When No One Is Watching (7 page)

Victor Slazak stood before him. “Mr. Moran, I’m Detective Slazak. We met last night. I was hoping we could visit for a few minutes.”

Danny composed himself quickly. “Sure, Detective. Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the living room sofa. Danny sat at the other end of the sofa and faced the detective. Karen stood behind an armchair across the room, obviously intent on listening.

“Sorry to stop by unannounced,” Slazak said, “but I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop in. This shouldn’t take long. I just have a couple of things I’d like to ask you about.”

Danny stared at the detective, saying nothing. Slazak continued. “First, I’m following up on last night’s events—you know, just trying to piece together exactly what happened. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

Danny looked unsure of himself. “Detective, I’ve never been in this situation before, and I don’t really know how it works. I don’t want to seem uncooperative, but I feel like I should consult with an attorney before I agree to any further questioning.”

That was the response Slazak had been expecting. He was disappointed, but did his best to appear nonchalant. “I understand,” Slazak said. “That’s certainly your right, Mr. Moran. I just thought that since there’s not much in dispute here, and since you’re a lawyer yourself, you might be willing to answer just a few simple questions.”

“Sorry, Detective. I know you have a job to do, and I respect that. But let’s defer any questioning until after I’ve had a chance to confer with my attorney. What’s the second item on your agenda?”

“I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t hurt in the accident. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Detective. Not a scratch on me. Thanks for asking.”

“By the way, do you happen to know your blood type?”

“Type O, I believe.”

Danny watched as Slazak scribbled something in his notebook and wondered whether he’d been tricked and had made a mistake by answering those innocent-sounding questions. He decided to bring the meeting to a close. “Do you have a card, Detective? Once I’ve retained counsel, I’ll ask my attorney to call you.”

Slazak stood up, put away his notebook, and handed Danny his card.

“How’s Mr. McGrath?” Danny asked with some trepidation as he walked Slazak toward the door.

“Not good,” Slazak replied curtly. “He’s in a coma. His doctors don’t know whether he’ll pull through or not.”

Danny watched the detective hurry down the front walk-way and climb into his car. “You better hire that lawyer fast!” he heard Karen say from behind him. He turned around to see her walking briskly away.

Danny trudged back into his study and sat down wearily, as if the brief encounter with the detective had worn him out. He turned his chair around and stared out the window into the backyard. A small hummingbird was darting around the bird feeder hanging just outside his window, tentatively nipping at the cherry-colored liquid inside the plastic cylinder.

“What was that about, Daddy?” Allie stepped into the study, trying her best to appear calm.

“That was a detective, asking questions about last night,” Danny replied in a tired voice, without turning around.

“Are they going to arrest you?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” He wished he could say something reassuring to his daughter, but he couldn’t find the words.

“What happens next? What should we do?” Allie asked.

Danny started at the question. He had heard it from hundreds of clients under all kinds of circumstances, usually when they were in a tough spot. His mind snapped into focus as he turned and faced his seventeen-year-old daughter. “Well, for starters, I think I need to follow the advice I always give to my clients when they’re in a jam. If you’ve done something wrong, whether you’re a politician, a corporation, or just a regular guy, the best place to start is to take responsibility for your actions. That means apologizing and doing what you can to make things right.” He paused as he considered what that meant in his current situation. “I better go to the hospital to check on Mr. McGrath.”

Allie looked skeptical. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It’s the right thing to do.” Danny’s voice was quiet and sad, but his mind was clearly made up.

“Then I’ll go with you, Daddy.”

“Thanks, Allie, but I better go alone. This is likely to be difficult for everyone. There’s no telling how his family will react.”

Allie wrapped her arms around her father and hugged him tightly. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered hoarsely as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Danny was intimately familiar with Oak Lawn Community Hospital, having visited his mother there almost daily during the final weeks of her battle with lung cancer the year before. He made his way to the intensive care unit and approached the reception desk.

“Can you tell me what room Mr. McGrath is in?” he asked the frail-looking gray-haired receptionist behind the desk.

She checked her chart. “Room 214. That’s just around the corner, third door on the left.” She motioned to the corridor directly behind her.

Danny took several steps in that direction, then hesitated and turned back toward the elderly receptionist. “How’s he doing?” Danny asked.

She shook her head sadly. “Still in a coma … such a shame. Those two little kids … His wife and her brother are in there now.”

Danny walked slowly toward the room, burdened with a crushing sense of guilt and dread. The prospect of facing Nancy McGrath was almost more than he could bear. He walked past room 210, then room 212, and all of his instincts told him to turn around and leave, but he willed himself forward. As he reached room 214, a petite, middle-aged woman walked out of the door, nearly bumping into him. She looked haggard, dark circles under bleary eyes, as they stared at each other. It seemed to Danny that Nancy McGrath recognized his face, but couldn’t place it.

“Mrs. McGrath, we met once before, at the block party a few weeks ago. I’m Danny Moran.”

For an instant, she looked confused. Then it clicked. Danny could see that she recognized his name. He assumed the police must have told her.

“Were you the driver? Last night?” she asked, her voice trembling, a look of disbelief on her face.

Danny nodded silently, looking down, desperately groping for the right words. “Mrs. McGrath, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am. How’s Ter—”

“How dare you come here!” she shrieked through tears of rage, slapping him hard across his face.

A short, well-built man in a dark polo shirt rushed out of the room. “What’s going on?” he demanded as two young nurses also hurried to the scene.

“It’s
him
!” Nancy McGrath yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Danny. “He’s the bastard who ran Terry off the road.” She glared at him with hatred in her eyes. “How could you?” she screamed between sobs.

One of the nurses put an arm around Nancy as her brother roughly grabbed Danny by the upper arm and began escorting him from the scene. “Get your ass out of here, pal, and don’t come back! Because of you, she might lose her husband, and two little kids might lose their father, you low-life piece of shit!”

“I just wanted to tell her how sorry—”

“She doesn’t care! Beat it!” He shoved Danny in the direction of the reception desk.

Danny walked quickly past the startled receptionist and toward the elevator, head down, his face still stinging.

“I hope you rot in jail!” he heard Nancy McGrath scream from behind him. “You go to hell, you lousy drunk!”

“Don’t worry, there’s nothing in the papers this morning, Blair.” Van Howe looked up as Sam McIntire bustled into the room, his giant frame barely fitting through the door. Blair looked at him, doubt evident in his eyes.

“I made some calls,” Sam continued, matter-of-factly. “The story will probably break later today, but I bought us a little time, anyway.”

“The timing couldn’t be worse,” Blair muttered, shaking his head, his eyes still skimming over the newsprint. He pushed the papers away, shook his head rapidly as if to clear the cobwebs, and let out a deep breath. “How is this going to affect the campaign, Sam?”

Sam poured a cup of coffee and handed it to his son-in-law. “It shouldn’t have any effect at all,” he answered confidently. “The other side may try to make something out of it. They could suggest some sort of guilt-by-association theory. And there’ll probably be some questions from the press. They’ll point out that you were with Danny that night and ask if you knew he was drunk, whether you could have intervened and gotten him home safely, that kind of thing. But if you handle it right, it won’t go anywhere. People will accept that you weren’t there and that you can’t be responsible for your partner’s actions. It’ll all blow over in a day or two.”

Blair paced back and forth across the small conference room, arms folded, trying to evaluate Sam’s assessment.

“You know, Blair, there’s a way you might even turn this to your advantage,” Sam added thoughtfully, rubbing his large chin.

“How’s that?” Blair asked doubtfully.

“Look, a big part of your campaign involves getting tough on crime, as well as ethics and personal responsibility, right?”

Blair nodded. “Yeah. So?”

“So this gives you the perfect opportunity to bring those issues to life. Instead of being defensive about this issue and trying to avoid it, you tackle it head-on. You bring it up yourself and use it to further your agenda. You use it as an opportunity to condemn drunk driving, demand tougher laws and better enforcement in that area, and you tie all that into your overriding themes about ethics and personal responsibility.”

“You want me to turn on Danny? I can’t do that, Sam!”

“I’m not saying turn on him. You’re not condemning Danny, you’re condemning what he did. He made a mistake, and people who make mistakes need to be held accountable, right? Especially people who hold positions of responsibility and trust. You can bring that message to life with this story. But Blair …” Sam paused. Blair stopped pacing and looked at him. “Whether you choose to talk openly about this incident or not, one thing is absolutely clear. You have to distance yourself from Danny. There’s no way around that.”

Sam McIntire had more political savvy than anyone Blair had ever met, and Blair had always listened intently to Sam’s views and advice. He knew from experience that Sam’s instincts were invariably right on the mark. Everything Sam had been saying made perfect sense until he suggested abandoning Danny, even condemning him, or at least his actions, which meant the same thing for all practical purposes. Blair sat down and stared at the shiny wooden conference table. “I don’t know if I can do this to Danny,” he said quietly. “It’s just so … wrong … even if we could pull it off. And what if, somehow, the truth comes out? Then what?”

“Goddamn it, Blair, what’s done is done!” Sam exploded, putting his beefy hands on the table and leaning across toward his son-in-law. “If Danny hadn’t gotten drunk, none of this would have happened. Get over it! You have an opportunity that most people could never even dream of, and you’ll never have it again if you don’t grab it right here and now. Don’t piss this away!”

Sam sat down opposite his son-in-law. “Look, Blair,” he said in the most sincere tone his gruff persona was capable of generating. “You’re like the son I never had. You are, without a doubt, the most naturally gifted politician I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’ve never seen a better communicator or anyone who could charm people and earn their trust like you can—not even Ronald Reagan or JFK. You’ve got a gift. A long time ago, I wanted to be governor more than anything else in the world, but I didn’t have what it takes to get there. I realize that now. But you do! This is just a stepping stone. United States congressman will be a shoo-in. You could be governor. You could be a senator. Hell, you could wind up in the White House! I really believe that. And I want that for you and for Kimberly. Think about how much good you could do for so many people.”

“Do you really mean that, Sam?”

“Hell, yes, I mean it!”

They both looked up as Kimberly walked in, looking stunning, her blonde hair shimmering against an elegant, yet conservative, navy blue dress. “Ten minutes until showtime!” she announced cheerfully. “Are we ready?”

“Hi, honey,” Blair replied, his spirits beginning to lift after Sam’s pep talk and the sight of his gorgeous wife brimming with enthusiasm. The press would love her. “Your dad and I were putting the finishing touches on my speech. I just need a few minutes alone to get my game face on.”

“You got it, sweetheart,” she answered brightly. “Come on, Dad.” Kimberly leaned over, kissed her husband on the cheek, and bounced out of the room.

Her father walked around the table, slapped Blair on the shoulder, and said, “Knock ’em dead!”

As he had done countless times before, Blair Van Howe effortlessly slid into role-playing mode. He was playing the part of the rising political star, captivating the heart and soul of the populace with a combination of energy and flair, sincerity and passion, and most of all, unparalleled charisma. From the podium, he looked at the throng of reporters, politicians, labor leaders, corporate titans, and old friends. He felt that familiar rush that came from being on center stage, mesmerizing his audience. All hesitation and doubt were left behind in that small conference room. As he launched into his speech, he visualized himself as the reincarnation of JFK and knew beyond any doubt that he could play that role perfectly.

The purpose of the speech was simple: to announce his candidacy for United States Congress. Yet there was so much more at stake. This would be his first opportunity to educate the electorate about Blair Van Howe—who he was and what he stood for. The themes certainly were not new: bringing a fresh outlook to Washington, insisting on fiscal responsibility, holding political leaders accountable by demanding change and action, making ethics and personal responsibility a priority for our elected leaders and everyone else. Yet Blair Van Howe made these ideas sound compelling and urgent. He instilled in his listeners a sense of hope and excitement like no other politician had generated in them before. This was a man who could inspire, a man people would trust and respect, a man they would root for—and, most important, a man they would vote for.