Chapter Fifty-Four
Not going to lie—I don’t sleep very well that night. Oh, I wish I could say I was having a crisis of conscience about killing Grace, but that’s not it at all.
It’s worrying about Elliot, and how to handle things if they try to charge me with her death.
It’s unlikely the dealers I purchased the drugs from will remember me, or want to get involved, even if they did recognize me. I took off my glasses and dressed differently when I made the buys, and I used three different dealers spread out across three different clubs.
That’s if my name even makes it into the news. Just because I’m the last person to have seen Grace alive doesn’t mean they’ll give my name to the press if they don’t feel I was involved. Especially since I work at the White House. I’m counting on the text messages to show I wasn’t in the apartment when she died. That she was still alive after I left. As long as they don’t do any in-depth digging, if it’s even possible to trace the location of the app and pin it to the burner phone, I should be okay.
In my head, the official version of the evening is that Grace was drinking excessively, admitted she was high, came on to me, and I didn’t want to admit to her that I was gay. So I used her drinking and drug use as an excuse to fake umbrage at something she said, and I stormed out. But she texted me immediately, so I returned, and I tried to get her to sober up and ask for help.
Then I left again, picked up a coffee, and stopped by Leo’s because I’d had a martini and I wanted to completely sober up before returning to campaign headquarters.
Yes, that was my second visit to his apartment, the first earlier being that I had to poop.
No, I never confided in Leo what was going on with Grace, because I was trying to keep my visits with her quiet. She’d confessed her history of drug abuse to me on a prior visit, and I tried to talk her into rehab. I wanted to help her, because she’s Stella’s best friend, and I felt a certain sense of loyalty because I’m friends with Elliot.
Knowing that little factoid about her history of drug use—which Stella can confirm, if she chooses to—will give me an extra bit of veracity. Obviously, with my job and Grace’s, and the family connection through Elliot, I didn’t want to cause a scandal. I was trying to keep things quiet, but I didn’t want to be mean to Grace, or have her causing me trouble with the White House.
I’ve slept maybe an hour total when it’s time to get Elliot up and moving the next morning.
My boy is more observant than I wish he was. “Are you all right, Sir?”
“I’m fine, boy. Long day yesterday, and I didn’t sleep well.Notyour fault,” I quickly add. “I grabbed a coffee late in the evening, and I shouldn’t have. My own fault.”
Again, that’s the truth, although I hate bending the truth for my boy. Even for such a noble purpose as this.
From this point on, we’re moving so fast Elliot doesn’t have time to question me further. I go about my normal workday morning, getting Elliot to the White House and to his morning briefing, before I sit down at my desk.
Elliot’s still in his briefing when Special Agent Stephen Lyman, the head of Elliot’s detail, walks up about fifteen minutes later, followed by two other suit-clad men who I don’t recognize but can guess who they are. “Jordan, can we talk in private for a moment?”
This is actually not unusual, because sometimes we have to discuss campaign security and travel logistics. He always asks me down to the Secret Service office on the ground floor to do that, so we can have privacy, and so I’m not at my “government” desk when we discuss campaign matters.
Itisunusual for him to come get me in person, however.
“Sure.” I grab my work cell and my personal cell, and we head downstairs to the Secret Service office, where the four of us are soon alone in a room.
Stephen Lyman introduces me to the two DCMP detectives, Detectives Hart and Burbeck. “They need to discuss something with you.”
Detective Hart studies me. “Mr. Walsh, can you please tell us your whereabouts last night?”
I feign confusion. “Sure, but can I ask why?”
“After you tell us.”
I look from him to his partner and back again. “What’s going on?”
“Mr. Walsh, please.”
Reluctance, I’m sure, is something they’re used to. “If I do, I don’t want this in the freaking papers. Assure me this is confidential, please? I have a career to think about, and I don’t need to be making any enemies because someone wanted to feed a juicy gossip scoop to a reporter.”
Stephen’s standing there, arms crossed over his chest. “Just tell them, Jordan. It’s confidential, unless there’s a crime.”
Then…I do. “I left the vice president at campaign headquarters, spent some time at Congresswoman Grace Martin’s apartment talking with her, then returned to campaign headquarters to get the vice president before we returned to the residence. What’s going on?”
Detective Burbeck takes notes. “No other stops?”
“I mean yeah, but…” I narrow my gaze. “Why do I feel like I’m being questioned?”
