for your help in facing together the greatest danger ever to threaten our state.”
No one was with the man. No aides or officials had come into the room with him. He was flying solo, and he had no license.
“A monstrous plot has been unleashed on the people and government of this state, and against me personally. One man is attempting to overthrow the popularly elected constitutional government and replace it with his own puppets.”
There was only one man that monstrous, and everyone in our little room knew who the four-foot head was referring to. The head itself was breathing deeply and its four-inch eyes were bloodshot and wild.
“He has resorted to every crime in his loathsome scheme. He has personally committed extortion, slander, obstruction, and now, even murder.”
The governor was resorting to every adjective in his loathsome speech. And now he was personally committing political suicide. I was hoping he wouldn’t crash the plane right into my front door.
“I have been informed by State Police Commissioner DeAngelo that there is no doubt that Jason Boyer faced my aide, and close friend, Clinton Grainger, and gunned him down in the street. This cold-blooded murder-”
The reporters couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Mr. Governor! Governor Bright? Is that official? Has Mr. Boyer been arrested? Is there a warrant for his arrest? What about the other murders? Mr. Governor!”
But the hinges had come completely loose. The popularly elected constitutional government glared at us, at me, right through the television camera. His mouth opened and closed and finally one little glimmer of reason broke through the storm and spoke.
“I have no further comment.”
But no aides stood aside to let him pass. No one was there. Just the one man at the podium, and even counting him, no one was there. He didn’t know how to leave. He was abandoned.
I felt so sorry for him.
The questions rose up again, waves crashing against the crumbling cliff, and he wasn’t even hearing them. I told myself that I was not the cause of this man’s destruction, and I knew that was true. I couldn’t even feel resentment for his attack on me, only pity. Finally he turned and walked slowly to the door, which was still open, and left the room.
Quickly, Bill Sandoff was in charge of our wall. My thoughts were swept away.
“An extraordinary press conference by Governor Harry Bright. Clearly, very upset by the death of his close staff member, Clinton Grainger. The governor’s comments raised some very serious questions about-yes, I understand that Police Commissioner Miguel DeAngelo is making a statement by telephone from state police headquarters. Jill Abernathy is at the Channel Six Studio and has that report.”
“Thank you, Bill.” Jill was not at her best, but she hadn’t been expecting to be on, and at four feet tall, a face can’t hide anything. “We do have Commissioner DeAngelo on the phone. Commissioner, thank you for speaking with us.”
“Certainly, Jill,” the voice said. There’s something about a phone voice on a news program that seems so authentic. Jill did a great job of professionally listening to it, raptly attentive.
“Commissioner DeAngelo, the governor has just made a very strong statement that you informed him that the police have no doubt that Jason Boyer is the murderer of Clinton Grainger. Is that true?”
“That is not true.”
“Have you been speaking with the governor about the case?”
“We have been keeping him informed concerning our progress.”
“Is Mr. Boyer being charged with the murder?”
“We are not pressing any charges at this time against anyone in this case.”
Jill nodded during the answers, showing us by example how interested the viewers were supposed to be. “Is Mr. Boyer a suspect?”
“We don’t comment on investigations.”
Jill switched from second to third gear. “Commissioner, the governor has leveled a charge of murder against one of the wealthiest men in the state, who is also apparently his most direct political enemy. ‘No comment’ really won’t do here.”
The cop hit his brakes. “Then you ask the governor. Wherever he came up with that, it wasn’t from me.”
“Thank you, Mr. DeAngelo.” She’d dropped into neutral.
“Thank you, Jill.”
Jill coasted to a stop. “That was State Commissioner of Police Miguel DeAngelo.” My guess was that Harry Bright would be getting no more reports from that commissioner.
And of course, he was Wilcox’s boss. DeAngelo was the man from whom Bright ordered office burglaries and trumped-up murder charges. It was pleasant to see that he was now officially a fleeing rat.
“That’s enough for me,” I said.
“Did you shoot the guy?” Eric asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Katie said. “Jason was at a meeting last night.”
What was that supposed to mean? She only believed I hadn’t murdered a man because I had an alibi? What a vote of confidence.
“The meeting was with Clinton Grainger,” I said.
“You saw him last night?” Eric was excited.
“Fred and I.”
“Wow. So you could have gunned him down!”
“Do you think I would do that?” I said.
“He was your most dangerous enemy.”
“Who said that?”
“Channel Five.”
“Rule Number 93-I don’t kill people.”
“That’s not a rule.”
“It is for me.”
But Eric was distracted. “Look! It’s Henry Malden.”
The lieutenant governor was answering questions. He certainly looked the part of nonentity. No, he did not question Governor Bright’s ability to continue in office. No, he knew no basis for the accusations the governor had just made. No, he was in no way involved in the kickback scandals. No, he had not discussed any of these things with the governor. No, he saw no reason to ask the legislature to consider an impeachment hearing. No, he had no idea what he was doing here.
The last answer was just my imagination, but he might as well have said it. I waved good-bye and left the room.
Katie followed me.
“I didn’t shoot him,” I said, so she wouldn’t have to figure out how to ask.
“I knew you didn’t. Eric is ridiculous.”
“Everything’s ridiculous right now. So do I call the police commissioner? Or Stan Morton? The FBI person, Donovan?”
I was just thinking aloud, but she took it seriously. “The newspaper or the television news. You need to answer the governor somehow.” It was the first time I’d ever asked for her advice about business.
“I was going to give them an interview today, but it wasn’t the right time.”
“Have them come here. We’ll do it together.”
“Why?” I wasn’t understanding.
“It’s time to start introducing yourself to the world, Jason. And if you want to come off well, you’re going to need a lot of help.”
“What?! I can’t act like a nice person by myself?”
“That is way past your acting abilities.” Maybe my wife was going to be even more of an asset than I’d realized.
I submitted and called Pamela.
“Call Stan Morton. Tell him that I and my wife will be available tomorrow morning at nine o’clock at my house
