Page 110 of The First Gentleman

I feel a twist in my gut. To my relief, Gagnon is quick to answer.

“I am aware of that,” the detective says. “But by the time we considered contacting them, we’d already arrested a suspect with longstanding ties to the victim.”

Hardy gives a disapproving look, then moves in another direction. “Isn’t it true, Detective, that criminals often return to the scene of the crime?”

“Sometimes they do, yes.”

“And have criminals been known to plant evidence?”

“Of course. It happens.”

“So it’s possible that those items were buried at a different time than the remains were? Maybe at a later date?”

I can tell Gagnon doesn’t want to answer this question, but she has no choice. “Yes. It’s possible.”

“Thank you. No further questions for the witness at this time.”

CHAPTER

100

The man still calling himself Jack Doohan is attempting to do a recon of the Rockingham County courthouse, but the crowds make it impossible for him to assess the sight lines.

Right now, Doohan is about thirty yards from the courthouse steps, getting bumped and jostled. He ducks as aJUSTICE FOR COLEsign almost knocks him in the head. From what he can tell, about a third of the crowd are pro–Cole Wright, another third want him locked up, and the rest are just random nonpartisan nutjobs, the kind who show up at every protest no matter the cause.

When it comes to the question of Cole Wright’s innocence, he could go either way. Doohan is loyal only to whoever’s paying him.

Ever since his deployment to Iraq, crowds make him twitchy. Over there, a mass of civilians could suddenly turn violent. Guns could appear out of nowhere. Sometimes it was hard to tell the good from the bad from the totally innocent, and things got mixed up. Fog of war. Price of doing business.

Today he’s dressed to blend in with the locals. Khaki pants,L.L.Bean jacket, aviator sunglasses, black baseball cap. He holds up his Nikon camera and snaps a few shots of the protesters and the cordon of state troopers just to make the press pass around his neck look legit. He’s careful not to point his camera directly at the Secret Service agents. No need to attract their attention.

A podium is fixed at the bottom of the courthouse steps in case somebody important decides to make a statement. Doohan weaves through the crowd-control barriers, assessing his options.

He doesn’t like any of them.

His sponsor wants the hit to be public, which makes no sense. Why not just let him follow the subject to a dark street or empty hotel room? No witnesses. Easy exfil.

But for this kind of money, he’s not asking questions.

He could make the shot from here, easy. A high-powered pistol would do it. But all it would take is one solid citizen or plainclothes agent to spoil his getaway. And he can’t let that happen. Not on this job.

Doohan looks up at the roof of the courthouse. Too many professional snipers up there already. No other tall buildings in view. A bunch of trees line the parking lot, but most are evergreens. Not great for climbing. He sees a cell tower a few hundred yards back, but that’s a long shot with windage and an exposed position to boot.

Forget it. This whole place is negative for the operation.

Although he can’t wait to put crosshairs on a forehead again, it has to be someplace else.

No worries.

He’ll have no problem spotting his target.

In New Hampshire, a Black woman stands out.

CHAPTER

101

The State calls Felicia Bonanno.”

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