girls were outside with their grandparents, splashing in the pool, resilient as only the very young could be. He watched them for a few minutes through the glass doors, a faint smile lifting the corners of his mouth. His daughters were his raison d’etre, even more than the political career to which he devoted so much of his time and energy. It did his aching heart good to see them enjoying themselves, to see that they could escape the grief that had haunted their lives, even for a little while.
Then he went to dress for his meeting with Karen Sweeney, well aware that the press would be there, and would demand an answer to the stupidest question in the world: “How do you feel, Senator?”
He shook his head again, feeling as if cobwebs clung to his brain, and dressed for television because he was going to be on television whether he wanted to or not.
So he wore dark slacks and a dark shirt. He took a few minutes to shave, but he would be damned if he’d put on a suit. They were just going to have to take him as he was.
Karen Sweeney awaited him inside the house. The criminologists were still working the scene, although their number had shrunk considerably since the early hours. Now they were down to Millie and her team, working the two rooms they were sure had been invaded, leaving no dust ball unturned. Millie’s thoroughness was famous, though there weren’t many dust balls. Apparently Abby’s thoroughness had been famous, as well.
“How’s it going, Millie?”
The taller woman straightened and rubbed her lower back. A grimace creased her features. She was in the senator’s home office, checking out the carpet. “I think we’ll be done in a couple of hours.”
“Find anything that sticks out?”
“Well, I’ve got enough latents to start my own fingerprint bureau. God knows how many people go through this house on a given day. The file cabinets were jimmied with a crowbar, though. It’s like somebody tried to pick the locks, gave up in frustration or because of time, and just laid into them with a metal bar. The senator needs better cabinets.”
“I got the impression that the stuff here is mostly copies of things for his personal use. He probably isn’t worried about anyone getting into it. He said there was nothing important there.”
“Somebody sure had a different opinion.” Millie sighed and pulled off her rubber gloves. “I’m going out for a smoke. If any of my team start looking for me, they can find me out front.”
“Okay.”
Left alone in the senator’s office, Karen walked around, taking in more detail than she had that morning. A stereo and TV were hidden in an armoire on one wall. Putting on gloves, she opened it all the way and looked inside.
Apparently the senator enjoyed thrillers. He had a stack of DVD movies, among them All the President’s Men, a film about the two Washington Post reporters who’d exposed the Watergate cover-up. Interesting choice for a man well on his way to the White House.
He also had a copy of The Contender, a movie about all the ugly maneuvering around the nomination and confirmation of a woman for the vice presidency.
Cautionary tales, perhaps?
His choice in music was eclectic, from Jimmy Buffett to Beethoven. She almost smiled at that. Her own tastes were also eclectic, a little of this and a little of that.
“Karen?” called a voice from the front of the house.
“Yes?”
“The senator’s here.”
“Let him in. I’m coming.”
She met Grant Lawrence in the foyer. The first thing she noticed was how grave he looked. How somber. But also how well controlled.
He shook her hand. “Please thank the officer out front for me,” he said. “He kept the press at shouting distance.”
She half smiled. “I wish he could keep them in Timbuktu, but I don’t have the authority for that, so we’ll settle for shouting distance.”
He responded with a faint smile of his own.
“Do you just need to go to your children’s rooms?”
“Well, I could use some of my own clothes, if that’s okay. And I’ve got a couple of spare suitcases in my closet to put things in.”
“That’s okay. I’ll go with you, if you don’t mind.”
It was not a request, and she saw that he realized that. He nodded. “Any idea when I get my house back?”
“Criminology has to release it. It might be a few days.”
They began ascending the stairs together.
“It’s not,” he said, “that I’m eager to come back here. In fact, I’d rather not live here ever again. But my daughters…they’re going to need the stability. So I guess I have to come back, at least for a while.”
She reached in her pocket and handed him the business card of a cleaning service. “These people will get rid of the mess.”
He paused on a step and looked down at the card. “Thanks. You know, it never would have occurred to me that this kind of business exists.”
“It’s an ugly world.”
He didn’t answer, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye. His face had become stony, as if he was fighting some terrible internal battle. Then he shook his head and tucked the business card in his slacks pocket.
They went first to his bedroom, to get the suitcases. She stood diffidently to one side as he pulled them out and threw a few of his own clothes in them, suits, shirts, underwear, some casual clothes.
Then she followed him to the girls’ rooms, where he emptied drawers and closets of every wearable thing. The suitcases full, he carried them downstairs and put them by the front door. Karen stood on the landing and watched.
When he returned upstairs, his face seemed even grimmer. He pulled out duffel bags from the closet in the playroom, stuffed their pillows in one, then began to go through the toys, deciding which to take.
That was when Karen, unwillingly, began to feel her own heart ache for this man and the burden he bore. He lingered over each toy, as if remembering some special moment.
For the first time she realized that even his children’s toys held memories of Abby for him. Saddened, she looked away.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m all set. I’ll get out of your way.”
She helped him load the duffel bags and suitcases into his car. The determined reporters, who had lingered all day, shouted questions their way. Karen looked at Grant and saw in his eyes that he’d come prepared to speak to them, like it or not.
“Shall we do it together?” she asked him.
“Are you allowed to speak for the department?” he asked. Obviously he was familiar with the ins and outs of official spokespersons.
“I
