Chapter Nineteen
Sam dropped into her chair again, hoping she’d be able to take her own advice as she learned to live with the fact that the man who’d caused her to miscarry would never see justice in this life.
She could only hope, as Malone had said, that the afterlife would dole out the punishment he deserved for his many sins.
Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she placed a call to Nick’s personal cell. He answered on the second ring.
“Hey, babe.”
“Hey. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Um, no. I do have a job to get to, even if it’s the most pointless job I’ve ever had. What’s up?”
They needed to have a conversation about his discontent at work, but not now. Not when there were other things she needed to tell him. “So Sanborn killed himself in jail.”
“What? Are you kidding me?”
“Wish I was.”
“Aw, babe, Jesus. Did you tell Jeannie?”
“Yeah, just now.”
“How’d she take it?”
“She was upset but resolved to not let it set her back. At least I hope she is. I suggested this might be a good time to accept one of the many interview requests she got while there was a gag order in place. That’ll be lifted now that he’s dead.”
“A very good idea. She should get with Christina for some media coaching if she’s going to do that. Chris is the best at preparing people for their TV debut.”
“I’ll pass that on to her.”
“What about you, hon?”
“What about me?”
“You had your own reasons to want to see him go down in flames. Hell, we both had reason to want that.”
“I like to think he’s roasting in the fire pit of hell as we speak. That brings comfort.”
His soft chuckle carried through the phone. “At times like this, I’m so relieved to be on your good side.”
“What can I say? When people I love are hurt, I become a vengeful bitch.”
“And we’re all happy to have you on our side at those times.”
“I want to punch something. But since I can’t do that, I’m going back to work on the case of the moment and focusing on getting justice for Arnold.”
“You can punch me later if that’ll help.”
“Nah. You’re too pretty to punch.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Sam laughed at his befuddled reply. She loved his inability to take a compliment on his extreme good looks.
And since his rise to notoriety as vice president, she’d taken particular pleasure in what other people were saying about her sexy husband.
As long as they contained their admiration to mere words, that is.
Any actions would be met with the business end of her rusty steak knife.
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yes, you will. Call me if you need me.”
“I just did.”
“I’m glad you did. Be careful with my wife today. I can’t live without her.”
“I’d say I’m always careful, but we both know my recent track record isn’t what it could’ve been.”
“Today is a new day and a new chance. Be careful today. We’ll deal with tomorrow later.”
“I can do that. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Fortified by her talk with Nick, Sam got up and left her office. Before she dug in with Cruz on the list of missing people, she needed to find Gonzo and figure out what she was going to do with him and his misguided sense of responsibility for Arnold’s death.
Jeannie’s fiancé Michael worked in the financial services sector in a building across the street from the World Bank on H Street Northwest, blocks from the White House.
As she drove there, she noticed preparations under way for tomorrow’s inauguration and decided to focus on that rather than the news she’d just received.
Metal barricades lined the sidewalks on Pennsylvania Avenue, where the parade would travel from the Capitol to the White House after the ceremony.
By morning, the avenue would be stripped of trash containers, streetlights, mailboxes and private vehicles.
Along the parade route, businesses and apartments had been swept, manhole covers had been welded shut and additional surveillance cameras installed that would be monitored throughout the day by local and federal law enforcement officers.
The MPD’s Special Operations Division was in charge of the department’s role in the event that was expected to bring between eight hundred thousand and one million people to the city for the day.
Jeannie had heard that number could be lower due to Nelson’s unpopularity.
However, the popularity of the vice president and his wife had many officials expecting the higher end of the spectrum.
Judging by the crowds of people she had to avoid at every intersection, many of them were already here.
Police and other agencies needed to be ready for anything from happy, celebrating crowds to violent protestors who would take advantage of the festive atmosphere to advance their own agendas.
They’d seen everything over the years and prepared for all possibilities in the year leading up to inauguration day.
Representatives from nearly one hundred law enforcement agencies from around the country would be bringing nearly two-thousand extra officers to help supplement the local police department’s efforts as well as the federal agencies involved in providing security.
Because the inauguration was considered a National Security Special Event, the Secret Service was in charge.
Every aspect of the event was closely managed, with buses requiring advance permits to enter the city, and the restricted National Defense Airspace over the city widened for the day by the FAA.
The D.C. National Guard was bringing in more than seven thousand fellow soldiers to help provide military ground security.
Communication networks had been established, social media was being employed to provide up-to-date information to those planning to attend, tickets had been issued to the “lucky” two hundred fifty thousand people who’d be the closest to the actual inauguration ceremony.
Jeannie thought they were crazy to want to be there when they could watch it at home far more comfortably.
If she and the rest of the nearly four thousand members of the MPD weren’t required to work twelve-hour shifts on inauguration day, she’d be home watching it on TV in her pajamas.
But she’d be on duty alongside the rest of her brothers and sisters in blue, except of course for her lieutenant, who’d be with her husband the vice president, holding the Bible as he took the oath of office. How exciting for both of them.
Jeannie tried to stay focused solely on the plans for tomorrow, but the memories of the horrific day she’d spent as Sanborn’s captive pushed through despite her desperate desire to forget.
The yellow room, the bindings that held her to the bed while he cut off her clothing, the repeated, painful sexual assaults, the threats he’d made against her, Sam and others in the department who were pursuing the call-girl murders, the aftermath of the assault, the excruciating physical examination, finally telling Michael what’d happened and struggling to get back to the life she’d known before Sanborn changed it forever.
And now he was gone forever, taking the easy way out and avoiding the trial that would bring his many crimes to light once again.
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter if he never stood trial.
The whole world knew what he’d done to her.
Her attack and the murders of the immigrant women who’d been lured into his sordid web would forever be tied to his name, which had once stood for leadership and vision within the Democratic Party.
She parked in an underground garage and took the elevator to Michael’s office. This would be the first time she’d ever come here in the middle of a workday and she hoped he wouldn’t mind the interruption.
At the reception desk, she gave her name and asked to see Michael Wilkinson.
“Please have a seat while I check to see if he’s available.”
Every nerve in her body was on full alert as she took a seat and hoped she wasn’t getting him from something important.
He’d tell her nothing was more important than her, but his work was important, too.
About a minute after the receptionist made the call, he came bursting through the glass double doors that separated reception from the offices within.
At six-foot-six inches, he cut an imposing figure in the suit that had been made for him.
“Jeannie, baby, what’re you doing here?” His concern was immediately comforting. “What’s wrong?”
“Could we talk for a minute?” She glanced at the receptionist. “In private?”
“Of course.” He took her hand and held the door to the inner sanctum open for her to pass through ahead of him.
They walked down a long corridor full of offices and inquiring eyes before he guided her into his and shut the door behind them.
Then he closed the blinds, sealing them off from the rest of the office. “What is it, baby?”
Jeannie threw herself into his arms.
He wrapped them around her. “You’re scaring me.”
“Sanborn’s dead.”
Michael pulled back, only enough so he could see her face. “He’s what?”
“Dead. He killed himself in jail.”
His face went slack with shock and fury. “Oh my God.” He took a closer look at her. “You’ve been crying.” Sliding his thumbs over her cheeks, he said, “That makes me furious. He’s hurt you enough. How dare he do this to you?”
“I was so ready to testify. And now I won’t get to.”
He wiped away more tears.
“Sam says I should do one of the interviews so I can tell my story and make sure people know the truth of what he did.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I think I’m going to do it. Why should he get to take those secrets to the grave with him?”
“Why should he indeed, but are you sure you want to talk about it again? You’ve been doing so well. I’d hate to see you back where you were last year.”
“I would’ve had to talk about it in court, so what’s the difference? At least I won’t have to be cross-examined if I do an interview.”
“That’s true.”
“Would you do it with me? The interview, I mean?”