizabeth anymore. Just plain ol’ Lizzie, the barefoot girl with the cow dung between her toes. You remember saying that, sugar?”

Elizabeth Adamson shifted her weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other. “I was very young. That was a long time ago.”

“What about now? Do you still feel that way now?”

“I don’t understand where you’re going with this. Nora. But this hardly seems the appropriate time for you reminiscences. And they’re causing me a great deal of pain. So why don’t you just tell me what it is you want?”

“My first preference,” the old woman responded, her words as cold and brittle as an icy winter storm, “would be for you to rot in a jail cell for the rest of your life. But I just don’t know if we can afford to take our chances on that. You’ve been real careful, because one thing you’re not is stupid. A lot of bodies are missing. So you’ll hire yourself a baker’s dozen of them real clever lawyers. The case’ll drag on in the courts for years. And, hell, who knows what’ll happen once a jury gets its hands on it. They just might take pity on you for being a poor widow woman. And we know they’ll just plain love you. Everyone loves you. Everyone who doesn’t
know
you.” She let out a derisive chuckle. “Me, I’m sitting over here. And I do you know.”

“Nora, you’re under an incredible strain. I’m afraid you’re not making any—”

“I’m making plenty of sense. I’m willing to be practical, Lizzie. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. What I’ll settle for, what I want, is for you to call a big ol’ press conference this afternoon to announce that you don’t want to be president after all. That you need time to recuperate from your tragic loss. And that you’ll be going into seclusion down home in Mississippi with your beloved mother-in-law. That’s what I want, Lizzie. To hear you say you’re going to live under the same roof with me for the rest of my natural life. And I have to tell you, girl, that I am feeling mighty healthy. Yes, ma’am. I am feeling as if I won’t be going nowhere for a long, long time.”

Elizabeth stared at her in disbelief.

“I’m sorry for you, Nora. And I wish I could help. But the entire world is waiting for me to go through that door. To pay one final honor to my husband and your son. And that’s where I’m going right now.”

That was when the old woman motioned to the priest, who had moved to the back door of the office. He opened it and ushered in two young people, a man and a woman. Elizabeth stared at them, it took a moment for her to register the shock and horror she felt, and then she whirled to face Augmon. His own face was expressionless. The only thing Elizabeth knew for sure right then was that he was not surprised.

“I expect you know who these people are,” Nora drawled. “Carl Granville, Amanda Mays, say hello to Elizabeth Cartwright Adamson and Lindsay Augmon.
Lord
Lindsay Augmon.”

“We’ve spoken,” Carl said to Augmon, his eyes steely and hard. “Although not actually in person.” Then he turned to Elizabeth. “You should have taken Nora’s offer, Mrs. Adamson. I’m afraid we’re not quite as practical.”

Augmon’s nostrils flared but he remained tightly silent, his posture ramrod straight.

Elizabeth’s shoulders had slumped slightly. Her eyes had narrowed and her fists were clenched. For a moment she looked as if she was going to run. But she didn’t move. And then she turned back to Nora, her shoulders raised again, tall and regal in the middle of the room.

Carl now spoke directly to the Englishman. “You need to hire a better brand of killer,” he said. “The second one let you down, too. You’ll find what’s left of her at the bottom of a gorge just outside of Paint Gap.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Augmon said to him brusquely.

“Don’t you?” Carl demanded. “Would you like me to tell you?”

He got only icy silence in response. “Okay, fine. I’ll be happy to. You are the puppet master, Lord Augmon. You had Harry Wagner kill an innocent woman and her six-year-old daughter down in Warren, Mississippi. Then you turned around and had Harry killed—by the same woman, the same
assassin
, who killed Maggie Peterson. The same assassin who killed some poor innocent girl I found in the apartment above mine, and the FBI agent parked outside of Amanda’s house, and the LaRues—”

“And Cardinal O’Brien in Baltimore.” It was Father Patrick who now stepped forward and spoke, his resonant voice soaring with emotion. “And Father Gary.”

“And Luther Heller.” This was from Amanda. “You had Payton kill the alderman.”

“Payton’s dead, too,” Carl went on. “And so is your assassin. That makes thirteen people dead.”

“Fourteen,” Nora Adamson said. “If we include my Tommy.”

Carl nodded grimly. “We’re most definitely including him.”

“You can include whomever you’d like,” Augmon said. His body was motionless, his hands and arms still. Only his eyes betrayed the slightest hint of nervousness. “However, I’ve had about as much of this as I’m going to take. There are federal agents and police sharpshooters all over the cathedral grounds, my young Mr. Granville. All that Elizabeth has to do is alert them that you’re here and your life is over.”

“They’ll have to shoot me, too,” Amanda said.

Father Patrick nodded. “And me.”

“And
me
,” Nora Adamson added from her chair. “And I’m afraid, Lindsay, that even you would have some trouble explaining that one.”

“This is preposterous,” Augmon said, and despite the air-conditioning in the office, beads of perspiration were beginning to form on his upper lip. “You have no proof for any of these wild allegations.”

“Don’t we?”

“No, Mr. Granville.” Augmon allowed a tiny smile to cross his lips. “I don’t believe that you do.”

“We know for a fact that Payton was on your payroll. We got his Social Security number from his wallet and ran a computer trace on it. He was employed by Astor Realty Management. His car is also registered to Astor Realty. So is the rented Toyota that’s parked outside the retreat in North Carolina. I’m sure you know whose car that is, Lord Augmon. And I’m sure you know that you happen to own Astor Realty Management.”

“Allow me to assure you,” Augmon scoffed at him, “that it is vastly more difficult to find companies I
don’t
own that companies that I
do
.”

Carl plowed on, undeterred. “You also own a company called Quadrangle. That was a little difficult, because we thought it was publishing. But it’s just a shell. You used it for only three purposes. One was to pay your assassin, the woman I knew as Toni. Two was to pay me to ghostwrite the novel
Gideon
. And three was to put five million dollars into Harry Wagner’s account. Harry was the courier who brought me the pages for the memoir. He also worked for the Secret Service. And what a coincidence”—he turned now toward Elizabeth Adamson—“Harry was assigned to the First Lady.”

Carl moved toward Elizabeth, stood face-to-face with her. “You couldn’t publish the diary itself, because the president would have known instantly who was responsible—his own wife. But having me turn it into a work of fiction, you were able to prey upon his worst fears—that key elements of the true story had somehow, some way leaked out over the years.
You
had Harry steal Nora’s diary and make a copy.
You
could allow for his periodic absences and turn him into little more than your errand boy.”

“Harry was gay,” Amanda took over. And when Elizabeth turned suddenly, when her eyes flickered questioningly, Amanda smiled triumphantly and said, “He left us a little clue. A matchbook. We traced it to a gay bar, Port of Entry. He would have been kicked out of the Secret Service if his superiors found out. So you blackmailed him.”

The look on Elizabeth’s face was a terrible thing to behold. The force of it made Amanda take a step backward.

“I
will
become president of the United States,” Elizabeth Adamson said fiercely. “I was
born
to become president of the United States.”

“Say nothing, Elizabeth!” Augmon ordered sharply.

But Elizabeth ignored him. Her eyes were flashing, her manner imperious. “If you try to stop me, I will fight you in the courts, I will fight you in the press. Anywhere. Anytime. I will fight you, and I will
win
.”

“Elizabeth!” It was a command from Augmon, louder and absolute, and it stopped her. Then quieter, calmly, he said, “You will not have to fight them.”

All eyes turned toward Augmon now. But his own eyes were focused directly on Carl Granville. “How rich would you like to be, Mr. Granville? In your wildest dreams. Because, you see, I can make you very, very rich.”

Carl stared at him a moment, blankly. When he finally spoke, he was incredulous. “That’s it? After all of this,
after everything
, that’s what you think it comes down to?
Money?
”

“Why, of course,” Augmon replied. “What else would it come down to?” He turned to face Amanda. “Would you like to run a newspaper? Tell me which one you fancy. If I don’t own it, I’ll buy it for you.” And then to Father Patrick: “Would you like a church of your own? A charity? Perhaps a children’s hospital?” And to Tom Adamson’s mother: “Nora, do you really want to see your son’s legacy destroyed? Simply for the sake of some cheap, hollow revenge? I can glorify his memory like no one else can. I can make him live on as a hero in the mind of the entire world.” Augmon turned back to Carl now. “My reporters will uncover extraordinary new evidence proving your innocence. We will have confessions from the guilty parties within days.”

“What guilty parties?” Carl demanded.

“Don’t concern yourself with that. I’ll find them. And I’ll condemn them.” he went over to the window and gazed out at the lilies standing tall in the garden. Then, abruptly, he turned back to Carl. “You put me to a lot of trouble, son. But I’m prepared to compromise, just as Nora was. I’m a reasonable man. You should accept this offer. It’s the smart thing to do. And it’s as close as you will ever come to winning.”

Carl didn’t answer him for a long moment. When he did it was to say, “You are responsible for the deaths of fourteen people. People are not pieces of Kleenex. You can’t just use them and throw them away.”

“Of course you can,” Augmon responded with a shrug. “That’s entertainment, my boy. That’s politics. That’s
life
.” As Carl stared at him, Augmon said, “Take the offer. You cannot touch me. I control too many things and too many people.”