on stage at a rally or fundraiser. ‘You can do this. You’re going to be the next senator from the great state of California.’ All bullshit, but necessary.
Soon Doran was beckoning Leo to come forward and look over his shoulder when the data came in, the charts and spreadsheets filled with numbers gathered by pollsters crawling over every corner of California. Doran taught Leo to look first for Ventura County, specifically the 26th Congressional District. ‘That’s a toss-up seat, Leo. If you’re ahead there, you’re ahead.’
As for TV spots, Doran was the master. There was no one with a better grasp of the visual campaign. What looked right, what looked wrong. No detail escaped him. To this day, more than nine years later, Leo could not look at a TV ad for anything – from soda pop to Depends undergarments – without seeing it through the eyes of his former mentor. When they last met for a drink, after running into each other during a straw poll event in Bakersfield four months ago, he had sat back and listened, astonished to discover that Bill Doran’s supply of political wisdom was still not exhausted. The man himself, however … well, that was a different story.
Leo buckled up. The boss was next to him, still on a call to a radio station in Oakland. ‘I agree, Trisha. That’s one reason why I’m running. I want to be able to look every Californian in the eye and …’
Leo made a mental note. Save the ‘every Californian in the eye’ for the tax pledge. Don’t waste it on other stuff, blurs the message.
He gazed out of the window, the candidate having been placed in the aisle: ‘No point flying commercial if people don’t see you flying commercial.’ Leo thought about the Mail Room last night, enjoying the images his memory reflexively served up for his perusal. He caught himself as he realized it was not Jade or her long neck and backless dress that he was picturing but the maddening, repeatedly insulting Maddy Webb. His reflection in the porthole told him he was smiling.
‘Trisha, I’m glad you asked me that. I know in my own area …’
Good. Berger was learning. Leo had told him: fight the habit of the last years and stop mentioning Los Angeles by name. It only turns off voters upstate. Downstate too, for that matter. Anywhere but LA, in fact.
He could see the mayor was on his last question. Quick check of the phone before take-off. He scrolled through his messages. One from an old friend.
Just heard. Can’t believe it.
Just heard what? He couldn’t stand it when people played enigmatic. Total power trip, lording over you the fact they had caught some nugget of knowledge that you lacked. He would not succumb. He would not send the words his pal wanted to hear: ‘Can’t believe what?’
It was bound to be about the food export story. There were new figures showing Californians were exporting so many of their staples – oranges, strawberries and avocados among others – they were running short themselves. He checked his watch. Yep, this was about the time the numbers were due for release.
But he checked Weibo to be sure. He scrolled through, but stopped short.
Tragic news about @maddywebbnews’s sister. Thoughts and prayers are with her family.
And then:
What a senseless waste of precious life. Hearts go out to @maddywebbnews #tragedy
That came with a link to an LA Times story:
Abigail Webb, 22, an elementary school teacher from North Hollywood, was found dead early Monday in what police now believe was a likely homicide. An LAPD spokesperson would give few details, but sources indicate the cause of death was a heroin overdose. Despite an initial examination of the dead woman’s apartment which could find no confirmed signs of forced entry, detectives say a later probe of the scene found damage suggesting a break-in. Ms Webb is the younger sister of the award-winning LA Times reporter, Madison Webb.
Leo read the words several times over, believing it less and less each time. He and Madison had been together for just short of a year, but he had seen Abigail at least a dozen times. She was the first member of her family Madison had let him meet. He liked her: she had all the fizzing energy of Madison and none of the taidu, the attitude. Perhaps a bit too wide-eyed for his tastes, but her enthusiasm was contagious. He and Maddy had been to see a show at the Hollywood Bowl on a double date with Abigail and a short-lived boyfriend, dropped soon afterwards. But once those two were up and dancing, Maddy and even Leo – usually too shy and world-weary for such things – had felt compelled to follow.
Now he thought about it, Madison was different around Abigail. The cynicism receded; she was gentle. She smiled more. In their moments together, the older looking out for the younger, he realized he had caught a glimpse of the mother Maddy might one day be – a thought which he had never articulated at the time and whose tenderness shocked him.
He read the weibs again. He was scrolling further down, as if he might see a message voiding the others, announcing a mistake. He kept scrolling.
‘Leo, you better shut that down. Take-off.’
He said nothing, but turned off the phone all the same and stared right ahead.
They were fully airborne, the plane straightened, before the mayor spoke. ‘You mind telling me what this is about? You look like shit.’ Getting no answer, he pushed on. ‘You’ve seen some numbers and you don’t know how to break it to me, is that it? This that Santa Ana focus group? I’m not worried. Wait till we’re on the air in—’
‘It’s nothing to do with the campaign.’
‘You don’t care about anything but the campaign, so tell me: what’s the problem?’
Leo turned his face to look at his boss for the first time. ‘There’s been a murder. Woman, early twenties, found dead in her apartment in North Hollywood. Suspected heroin overdose.’
Berger hesitated, letting his eye linger, as if he were assessing a job applicant rather than his most trusted advisor. ‘OK.’
‘We need to get out ahead of this one, Mr Mayor. We have to make sure that this is investigated with the utmost thoroughness.’ His own voice sounded strange to him, too formal.
‘We always do that, Leo.’
He tried to steady himself, took a sip from the water glass on the tray in front of him, which appeared to have arrived by magic: he had no memory of anyone giving it to him. He told himself to get a grip. Focus.
‘LAPD are only calling it a “likely” homicide. Which means they’ve got some doubts. But the victim’s sister’s a journalist. She’s going to be demanding answers. High-profile, award-winner, big following on Weibo. That means this case is going to be noticed. People are going to be watching the Department, the DA, to see how they handle it.’
‘Sure.’
‘And they’ll be watching you. You don’t want to be going into the summer with a big, unsolved murder on the books.’
‘So what’s your advice?’
‘I think that when we land your first call should be to the Chief of Police, ensure this case is a priority.’
‘As soon as we land, huh? That urgent.’
