The Labyrinth Campaign (15 page)

“I agree,” Rollins added, “but how do we pry him away from the police without calling attention to ourselves and before he tells them what he knows?”

Both men sat in silence, looking for an answer. “I think I have something,” Rollins finally blurted out. “But we’ve got to move fast.”

“I’m open to anything. What are you thinking?”

“Well, Pendrill has a police contact in the narcotics division, right?”

“Right.”

“What if we get in touch with this contact via Pendrill and have McCarthy detained within police headquarters based on his alleged involvement with a very powerful, Dallas-based narcotics ring? Then before they have a chance to question him, two of our guys, posing as
DEA agents, pick him up for a transfer to their own holding facility. Then we have him.”

“What do we do once we have him?”

“We make him disappear. Then we plant a story in
The Dallas Free Press
regarding McCarthy’s abduction by some of his high-powered drug friends and, well, just another casualty of the Dallas drug wars.”

“That’s going to be highly embarrassing to the Dallas Police Department and complicated for Carlos.”

“Yeah, that crossed my mind,” Rollins continued, “but the stakes are that high. Pendrill will be pissed. But he’ll conclude that potentially compromising his contact in narcotics is ever so much more appealing than McCarthy telling the world the conversation he overheard.”

“Then what?” Will asked, too numb to contribute to the plan.

“We issue a statement from you,” Rollins said in a frustrated tone. “We acknowledge to the world that the campaign made a bad choice. We briefly discuss our screening process prior to entering into any employment agreements but that the process had obviously let this one slip through the cracks. But the clincher will be how shocked and disappointed you are that you could be so naïve. That you befriended a talented young man and were betrayed by him. That this incident has solidified your resolve to fight drugs in a manner not seen from a president in the last thirty years: your increased commitment to making a difference on the war against drugs.”

Rollins was staring at Hawkins, silently urging him to pull it together, to understand that it wasn’t over but that they had to move quickly.

“Do you think it can work?” Will asked in a monotone voice.

“Do you have any better ideas?”

Jack McCarthy and Kate Anson were just pulling on to Central Expressway, heading south toward downtown. They had yet to say a word to each other since getting into the car.

Kate spoke first. “So, Mr. McCarthy, do you have any idea why someone would rig your car with explosives? It’s not exactly a run-of-the-mill response to a simple neighborhood dispute.”

“You can call me Jack.”

“All right, Jack. Do you know why someone would want you dead?”

The tone of her voice indicated that she believed he knew something. This was not the type of incident where you could play dumb and people would believe you. Jack sat in the passenger seat, silently trying to focus on what he should do next. His options were limited. The police were treating him like a suspect. He had nowhere to turn. At that instant, Jack decided to roll the dice and confide in the beautiful homicide detective sitting to his left.

“As a matter of fact, Ms. Anson, I have a real good idea who would want to eliminate me.”

Jack spent the next five minutes summarizing his involvement in the campaign—the innocent way in which he overheard the candidate’s outrageous plan and how he had confided in Steve Bess. Saying Bess’s name sent a sudden chill through him like an electric current.

He blurted out, “We need to call Steve Bess! He was the only other person who knew the story. He is in serious danger.”

“Or,” Kate responded, “he could be on the other side.”

Jack nodded, knowing he’d already thought the same thing. “But if he’s not involved and I don’t warn him …”

Kate handed Jack her cell phone without either of them saying another word. Jack dialed Bess’s home number. It rang endlessly. Jack was about to hang up, wondering why the answering machine hadn’t picked up, when a faint woman’s voice said, “Hello.”

“Jenny?” Jack said questioningly. She didn’t sound like herself.

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Jenny, it’s Jack McCarthy. Is Steve home?”

Jenny Bess began to sob.

“Jenny, what’s wrong? What’s going on there?”

As he was asking these questions, Jack and Kate were staring at each other, knowing something terrible was about to be communicated.

“Steve’s dead, Jack. He had a heart attack at the club this morning. He was gone before the paramedics arrived.”

Jack tried to remain calm. “Oh my God, Jen, what can I do to help?” He was trying to act natural in this surreal situation.

“Nothing right now, Jack. My parents just arrived.”

“Jesus, Jen, I don’t know what to say other than my thoughts and prayers are with you and the kids. I’ll call this afternoon to see if there’s anything I can do.”

Without waiting for her reply, Jack hit the end button on the cell phone, staring at Kate in disbelief. She knew what he was thinking as she turned away from the police station.

Detective Anson parked her department-issued Chevy Impala on the south side of Adair’s, a dive bar and burger joint that predated its hip, Deep Ellum surroundings by nearly thirty years. Jack looked over at the detective questioningly.

“I think we should talk further before we go to the station,” Kate said.

They entered the dingy restaurant from Main Street. It was still relatively early this sunny Saturday morning, but a handful of Adair’s regulars were already drinking beer and playing pool. They grabbed a corner booth and stared at each other, wondering who would start.

Finally Kate broke the silence. “You know, in all my years as a homicide detective, your story is the most outrageous that I have ever heard. But, for some strange reason, I believe you.”

“Well, it’s way too wild to make up,” Jack said, smiling a little. “I can’t believe this is happening. Just a few months ago, I was a regular guy going to work every day, reading about things that happen to other people. Now, this morning, Carrie was murdered by a car bomb meant for me.” Jack bowed his head and began to cry.

After a few minutes Kate touched his arm and said, “I’m very sorry about your girlfriend, Jack. I know it’s not possible to understand how you’re feeling right now, so I won’t even tell you I’m trying. But I do know that if your story is accurate, and I believe it is, we’ve got to do something … quickly.”

“Got any ideas?” Jack asked, trying to regain his composure.

“Yes, here’s what we’re going to do. You and I go to the station. I take your statement as the lead investigator on the case. You profess to have no idea why anyone would want to hurt you. With no evidence to link you to a crime, we’ll have to let you go. That will give me time to reach Frank Lahey who’s the assistant chief of police. He’s also a friend of my father’s; in fact, he’s like a second father to me. He’s hunting this weekend, but he’ll be back late Sunday night.”

Jack watched in amazement as Kate Anson rattled off the plan while barely taking a breath.

“Then, once I hook you up with Uncle Frank, you two can figure out what to do about that sonofabitch Will Hawkins.”

“What about you?” Jack asked.

“I think you’ll need a little more firepower than just another female detective in the homicide department … if you know what I mean,” she said, smiling.

“Why are you doing this?” Jack asked again, not knowing what to think of her or the situation.

“Well, let’s just say I had a bad experience with our illustrious Senator Hawkins that helps me believe your story.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“It’s not important,” she responded. “Let’s just make sure we nail him.”

I
an McKay was strolling down the concourse at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport. The airport was new and clean and had a certain charm about it. As he passed the sculpture claiming Austin as the world’s greatest music city, it made him wish he were here for sightseeing, not old and unpleasant family business. McKay had come to the Texas capital with a plan to ensure he was right up front at the conclusion of Senator Will Hawkins’s upcoming Austin campaign speech, as listed on his campaign website. He needed to be in a position to pass the good senator a note. The note would be simple and to the point:

As McKay exited the airport, he hailed a cab so he could head downtown. He was staying at the Driskill Hotel on Sixth Street. In addition to its millions of dollars in recent renovations, the Driskill was famous for its party location and for a certain governor’s wife’s legendary entrance to a long-past New Year’s Eve Ball. It seems the governor’s wife had started drinking a little early and tripped at the top of the grand staircase
in the lobby, tumbling to the bottom as helpless onlookers waited to see if she was injured or dead. She rose to her feet, straightened her gown, raised her arms above her head, and yelled, “Ta da!” The crowd cheered, and no one even noticed the governor slowly descend the staircase, shaking his head.

Ian McKay arrived at the Driskill around noon. As luck would have it, a room was available for early check-in, and he immediately changed into running clothes so that he could inconspicuously scope the next day’s speech location. Ian walked out of the hotel’s front door, looked left, and began running down Sixth Street, nearly abandoned at this time of day. When he reached Congress, he turned right and was heading straight toward the state capitol. As he closed in on the steps of the capitol, Ian slowed to a walk, taking in the surroundings. The setup for the campaign rally had already begun. He used his reconnaissance experience to anticipate the security plans. It was already clear in his mind where they would place the stage, where the crowd would be located, and, most importantly, where the candidate would greet his well-wishers.

The plan was now complete in McKay’s mind. He would rise early and stay close to the assembly area until the crowd began to form. Once enough people had arrived, he would find a spot right against the temporary fence and wait patiently until the unwitting candidate walked right up to him and shook his hand.

Jack McCarthy and Kate Anson had finished their restaurant conversation and decided it was time to make their appearance at Dallas Police Headquarters. As they entered the station through the main door on Commerce Street, they were intercepted by a large, middle-aged man in a suit that looked like he’d been wearing it for the past year and a half. The man was Brian Hatcher, the head of DPD’s Narcotics division for more than ten years. “We’ll take it from here, Kate.”

Kate Anson was stunned. “What are you talking about, Brian? This is my case, and I’m not even sure why Narcotics would be involved.”

“Well, I guess you didn’t have time to read the paper this morning. Mr. McCarthy here is suspected of and now under investigation for his involvement in a major drug trafficking ring.”

Kate shot a nasty look at Jack, whose mouth hung open with shock and amazement.

Kate quickly recovered. “Brian, regardless of the motive, this is still a murder investigation. The last time I checked, that would be Homicide’s jurisdiction.”

“Well, normally I would agree, Kate. But the high-profile nature of the suspect, coupled with his employer’s very public stance against drugs, has backed the chief into a corner. He wants to find this trafficking ring and dismantle it. Quickly.”

Kate Anson was pissed. Jack McCarthy had used her. He had played her like a fiddle, and that was emotionally devastating because she had opened up to him, which was a very rare occurrence in her personal or professional life. To top it off, the egomaniacs from Narcotics were stealing her case, and it was obvious there was very little she could do about it. So, as both men stared at her, waiting for the inevitable explosion of anger, she instantly decided she would not humor them with the expected response. As she eyed each of the men coldly, she turned on her heel and began to walk away.