think about Rachael?
THIRTY-TWO
Jack shook Greg Nichols’s hand, showed him his creds, and all the while Nichols stared at Rachael, the look in his eye, to Jack’s mind, too interested. “It’s good to see you again, Rachael,” he said, and smiled, his voice too warm. When he shook her hand, he held it, his eyes on her face, on that braid.
Now this was unexpected. And Jack didn’t like it. Nichols cleared his throat and gave her that too-interested look again. He was tall, solid, fit, no fat that Jack could see. His tailored dark blue suit fit him well. His light brown hair was styled by a very talented pair of hands, and his teeth were as white as his shirt. He presented himself as a no-nonsense, rugged, supremely trustworthy man and had Rachael smiling back at him. Jack knew he was thirty- seven, and he wielded a good deal of power in his own right here on Capitol Hill. He even had enough juice to have gone from one top-dog master to another in under two weeks.
Nichols said, “I’m sorry but as I said when you called, Agent Crowne, I have very little free time this morning. Senator Jankel has a vote before noon and I must brief him.
“Let me say I was flabbergasted by the FBI press conference and their speculations about Senator Abbott’s tragic death. Do you ... do they ... really believe Senator Abbott was murdered, that his death was set up to look like an accident, and every local and federal agency was fooled?”
Nichols sat down heavily behind his lovely mahogany desk, waved them both to the chairs in front. His back was to the window, naturally, with the sun flooding Jack’s and Rachael’s faces. Jack angled his chair, and Rachael did the same.
Jack looked around. “Nice digs.”
“Yes, these offices are among the finest. A senior senator has usually garnered enough influence over the years for a large office. As chairman of the Ways and Means Committee, Senator Jankel is a major spokesman for the party. You should see the senator’s office if this one impresses you.”
Jack said, “Do you enjoy being the power behind the throne, Mr. Nichols?”
An eyebrow went up. “Power, Agent Crowne? Do you know, I’ve never really thought of it that way. No, rather, I think of myself as a facilitator, a person who keeps things running smoothly, a person the senator can trust implicitly to implement his ideas, to prepare him for whatever demands come up. But I only do what he wants done. Now, enough about me. Tell me what I can do for you.”
“Mr. Nichols, you knew Senator Abbott possibly better than anyone, including his brother and sister and Rachael.”
Nichols said, “That only makes sense since I worked closely with him for thirteen years before his death. As for Rachael, she only had weeks.” He shrugged. “His siblings ... well, here’s honesty for you— only the Abbott name tied them together. There were never any bonds of affection, any genuine love or caring—at least that’s how it always seemed to me. The senator’s father—I met the old man exactly once. He looked at me like I was a mutt. He was an imperious old buzzard with an iron fist. He died less than five months before his eldest son. I knew he and his son rarely spoke. Senator Abbott said only that he and his father didn’t see eye to eye about his career choice. I think that was an understatement. I thought it was probably a good deal more.
“When Rachael came into his life, not long after his father’s death, I believe Senator Abbott hoped to get closer to his siblings, for Rachael’s sake—wanted all of them to come together again as a family, but...” His voice hitched, his eyes blurred for a moment. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, it’s difficult ... I’ve just begun to accept his death, but now, to hear you say it wasn’t an accident, that some crazy person actually murdered him, I ...” He stopped, shook his head, looked down at his clasped hands on the desktop.
“How did you come into Senator Abbott’s orbit, Mr. Nichols?”
That brought his head up. “Call me Greg, please. Fact is, I met Senator Abbott when I was fresh out of law school, betwixt and between, I suppose you could say, uncertain what I wanted to do. I was sitting in the Big Raisin, an English pub and restaurant over on Platt Avenue, drinking a beer, wondering what I was doing here in Washington, of all places. I didn’t know anybody, didn’t have a single contact, and yet I’d taken the train down from New York to interview for a job that morning and was nursing a beer and thinking I was a great fool.
“Senator Abbott came in and sat down beside me, ordered a martini, two olives. He looked familiar, but I didn’t realize who he was. He seemed like a nice businessman, friendly, passing the time while waiting for his lunch guest. He asked me what a young guy with a bad haircut was doing sitting at a bar in the middle of the day, and why I wasn’t out building bridges or teaching children math.
“I laughed, told him it was all happenstance I was even in Washington, in that particular restaurant, drinking that particular beer, which I should point out was warm.
“He rolled his eyes, said, Ah, it’s English.’ We continued to talk, he kept asking me questions. Another man came in maybe twenty minutes later, evidently the fellow he’d been waiting for. I didn’t realize it then, but it was the Speaker of the House. Senator Abbott got up and handed me his card. When I realized who he was, I tell you, I nearly choked on my beer. He even shook my hand, introduced himself. Then he told me to call him later that afternoon, he wanted to speak to me about a possible career change.
“I told him I didn’t even have a career to change.
“He laughed, told me I wouldn’t have to concern myself with former employers then, would I?
“I went to see him the next morning. He hired me. Over the years I took on responsibilities, I gained his trust. We became close.” Nichols smiled. “I was his spearhead.” Again, he paused, eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry, but I know you understand, Rachael.”
“Well, I certainly understand my own pain,” she said. “I expect I’ll feel it for a good long time.”
Nichols glanced at an abstract painting on the far wall, huge red flowers, looking ready to explode. He said, “I certainly understand that. Senator Abbott had charisma in spades. It’s a natural talent, one you really can’t learn. It’s certainly not Senator Jankel’s strong suit, but we’re trying.” He gave them a self-deprecating smile. “Please don’t spread that around, all right? I really don’t want another career change now.”
“Of course not,” Rachael said.
Nichols cocked his head to the side, looked thoughtful. “It’s been solong since I’ve had these concerns, I’d forgotten. There’s so much to learn. Believe me, Senator Jankel’s likes and dislikes, his beliefs, what’s really important to him, they’re very different from Senator Abbott’s. What else can I tell you, Agent Crowne?”
Jack said, “Since I’m sure your time is running short, Greg, you could cut the bullshit, that’d be good.”
Nicholas jumped to his feet, planted his hands on his desk. “What is it you’re implying, Agent Crowne?”
“Greg,” Rachael said, “you and I are both guilty of not telling the investigators the truth. Both of us know Jimmy killed that little girl because he told us individually. And we both know he hadn’t had a drink or driven a car for eighteen months because of it. Both of us remained silent. Neither of us wanted to ruin his good name. Of course, it might have led to your own involvement in the cover-up, but that’s over now.
“I’ve told everyone the truth. It’s time you did, as well. All of it.”
He sat down again, looked at them over his steepled fingers. “When I spoke to the investigators, I did not cover up that the senator had stopped drinking and driving, I simply didn’t emphasize it to the police because I didn’t want the hit-and-run accident eighteen months ago to come out now that Senator Abbott was dead anyway.
“Evidently, the FBI believes the senator was murdered, because he’d stopped drinking and driving. I suppose this was based on what you told them, Rachael?”
“Yes.”
To be honest, that sounds rather feeble to me, surely not enough to make the FBI reopen the case. There must be more.” He looked pointedly at Jack, who only shook his head.
Nichols continued. “I have given this a lot of thought, and I don’t believe he was murdered. No, that doesn’t make sense. I believe he committed suicide. Of course, I haven’t publicized that.
“And then you came to tell me you were going to make your father’s confession for him, you were going to tell the world about it.”
“Yes, that was what I was going to say, what I very well still might say.”
Nichols said, “Do you want to know why he told me he was going public, Rachael?”
The braid momentarily curved around her cheek as she nodded, and Nichols stared at it. He said slowly, “I
