McNeal’s mind raced. He mentally pieced it together. It was an anagram of Ted Outcrow.
“Why was he known as Woodcutter?”
“He’s a powerful dude. He knows powerful people. That’s all I know.”
“Why is he called Woodcutter? Who is he?”
“I don’t know his true identity.” Nicoletti wept. “Please . . . I’m scared.”
“Give me more!”
“Woodcutter was the Secret Service codename for this guy. He worked in the White House!”
McNeal’s mind flashed back to the Secret Service guys speaking to him in Brooklyn.
“Woodcutter!” Nicoletti screamed. “He started it all.”
“Why?”
“He wanted them dead. First Sophie Meyer. And then the journalist lady.”
“Why?”
“He was shielding the President.”
Jack gripped Nicoletti’s ankle tightly as the struggling continued. “What do you mean?”
“He was protecting the President. The affair. Sophie Meyer had been gossiping she had photos of her and the President. And she did. That’s what Karen said, so help me God!”
McNeal looked at his brother. His brother nodded back. They both knew instinctively what it meant. “And Caroline McNeal? What about her?”
“The bitch knew too much. I swear to God, I swear on my daughter’s life, I don’t know any more.”
Jack stared at his brother and nodded again. They simultaneously released their grip.
The deathly screams as Nicoletti plunged headfirst down the abandoned mine shaft echoed for what seemed like an eternity.
A few moments later, a ghostly silence took their place.
Fifty-Six
It was still dark when they arrived at Peter’s cabin in the woods overlooking Greenwood Lake, New Jersey.
Jack showered as Peter gathered up their dirty clothes and burned them in a firepit in the backyard. He lent his brother a pair of jeans, shirt, sweater, socks, and old Rockports.
Afterward, Peter had a shower as Jack stood at the firepit, watching their filthy clothes turn to ash before his eyes.
Twenty minutes later, as the first light flickered through the trees, Peter came outside with some logs and kerosene. He started a fresh fire. It burned brightly, the flames bathing Peter’s face in a warm orange glow.
Jack got two cold beers from the fridge and brought one to his brother. He stared into the flames. “I’m sorry I got you into this,” he said.
“You didn’t get me into this. I got me into this. Besides, blood is always thicker than water. You think I’m going to let my older brother deal with everything by himself?”
“I shouldn’t have let it get so crazy.”
“Shit happens.”
Jack gulped his beer. His mind was seared with images of Nicoletti falling into the darkness. He did that. He was responsible.
“And you know what? Fuck it! We’ll take this to our graves.”
McNeal sighed. “Woodcutter. That’s the guy’s name.”
Peter bowed his head. “I want you to know that I’m drawing a line in the sand. I don’t want this to go on. I need to get back to my old life. I’ve got a wife. And I’ve got kids.”
“I know you do.”
“Jack, listen to me. You want my advice?”
McNeal said nothing.
“You need to get back to your old life too. Before it’s too late.”
“I will.”
Peter added a log to the fire. “There’s something I meant to ask you. What happens if you get a knock at the door and it’s the cops? What happens if I get a knock at the door and it’s the cops? Maybe the Feds. What then?”
“Do what you have to do.”
“I’m going to plead the Fifth.”
“It’s your constitutional right.”
“You think they’ll come knocking?”
“I don’t know. What I do know is that they could piece it together. It is possible. But without the bodies, it’s all just why the hell were you driving around Maryland and Jersey at such and such times.”
“What would your answer be?”
“You know how it works. They’ll drill down until you incriminate yourself. Best plan? Say nothing. Without a body and forensic evidence, they have zilch.”
“What about blood in the soybean field?”
“I believe that will dissolve. Erode. With wind. And rain.”
“Graff’s car, if it’s discovered?”
“Who knows? His body is in a lake an hour away.”