When No One Is Watching (4 page)

“Come with me, sir,” Wilson instructed, grabbing Danny by the elbow and guiding him toward the squad car.

Slazak shook his head and cursed to himself as he watched Danny Moran stagger to the squad alongside the lanky patrolman. He took a deep breath and turned back toward the Porsche, trying hard to control his emotions so that he could focus on doing his job. He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and leaned back into the car. Drops of water glistened on the headrest and the driver’s seat. The crime scene investigators would scold him for contaminating the scene, but he didn’t care. It was a crude but effective way of awakening a drunk driver to question him before he had time to concoct a story or call a lawyer.

In the midst of the shards of glass scattered across the floor, a shiny metallic object reflected the flashlight’s beam—a cell phone. Slazak carefully picked it up with a handkerchief and checked the call log. One call had been placed to 911 thirty minutes earlier; other than that, no calls had been made or received all evening. He placed the phone into a plastic bag. He would turn it over to the evidence boys if they ever showed up. He continued scanning the interior of the vehicle with his flashlight. As the narrow beam passed over the passenger seat, he brought it to an abrupt halt, training the flashlight on a dark substance spattered across the fine leather, glistening in the beam of light. He couldn’t discern the color against the dark leather, so he delicately dabbed the area with the corner of a handkerchief, then held the white cloth in front of the flashlight. The bright crimson stain was unmistakable—it was blood. Wet blood.

CHAPTER 4
K
imberly Van Howe awoke to the sound of running water in her bathroom. Her bedside reading lamp was on, and her paperback novel was still in her hands. The clock on her nightstand read 1:25.

 

She walked unsteadily into the bathroom, wearing nothing but one of Blair’s oversizedT-shirts. Her eyes were still half-closed as she snuggled up to her husband from behind, wrapping her arms around him while he washed his hands at the sink.

“Hello, Congressman,” she purred softly.

Blair recoiled at her touch and said nothing, but continued running water over his hands. Kimberly stood back to look at him in the mirror. She gasped as she saw the blood spattered across the sink and swirling down the drain.

“My God, Blair! What happened?”

Blair pulled his hand from the running water and held it up. Blood oozed from a large gash in his right index finger. “I was in an accident,” he responded in a shaky voice.

Kimberly grabbed a hand towel and wrapped it around the bloody finger. “Are you hurt? Anywhere else, I mean?” She stepped back and surveyed her husband from head to foot. He was pale and obviously shaken.

“No, I’m not hurt, but the accident—it’s bad. I think the other guy is really hurt … I took off … I called 911 and then I ran home … I left Danny there.”

“Slow down, Blair, you’re not making sense,” Kimberly said, her face turning as pale as her husband’s. She guided him toward their bed, and he sat down. “Now tell me exactly what happened,” she instructed him. Her voice was firm and steady, but alarm and dread were evident in her eyes.

Blair stared at the floor, gripping his towel-wrapped finger tightly. “I was driving Danny’s Porsche. When we left the restaurant, Danny was loaded, so I drove. When we got near Danny’s house, I took a turn too fast. It was late, the streets were empty, and I didn’t expect to see any other cars. But when I made the turn onto Hamilton, there was another car coming right at me. He swerved and missed me, but he smashed head-on into a tree. I got out of the car and went to check on him, and he was hurt—bad, I think.”

“Then what happened?” Kimberly asked.

Blair stood up and began pacing, unable to look at his wife. “I couldn’t get him out. He was wedged in. And then …” He looked up at his wife for just an instant, then looked down again. “I just panicked. I thought about the campaign, what this means to you, what it means to your father, and I just panicked.”

“Blair, what did you do?” Kimberly demanded, her tone becoming sharp.

Blair stopped his pacing and hung his head. “I moved Danny into the driver’s seat. He was passed out. Then I called 911 on his cell phone. And then I left.”

Kimberly stared at her husband in stunned silence for a long moment. Then she exploded. “Jesus Christ, Blair, what were you thinking? This could ruin everything! This election is our big chance. We’ve both wanted this for so long. Now it could all blow up in a big, messy scandal! Shit! I can’t believe this!”

Blair avoided his wife’s glare. He walked back into the bathroom and found some gauze in the medicine cabinet and wrapped it tightly around his finger with white medical tape. He looked at himself in the mirror, then stared down at the sink. “I need to go back there. I need to straighten this out,” he said quietly, more to himself than to his wife.

“Like hell you do!” Kimberly shouted. “What’s done is done! That would only make it worse. We better call my father.”

Blair continued staring at the sink for a long moment. “I guess we should,” he said reluctantly. He hated the idea of having to break this news to Kimberly’s father, Sam McIntire, but he could think of no one better equipped to deal with a situation like this.

Sam McIntire was a legend on the Chicago political scene. He had held a variety of public offices over the past thirty years, including State’s Attorney, Comptroller for the State of Illinois, Cook County Assessor, and Chairman of the Democratic Party at both the city and state levels. The title on his business card at any particular point in time was almost irrelevant, however. Simply put, he was the consummate powerbroker, one of the most influential Chicago politicians of his generation. He had all the right connections and knew how to work the system. He had launched and guided the careers of mayors, senators and governors. Those who were unwise enough to cross him invariably watched their careers and political fortunes abruptly falter or slowly slide into oblivion.

As a young politician, McIntire had set his sights on the big prize: the governor’s mansion. Unfortunately, the talents that served him so well—backroom deals, arm-twisting, coercion, and his reputation as a “fixer”—were considered baggage by the party leaders, too much dirty laundry for a candidate seeking such a high-profile public office. So he had to satisfy himself with his role as a master behind-the-scenes powerbroker, someone who could make things happen and fix what needed fixing when the guys in higher offices were afraid to get their hands dirty.

Within twenty minutes of his daughter’s phone call, McIntire burst through the back door of the Van Howe house without knocking, ready to take charge. At sixty years old, he was still an imposing figure, standing nearly six feet six inches tall and pushing 300 pounds. Despite his girth, he moved quickly and had an aura of energy and intensity around him. He instinctively pulled down the shades in the kitchen. “Let’s talk in here,” he ordered in a voice that left no room for argument. They gathered around the kitchen table. McIntire inserted a fat cigar between his lips, but didn’t light it.

“Okay, Blair, Kimberly gave me the short version on the phone: you got into an accident, the other guy might be hurt pretty bad, and you left the scene. Now give me the whole story. Every detail.”

Sam listened intently as Blair recounted the evening’s events in considerably more detail than he had shared with Kimberly. When he mentioned the little girl in the backseat, Kimberly exploded again. “Jesus, Blair, you didn’t tell me someone saw you there! What a disaster!”

Sam remained unfazed. “Tell me about the girl,” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“She was young, probably seven or eight years old,” Blair replied. “I think she might be mentally disabled. She didn’t look normal.”

“Did you say anything to her?” Sam asked.

“Not much. I asked if she was hurt. She didn’t really answer, but she looked okay. She just said, ‘Help my daddy,’ or something like that, and then I told her I was going for help.” Blair paused and drew a deep breath. “But she wasn’t the only person who saw me. When I approached the car, the driver opened his eyes, just for a few seconds, and asked me to help him.”

“The driver saw you?” Kimberly looked horrified.

Blair looked down and nodded. “Yeah, and I recognized him. He’s new in the neighborhood. We met him and his wife at that block party over on Leavitt Street a few weeks ago. They live next door to the Olsons, I think. I can’t remember their name.”

“McGrath?” Kimberly asked.

“Yeah, I think that’s it. Anyway, he looked right at me when he asked for help.”

“Then what happened?” Sam asked.

“Then I ran back to Danny’s car and tried to wake him up, but he was still passed out. I thought about what a disaster this would be for the campaign … and I just panicked. I moved Danny into the driver’s seat, then I called 911 on his cell phone and took off.” Blair looked from his father-in-law to his wife through watery eyes, then hung his head. “I’m so sorry,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You should be!” Kimberly screamed through tears of rage. “Everything we’ve dreamed about and worked for— we’re so close—and now you may have ruined it all! How could you, Blair?”

Her father shot her a stern glance and held up a beefy hand in a gesture for silence. This was a time for cool calculation, not recrimination. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his massive chest. “Well, here’s how I see it,” he said. “We can’t change what happened. Those are the cards we’ve been dealt, and we need to play them as best we can. The fact is, you may not be implicated at all, Blair. The police will find Danny in the driver’s seat, seriously drunk, and they’ll draw the obvious conclusion: Danny passed out at the wheel and caused the accident. There’s no reason for them to think anything else, so they probably won’t even investigate. That was actually some pretty quick thinking on your part, and it may just save your ass.”

“But I can’t do that to Danny,” Blair protested. “After everything he’s done for me, I can’t lay this off on him.”

“You already have, Blair,” Sam said coldly. “You made that decision at the accident site, and now you have to live with it. Hell, look at it this way. If he hadn’t gotten drunk, this never would have happened. Don’t risk destroying your career over this. Think of all the good you can do for so many people if you win this election.”

“But what about Danny? This could ruin him!”

Sam stared thoughtfully at his son-in-law, tapping his unlit cigar on the kitchen table. “Leave that to me. I may be able to pull a few strings to keep the damage to a minimum.” Sam stood up and began pacing. “So, here’s the play, Blair. If anyone asks, you took a cab home. You were never at the accident scene, and you know nothing about it.”

“What if the little girl remembers seeing me there?”

Sam winced and tried hard to conceal his frustration. “Chances are, it won’t even occur to her to mention it,” Sam replied coolly. “If she does, people will think she’s just confused. She’s seven years old, probably in shock, and maybe retarded. Who will believe her? You were never there—got it?”

“Damn! I just thought of something else,” Blair said, closing his eyes and looking as if the thought were causing him physical pain. “The valet at the hotel— he saw me get into Danny’s car. He handed me the keys.”

“Does he know you?” Sam asked, growing irritation evident in his voice.

“No, I’ve never seen him before,” Blair replied.

“What did he look like?” Sam asked.

“Short and slight, Hispanic, young. Twenty, maybe.”

“Probably nothing to worry about,” Sam said confidently. “The police aren’t likely to talk to him. Why would they? Anyway, he probably deals with dozens of people every night and wouldn’t have any reason to remember you.”

Blair looked defeated and utterly dejected. He knew he’d made horrible decisions earlier that night and was overcome with remorse and self-loathing. Yet Sam’s words had some validity. He couldn’t undo what had been done or dwell on those poor decisions; he needed to move on. He honestly believed that he could do tremendous good as a United States congressman, and there was something to be said for considering the greater good. And he had his family to think about. Both Kimberly and Sam wanted this as much as he did, maybe more, if that were possible. He would trust in Sam’s judgment and heed his advice. No one knew more about these kinds of things than Sam McIntire.

“Okay, Sam, I’ll do it your way,” Blair said with quiet resignation, staring at the blood-soaked bandage on his finger.

Sam nodded slowly. “It’s your only choice, Blair. No matter what happens next, you just need to act as if you know nothing about all this. You took a cab home by yourself. It’s as simple as that.”

Blair looked down at the kitchen table for a long moment. “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“What if the driver survives? He could put me at the scene.”

Sam eyed him coldly. “Well then, let’s just hope he doesn’t.”

CHAPTER 5

Early Sunday morning

T
he temperature was mild, but Blair Van Howe shivered at the thought of facing his best friend.
Act like you were never there.
That’s what Sam had advised. And Blair knew he was nothing if not a great actor. It’s what he did best. Yes, he was smart, and certainly a capable lawyer, but he was not possessed of a brilliant legal mind, and he knew it. He wasn’t a deep thinker or a masterful strategist, like Danny. But he was a gifted communicator. The ability to speak—articulately, eloquently, and persuasively—came naturally to him. So did acting, and those two talents coalesced perfectly in the courtroom. It was his stage, and he had pulled off many a masterful performance there. With a jury as his audience, he was absolutely convincing playing whatever role the situation demanded. Sometimes it required anger or righteous indignation, sometimes humility and sincerity. Some situations called for him to be the brash showman; other circumstances called for humble, folksy charm. Blair delighted in the challenge of immersing himself in a role and leading his audience exactly where he wanted them to go. But not this role, and not with Danny Moran as the audience.