Chapter 43
CHAPTER 43
B urton Pearce?
The president’s chief of staff?
He’s not calling from the White House number.
I can’t imagine what this could be about—unless it has something to do with our investigation into Cole Wright?
I mute the phone. “It’s Burton fucking Pearce!”
“On the level?” asks Garrett.
“Not some prank?”
A message pops up—Burton Pearce requesting a video call.
We don’t really have a choice; we have to accept the call.
Garrett nods, and I click on the video function.
Two panels appear on the screen.
Garrett and I are on the right.
On the left, sure as shit, is Burton Pearce, the Gray Ghost himself.
He’s sitting in an office chair with a bookcase in the background.
Could be at the White House.
Could be at his house.
Could be anywhere.
“Hello, Mr. Pearce. I’m Garrett Wilson.”
“Pleasure to meet you both,” says Pearce in a low-key, disarming voice.
Kind of friendly. Not the total hard-ass portrayed in the news.
He pauses, squints at the screen.
“Are you okay, Mr. Wilson? You look like you went a few rounds in the ring.”
“Fell in the driveway,” says Garrett.
“Sorry to hear that,” says Pearce.
“Okay. It’s late. I’ll get right to the point. I understand that you two are running down some old stories about the First Gentleman and that you’re planning to write a book about your findings.”
“How would you know about our book?”
“You’ve made no secret of it to your interview subjects. I’m concerned about the facts you’re finding.”
I chime in.
“Facts are all we’re after, sir.”
“Good,” says Pearce with a smile.
“Glad to hear it. That’s where I can help you.”
“Help us?” says Garrett.
Pearce leans forward.
His close-shaved, balding head practically fills the frame.
“Ever since his days at Dartmouth, Cole Wright has been the victim of false rumors. I know. I was there with him.”
“ Lived with him,” I add.
“And with Madeline Parson, the future president, correct?”
“That’s right. And I saw it firsthand. Dartmouth hadn’t been much of a football power until Cole showed up. And I think it’s fair to say that the team’s winning record during his years there was largely due to his efforts.”
“He was a star player,” says Garrett.
“No argument there.”
“Right,” says Pearce.
“And stars generate heat. And heat generates jealousy. I’m sure there were a lot of players, and maybe even some coaches, who felt overshadowed, felt like Cole was hogging the spotlight. And now that he’s in a position close to power, those people might exploit those old jealousies to serve what they believe is a bigger purpose.”
I lean toward the screen.
“Bigger purpose? What bigger purpose?”
Pearce stares directly into the camera.
“The purpose of embarrassing the First Family and crippling the president’s administration.”
“A conspiracy?” asks Garrett.
“Yes. A conspiracy, and people are leading you two around by your noses. Look, we all understand that there’s a large slice of the American public that just can’t stomach having a woman in the Oval Office. And that includes a lot of politicians, lobbyists, and corporations. Go after the president’s husband and you hurt the president, maybe deny her a second term, maybe even get her to quit altogether.”
“So, in your opinion,” says Garrett, “these stories about the First Gentleman are just rumors being spread by political enemies of the president?”
“Absolutely,” Pearce insists.
“You think Cole Wright’s life wasn’t examined, rehashed, and deep-checked back when California governor Maddy Wright was preparing to run for president? You don’t think party leaders and donors and PACs made sure Cole Wright was clean before they threw us their money and support? I’m telling you, I’ve seen everything. Cole Wright may have ruffled some feathers in Hanover and Boston. I know he had a temper then. He was young and cocky. I’m sure there are some comments and incidents he’d like to take back. But nothing like the charges you’re looking into. That’s all made-up stuff, meant to hurt the president and derail her agenda.”
“If you’re right,” says Garrett, “that’s a very big story.”
I decide to go for the jugular.
“Sir, what can you tell us about Suzanne Bonanno?”
Pearce’s smile gets a bit tighter.
“I can tell you that she and Cole Wright were in a relationship, against team policy, and that she disappeared shortly before Cole was released from the Patriots due to a knee injury. Cole was questioned by the police at the time and cleared of any involvement.”
I push a little harder.
“Have you ever talked with the First Gentleman about Suzanne?”
“Why would I? The matter is closed. That was seventeen years ago.”
“Right,” says Garrett.
“Except that it’s not closed. Suzanne Bonanno is still missing.”
“Unfortunately,” says Pearce, “a lot of disappearances are never solved. You know that as well as I do. It has nothing to do with Cole Wright.”
For a second, I think about bringing up Amber Keenan’s murder, but I realize that won’t get us anywhere with Pearce.
Besides, I’m really curious to hear what he’s up to with this call.
“Here’s what you need to understand,” says Pearce.
“I can’t stop you from chasing rumors, even though you’re wasting your time.”
“And if we find out that the rumors are true?”
“All I’m asking is that you give me a chance to comment on or rebut anything you find.”
Time for me to speak up again.
“We need something in return.”
“Such as?”
“If your conspiracy theory turns out to be true, we want an exclusive one-on-one with the president and the First Gentleman and access to your investigation. Before the Post . Before the Times . Before CNN. Before anybody.”
Pearce chuckles.
“Where’d you go to law school, Ms. Cooke?”
“Columbia, sir.”
“They taught you well. We have a deal.”
“All right, then, Mr. Pearce,” says Garrett.
“Have a good night.”
Pearce leans in close to the camera.
“Mr. Wilson?”
“Sir?”
“I’d try a warm compress if I were you.” The screen goes black.
Garrett and I just stare at each other until he finally asks, “Did we just get bamboozled by the second-most-powerful person in the country?”
“No. I think we just found out how close we are to hitting a nerve.”