“
“Sorry, I don’t speak Latin.”
“It’s French.”
“Technically, it’s English,” said Andie, reading from the web-page on her iPhone. “Derived from old French. Originally from
“I was right!” said Theo.
“Whose side are you on?” Jack asked Andie.
Theo poured himself more coffee. The guy couldn’t get enough of anything that was free.
“So,” said Theo, “did you at least have coffee with the
“I didn’t get canned.”
“That’s what the paper said.”
“Shit, it was in the newspaper?”
“Jack,” said Andie, “you were fired, okay?”
“I repeat: Whose side are you on?”
She didn’t answer. Her gaze was still fixed on the display screen of her iPhone, but she had turned very serious.
“Something wrong?” said Jack.
“I-” she started to say, then stopped. Jack knew she’d received one of those FBI e-mails that she couldn’t tell him about.
She looked up and said, “Turn on the television.”
Jack grabbed the remote and switched on the set. Andie took the control from him and tuned to CNN. On- screen, a reporter was standing outside a three-story apartment building. The red banner with white letters at the bottom of the screen identified her as Heather Brown, and her location was listed as the LaDroit Park neighborhood of Washington, D.C.
“That’s where Chloe Sparks lived,” said Jack.
Andie raised a hand, telling him to listen.
The reporter continued: “It was in an alley directly behind this apartment building, at approximately four o’clock this morning, that police found a white sedan. Police have confirmed that the vehicle belongs to CNN reporter Paulette Sparks.”
“Hey,” said Theo, “isn’t Paulette the reporter you-”
“Quiet!” Jack and Andie said in stereo.
The wind was kicking up in Washington, and the reporter fought to keep her hair out of her face. “CNN has also learned that the car’s engine was running, but the lights were off, and the first officers on the scene did not see anyone behind the wheel. As the first officer approached, he saw what he described as a hose running from the exhaust pipe into the car through the rear window, which was opened just a crack.”
“A hose?” said the anchor.
“Yes,” said Brown. “A regular rubber garden hose. It was then that they shined their flashlights inside the vehicle and saw a body slumped over the console. The door was locked, and police shattered the driver-side window. Paramedics were notified immediately, and the victim-described as a white female in her early thirties-was taken to George Washington Medical Center.”
“Any report on her condition?”
“I don’t have that information.”
“Has the victim been positively identified yet?”
“I’m told that she has, but police are not releasing her name until her family can be contacted.”
“Of course we don’t want to speculate,” said the anchor, “but Paulette Sparks is like family to many of us here. We are all deeply concerned. Our thoughts and prayers are with Paulette and the Sparks family right now.”
The anchor switched gears to another breaking story. Jack switched off the television and looked at Andie.
The look on her face said it all, but she verbalized it anyway. “It’s Paulette.”
Jack glanced at Theo, then back at Andie. “Is she going to be all right?”
Andie drew a breath before answering.
“She’s dead.”
Chapter 27
Jack caught a mid-morning flight into Reagan National Airport and called his father as soon as the plane touched down. Harry had a full day of meetings at the White House, but he didn’t have to guess what all the urgency was about. By lunch-time, Paulette’s name had been released to the public, and the story was all over the news. The two men met in private in the only vacant office in the West Wing-Vice President Grayson’s old office.
“Sounds like she killed herself,” said Harry. The office was barely wide enough for the camelback sofa in the center of the room. Harry sat at the far end of it, near the window, and Jack was in the armchair beneath the brass chandelier.
Jack shook his head. “Not Paulette. No way.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“First of all, she wasn’t even close with her sister. This idea that she was so upset over Chloe’s murder that she drove over to her apartment and took her own life just doesn’t wash.”
“It may seem far-fetched to you. But by definition, anyone who commits suicide has lost perspective.”
“This was not a suicide,” said Jack. “Paulette called me last night. She was not a woman on the verge of checking out. I could feel her energy, her excitement.”
“About what?”
Jack told him about Chloe’s notes and the reference to someone other than Jack and Paulette’s sister getting an e-mail about bringing down the Keyes presidency.
“Where are those notes now?”
“I’ll bet they’re gone,” said Jack. “And if they have disappeared, that’s the nail in the coffin for the suicide theory, if you ask me.”
“Have you reported this to the FBI?”
“I told Andie this morning.”
Harry nodded, but not in agreement. He was simply thinking.
“What would you like me to do?” he said.
“Be honest with me,” said Jack.
“Of course.”
“The other day, when we were out jogging. When you, you know-”
“Fired you?”
“Well, you didn’t really fire me.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Okay, all right. I got fired. F-I-R-E-D. Is everybody as happy as a pig in a pile of shit now?”
Harry glanced around the room. “Jack, it’s only you and me here.”
“Never mind. This is important, and I need you to be completely straight with me.”
“I’m starting to resent the implication that I would be anything less than that.”
“You’re right,” said Jack. “I’m sorry. Let me just put this to you, and we’ll go from there. The other day, when I got f-f-”
“Fired.”
“Yes. You were really upset with me for putting my trust in Paulette Sparks.”
“I was upset with you for putting that level of trust in a Washington reporter.
