The Whisper Box Page 4

  He acted as if he did not know her. He was obviously trying to not make her more nervous than she seemingly already was. Her fidgeting as she walked through the door was evident.

  “I need to see McFarland now, not five minutes from now, but now.” Her index finger pointed on the counter separating them.

  Michael the office clerk left immediately. Thirty seconds later McFarland emerged from his office. His hair was much shorter than Laura remembered but it was still black and thick. She always thought it meshed well with the Caribbean tan that he seemed to have all year long. He had gained weight, but was not yet obese because he was so tall. There was always a five o'clock shadow on his face, regardless of how recently he had shaved. All in all, however, she thought he was really a teddy bear that looked like a panther. He must have used this to his advantage in the courtroom. His smile still warmed Laura as he came towards her.

  “Laura? I thought that was you on the television. Jeez, it must be ten years. How are...”

  She interrupted. “G-Mac I need you in your office with the door shut.... NOW!”

  “Okay, Laura, I know you're in trouble. Let's go talk.” He opened the door to his office, held his hand out to invite her in, and walked in behind her. She walked to a black leather sofa, and sat down. He took a seat in his executive style chair, covered in matching black leather, behind his desk

  “So what's up Laura? I know you're pretty popular right now.” Mac smiled through obvious curiosity.

  Laura took a deep breath and began, “I am going to retire in the next two days, and then I am going to move somewhere far, far away. You will retire very soon, too. Where you go is up to you. I have over three hundred pieces of paper here that everyone in the world wants. I need you to get me a deal. I need you to deal with all the media outlets, I need you to do everything in a legal fashion, and I need it fast. I just became your only client and your last client. Agreed?”

  McFarland raised his eyebrows and countered, “You being 'my only client' is not that big a deal, but my last client? I need to look at this stuff before I say that you are my last client. Agreed?”

  Laura shot back, “Agreed.” She paused for a few seconds before saying. “I need a nap. I'm absolutely exhausted. I've been awake for three days. Please tell me you have a couch here somewhere.” This tired, scared woman was pleading.

  Michael showed Laura the old couch in the break room. McFarland slept here on occasion when he was engulfed in his work. He found a pillow and a blanket for her, turned off the lights, moved silently and quickly across the floor, and slowly shut the door behind him.

  **********************

  McFarland sat in his office reading. Soon his jaw went slack. The reading got better by the second. Every line was more revealing than the one before it. This woman had kept a highly detailed journal about the President of the United States for two consecutive years. It was nothing less than stunning. A huge bomb was about to be dropped on the American people and they had no idea.

  In spite of his excitement over being the man to drop the bomb, he was also deathly afraid. He called his wife, told her to fly to his mother's house in Cleveland, and stay there until further notice. He did not offer much of an explanation, but made it clear that their safety was at risk. Mr. and Mrs. McFarland Hart had been trying to have children for seven years now and had gotten frustrated over the years. At that moment, however, he was very glad there were no children to worry about. McFarland was about to move into first place on the Most Wanted list at every media outlet in the world. While he was thinking of this, Kathy Hart packed her things and sped to the airport. His tone and determination was enough to convince anyone that this was no joke. Knowing that she would be safe in Cleveland did not put McFarland’s mind completely at ease. He still feared for his life.

  He had over one hundred questions he could ask right now. He learned in law school to schedule your questions accordingly. Too many questions during the first meeting could scare off a prospective client.

  Michael was hanging up the phone when McFarland almost exploded through his office door and headed straight for him. “Michael, my boy, my new favorite client and I need lunch. Buy some for yourself also. Put it on the tab at Pat’s Deli and then get ready to earn all that money I've been paying you,” ordered G-Mac.

  ****************************

  Two hours into what seemed like the best nap of her life, McFarland's voice broke the silence. Laura sprang up. The tone in his voice was serious. “Laura, my dear, is all of this true? Do you know this is true? Can you prove this is true? We're talking about my career. I've always respected you and I expect you to respect the position you are putting me in.”

  Laura, still half-asleep, murmured softly. “Yes Mac, I have proof at my apartment. I have pictures, I have video, I have whatever you need. I have everything.”

  G-Mac cut in. “You have pictures and video? You actually saw this?”

  She frowned. “Yes, almost every day for two years. Nobody ever knew I was there. I first started hearing things through the vent in my office, believe it or not. You'd think the White House had better soundproofing mechanisms. One day I was very curious, the vent was behind my little bookshelf. I hung a sign on my door that said, 'I'm on break, be back in fifteen minutes'. I moved the bookshelf, unhinged the vent, and crawled in there. Even though I felt silly for being a grown woman crawling through vents, I had never been so scared in my life. I had to crawl about twelve feet, but it seemed like twelve miles. I went very slowly, and I looked into his office through the vent in his wall.” Tears rolled slowly down Laura's cheek, yet she continued. “He was having sex with her. His back was to me but I know it was him. His physique and gray hair was a dead giveaway. I swear it looked like she was not enjoying it Mac. I know I'm not crazy. She was not enjoying it. That's rape isn't it? When they were done all he said was, 'You know how powerful I am, don't you?' Then she smiled as if she were giving into his power threats. She put her clothes back on, and said she'd be back after four o'clock.”

  McFarland sat breathless.

  Frowning, he whispered, “How could you leave these pictures and videos in your apartment after you went to the Daily Reporter? Are you absolutely, positively sure it's him? Oh yeah, also, why now? All this stuff took place a year ago or more. Why didn't you go then? Why were you canned? They obviously don't think you know anything if you're still alive.”

  Laura, ashamed of her thoughtless miscues, answered. “Number one, the tapes and everything are in a very safe place at my house. I have a hole in the floor under my bed. You'd never know it was there. It's a very old apartment building and that is one of its shortcomings, but one that became an asset to me. I can't go home to get them though...you have to.” She pointed at Mac. “Number two, I waited until now because our government, our protective governing body, watched me for over a month. They watch anyone and everyone that spends more than one hour in the White House for at least a month, especially old employees after they quit. Number three, I was not canned, Mac. My mother died that year. I was very upset. They asked me if I needed to be released from my duties. Basically, that meant I could either resign or get fired. At the White House, unless you are one of those employees who can do no wrong, you either work or you lose your job. I decided to resign. I thought resigning would accomplish two things: First, I was not burning any bridges. Secondly, I needed to get out of there. It was my chance to leave without anyone suspecting me of anything.”

  McFarland raised his eyebrows, “So, you got your name all over the papers, the United States Government is looking everywhere in the world for you and you want me to just stroll down to your apartment, unlock the door, poke around in your personal belongings, take a stack of pictures and videos with me when I walk out, and come back here? Are you crazy?”

  Laura Greene still had not figured that one out yet. She stared at her feet, realizing it would be very difficult to get McFarland or anyone else in and out without notice. She was ashame
d that she had not thought of a way to get the stuff out of there before going to anyone. “Damn,” she uttered. Then she looked up. “So what the hell are we going to do Mac? I came to you for help. I mean, it's my place, it's my stuff, and you are my lawyer. I can legally take my stuff from my place, can't I?”

  Mac took a deep breath. “Yes, it is all legal, it is your stuff, but I'm worried about taking a bullet in the back of the head. That stuff does go on, you should know that, we are two little roaches to them. They can step on us whenever they want. We need to create some sort of a diversion. Mainly, we need for everyone to think you are somewhere else. The FBI, police, media, everyone will go there. Then I will go to your apartment. Anyway, by the time they figure out it was a false alarm, I'll be out, along with the evidence.”

  Laura had seen a million movies with scenarios like this and often wondered how someone could make all these important decisions so quickly. The chips were down. This was no murder case in which McFarland could make a decision as the case wore on. He could not delay hearings.

  Mac started speaking again. “Listen, I'll call my brother in Philadelphia. He is the most trusting soul on the planet...”

  Laura interrupted, “No! This is between us. You call your brother, or anyone else and I swear, Mac, you will never see me again.”

  Just then Michael came through the door with a stuffed bag bearing the logo of Pat's Deli. Laura told Mac to send Michael home for the rest of the week. No excuses, no alternative. Mac walked to the front desk, handed Michael all the money in his wallet, which amounted to four hundred and thirty two dollars, and told him to go home.

  Mac made it quite clear that he was serious as he explained, “Mike, take the week. If I find out you tell anyone about my new client you will not have a job here, or anywhere else. On the other hand, if you keep your mouth shut, you will be the richest twenty-two-year-old college student in the country. Sounds like a no-brainer, doesn't it? I'll need you and I trust you'll enjoy being in the position you'll be in soon. But, for now, go home, buddy. Rest up. Take care of any personal business you can and spend time with your girlfriend. I have a feeling that neither of us will have much of a life outside this office for a while.”

  Michael smiled, winked at Mac and said, “Sir, I love working with you. I'll do whatever you need me to do, whenever you need me to do it. Keep me posted.” He patted his boss on the right arm and walked out the door.

  Mac told Laura that he admired Michael more than the young clerk knew. Michael was in his first year of law school, and Mac would give anything for his youth and exuberance. Michael's work habits were fantastic. He was a perfectionist; exactly what Mac needed in his office. He told her that he was honest, and therefore trusted. However, he continued, the level of responsibility that was about to be bestowed upon the young attorney-to-be scared Mac slightly. Mac had no choice. He really had no one else to do this work for him. Michael's age was a positive attribute, if anything. Mac knew younger people did not fear danger as much. Laura agreed. Young people would take the risks if given enough praise, or in this case, enough money.

  The plan Mac and Laura devised was simple. G-Mac would drive to Poughkeepsie, a rural town in upstate New York that was only about an hour away. This location was far enough away to pull all the government secret agents out of their foxholes for an hour or two, yet close enough for Mac to make a phone call from a public phone and get back to Laura's apartment before the agents did. He would wait until about five o'clock in the afternoon to leave. By the time he got back it would be around seven at night and dark, creating the perfect setting for his first attempt at burglary. He would slide into Laura's apartment in all black clothing, a black mask and all, ease under the bed to the hole in the floor, grab the manila folders and whatever tapes he found, and get back to the office. They planned to stay up all night, reviewing the evidence before calling a press conference. At least they had hoped to call a press conference in the morning. Mac’s sign would hang in the background as he spoke. Hart and Hart would be known across America by tomorrow afternoon. Mac and Laura disagreed on one subject. He had no intentions of leaving the country. He was going to milk this sucker. The law protected him. He would be safe. After he uncovered what he was about to uncover he would be loved, not hated. He told Laura that it would be Farnsworth who would have to go into hiding, not him.

  First, he had to get the tapes and documents and review them.

  **********************

  Mac jumped in his 2000 Corvette, his pride and joy. As far as he was concerned, he went to law school for this car and this car only. He drove up the Taconic Parkway at blinding speed. The radar detector never made a sound. He was in Poughkeepsie in forty-five minutes, fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. The Parkway Cafe was just off the Poughkeepsie exit. From there, he called the Daily Reporter from a pay phone outside. When the receptionist answered, Mac did not even let her finish her greeting.

  “I'm sorry to interrupt ma'am, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. I need to speak to someone in the news. I'm callin' 'bout that Laura Green woman. I've seen her, hell, I'm lookin' at her now.” Mac was trying to sound convincing while disguising his voice.

  She put him on hold. It seemed like less than a second before Owen Randolph answered. He knew the voice from seeing him on The Morning Show several times. Owen Randolph was the most respected newspaper columnist in the New York Metro area. Mac knew that it was not just chance or luck that Randolph, a man almost sixty years old with forty years of experience in the newspaper business, took the call himself. They wanted Laura and they wanted her bad.

  In the same fake Southern drawl Mac slowly stated, “Hey, that Laura woman y'all been lookin' fer is here in the cafe off the Taconic. I know it's her man. I seen her on the television about two minutes ago and then she comes walkin' in here to order food, man. She got a hat on like a disguise or somthin', but I ain't dumb man, I read the paper, I watch the news.”

  Randolph took the bait and asked how to get there. Mac gave him directions. He knew Randolph would alert everyone. Randolph was very good at getting the television cameras to follow him. As a matter of fact, he was the best. Mac hung up the phone and headed south to Laura's apartment.

  Mac barely made it out before the small town was buzzing. He noticed three different news vans going North on the Taconic while he traveled South, only minutes after his pone call. McFarland had everyone racing each other to get to Poughkeepsie. The media, the police, and the hungry attorneys were cutting each other off on the Taconic Parkway to beat the next guy. Mac laughed to himself as he headed in the opposite direction, away from Poughkeepsie, away from the cafe, away from the cops and towards Laura's place.

  Who would have the story first? Who would have the client first? Who would take America's Most Wanted into custody first? America was all about firsts. McFarland knew this and used it to his advantage. He sped down the highway. He would be at Laura's apartment in less than forty minutes where he would go to the hole in the floor that she had described. This time tomorrow, Mac's name would be all over the country, maybe even the world. Again, he pictured his face on television. He thought of the money, he imagined the future; the law was a beautiful thing. He also pictured Laura alone in his office, scared; he did care about his only client.

  The bullet entered Michael's skull from the rear. He had not even finished taking his keys out of the door. The man grabbed him from behind, asked no questions, and fired. The tightly screwed on silencer startled no neighbors. Michael felt a tiny twinge for a half a second, and then nothing. The body was disposed of quickly in the Hudson River. Blocks were tied to the plastic wrapped around his corpse to make certain it would never surface. A note left under the neighbor’s mat read:

  Joe and Jenny—

  Unexpected vacation time from the boss! I am heading to the Jersey shore. Please check my mail for me. I'll be home in a week!

  See Ya'- Mike

  PS - If Tonya comes by, tell her I needed some time away; she'll kn
ow what you mean.

  Michael's body would never be found. The orders had gone out this morning to take care of this matter immediately.

  Mac turned the radio on and pondered what he had done. He had created a story that had caused all local members of the media to gather for nothing. The thought of one hundred eager, annoying paparazzi types running in circles comparing notes, twenty police officers, questioning locals, as three FBI agents attempt to control the crowd, amongst the clueless, nosy townies was laughable. There would be mass confusion for at least two hours before everyone realized there was nothing, absolutely nothing, to be found at the café. He created a cloud of steam. It appeared to be thick and solid, but when you reached into it, there was nothing to grab.

  He pulled down the alley behind the apartment building with his lights off. His black Corvette almost seemed invisible. He felt invisible. His heart was pounding through his chest. He could feel the tension. In a sick way, he loved it. What he refused to admit to himself was that at any moment the villain could show up. This was serious.

  Upon exiting his car, he realized how high the drop down stairway was. He jumped as high as he could, but he missed the stairway by at least six inches.

  A wave of negativity hit him. There was no way he could make this happen, at least not this way. Ignoring his thoughts, he tried again. He was not even close. On the last attempt he landed in a puddle.

  Puddles in the back of dark alleys are worse than puddles that form on a sidewalk. They are dirty. They always have some sort of oil in them. The oil forms a glistening film across the top of the water. There are also always chunks of mud in these puddles. This oily mud puddle was now up one side of his pants and down the other. He could not see it, it was dark, but he could feel it.

  There was no use in jumping any longer. Frustrated, he stood there for a few minutes with his hands on his hips and looked around the alley. Suddenly, something caught his eye. In spite of the darkness, he could make out a small metal rod sticking out of the old brick building. If he used the rod to pull himself up he might be able to grab the stairwell that way. He jumped once, trying to be quiet the entire time. His hand grabbed the rod. For a brief moment he thought this would be a success. The greasy residue on his hand from the puddle made him lose his grip instantly. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself on his behind and on the ground again. He landed elbows first, then his rear end, and then his back. Now his pants were not the only things covered in the oil, mud, and water mixture.