They said their good-byes, and Sean and Ryan were making their way toward the street when a voice called out to them.
Sean turned and saw Justice Carr heading their way. He had a confident gait for a man with a noticeable limp, and Sean was reminded of seeing Carr during the Senate confirmation process. The media had loved Carr. Beyond his good looks, he was one of those rare brain-and-brawn guys. There was endless footage of him making the courtesy rounds with the senators; scenes of the young, vibrant Carr walking the halls of the Hart Senate Building, his limp ever the reminder of his glory days with the Fighting Irish. The YouTube clip of the tackle that ended his football career had more than a million hits. The only criticism he’d faced during the entire confirmation process was a senator’s quip that Carr’s limp seemed to grow more prominent as the date of the confirmation hearing drew closer.
Sean knew what was next: more awkward condolences. They always seemed to bring Ryan down rather than help. “Why don’t you wait here, buddy. I’ll be just a minute.”
Sean approached the justice on the plaza and they shook hands.
“I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your daughter.”
“That’s very kind, and I appreciate it.”
“She was an amazing young woman.”
Sean lapsed into silence. Next to the well-meaning but misguided comments (“she’s in a better place,” “at least you have other children,” “time heals all wounds,” and other such nonsense), what bothered him the most was the deification of Abby, particularly from people who didn’t have the foggiest idea who she really was. On the very day they’d discovered Abby’s body, Sean had met Justice Carr for the first time at the Georgetown event. Sean had mentioned that Abby had met Carr, but the justice had no recollection of her. Yet now, Carr thought she was “amazing.” Why do people feel the need to say these things?
“I trust you’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do?” Carr continued.
Sean just nodded and walked away.
CHAPTER 36
Abby’s apartment was only a few blocks from the bustle of the Capitol, Senate buildings, and Supreme Court, but on a weekday morning it was as tranquil as the burbs. The denizens of the Hill rose early and left behind only the sound of the old trees rattling in the morning breeze. Sean and Ryan plodded down the stairwell to Abby’s basement apartment.
The crime scene tape was gone from the door. Sean pushed it open and a pile of mail fanned across the hardwood. Neither he nor Emily had notified Abby’s credit card companies, utilities, Internet, or phone providers of her death. Her lease was paid up until summer, so there was no rush to empty the apartment. Agents had already searched the place, yet here he was. The desperation was not lost on him.
“Okay, I’ll check out her room and you search in here,” he said to Ryan. “If you find any of her notebooks, please come get me before you touch anything.”
Ryan nodded and Sean walked the narrow hall to Abby’s room. Inside, there were stuffed animals from when she was a girl and photos of her family taped on a mirror above the dresser. There was one shot of Ryan playing his guitar and another of Jack making one of his famous funny faces. One of Emily bundled up in a hat and scarf, cheeks rosy, on the grounds of the Homestead resort, and another of Sean on Nauset Beach. A chill traveled through him at the sight of their last sunrise escape.
Sean shook it off. He would not let emotions get the better of him. He was there to find Abby’s notes. It was a loose thread that needed to be fixed, and he wanted to feel like he was doing something. He searched her small desk, the dresser, and closet. He looked in the wicker baskets under the bed, inside the laundry basket, and even scrunched the stuffed animals to see if there was anything hidden inside. He found nothing.
Before leaving the room, he eyed a political poster pinned to her wall, VOTE “NO” ON PROP 9. Despite growing up in D.C., seeing the foibles of elected officials—and having Sean as her father—Abby had never turned cynical about politics or politicians. He was reminded of the last time she’d called him on his own cynicism.
*
“You always say people deserve a second chance, so why not him?”
Sean rolled his eyes. A politician caught having an affair with an intern did not deserve a second chance.
“What if his wife was a horrible person?” Abby argued. “What if he’d found his soul mate?”
“You believe in soul mates?”
Abby looked at Sean and then over to Emily, who was on the couch reading a book. “Of course I do.” She turned back to her argument: “You just wouldn’t give him a second chance because he’s a politician. Why do you hate them so much?”
“I don’t hate them that much.”
“No? Name anyone you hate more than politicians.”
Sean thought about this one. “Child molesters,” he said. Then, with a tiny smile, “And radio disc jockeys.”