“Funeral home has all the details. They’re liaising with the medical examiner in DC, and we’ll have to wait until her body gets released. Toxicology tests and everything. Might take a while. It’ll show . . . well, you know, if she had taken an overdose.”
“What are you going to do?” Peter said.
“Like now?”
“No, I mean after the funeral.”
McNeal sighed and took a sip of his scotch. “Get back to work, that’s what.”
Peter nodded. “I understand. It’s just that you might want to take some more time off to get over this.”
“I’ll never get over this. But I’ll need to work to keep my mind busy. Christ . . . I don’t know.”
His father smiled through his tears.
McNeal continued, “Caroline . . . she’s gone. But even though we were separated, she left everything to me. So, I don’t have to work.”
His father bowed his head. “God rest her soul,” he repeated.
McNeal felt sick. Money had never meant much to him. As long as he had enough for his family to live a comfortable life, enjoy the occasional vacation, have plenty of food on the table, that was enough. More than enough.
Peter said, “Jack, I understand what you’re thinking. But she wanted you to have it.”
“I know she did. But how do you think this makes me feel? How do you think this looks?”
“What do you mean?” Peter asked.
“Last night I was interviewed shortly before I learned her body had been found. I was then taken down to the morgue. The Secret Service guys think I’m involved.”
McNeal’s father said, “Secret Service? What the hell does this have to do with them?”
“Security pass she had gave her access to the White House press briefing room. Her house was missing laptops and cell phones. Those had a lot of classified numbers in the administration.”
“Seriously, they think you’re involved?” Peter said.
“That’s what they said. Well, that’s what they insinuated. That’s what it looks like. I get the money. You understand now?”
“You said cell phones, laptops are missing?” Peter continued.
McNeal nodded.
“I know I don’t have to tell you, Jack, but that, on the surface, looks like a robbery. There were sensitive documents on her computer, right?”
“Right. But the news is reporting she was depressed, took some pills, and then drowned herself. That doesn’t add up.”
Peter nodded. “The question is, what would missing notebooks or her laptop have to do with her killing herself? Did she destroy them before she killed herself? I’m not buying it.”
McNeal’s father stared at him. “I don’t understand why the Secret Service seem to be taking the lead on this. Why not the Feds? That would make sense. The DC police, right?”
Jack stood up, glass in hand. “None of it adds up.”
“You don’t believe the official line?”
“Not a word of it.”
“So, what’re you going to do about it?” his father asked.
“Find out what really happened. No matter what.”
Ten
The days leading up to the funeral began to take a toll. McNeal couldn’t sleep. He sat in silence for hours at a time and stared at the walls. He was slipping into a deep depression and didn’t want to shave or wash. He locked himself away. He read the newspaper headlines about his late wife. They cut deep. He felt as if she was being violated.
The more he read, the more withdrawn he became. His wife was being called an introvert by unidentified colleagues. That definitely wasn’t his wife. Not the woman he knew. She was gregarious. Fun. Definitely outgoing.
McNeal reflected on his wife’s illustrious career. The stories she had broken, the people she had interviewed—it would now all be obscured by these rumors. She would be defined and remembered by her death. A suicide.
Stories made the rounds on social media that she was not a team player in the newsroom. She was indeed a lone wolf. He knew that better than anyone. She didn’t wait to get a story and develop it. She found stories, sniffing them out. She wasn’t part of a collective. She hunted down stories. And she was amazing at it.
There was no dignity in death. Some people on Twitter were talking about her drinking. Her violent outbursts. Her sullenness. All these rumors were attributed to former colleagues or people who claimed to be friends. It was like a parallel universe. Who the hell was saying all this?
His one and only consolation was that, as per Caroline’s wishes, her funeral would be a private family affair.