McNeal edged slowly forward. He drove on. Past the cops. Without even a glance.
Eventually, McNeal was in the clear.
The road ahead opened up before him. He eased his foot on the gas, putting distance between himself and the cops in his rearview mirror.
McNeal drove hard. The taillights up ahead in the darkness illuminated the way to the reservoir.
The two-way radio crackled into life. “You okay, Jack?”
“No, not really.”
“Let’s focus. Just checking the GPS, the reservoir is three miles away. We’re looking for Nicodemus Road, just outside Reisterstown. Do you copy?”
“Copy that.” Jack put down the radio and drove on, the headlights bathing the woods all around and illuminating a sign for Reisterstown.
McNeal turned off onto a winding rural country road. He slowed around a sharp bend shrouded by trees and foliage, then saw the bridge in the distance. His heart hammered like a pneumatic drill.
Peter had clicked on his red hazard lights. He emerged from his car carrying his flashlight, indicating for McNeal to pull up beside him.
McNeal glanced in the rearview mirror. Just darkness. No other cars on this isolated stretch of road.
He pulled up, got out of his car, popped open the trunk.
McNeal grabbed the head, his brother the feet. They were both breathing hard. “Let’s do it,” McNeal instructed.
They lifted the body from the trunk, eased it onto the small concrete wall and rolled it into the water below. A heavy splash. Ripples of water.
Peter shone the flashlight down onto the dark waters. “It’s gone. It’s done.”
“You sure?”
“It’s over. Let’s get out of here.”
Forty-Nine
The first glimmers of pale morning light flickered through the blinds of Andrew Forbes’s office in the West Wing. He was drinking a strong coffee, watching Fox News, when the President appeared in the doorway. The big guy was smiling this morning, sporting a bespoke navy suit.
Forbes got to his feet. “Morning, Mr. President.”
“So, what do you think, Andrew?”
Forbes took a few moments to admire the beautiful cut and fit. “It’s truly fantastic. When did it arrive?”
“Last night. Flown in from London. Appreciate the heads-up on the tailor.”
“Got to love a great suit, Mr. President.”
An aide passed in the corridor and handed the President a mug of coffee. The President smiled and took a couple of gulps.
“Mr. President, do you mind if I have a quick word?”
The President shrugged and walked into Forbes’s office, shutting the door behind him. He sat down in a desk chair and took in the room. “This is nice. Cozy. Got a nice ambience.” His eyes fixed on a photo of Forbes with his dad and mom. “Lovely family you’ve got, Andrew. Cherish that.”
“I hear you.”
“Is there a lucky girl in your life?”
Forbes blushed. “There’s a girl I’m seeing. She’s talking about getting married. She’s a lot of fun.”
“A lot of fun, huh? Let me tell you, I’ve met girls who are a lot of fun, which is fine, but has she met your mother?”
“Not yet. I’m taking it slow.”
“Slow is always good. It pays to take your time.” The President looked at his watch. “I’ve got a CIA briefing in an hour, and I need to read the report again. So, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, Mr. President. A friend of mine works at the Post.”
The President nodded.
“I was asking her in passing about any other reporters interested in the death of Sophie Meyer.”
“Very sad, her passing.”
“Indeed. Well, my source at the Post—and this person is involved at the highest level editorially—reassured me that this is not an area of interest. No reporter is pursuing this. So, the matter is closed. They are satisfied it was a tragic accident.”
The President got to his feet. “Which it was. Appreciate the heads-up. A million things going on in the world, Andrew. The death of a rich socialite taking her life while high is a personal tragedy. But the world moves on. Anything else?”
“No, Mr. President. Is there any way I can be of assistance?”
The President smiled. “How about a beer tonight. Monday Night Football?”
“Love to, sir.”
The President winked at him and walked out, shutting the door quietly as he left.
Fifty
The dawn of a new day. McNeal and his brother pulled into a diner on the outskirts of Trenton, New Jersey. They carefully washed their hands in the men’s room before sitting down to plates full of pancakes with maple syrup and black coffee. They ate in silence for a few minutes.