Gospel (24 page)

‘He's innocent, isn't he?' said David, looking down, swilling the beer around in its bottle as if the answers lay in the frothy amber brew.

‘Yeah, I think so.'

‘And you need me on this?' David looked up again.

Joe said nothing, just gave him the slightest of nods.

‘Want me to make up a bed on the back porch?' asked Joe at last. ‘I'll wake you early, drop you home. You need to think about this, David. This is a big ask and I'll understand if you . . .'

David was at a loss. He knew he needed time – and a clearer head – to consider what Joe had proposed. But in the end, he also knew that if Joe was in danger he could never let him face whatever he needed to face alone.

‘They serve a decent breakfast at the Fairmont?'

‘I think so,' said Mannix. ‘You sure about this?'

David shrugged. ‘What have I got to lose except everything?'

‘I'm sorry, man,' said Mannix at last.

‘Yeah. So am I.'

P
ieter Capon was a tall, slim man with ash blond hair and porcelain skin. He met them in the Fairmont's richly decorated lobby, the light of the crystal chandeliers bouncing firstly off the top of his shiny silver head and then off the front of his perfectly polished shoes, which seemed to glide over the ornate European rugs leaving no impression whatsoever.

Mannix shook his hand first, followed by David who, despite the worst hangover he had had in months, made a promise to himself to take in every word during this morning's tour and interviews. He may not be happy with the predicament he found himself in, but that didn't mean he would do things by halves – in fact, if this ‘case' was as big as Mannix thought, he knew they would live – or die – by the details.

‘Thanks for meeting with us, Mr Capon,' said Mannix.

‘The pleasure is all mine,' said Capon with just the faintest trace of a French accent. ‘As I told Assistant Director in Charge Ramirez, anything we can do to help. We were honoured to have Vice President Bradshaw as our guest and then, obviously, horrified at the unforeseeable events that took place on that evening. I have sent my own personal condolences to Mrs Bradshaw and her family, and as I said, if there is anything else we can do.'

Capon smiled and David noted a genuineness all too rare in general
managers and CEOs who have had their businesses shoved into the spotlight by unfortunate events. He got the feeling this Capon was the real deal, and was surprised to find him so willing to cooperate, especially considering the FBI must have put him through the wringer and back again.

‘If it's okay with you, Mr Capon, we'd like to see the Presidential Suite again,' said Mannix, ‘that is, if it's still unoccupied.'

‘No, no. It's free. We've had requests, of course, but I made the decision to withdraw the room from circulation until we felt a suitable time had passed.'

‘You've had requests?' asked David.

‘Oh yes.'

‘Isn't that kinda, I mean, I thought if anything you'd have trouble trying to . . .'

‘I understand, Mr Cavanaugh,' said Capon. ‘But you may be surprised to know that our requests for that room have tripled in recent weeks.'

‘Unbelievable,' said David.

‘Quite,' said Capon, leaning into David to share this quiet confidence. ‘Unsettling but true. But let's not get sidetracked. I know you are busy so why don't I get Ramon to take you upstairs while I call Maeve. Maeve Barlow was the night housemaid on duty on the evening of 30 April and when you called this morning, I arranged for her to come in early just in case you wanted to speak with her.'

‘That's very helpful,' said David.

‘Not at all. Just follow Ramon and we shall be there directly. I'll organise some morning tea while I'm at it.'

‘Impressive,' said David as they followed the impeccably dressed concierge named Ramon towards the elevators.

‘Some days you just get lucky,' said Mannix.

Concierge Ramon Cortez unlocked the door of the Presidential Suite and stood back with a slight bow, allowing the two men to enter the room. Immediately David and Mannix felt the power of the room's elegance and size, a sensation David guessed, by the look on his detective friend's face, had been lost on him the last time he was here.

‘Looks different minus the thirty law enforcement officials jockeying
for position around the body of the late Tom Bradshaw,' whispered Joe as if reading his mind.

‘I don't doubt it,' said David.

The Presidential Suite, also known as the ‘John Hancock Suite' after the American revolutionary who was first to sign the Declaration of Independence, was large, ornate and elegantly decorated with antique furnishings and locally executed art works in a neo-classic French style. Everything about it said power and opulence including the Waterford crystal chandeliers, marble bathrooms, plush pile carpets and richly coloured furnishings which stood as their own individual masterpieces in a room which, despite its grandeur, still managed an ambience of tranquillity and comfort.

‘This is . . .' began David, taking it all in.

‘It is impressive, isn't it,' said Ramon. ‘You can certainly understand why every American President since William Taft has stayed at the hotel at one time or another – and most of them in this very room.'

‘Taft?' said Mannix. ‘He was what, the twenty-fifth President from . . .'

‘The twenty-seventh actually,' said Cortez. ‘From 1909 to 1913. President Taft stayed at the Fairmont the year that it opened, in 1912. The Hotel was constructed on the original site of the Museum of Fine Arts. It was designed by Henry Janeway Hardenbergh, the same architect who designed the Plaza in New York.'

‘It's funny,' said David. ‘I know I've never been in this room before, but it feels kind of familiar.'

‘Have you seen the Tom Cruise movie
The Firm
, Mr Cavanaugh?' asked Ramon.

‘What lawyer hasn't?' smiled David.

Ramon smiled. ‘Then that's it. The lobby of the hotel was featured in the film and the suite reconstructed on set.'

‘I'm glad you are impressed, Mr Cavanaugh,' said Capon who had just entered the room with a small, pretty dark-haired girl who he introduced as Maeve Barlow. ‘I just wish we could all be here under more pleasant circumstances,' he smiled and signalled for them to take a seat. ‘In any case, the refreshments are on their way and Maeve and I are at your service. Please tell us, gentlemen, what is it that you need to know?'

During Joe's hurried but thorough briefing on their way to the hotel,
he had warned David they would be working in a vacuum which had to remain separate from investigations being carried out by the FBI. And David knew this would make things extremely difficult, especially since they intended to speak to the same people being questioned by Ramirez and King. There was no foolproof way of making sure their ‘renegade' inquiries would not get back to the FBI, but they would have to do everything they could to keep their activities secret, at least until they had time to work out exactly what was going on and, more importantly, who was involved.

That being the case, they had decided to start with Maeve Barlow. They planned to ask her a few questions before thanking her and allowing her to leave. Mannix said he thought it unlikely the young girl could be of much help considering her role was simply to complete the evening ‘turn-down' service which took place some time prior to the Vice President's death. But they agreed she knew this suite back to front and would be one of the few amongst them who would notice the odd thing ‘out of place'.

Capon, however, was another matter. Mannix told David he remembered seeing the impeccably dressed General Manager just outside the Presidential Suite not long after the Vice President's death. And while Joe said he was sure Capon would have been blocked from entering the room full of law enforcement officials, David suggested a pair of civilian eyes, especially ones of his position and intelligence, could have captured some obscure observation or detail missed or dismissed by the ‘suits' more concerned with following protocol and dealing with the crisis at hand.

Joe began by thanking Maeve Barlow for coming in early and putting her at ease with some small talk on the fine state of housekeeping at the Fairmont compared to the chaos of the Mannix household.

‘My wife is one of the most efficient people I know,' he smiled. ‘But I have four boys so . . .'

‘Just because I'm so tidy at work, doesn't mean my own apartment doesn't look like a stopover for Hurricane Annie,' smiled Maeve. ‘The Fairmont demands excellence and we are happy to provide it.'

‘Maeve is one of our best,' said Capon.

‘Thanks, Mr Capon,' said Maeve. ‘In all honesty, this is a really nice place to work, and meeting people like the Vice President, well, that was just a bonus.'

‘You met Tom Bradshaw?' asked David.

‘Yes. He was really nice, we had a little chat about my name – or rather the Irish origins of it.'

‘When was this?' asked Mannix.

‘About a quarter to eight – just before I started the turndown.'

‘And this turndown involves?' asked David.

‘General cleaning – replacing used bathroom towels, washing used glassware, turning down the bed, leaving mints on the pillows, turning on the bedside lamps, placing the Bible on the bedside table, closing the automatic curtains, re-stocking the mini-bar, things like that.'

David noted her reference to the Bible but a look from Joe told him he did not want to make an undue point of it – at least not yet – and so he went on. ‘And you did all that for the Vice President and his wife, Mrs Bradshaw?'

‘Yes, I met Mrs Bradshaw too – she was beautiful. A little hurried but very polite. They looked so, I don't know, it sounds like a cliché but they looked so in love. He walked her to the door and she said something about him needing to rest and that she wanted his doctor to check in on him. And then he said it wasn't necessary, that he was fine and . . .' Maeve's voice faltered a little, and she looked down towards her hands which were folded neatly in her lap. ‘I suppose the irony is, maybe if she hadn't cared for him so much, then she would never have asked the doctor to come up and then he might still be alive.'

‘It's okay, Maeve,' said Mannix. ‘I know this is hard. By all accounts the Vice President was a good man so it's normal to feel sad about his passing.'

‘I know,' said Maeve, lifting her eyes. ‘I consider myself lucky that I got to meet him. He seemed so warm and positive and full of life – certainly not someone who would willingly take his own life, which I suppose he didn't in any case so . . . Anyway,' she said taking a breath, ‘that's really all I remember. I didn't want to eavesdrop so I went about my work. I wasn't in the suite long. They had only checked in that morning so there really wasn't much to do.'

‘So that was it then . . .' Joe obviously wanted his next question to appear as casual as possible. ‘And when you left, the Bible you mentioned was on the bedside table beside the Vice President's bed.'

‘Yes, both of them, one on either side.'

‘There were two?' asked David, stealing a glance at Mannix.

‘Yes. The Presidential Suite is pretty big, as you can see. In most rooms we carry only one Bible. This one has two, one in each bedside next to the king-sized bed.'

‘And both were on their respective tables.'

‘That's right.'

David knew Joe hadn't seen the second Bible, but there was no reason why he should have, and no reason for it to be of any significance. According to Mannix the FBI were interested in
Bradshaw's
Bible, the missing piece of evidence, and that was the one they needed to find.

‘And then I gathered my things and got ready to leave,' finished Maeve.

‘And you left the Vice President alone?' asked David.

‘Actually, no. Just as I was leaving another gentleman entered the suite. I guessed they were about to have a private meeting. In fact,' Maeve paused as if trying to recall some detail, ‘I remember, before Mrs Bradshaw left, when she suggested the Vice President see the doctor, that she also urged him to keep some meeting brief so that he might get some rest.'

‘And this man was, tall, short?' asked Joe.

‘Tall, broad, fit – like an ex-college football player with a slightly greying buzz cut. He looked kind of official, you know, important; dark suit, matching tie.'

‘CIA Director Richard Ryan,' said Mannix.

‘Yes, yes I think that was it. I think the Vice President called him Dick and he seemed to be expecting him. They shook hands, and . . . actually,' she stopped again, looking at them all. ‘There
was
something else – I'd never have thought of it if you hadn't asked about the . . .'

‘About what Maeve?' asked David.

‘About the Bibles. Just as I was leaving the Vice President went into the bedroom and got one. He handed it to Mr Ryan just as I was walking out the door, and then he turned to Mr Ryan and said . . . um . . .'

‘Think hard now, Maeve,' said Joe. ‘What did the Vice President say?'

‘He said, “Here you go, Dick . . . for inspiration” and then something like “I made some notes”. I figured maybe they were going to pray before heading downstairs to the banquet and I thought it was kind of refreshing, you know – two powerful men like that still being humble enough to ask for God's help.'

Mannix looked at David. ‘It is refreshing, Maeve. Sounds like the guy would have made one hell of a President.'

‘I think so, Detective. I really think so.'

‘And that's when you left,' said David, getting the young woman back on track.

‘Yes. The Presidential Suite wasn't the only room on the fifth floor that required turndown. I thanked the Vice President and moved down the corridor, completing the service for other suites.'