Hand of Fate (24 page)

Nicole's face showed nothing. Only her eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly.

"Are you all right?" Stone put on a look of concern.

Allison took a deep breath. "The doctors have been running some tests." She thought of how they checked her blood sugar at each prenatal visit. "I haven't disclosed this to anyone, so I'm relying on your discretion."

Both men nodded, losing focus, Allison hoped, on exactly what they had been talking about when the break in the interview occurred.

"I hope everything turns out okay." Glover seemed genuinely worried.

"I hope we can reschedule," Allison said, "and continue this at a later date."

"Of course, of course," Stone said, while Glover nodded.

Once the two women were alone in Allison's office, Nicole raised one eyebrow. "Running some tests?"

"It wasn't a lie." Allison felt a little defensive.

"Uh-huh." Nicole nodded, tweaking her a little. "And it should keep them from thinking about what we just learned. Glover's mother was on a pain patch--and I think that's usually some kind of opiate." Dialing a number from memory, she pressed the button for the speakerphone.

"Tony, it's Nic. And Allison Pierce is here with me. Hey, have you figured out what killed Fate yet?"

His voice floated up to them. "Are you worried that I'm holding out on you? I'll let you know as soon as I do. The lab is still working on coming up with a match. It would help if we had any clues as to what drug might be involved."

"I've just learned something. Congressman Glover's mother was living with him and his wife until recently. And then she died."

Tony's tone was puzzled. "Are you saying you think he killed his mother?"

"What I'm saying is that she had cancer. And she was on pain patches."

"Pain patches? That has to have been fentanyl." There was a long pause as Tony considered it. "Someone could scrape the fentanyl off the patches, dissolve it in rubbing alcohol, and then aerosolize it. It's possible."

Allison and Nicole exchanged a look.

"We'll check it out and see if it's a match, but that's going to take several days. But right now, I have to tell you I kind of like the idea."

Just showing that the drug was fentanyl wouldn't be enough to prove that Glover had done it. They needed more evidence. They had to work fast and hope that Glover wasn't one step ahead of them. Allison hurriedly drafted an affidavit for Nicole to swear off on. When it was done, they would take it to a judge to get search warrants for Glover's car, offices, and homes, both in Portland and in DC.

"What are you doing?" Allison asked Nicole as she put the finishing touches on the affidavit.

Nicole had been absolutely silent, tapping away on her laptop.

"I had a hunch, so I googled Glover and smoke grenades. Look a
t t
his." She handed over her computer to Allison. "It's a press release put out by Glover's office two years ago."

Congress Passes Funding for Oregon Defense Project
.

Congressman Quentin Glover has secured $2 million to replenish training and operational stocks of the M18 Grenade produced at Oregon's Umatilla Arsenal. The M18 Grenade is a small handheld grenade, approximately the size of a soup can, that emits a dense colored smoke and is used by all military services for signaling, marking, or screening operations. The M18 Smoke Grenade has been in high demand as a result of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Congressman Glover was honored for his support at an event in Umatilla.

Allison looked up at Nicole. Quentin Glover had just become their prime suspect.

Chapter
33 Channel 4 TV

The cameraman counted down with his fingers, and then Cassidy was on. Brad was sitting next to her, but this was her segment, and the camera focused only on her.

Even covering the gas leak downtown had been easier than this. But Allison had called to offer encouragement--and give a tantalizing hint about Glover--and even Nicole had sent a quick e-mail wishing her luck.

Cassidy took a deep breath. "These days, everywhere you look there are heart decorations and candy-filled displays. Valentine's Day is rapidly approaching. On the big day, many of us expect affection, romance, roses, chocolates, dinner out--or at least a card. But for others, the day only brings anxiety, fear, and violence. One in three women will experience domestic violence in her lifetime." She paused to give her words added weight. "I know, because I was one of these women."

Cassidy lifted her chin and looked directly into the camera. "Why am I coming forward now? To help others who are in the same horrible place I was. These victims need validation. They need to know they aren't alone. While I was dating my ex-boyfriend, I felt so isolated. I was in the public eye, but I felt cut off from everyone. Over time, my self-esteem was completely destroyed." She was thankfu
l t
hat her makeup hid the purple shadows under her eyes. Last night she had needed two and a half pills before she finally slept.

"My ex-boyfriend manipulated me and got under my skin. He took every grain of confidence I had. He called me names. He belittled me. And eventually he began to hit me. He also isolated me from my family and friends. The emotional manipulation took longer to get over than the bruises."

Cassidy took a deep breath. "I have decided to speak out to help any of our viewers who are being hurt and who will hear this broadcast. You need to know that you don't have to live in pain and isolation. You are not alone. I have stood in your shoes, I have walked the paths you are walking, and I managed to come out on the other side. I've reclaimed my life, and you can too."

With every word, Cassidy felt lighter. It had been a big, scary step to charge Rick with assault. But now she was the one who had the power. She was taking the skills she used every day at work--researching and telling a compelling story--and turning them into weapons against the man who had first proclaimed his love for her, then terrorized her. She imagined him sitting at home, watching her, grinding his teeth in impotent anger. And even if he wasn't watching, she was sure word would get back to him. All of his friends had known he was dating Channel 4's Cassidy Shaw. Rick had liked to show her off.

"Domestic violence can include sexual assault and physical violence. But it often starts small, with emotional abuse. Does your partner tell you that you are stupid, ugly, and unlovable? Does he insist that you no longer have contact with your friends and family? That is abuse. And the frightening thing about domestic violence is that it escalates. The abuser may destroy items you love. He--or even she--may threaten or actually harm your pets. May take control of your money. And the abuser may eventually attack you. The sad fac
t i
s that in America, a woman is at much greater risk of dying at the hands of a loved one than a stranger's.

"But we can break the cycle of domestic violence that is destroying our families, devastating our communities, and adding to an already overcrowded prison population. It begins with making a personal commitment to get involved if you suspect someone you know is affected. Yes, it is difficult. You might feel that it's not your business or that you don't know how to help. But if you don't reach out, it's possible that no one will.

"You can help by listening, without judging. When a person is being abused, she feels responsible, ashamed, and inadequate. She is afraid she'll be judged. I know I was." Cassidy nodded thoughtfully as she spoke. "But again, you can help by telling the victim that the abuse is not her fault. And that there is no excuse for violence--not alcohol or drugs, not being under financial pressure or being depressed, and certainly not any behavior of the victim's.

"Tell her she is not alone. Let her know that domestic violence tends to get worse and become more frequent with time, and that it rarely goes away on its own. And give your friend the number for the National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE.

"Domestic violence is a brutal crime that can be prevented if we join hands. Hands are for holding, not hitting. Remember that this year on Valentine's Day."

After Cassidy walked out of the studio, staffers broke into spontaneous applause. People clapped her on the back, thanked her for her courage, and smiled at her.

She went into the bathroom. In the stall, she sat on the toilet and rested her head against the cool metal wall for a few blessed minutes. It was over. She had done it. She had come forward and shared the secret that had paralyzed her for weeks.

Back in her office, Cassidy opened her work e-mail. The station had long made a practice of listing e-mail addresses for all of the on-air talent. Viewers responded by sending an amazing number of tips, photos, and videos. It took her e-mail a few seconds to open up, and when it finally did, Cassidy blinked. More than one hundred messages filled her in-box.

The first one heartened her. "You are so brave for coming forward and giving voice to the voiceless. Thank you for inspiring others." Feeling much lighter, she clicked on the next e-mail.

"You're a fat whore" was all it said. And signed, strangely enough, Your fan.

The next few e-mails Cassidy opened continued to alternately delight and horrify her. But even though the vast majority were good comments, they did not hold as much weight as the bad, at least as far as Cassidy was concerned. People remarked on how she looked, acted, dressed, and even her age, calling her old and washed-up. It was as if, by opening up her own life to viewers, she had shown that she was just like them, and had only been pretending to be someone who deserved to be on camera. Who deserved to tell others the news.

Cassidy had thought she would be helping others. But now she wondered--had she only hurt herself?

She had thought that her viewers would love her more for knowing that she had faced adversity and ultimately triumphed. Instead, many of them mocked her for it.

Had they ever loved her at all?

Chapter
34

Chapel Pub

Sunday, February 12

Nic sat with her back to the wall. She liked it that way. Something solid and impenetrable against her shoulder blades. And facing the door. She always wanted to see what was coming.

She was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved red shirt. Long-sleeved because her left arm was a wreck--bruised, cut, scraped--from all the elbow work she had been learning from her Thai boxing trainer. Out of old habit, Nic rested her hand over her glass of beer when she wasn't drinking it. Chapel Pub was nothing like the bars she had gone to when she was fresh out of college. Those had been dimly lit, with dance music thumping in the background. This place had white walls, dark rafters, and worn Oriental carpets, with plenty of babies and retired folks. If there was music, she couldn't hear it.

On a TV in the corner, she caught a glimpse of Cassidy with an inset of Congressman Glover over her left shoulder. The lab had taken away boxes and boxes from his offices, homes, and cars, and was now painstakingly processing the evidence, looking for paper and fiber matches. Among the evidence were a number of fentanyl pain patches. But no smoke grenades.

Nic was so nervous she felt like she might explode. Or possibly implode. Or just shatter. But she had promised that she would be here.

The main door opened, and Leif walked through. His eyes found hers in an instant. He smiled, and warmth spread through Nic.

"Hey." He sat down and poured a glass from the pitcher she had ordered. "I see you thought ahead. I'll get the next one."

"This is my limit," she said. "And that's kind of why I need to talk to you. There are things you need to know about me. Before anything happens." She wanted to add "between us," but now it seemed too presumptuous. Her hands were slick, and she wiped them on the thighs of her jeans, glad they were hidden by the table. She sighed."Look, I don't tell people this, okay? I don't tell anyone. And I would never tell someone at the Bureau."

Leif laid his hands flat on the table and leaned forward. "I'm not talking to you as a special agent, Nicole. I'm talking to you as a friend. This is for my ears only."

She looked into his light-colored eyes and thought of another pair of eyes, green ones, and her stomach twisted. Wanting to trust Leif, not knowing if she could or should. "The only person who knows everything is my mama." She dropped her gaze again. "And even she doesn't know everything:'

Leif nodded. He didn't raise his beer to his lips, and his eyes never left her face.

"It was the summer after I graduated from college. I was still deciding what I wanted to do. I was thinking about going to law school, or getting an MBA. Maybe even going to medical school. I probably could have done anything. I know that sounds vain, but I'm good at school. But nothing really called to me. And it's not like employers were beating down doors to hire an English major. In the meantime, I was working as a waitress and living at home, saving money while I figured out what I wanted to do. One night I served these two guys just before closing. One was black and one was white.

They were funny, smart, nice. At least they seemed that way." She could feel her upper lip curling as she spoke. "They invited me to have a drink with them at the bar next door after I got off work. I said yes." She swallowed. "That's how stupid I was."