The First Councel

“Assuming it was Simon,” she continues, “why do you think he did it?”

“It’s got to have something to do with that money.”

“You still convinced he’s selling secrets?”

“I don’t know. When you sell secrets, you drop off information. He had nothing but cash-the same cash that was in Caroline’s safe.”

“So you think he was being blackmailed?”

“Married man in a gay bar? You saw his expression in there. He didn’t look like he was in control-he was scared. If you wanted control, you talked to Caroline.”

“I see where you’re going. Caroline’s the blackmailer, and Simon killed her to stay quiet.”

“She’s the only one with access to all that personal information. And she relished it. You should’ve seen how she came after me.” Staring at the end of the alley, I have a lateral view that allows me to see all ten pins. “There’s just this one thing that doesn’t make sense: If Caroline was doing the blackmailing, why didn’t Simon take back his money when he killed her?”

Once again, Nora finds that dark grin. She shakes her head like I’m missing something. “Maybe he didn’t know the safe’s combination. Maybe he didn’t want to get caught with it. For all we know, maybe it really was a heart attack. Or best of all, with his fake story, maybe it’s the best way to put the blame on you. If he saw us the other night, he certainly could’ve seen the cops. Now the whole plot changes. The ten thousand the cops confiscated was only a quarter of it. The rest you gave to Caroline as hush money. The consecutive numbers on the bills prove it. You’re the one who was being blackmailed. You’re the one who has the money. You’re the one who killed her.”

The money. It always comes back to the money. In the safe. In my glove compartment. In my name. Consecutively marked, it’s all tied to me. She’s hit it on the head. The money with the D.C. police is a time bomb. And as soon as someone finds out about it, it’s going to explode. Even if it was a heart attack-with that kind of cash in my possession… in that neighborhood-just raising the specter of drugs, my job’s history. They’ll cut me loose simply to avoid the front-page story. And if the autopsy shows it’s a murder… Oh, God. I rub the back of my neck, doing my best to stall. What I’m about to say is going to set her off, but it has to be done. “Nora, if this starts snowballing, it’s going to work its way to the top.”

Across the narrow room, she leans against the rack of bowling balls and stares directly at me. She knows it’s true. I can see it in her dancing eyes. She’s terrified. “They’re going to try to kill him with it, aren’t they?”

There he is again. Her father. However it plays out, a scandal like this takes a mean toll. Especially with Bartlett nipping at the lead.

“All we need is some time,” she says, vigorously rubbing her nose. “It can still work out okay.”

The more she talks, the more her voice picks up speed. It reminds me of the speech she gave at the party’s national convention when her father was nominated all those years ago. Initially, they asked her brother, Chris, to speak, thinking that America would rally around a young man standing up for his dad. But after a few private run-throughs, where Chris stumbled over words and looked generally panicked, Nora asked if she could step in. The campaign played it as the firstborn child coming to the forefront, while our opponents played it as another bossy Hartson vying for control.

When it was all over, Nora, like any other eighteen-year-old speaking to a group of a hundred and ten million people, was criticized for being jittery and unpolished. That’s what you get for trying to steal the spotlight, a few critics blasted. But as I watch her now, anxiously rocking back and forth at the mere mention of her father’s pain, I think it was less a power play and more a protective one. When she got up there, Chris didn’t have to. And when the beating gets particularly hard, we all take care of our own.

“For all we know-it’s just a heart attack,” she stutters. “Maybe Simon’ll even stay quiet.”

What am I supposed to say? No, your father’s life is definitely going to get wrecked-especially if I scream the truth? In the span of a few unstrung seconds, my options quickly narrow: I open my mouth, her dad takes it in the knees, and since I’m at the epicenter, we all go down. If I keep my mouth shut, I buy some time to sniff around, but I risk going down alone. Once again, I look over at the pins at the end of the alley. I can’t help but feel like the lead pin in the triangle. The one that always gets creamed by the ball.

“Maybe you should talk to him,” I suggest. “Just so he knows who to trust. I mean, even if it was a heart attack, Simon was being blackmailed for something-and unless we figure it out, he’s going to keep hanging the noose around me.”

Nora looks at me, but doesn’t say a word.

“So you’ll talk to him?”

She pauses. “I can’t.”