The senator nodded at Mole Face, and Sean felt the crushing grip on his shoulders, forcing him back into the chair. Sean started to struggle, but the senator shook his head and the man with the mole released his hold.
Through gritted teeth, James said, “I need you to listen to me here. I had nothing to do with your daughter’s death. I had no reason to hurt her. John Chadwick is guilty, and, anyway, your daughter agreed that it didn’t make sense to keep talking to him.”
“Because she thought she needed to protect me?”
Senator James’s eyes narrowed. “No, not to protect you.”
Sean just looked at the man. The way he said the word you suggested Abby was trying to protect someone else.
“I don’t know who Kenny is or what the hell kind of crazy nonsense is going through your head, but your daughter had no intention of wasting her time with John Chadwick’s rumors. And, really, of all your children, is it your daughter you should be worried about right now, Serrat?” Senator James nodded again to the man with the mole. The man tossed a manila folder over Sean’s shoulder and onto the coffee table.
The senator cocked his chin, gesturing for Sean to open the file. Sean waited a few seconds, but his curiosity won out. He leaned forward and slowly opened the folder, which held several photographs. The first was a shot of Ryan under a cone of light from a street lamp. He was on his bicycle at Bethesda–Chevy Chase High School. Sean flipped to the next photo and just stared at it in silence. He knew what crippling despair felt like, but this was something different: crippling defeat.
Senator James leaned forward and tapped his finger on the photograph of a steel bar that appeared to have blood and hair on its end. “Let it go, Serrat. Let it go.”
CHAPTER 60
Sean tried to let it go. Senator James was probably guilty of a lot of things, but Sean confirmed that he was out of town at the time of Abby’s death. Newspapers reported on his visit to St. Louis, complete with photos of James at several events, his henchman with the mole by his side. Had James hired Kenny? Sean had his doubts. If James knew about Japan, Sean didn’t think James would keep that nugget to himself. Kenny couldn’t have killed Abby. There was no evidence he’d been anywhere near the Supreme Court the night of Abby’s murder. And Kenny didn’t fit in with the high court crowd, so he would have been noticed.
But if it wasn’t the senator, his henchman, or Kenny who killed Abby, then who? All roads led back to Malik Montgomery. Beyond the Occam’s Razor logic of it all, the Supreme Court Police, FBI, and the top prosecutors in the country believed they had their man. Sure, questions existed. Who hired Kenny to mess with Sean? And who killed him? Kenny, a violent drug-addled criminal, could have been delusional, or just trying to play him, and his murder may have nothing to do with Abby. Sean doubted that Kenny was the first person ever shot dead in the parking lot of the Marbury Motel. So, after the confrontation with Senator James, Sean resolved to stop playing detective. To let it go.
Emily disagreed. She was sure the senator was involved in Abby’s death somehow. But the pieces didn’t fit and Sean felt they had to try to move forward and let the professionals do their jobs.
Emily still wasn’t ready to talk more about Japan, but she at least wasn’t spending her days in bed. And they’d just made it over the latest hurdle: Mother’s Day. Ryan was a bit trickier. They’d told their son that Sean had delivered the fatal blow to Billy Brice, but Sean didn’t think he believed it.
So here Sean was back at work. He’d just finished up an excruciatingly boring meeting with the general counsels of four chemical companies about petitioning the Supreme Court to review a massive jury verdict against them. He’d told them it was a lost cause, and it wasn’t the answer they’d wanted to hear. After the meeting, he was pleasantly surprised to have a message from Emily. She wanted to meet for lunch at a place in Dupont Circle. An unusual choice, and a bit of a pain since he’d have to cab or Metro it, but of course he’d come.
On his way out of the building, a woman approached him in the lobby.
“Mr. Serrat?” She held out a slender hand.
“Yes,” Sean said. “Can I help you?” Sean’s mind searched for how he might know the woman, but he drew a blank.
“I’m Eleanor Chadwick—John’s mother.” She pushed a strand of gray hair behind her ear.
Sean’s face flushed. He’d avoided several calls and ignored e-mails from this woman.
“Yes, hello. I’m running late for a lunch meeting, but would be happy to talk if you could make an appointment with my—”
“Please, Mr. Serrat.” She clutched his forearm. Sean looked around. Lunchgoers, in groups of two or three, ambled about the lobby. He hesitated, but then gestured for Ms. Chadwick to join him in a small anteroom off the lobby.
Ms. Chadwick had the weary look of someone who had not slept in weeks. No makeup, dark crescents under the eyes. Her clothes and handbag, elegant and refined from a distance, were frayed.