The Dirty Secret (44 page)

Vincent sighed. “She made me a proposition on Thursday: If I’d agree to leave my wife, she would switch sides and cast her Electoral College ballot for me and Melanie.”

“Holy shit! That’s great! We can still win this thing!”

Vincent’s eyes smoldered. “It’s not great! It’s
horrible!
I don’t want to get divorced; I
love
my wife!”

“You don’t have to actually
do
it. Just
tell
her you’ll do it. And after she casts her ballot tomorrow, you can tell her you changed your mind.”

The governor laughed caustically. “
Right
. Like she’d take that lying down. She’d be on the front steps of the Capitol, passing out her videos and telling everyone with a microphone that I took advantage of her grief-stricken ass by promising to leave Donna in exchange for her vote.”

Bowen frowned. “So what are you supposed to do?”

“She’s driving down to Charleston tonight,” Vincent replied. “She’s staying where she always does – the hotel that Marco Zakarias owns – and she said that as long as I come to her room and ‘make love to her’ tonight, she’ll switch her vote. She says she’d give me a year to actually leave Donna. You know … move to D.C. and then say the stress of the job had caused us to drift apart, etc. She had the whole thing planned out. It’s terrifying, really.”

Vincent shut off the engine. “I’ll call her on my way home and tell her I can’t go through with it. Dick, I can’t even have sex with her again. The thought of laying a finger on her makes me want to puke. I can’t bear the thought of doing that to Donna anymore.”

He sighed. “All I can do is throw myself at Tabatha’s mercy and hope she won’t drag Donna into it. I doubt it will accomplish anything, but it’s all I have left.”

Bowen stared into the distance and finished his beer. “I wouldn’t say that.”

BERKELEY COUNTY JUDICIAL CENTER
MARTINSBURG, BERKELEY COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 3:30 P.M.

The Berkeley County magistrate stuck with weekend duty was Ernest Powell. A crusty retired policeman, he originally ran for magistrate to combat boredom. With his law enforcement background, Powell had a “friendly” disposition toward requests from the men in blue.

“What do you have here?” he asked, peering at the document the sheriff had given him.

“It’s a request for a search warrant, Your Honor.”

Powell smiled. “And who’s the unlucky sap getting served?”

The sheriff stiffened slightly. “It’s, uh … the County Clerk, Your Honor.”

Powell’s face shot up. “Marcus Boley? What for?”

The sheriff frowned. “We think he stuffed the ballot boxes during the recount. Hard to believe, but we have a video-taped confession. He described the whole operation in detail.”

Powell whistled and signed the warrant. “I’ll be damned. Never
dreamed
Marcus would do something like that. Hell, he grew up here – used to be an Eagle Scout even.”

“Well, we think he was encouraged to do it by some big shot with Royal’s campaign. The guy was raised in West Virginia, too. His name is Dave Anderson.”

Powell’s nostrils flared. “He’d better never come to Berkeley County, or I’ll throw him
under
the jail.”

The sheriff put the signed warrant in his pocket. “Once we look in the ballot boxes, we’ll probably be back with a warrant charging him with conspiracy to commit election fraud.”

The magistrate smiled menacingly. “I’ll look forward to seeing it.”

PLEASANTS COUNTY COURTHOUSE
ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 4:15 P.M.

“So what do you think?” Dave asked.

Rikki scowled at the West Virginia Code book, hunched over her desk and rubbing her temple. “I think I’m getting a headache. How about you?”

“My brain feels like it was jammed in a blender. And with no criminal law experience, I’m probably not much more helpful than a chimp.”

Rikki giggled. “If nothing else, you’re good comic relief. I’m truly glad you’re here.”

Dave smiled and folded his arms across his chest. “Me, too.”

She turned to the Code again. “I know we’d get a search warrant if the other magistrate was on duty. There’s plenty of circumstantial evidence against Tabatha, if it turns out Beria – I mean,
Petrenko
– shot Jack.”

“So why wouldn’t Magistrate Flowers give us one?” Dave asked, incredulous.

Rikki pursed her lips. “I think he’d give us one for
Petrenko’s
records or residence. He was near the crime scene with a rifle and a fake ID after their $25 million deal went sour. But we don’t have that much against Tabatha. She has an airtight alibi, and she probably couldn’t shoot a rifle to save her life.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. She’s one cold heartless bitch.”

“But even her one email to Petromica doesn’t show they were plotting to kill Jack! She thought Jack’s decision to spike the deal was foolish but that they could salvage the deal.”

“Or
maybe
they would need to ‘
pursue the alternate plan
,’” Dave clarified.

“It was carefully worded,” Rikki said. “Unlike the videoclips she sent Vincent.”

Dave sighed. “It’s a shame we can’t arrest her for being a no-good dirty whore.”

Rikki nodded sympathetically. Then her pale green eyes lit up, and she began to smile. “You know what? You might be on to something.”

CHAPTER 99

11 SUNNYSIDE CIRCLE
MARTINSBURG, BERKELEY COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 5:30 P.M.

The sheriff stood on Marcus Boley’s porch with two deputies. Doorbell chimes echoed from the house but no one answered the door. “Maybe he’s in the shower or something. But we have a search warrant, so let’s go in.”

The door was unlocked, and they walked in single-file. The sheriff motioned the deputies to draw their weapons and follow him into the next room.

Entering the room, they smelled puke and shit and blood before they even saw the body.

Marcus Boley’s corpse lay in the floor with a pistol in his right hand. Chunks of brain and blood littered the far wall, and though he was wearing pants, the unmistakable stench of feces indicated he had lost control of his bodily functions.

A deputy sprinted into the kitchen to puke. The other pointed to the table. “What’s that?”

Looking where the man pointed, the sheriff saw a sheet of paper bearing Times New Roman print. It was splattered with tiny, pinkish drops of blood mist.

The sheriff leaned down, examining the document without touching it. “Looks like a suicide note. I guess Marcus couldn’t handle the guilt.”

“But we found nothing wrong in the ballot boxes,” the non-puking deputy said.

The sheriff shrugged. “He must have disposed of the evidence. Oh, well. Let’s get the crime scene kit out. We’re in for a long night.”

CHAPTER 100

PLEASANTS COUNTY COURTHOUSE
ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 6:10 P.M.

“Maybe I’m stupid,” Dave said. “But since we have grounds to arrest Tabatha, why don’t we
just go do it?
”

Rikki sighed, exasperated. “This isn’t the movies, David! Once the sheriff charges her with a crime, what happens next is up to the magistrate on duty
when the charges are filed
.”

“Okay. So this guy Vincent appointed is on duty now …”

“Magistrate Flowers.”

“So what? He can’t dismiss the charges. Your case is airtight.”

“Doesn’t matter. Remember, the magistrate could handle this complaint two ways. He
could
issue a warrant for her arrest, directing she be hauled in to answer the charges …”

“I wasn’t
always
asleep in criminal procedure class,” Dave protested.

“On the other hand, he could just issue a summons, directing her to voluntarily appear and answer the charges at some future date.”

Dave’s eyes widened. “Ah! That would suck.”

“To put it mildly. Flowers could easily refuse to issue a warrant on this misdemeanor. And if that’s the case …”

“She’d still get to vote in the Electoral College tomorrow.”

“Precisely. Her appointment is final. If she’s at the Capitol tomorrow at noon, she gets to cast that ballot.”

“What happens if she doesn’t show up?”

Rikki thrust a book at Dave. “Here it is. Chapter Three, Article One, Section Fourteen. See for yourself.”

Dave turned to the relevant section:

Ҥ3-1-14. Presidential electors; how chosen; duties; vacancies; compensation.

…If any of the electors so chosen fail to attend at the time appointed, the electors present shall appoint an elector in place of each one so failing to attend, and every elector so appointed shall be entitled to vote in the same manner as if he had been originally chosen by the people…”

Rikki waited for him to finish. “If she’s not there at noon, the other four electors will appoint someone to take her place.”

Dave sunk into his chair. “Wow. Okay, I’ll call Gil Dean to make sure a dependable replacement is on standby. Then I’ll call my good old buddy, the Mayor of Charleston.”

Rikki looked at Dave, curious. “You’re good buddies with Booz Hancock?”

“Well … He’s a Republican, and Gil introduced us.”

“That guy’s a loose cannon,” Rikki said. “Why do you have to talk to
him
tonight?”

“Even if we get an arrest warrant for Tabatha, who would serve it on her if she’s already in Charleston?”

“Oh. Right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Think how huge the Capitol is. If word gets out she’s a wanted woman, Vincent’s crew will try their damnedest to delay service of the warrant until
after
the ballots are cast.”

“That’s another one I overlooked,” Rikki said. “You see: I told you there was a reason I’ve been keeping you around here.”

Dave grinned devilishly. “And I thought you just wanted some eye candy around the office.”

You haven’t been hard to look at, for sure, especially when you smile like that.

Silent Doug walked in on cue, holding a chocolate chip cookie. “Don’t flatter yourself, Dave. If she wants eye candy, she can stop by the Sheriff’s Department.” Biting into the cookie, he sucked in his paunch and straightened his posture.

“Coming back to my point,” Rikki segued, handing the criminal complaint to Vaughn. “Because I’m afraid Flowers won’t issue an arrest warrant, I asked the sheriff not to file the complaint until 9:00 tomorrow morning when Magistrate Irwin’s shift begins. And
she
, on the other hand, has politics more to your liking.”

Dave’s face brightened. “She’s a Republican?”

“Dyed-in-the-wool. She thought Jack walked on water and it turned her stomach to see Tabatha treat him like dirt. She’d probably deny bail altogether if the law didn’t prohibit it.”

Dave chuckled. “Sounds like my kind of woman!”

This Sheriff looked up, slack-jawed. “I don’t mean to question your judgment, but is that
all
we’re charging her with? I didn’t even know it was against the law.”

“That’s it for now. But when we see Magistrate Irwin in the morning, we’ll ask her for a search warrant, too.”

“Ah!” Vaughn said. “Ostensibly to gather additional evidence on the initial charge …”

“But crafted so you can seize anything that incriminates her for more serious crimes.”

Vaughn nodded and signed the document. “I like it. I’m heading home for dinner, and I’ll meet you in Magistrate Court tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. I’ll bring a search warrant with me.”

“I think I’ll go home and get something to eat, too,” Rikki said. “Dave … You care to join me, say around eight?”

“Does a fat baby fart? My mom’s at her evening church service and McDonald’s doesn’t sound appealing to your humble, unpaid assistant. See you then.”

CHAPTER 101

BERKELEY COUNTY SHERIFF’S
DEPARTMENT MARTINSBURG, BERKELEY COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 7:30 P.M.

Monica Boley’s eyes were bloodshot. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was disheveled and frayed as she struggled to digest the news that her brother was dead.

It’s my fault. He was such a sweet, innocent, upstanding man, and I dragged him down in the mud where he didn’t belong. Now he’s dead. Oh, God! What have I done?

The sheriff gave her a bottle of water and sat down. “You gonna be okay?”

She stared across the table.
He must think I had something to do with it. It’s time to man up and change his mind.

“I’m in shock, but I need to see the video. I refuse to believe Marcus ‘stole’ the election. And I definitely don’t believe he committed suicide. Even if he did what you say, he loved his wife and daughter too much to put them through that hell.”

The sheriff silently nodded. His eyes did not blink. “It must be hard. Maybe seeing the video will help you make sense of it all.”

He double-clicked the laptop’s touchpad and spun it around to face Monica. The clip began playing and she leaned toward the screen.

Marcus’s image appeared onscreen. Looking distraught, he stared at the camera as he spoke. But the look in his eyes struck her as …
wrong
.

And what’s going on with his hand? His fingers are flopping all around the table.

“My name is Marcus Boley,” he haggardly said, pointing to his chest with his right index finger. Then he slowly moved both hands downward, fingers spread slightly apart, and brought them to rest on the table. “I am the Berkeley County Clerk. By my actions, I have illegally influenced the presidential election results, causing Governor Royal to be credited with hundreds of votes that were not cast. In so doing, I have thwarted the will of West Virginia’s voters and stripped Senator Wilson of five electoral votes she should have won.”

The audio dropped and then the video jerked, as if the camera had been paused. Five seconds later, the monologue resumed.