Don't Speak Page 18

  While the camera stayed on Ellison, Whitney admired the grandeur of the historic hall built in the 1930s and its art deco interior. Ted had created a similar setting yesterday for her debate prep, but the imitation was nothing like reality. She and Ellison stood at separate, stainless-steel podiums each with a thin free-standing microphone. They each had a glass of water, notepad, and pens.

  Jones continued. “Since this is the only debate, we’re going to make this an open forum. I may ask a question regarding any issue to one of the candidates, who then has three minutes to answer. The other candidate can respond. If the second candidate mentions the other candidate, the first candidate may have an additional one-minute rebuttal.” Jones eyed both of the candidates in turn to make sure they understood.

  “The first question pertains to unemployment. Five percent is considered the normal unemployment rate. The current rate stands at six percent. Some would argue the real unemployment rate, though, is twice that, if you include those who want and are able to work, but have become discouraged from looking. How would you reduce the real unemployment rate further? Mr. President?”

  Ellison wrote as the moderator spoke. Whitney wondered what he could be writing already. The president put down his pen and stared at Blaine Jones.

  “It’s not the government’s role to create jobs. The only action we can take is to create an environment in which business owners can be successful by eliminating onerous regulations and decreasing taxes so more money is pumped into the economy. Lower taxes give people the incentive to work harder, save, and invest, which improves living standards for all. We must continue to reduce the size of government and the role it plays in our lives. The free-market system works.”

  “Senator Fairchild?” the moderator asked.

  Whitney faced Ellison. “When?”

  Some members in the audience chuckled. After a few moments, Ellison shifted on his feet. When she realized he wasn’t going to respond, Whitney turned back to the moderator. “I believe in capitalism as well, but the free-market approach in itself is not working and hasn’t worked for many years. Businesses exist to make money for their owners. That’s why, despite the turnaround in our economy, the pay for the average worker has remained flat.

  “My goal is to spur economic and employment growth. One of my first initiatives after I am elected president will be to enact a significant training tax credit to businesses. There are millions of jobs available, but workers aren’t trained to do them. In my first year of office, I will also propose a National Infrastructure Bank. The bank would work with local, state, and federal entities to provide financing and grants to build and repair roads and bridges, create rapid inner-city rail in all major cities, and modernize our air-traffic-control system. This proposal would put even more Americans back to work and increase worker productivity. Delays from congestion and damaged roads will cost two hundred and ten billion dollars over the next five years. There is nothing fiscally responsible about deferring maintenance of our crumbling infrastructure to future generations.”

  Whitney paused while the audience clapped.

  Ellison shook his head. “How will you pay for that?”

  Whitney faced him. “By ending tax subsidies for big businesses.” Turning back to the camera, she continued. “We don’t need to shrink the government. We need to modernize it. A limited government made sense when we were an agrarian society back in the days of Thomas Jefferson. People were self-sufficient. Today we are interdependent. Our government must change as our society changes. We have done this before. In the nineteenth century, we changed from an agrarian society to an industrial one. We became a superpower in the twentieth. The question is, ‘What do we want to be in the twenty-first century?’”

  “Time,” Jones said.

  “We can, however, streamline our government,” Whitney continued, ignoring Jones. “The financial industry has proven time and time again that it is incapable of regulating itself. Bernie Madoff bilked investors for sixty-eight billion dollars. I plan to consolidate all of our financial agencies into one agency, the Federal Financial Regulatory Authority, making it more efficient and more effective in enforcing the law and protecting investors and consumers.

  “I will propose a committee to review all current regulations: to revise those that do not make sense, to eliminate those we no longer need, and to create regulation that protects our citizens while encouraging innovation. Your party, Mr. President, transformed regulation into a dirty word. It is not. Regulation protects consumers: from the foods we eat, to the water we drink, to the drugs we take, to the safety of our highways.”

  “Can I talk?” Ellison asked.

  The audience clapped, many of them laughing. Whitney joined in the laughter. The moderator waited for the clapping to subside. “Senator, may I remind you to limit your responses to three minutes?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  Blaine Jones hesitated before realizing she was teasing him. Charmed, his cheeks reddened.

  “Senator Fairchild, can you outline your tax plan for the audience?”

  “Sure, Blaine. We must decrease income taxes for the middle class. For American couples making less than one hundred thousand dollars, I am proposing a flat fifteen-percent tax and elimination of all loopholes, exemptions, and deductions. This plan will lower the tax burden for most taxpayers and simplify tax preparation. I want to eliminate special tax breaks. To that end, I intend to raise rates for taxpayers making over one million dollars per year to the same levels as the Bill Clinton administration, aligning our tax system to better serve our economy and our planet.”

  “Mr. President?” Jones asked.

  Ellison screwed up his face. “Your party, Senator, always wants to engage in class warfare, pitting the wealthy against everyone else. They forget who creates the jobs and the opportunities in this country. My plan calls for a flat ten percent tax for everyone. Further—”

  “Your plan,” Whitney said, “would not raise sufficient revenue to offset current spending.”

  “According to the reports I’ve received, it will.”

  “Well, as Hillary Clinton once said, ‘I think the reports you provide us really require a willing suspension of disbelief.’”

  Scattered laughter filled the hall like wind chimes.

  Jones waited for the laughter to subside. “Mr. President, when you were elected, you promised to build a fence between our country and Mexico. Why haven’t you done so?”

  “These things take time, Blaine. I’m more committed than ever to building a fence to protect our borders. We spent a few years conducting feasibility studies on the terrain that can’t be fenced easily. Once those studies are completed, the fence will be built.”

  “Senator?” Jones asked.

  “Blaine, twelve million so-called illegals live in this country. Every year, five hundred thousand more cross the border. Instead of wasting our time discussing a fence that will never be built, we should devote our energies to a solution in keeping with a nation founded by immigrants and created by the rule of law.”

  “The next question is for the president.” Blaine Jones looked up from the paper in front of him. “Your campaign promised four years ago to repeal health-care reform, which you’ve not done. If you’re re-elected and repeal of the entire act is not possible, what parts would you repeal?”

  Ellison stared into the camera and ticked off the points on his finger. “First, I’d do away with the individual mandate; a person shouldn’t be forced to buy health insurance. Second, I’d lower the age that children could remain on their parents’ insurance to eighteen. Third, I’d eliminate the penalties on companies who don’t insure all of their employees.”

  The last statement was met with polite applause. The moderator turned to Whitney. “Senator?”

  “First, as for the individual mandate, who pays when the uninsured go to the hospital? The insured. Why not put the burden on the individuals who use it? Isn’t that what the free-market system is all
about? Second, I would resurrect an idea proposed by the president’s party”—she gestured at Ellison—“an eventual complete transition away from employer-provided health insurance. Why should companies be involved? Employer-provided health insurance began as a response to World War II wage and price controls, giving employees greater benefits and a sense of security. This made sense when employees stayed with a company for forty years, but how much sense does it make now when the average employee’s tenure is three years? Exchanges or portable health insurance allow employees to change jobs without worrying. This will provide individuals with greater choice, and employers, as President Ellison always says, can then concentrate on their businesses.

  “Third, President Ellison knows as well as I, health-care reform prevented many families from going bankrupt and children and young adults from joining the uninsured. These same children cannot find good-paying jobs. Throughout this campaign, I have talked with many college graduates—Michael in North Carolina, Jessica in Ohio, Matthew in Florida, bright and intelligent young men and women—who are working in fast-food establishments. I have two college-aged children. Is this any way to take care of our children? I don’t think so. This is America. We are better than this!”

  The audience rose to a standing ovation.

  When the applause subsided, the moderator turned to Ellison.

  “Mr. President, your turn to respond.”

  “Children? A twenty-six-year-old is not a child. Our young adults must start taking personal responsibility for their own care and learn early in life the government can’t solve all of their problems. Third parties make costs go up. To bring down the cost of health care, we need to eliminate the middlemen. Health care should be between a doctor and his patient. If you break your leg, you should be informed of how much it’s going to cost to fix it. This cost should not be disclosed to you for the first time when you open the bill.”

  Tepid applause followed.

  Whitney scanned the audience and smiled. President Ellison’s face was flushed and he gripped the podium as if he were holding on for dear life. Whitney understood if she did not make any major gaffes the rest of the debate, the night was hers. She focused on the moderator, Blaine Jones.

  He looked at both candidates with a grave expression. “Let’s talk about China.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Washington, DC

  Jade stared at the blank wall on the opposite side of her office. She was back at the Bureau, two days after returning from Seattle.

  The owner of the Federal Army and Navy Surplus store had provided a good description of the man who bought the knife. So far, nothing had come back from showing the composite to every airport, train station, bus terminal, hotel, rental car agency, and bed and breakfast within one hundred miles of Seattle. The facial composite had also been sent to every known victim’s employer. No one remembered seeing the suspect. Her team had checked out every lead provided by the public. None credible. Austin called MSNBC and no one fitting the description had ever worked there. No one fitting that description had ever worked at the Bureau. Dead end after dead end.

  She had been avoiding Ethan. Although he was still supportive, he was under pressure, too. She had grown up with demanding parents who only wanted to hear good news. She didn’t want to see Ethan until she had something positive to report.

  She started aligning the items on her desk. After she finished aligning her files, she selected one to review. Her phone rang again. “Harrington.”

  “Agent Harrington, Detective McClaine, Seattle PD. I wanted to let you know the evidence reports came back. I’m sending them over to you now.”

  “Hair?”

  “No, but we found carpet fibers. We checked the victim’s residence and car, and they don’t belong to him.”

  Jade had opened his email during the conversation and scanned the report. Now, off the phone, she read it in detail. Jade started rifling through the files on her desk, grateful that she had just organized them in alphabetical order. She located the correct folder and flipped pages until she found the fiber-analysis report. Carpet fibers were also found at the LeBlanc scene in Baton Rouge and the Paxson scene in Houston. Unlike DNA and fingerprints, a national database didn’t exist for fibers.

  The color, diameter, shape, dye content, and chemical composition of the carpet found at the LeBlanc and Tallent scenes—as analysts would say—were consistent with each other.

  Jade would say it was a match. She did a fist pump.

  Yes!

  The fibers were not consistent, however, with those found at the Paxson scene. Why not? The killer must have brought the fibers with him from his house or car. Perhaps he moved to a new residence between the Houston and Baton Rouge murders. Maybe he had bought a new car. No hair samples this time. Why not? Why did he switch modus operandi? How was he selecting his victims? Questions, questions, and more questions.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Washington, DC

  In her office the next day, Jade clicked open the PDF on her computer. A composite of a young white man with short-cropped hair and nondescript face stared back at her. The face of a killer.

  MSNBC had received another email from TSK. She printed out several copies and called her team together for an emergency task force meeting. A few minutes later they were all assembled in the conference room.

  Jade passed around the copies.

  To Whom It May Concern,

  Or should I ask, does it concern anyone? I told the world what would happen if my demands were not met. They should not even be called demands, because balance and fairness on the airwaves is what we deserve. What we should all want. The left and moderate views must be heard. How many more people are going to die before you start taking me seriously?

  I gave the FBI a clue last time, albeit with some misdirection. This time, the Bureau will need to figure it out on its own.

  I hope the death of poor Mr. (lack of) Tallent will propel our members of Congress to act. If not, you will be hearing from me again soon.

  Sincerely,

  TSK

  Christian dropped the paper on the table. “Motive, means, and opportunity.”

  Jade slipped a yellow peanut M&M into her mouth.

  “Any hits on the sketch?” Christian asked.

  Jade shook her head. “Nada. We sent the facial composite to every radio and TV station and all transportation possibilities in the victims’ cities.”

  “The UNSUB’s like a ghost,” Austin said.

  Jade turned to Pat, clicking away at her laptop. “Circulate the facial composite to former students, teachers, radio station employees, student housing, and restaurants in Chattenham. And send it to OPA”—Office of Public Affairs—“to add him to the Most Wanted list.”

  Pat nodded her assent without ceasing her typing.

  “Christian, have someone from our Baton Rouge office interview the girlfriend of LeBlanc again. Ask her if she recognizes the sketch. Perhaps her memory can be jarred further.”

  “Got it.”

  “And run the facial composite through the database again.”

  Christian flashed a look at her.

  “Do it again,” she said. She turned to Max. “Thoughts?”

  Max cleared his throat. “I studied every photo, autopsy, police report, witness statement, and pattern of the offenses again. The perpetrator is under a lot of stress and will become more frustrated and angry by the growing media attention and lack of action by Congress on his demands, evidenced by the overkill and concentrated knife wounds in the Tallent killing.

  “He is trying to save our country and society isn’t listening to him or giving him the respect he deserves. He’ll start to believe the situation is hopeless. At the same time, he receives intellectual satisfaction from outsmarting the FBI and local law enforcement. It’s a game. The inadequate part of him wars with the superior, grandiose side.”

  The other agents stared at him. Pat stopped typing. They had never heard Max say
so much in one breath. He was in the zone.

  He pushed his glasses up farther on his nose. “This guy isn’t going to stop on his own.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Washington, DC

  A month before the presidential election, Senator Whitney Fairchild worked at her desk in the Russell Senate Office Building. She had finally succumbed to Landon’s suggestion of installing a TV in her office to keep up with current events. She glanced at the flat-panel television hanging on the wall across from her. The portrait of Eleanor Roosevelt had been relegated to storage.

  Another Breaking News flash filled the bottom of the screen. News today, for the most part, was neither “breaking” nor even news, but this time, a TSK logo popped up in the top right corner. As time went on, the logo had become more elaborate. A facial composite of the killer was lodged in the bottom of the screen.

  She came around her desk for a closer inspection. She wondered how someone could kill another person, especially over politics. What must be going through his mind? The face seemed familiar. Something in her stirred. She dismissed the feeling. The guy looked like a lot of young men today who wore hoodies. She turned up the volume.

  “Moments ago, this network received what TSK is calling his Manifesto for America, a hundred-page document detailing his solutions to our country’s problems. He demanded we post a link and the document itself on our website. We understand similar demands were made to the print and online departments of The Washington Post and The New York Times. Executives for MSNBC are not commenting whether they will honor the request. We have also been unable to reach the Director of the FBI or the Attorney General. We will continue to keep you updated on any further developments.”

  The talking head went on, “What has Kim Kardashian been up to and what is happening with her latest marriage? You’ll find out after—”

  Whitney muted the volume and returned to her desk. She pressed a button on her phone. “Landon, I need a copy of the TSK manifesto.”