When No One Is Watching (8 page)

The room exploded into applause as he finished his remarks—not the polite, tepid applause typically heard following a politician’s press conference. This was raucous, excited cheering, the kind that results from a truly inspired, and inspiring, performance. Blair looked out over the crowd and saw Sam McIntire standing against the back wall. Their eyes met. Sam nodded and smiled, a satisfied smile indicating that all of his instincts had just been resoundingly confirmed.

Following the speech, Blair and Kimberly lingered in the auditorium, shaking hands, chatting, and basking in the glow of the enthusiastic feedback. When the crowd had dispersed, they went in search of Sam and found him in the conference room, talking on his cell phone in a low voice, his back toward them. He terminated the call, then turned to face them, a broad smile crossing his fleshy face. “You’re on your way, Blair!”

“Thanks, Sam. And thanks for the pep talk. It really helped.”

“No problem. You just convinced everyone in that room that they just had their first glimpse of one of our rising political stars. I hope you convinced yourself, too.”

“I’m ready, Sam,” Blair responded, shaking Sam’s hand enthusiastically, still riding high from his speech.

“Then let me put your mind to rest on one other thing,” said Sam, with a look of satisfaction. “Terry McGrath is dead.”

CHAPTER 11
V
ic Slazak had not come to the press conference to listen to another politician engage in flowery self-promotion. He was there on official police business, although no one knew that but him. He was determined to wrap up the investigation of Saturday night’s car wreck, and that meant talking to the key players promptly. A few pieces of the puzzle weren’t fitting into place, and that was nagging at him. From spending half a lifetime in police work, he knew that criminal investigation was a messy business and that there were often unanswered questions. He could accept that, but only after he’d made a real effort to solve the puzzle. In this case, that meant speaking to the short list of people who were either at the accident scene or with Danny Moran earlier Saturday evening. He was determined to have those conversations on his own timetable, and not be put off by the personal agendas of anyone involved, including the new Democratic candidate for Congress.

 

Slazak had stopped by the Van Howe home the previous afternoon, following his visit with Danny Moran. Mrs. Van Howe had greeted him at the door and informed him that her husband was not at home. She seemed flustered when he asked if one of the two cars in the driveway was her husband’s. She acknowledged that it was and stated that he was meeting with members of his campaign team and must have gotten a ride from one of them. She claimed to have just recently gotten home and that she didn’t know where her husband’s meeting was or when he would be home.

Slazak had called Van Howe’s law office that morning when the switchboard opened at eight o’clock. He was told that Mr. Van Howe would not be available that day because he was holding a press conference that morning and had meetings scheduled throughout the entire day.

Slazak had slipped quietly into the press conference just as Blair Van Howe was taking the podium. Slazak loathed most politicians and typically found himself silently ridiculing them whenever he listened to their speeches. One of the essential job skills in his line of work was to have a good bullshit detector, and he generally found it easy to dismiss both the substance and the sincerity of most political speeches as superficial, disingenuous bullshit. This guy was different, however. Slazak had to admit that Blair Van Howe was in a class far above most other politicians. He was a captivating speaker, and his audience was clearly enthralled. And he looked the part: tall, fit, and good-looking; silver-haired, yet youthful. This was a guy who could go places.

When the speech concluded, Slazak stood in the back of the media room, cell phone to his ear, acting as if he were preoccupied with a call as the crowd slowly dispersed. He followed Van Howe with his eyes as the candidate waved goodbye to some of his well-wishers, then walked briskly through a door just behind the stage. Slazak waited a few moments, then followed.

Blair staggered backward and flopped into a chair in the small conference room, as if the impact of the words had knocked him off his feet. The wave of euphoria he had been riding disintegrated instantaneously as Sam’s words sank in: Terry McGrath was dead.

For the past thirty minutes, Blair had been blissfully oblivious as Terry McGrath and the accident had been pushed completely out of his conscious mind. That harsh reality came rushing back with Sam’s announcement. Sam had shared the news as if it should be a relief to him. It had quite the opposite effect, as a suffocating sense of guilt bore down on him—guilt because his actions had resulted in the death of another human being, and, just as devastating, guilt that he had allowed his best friend to take the blame.

Blair was jarred from his dazed state by a loud knock on the door. “Mr. Van Howe? Got a minute?”

Blair, Sam, and Kimberly all turned and stared at the lean figure with the deep, gravelly voice standing before them.

“Who are you?” Sam asked gruffly.

“My name is Vic Slazak.” He pulled out his badge, looking directly at Blair and ignoring the others. Slazak noticed that Van Howe looked nothing like the charming, confident politician he’d witnessed just a few minutes earlier. He looked worried and unfocused. “I’m investigating an accident that happened Saturday night involving one of your partners, Daniel Moran,” Slazak continued. “I understand that you were with him earlier in the evening. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

Sam glared at Slazak with undisguised hostility. “Listen, Detective, Mr. Van Howe is a candidate for United States Congress. He just finished his speech five minutes ago, and we’re about to pay a visit to the mayor. Can we do this another time?”

“That’s okay, Sam,” Blair interjected, assuming his most charming and accommodating demeanor. “We’ve got a little time. Have a seat, Detective. What would you like to know?”

Slazak remained standing in the doorway, eyeing Sam McIntire steadily. “I’d like to meet with Mr. Van Howe alone, if you don’t mind.”

Sam started to protest, but Blair cut him off. “Sure, no problem, Detective.” Then turning to Sam and Kimberly, he asked, “Can you two give us a few minutes?”

Sam shot Blair a hard look and walked out of the room with his daughter, without saying a word. Slazak closed the door behind them.

“This shouldn’t take long, Mr. Van Howe.”

“Take as much time as you need, Detective.”

They sat down opposite each other, and Slazak pulled out a small, rumpled notebook.

“I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Van Howe. Since you bailed Mr. Moran out of jail, I’m sure you know the basic story. He got in a wreck sometime after midnight on Saturday night, and it’s likely he was intoxicated. The other guy— McGrath is his name—he’s hurt pretty bad. I don’t know whether he’ll pull through or not. Anyway, it’s probably all pretty straightforward, but I want to be sure we’ve investigated this as thoroughly as possible. That’s why I’m talking to you.”

Slazak stopped speaking and looked at Blair, inviting a response. Blair calmly returned the detective’s look and said nothing. Through his years of trial work, he knew better than to volunteer information. There was no need to share the news he had just heard about Terry McGrath, or to say anything else, since no question had yet been posed.

Slazak continued. “Were you with Mr. Moran anytime Saturday evening?”

“Yes, I was. One of our clients was hosting a dinner downtown at Chez Pierre
.
Danny and I were both there.”

“Which client?”

“Champions HealthCare.”

“You and Mr. Moran just handled that trial for them, right?”

“That’s right.”

Slazak nodded slowly, looking at his notepad. “How did you get to the restaurant?”

“Danny picked me up, and we drove together.”

“In his Porsche?”

“Yes.”

“Where did Mr. Moran park his car?”

“With the valet, in front of the restaurant.”

“Did you notice whether Mr. Moran was drinking during the evening?”

“I saw him with a glass of champagne in his hand when some toasts were being made. Other than that, I didn’t notice.”

“Did you drive home with Mr. Moran?”

“No.”

Blair Van Howe had been rattled when the detective had appeared in the doorway, but his confidence was growing with each response. He was sliding into the role, playing the part of a cooperative witness who wanted to be helpful, but simply had no useful information—the role of a man who wasn’t there and just didn’t know anything about the accident.

“So you drove in together, and you live within two blocks of each other, but you didn’t drive home together?”

“I had a busy day planned for Sunday, so I wanted to go home early. Danny was having a good time and wasn’t ready to leave when I was, so I just took a cab.” Blair drummed his fingers slowly on the table as he spoke.

“When you last saw Mr. Moran, did he appear to be intoxicated?”

“I honestly didn’t notice, Detective,” Blair responded, a trace of aggravation entering his voice. “Most people there were drinking. We were celebrating. But I really wasn’t paying attention to whether Danny, or anybody else, had too much to drink.” Blair lowered his head. “In retrospect, I wish I’d been more observant,” he said softly. “I know Danny’s had some drinking issues in the past. Perhaps I should have been thinking about that when he said he wanted to stay later. I could’ve stuck around awhile and driven him home if I’d noticed that he was drunk. I was just fixated on my own schedule and not paying attention to him. I should have been a better friend.” He sighed deeply and looked up at Slazak. “Anything else, Detective?”

Slazak stared at him steadily for a long moment, then looked at Blair’s hands silently tapping the conference table. “What happened to your finger?” Slazak asked casually, nodding toward the bulky white bandage covering the index finger on Van Howe’s right hand. He had noticed it earlier, during the speech.

Blair’s eyes darted to the right for a fleeting moment, and then he looked back at the detective, assuming a sheepish grin and shrugging his shoulders. “I’m a klutz. I was drinking a glass of water the other day, and the glass slipped out of my hand. I tried to catch it before it hit the sink, but I was too slow and grabbed it just as it shattered. Bled like crazy!” He held the bandage in front of his face and stared at it. After a moment, he folded his hands and leaned across the table toward Slazak. “Detective, there’s one more thing I want you to know,” he said earnestly, as if making a closing argument to a jury. “Danny Moran is a good man. He’s a good father and husband. He’s been a great friend to me and to a lot of other people. He’s kind and compassionate, one of those rare men who’s always thinking more about others than about himself.” Blair stopped, looking for a reaction. Slazak stared back impassively, saying nothing.

“Where is this heading, Detective? For Danny, I mean?” Blair asked, concern in his voice.

“That depends,” Slazak replied. “As of now, he’s charged with DUI. If Mr. McGrath dies, he’ll probably be charged with manslaughter. If that happens, he’ll need plenty of character witnesses to say the kind of thing you just said.” A flash of anger crossed the detective’s face as he closed his notebook, stuffed it into his pocket, and stood up to leave. “Anyway, that’s not up to me,” he continued, assuming a more nonchalant tone. “I just gather the facts, prepare my report, and the State’s Attorney’s Office takes it from there. I just have to clear up a few little mysteries, then my part will be done.”

“Mysteries? I thought you said this looked routine and that the facts speak for themselves.”

Slazak shrugged. “They probably do, but there are still a few details I can’t figure out—like the fact the accident was called in to 911 on Mr. Moran’s cell phone, but he was still passed out behind the wheel when I got there. I don’t get it. But that will be easy enough to clear up. Those calls are recorded and I can get copies of the recordings.” He looked carefully at Van Howe for a reaction, but the seasoned trial lawyer didn’t flinch.

“Oh, yeah, it seems there was a witness, too,” Slazak continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “She may be able to shed some light on that.” The candidate’s eyes darted to the right again for the briefest instant, and then he looked steadily back at the detective.

“If there was a witness, that should solve all your mysteries, right?” Blair suggested calmly.

“Yep, I think so. Thank you for your time, Mr. Van Howe.”

“You’re welcome, Detective.”

Slazak walked briskly out the door and returned a moment later to find Blair Van Howe slumped in his chair, looking drained and troubled, tapping his fingers rapidly on the table. He quickly sat upright at the sight of the detective.

“Sorry, Mr. Van Howe, there’s one other little mystery I forgot to mention. There was blood in Mr. Moran’s car Saturday evening that wasn’t his, and you know how the press is. There are bound to be stories about Mr. Moran’s troubles. Now that you’re running for office, some overzealous reporter might think it’s fair game to suggest that you might have been involved. I think you and I would both like to be in a position to dispel any crap like that, so I was wondering if you’d be willing to provide a blood sample?”

“Look, Detective, as far as I’m concerned, you can have blood samples, hair samples, saliva samples, whatever you want,” Blair responded testily, looking at his watch. “But I’d like to check with my campaign team first. I’m new at this and I want to get their counsel. They may tell me that’s a bad idea. Maybe the very fact that I’m giving a blood sample would be a suggestion of guilt or complicity. Let me check with them and get back to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with the mayor.”

He rose abruptly and strode past the detective and out of the small conference room, reaching for his cell phone as he did. He dialed Sam McIntire’s cell phone number as soon as he was beyond earshot. “Sam, we need to talk—now!”