“A center employee, Bari Macaby, the manager I mentioned earlier, came to ask if we wanted anything. She went to order Richard’s snacks, and I went out to speak with Muscles, Mischief and Magic as well as the local cops. We were checking the metal detectors. When I came back in...Richard was gone. I hunted down Jilli first. She was onstage working with the AV people. She hadn’t seen Richard. I found Bari Macaby in the auditorium, where she’d been watching Jilli doing a sound check for the night. I panicked. I let everyone know I couldn’t find Richard. Then we tore the place apart.”
“You called his cell first thing, I assume?” Voorhaven asked.
“Of course. He didn’t answer.”
“Did the cell phone show up?” Aidan asked next.
“Not that I know of,” Branch replied. He looked at Van Camp, who shook his head.
“We’re going to need your help. We’ll need you to hang around for a few days,” Aidan told him.
Branch smiled grimly. “I wasn’t going anywhere. Helping Richard was my life. I swear, he was the best thing since Lincoln, to me, anyway. He had integrity and vision—he was an independent who was going to make it.” He sighed. “I’ll be here. I have to decide what to do with my life now. I figure I’m a suspect. But I was at the center when he disappeared. You can ask the security guys, Jilli, Bari... I didn’t leave until this morning, when I heard that Richard had been found.”
He sounded sincere. But Aidan had known some good actors in his day.
“What about Mr. Highsmith’s enemies? Anyone in the political arena—or any other—stand out for you? You’re his campaign manager, his chief aide, right? So, you’d be the man who’d know,” Aidan said.
Branch thought. “Every politician has enemies. Mark Jacobs from the far left, and Harvey Applebaum from the right. Lots of people just couldn’t believe that a moderate who looked logically at all the issues could actually get in! But Jacobs was speaking in Central Park at the time, and Applebaum’s wife is in the hospital with a heart condition. He was with her all day yesterday.”
“What about strip clubs?” Aidan asked. “Did Richard ever visit one?”
“What?” Branch was incredulous. “Richard didn’t have time for a strip club—or any other kind of club.”
“Come on, the guy was unmarried and you told us this morning that he wasn’t with anyone,” Voorhaven put in.
“I didn’t say he’d never dated or had a relationship!” Branch protested.
“What about a jilted lover?” Van Camp asked.
“His last long relationship was with Julia Underwood. They split up last year. She’s a kindergarten teacher and the political scene was too much for her. It was an amicable breakup,” Branch said. He opened his hands, staring down at them. “I’d give you a name if I had one, trust me on that.” He shook his head. “I can’t see anyone doing something like this! Not to Richard.”
“No. But they might pay other people to do it,” Aidan said quietly.
Branch shook his head again. He didn’t want to believe it. No one did.
“Did he have a close friend named Elizabeth or Lizzie?” Aidan asked. “Does the name mean anything to you?”
“There are a lot of Elizabeths out there,” Branch said. “No one who was special in Richard’s life, that I was aware of, anyway. He was an open man, but I didn’t pry. I admired him. He was my friend. That doesn’t mean I knew everything about his life.”
Aidan rose, setting down his cup on the table beside his chair. “Thank you. We may need to ask you more questions later.”
“Like I said, I’ll be here,” Branch told them, rising, as well. “I’m about to hit the whiskey—and try to sleep.”
At the door, Aidan paused. “Where will we find the security guys, Bari Macaby and Jilli—”
“Jillian Durfey. Jillian is down the hall on the other side of Richard’s room. The security men are across from us,” Branch said, pointing at the doors. “Muscles, Magic, Mischief. Did you want to go through Richard’s room? It’s locked because of the investigation, of course, but...”
“We’ll have a chat with one or two of the others first, Mr. Branch,” Aidan said.
“Sure. Whenever you need me, I’m available.”
“Oh, by the way, you know a woman was murdered, too?” Aidan asked.
Branch nodded dully.
“Any idea who she might have been? Was Richard seeing someone recently? Even casually? Did any aides or groupies or anyone like that disappear?”
“No. Richard was a straight shooter. He wasn’t seeing anyone right now. He was focused on the campaign. We traveled here with just the security men, Jilli, me and Richard. We’re not that far from the city, you know. This should have been a speech and some hand-shaking. But...”
His voice faded, but then he suddenly stared at Aidan, eyes narrowing. “Aidan Mahoney.”
“Yes.”
“Your name was on one of his lists. You were going to be invited to a dinner. You...knew Richard?” he asked.
“Yes,” Aidan said. “Thank you for your help. We’ll be in touch.”
Taylor Branch closed the door.
Aiden turned to see Lee Van Camp studying him. “You knew Richard well, didn’t you?” he asked.
Aidan nodded. “I hadn’t seen him in a while. I watched his career, though, with pleasure. He was always a good kid. A good guy.”
He waited for one of them to ask if he should be on the case.
Neither did.
“Let’s start our interviews with Jilli,” Aidan said.
They walked down the hall to her room and tapped on the door. It opened almost immediately.
Jilli was definitely affected by what had happened. Like Branch, it looked as though she’d taken a shower. Aidan wondered if it was a subliminal way to attempt to wash away the shock and horror of Richard’s death.
“You’re back,” she said, looking at Van Camp. “Do you know anything? Have you found out who did this? My God, I still can’t believe it!”
She had a glass in her hand, half full of some amber liquid—Scotch, he figured, or bourbon. Aidan had a feeling she’d already knocked back a few. Her eyes were red and swollen. She’d obviously been crying and crying hard for a long time. Even as she looked at them, a trickle of tears started down her cheeks.
Van Camp introduced Aidan. “So we’ve got locals and Feds,” she murmured. “Well, we may need magic police in on this one, because it was, like, poof! Richard just...disappeared.”
“Tell me about your day—and the last time you saw Richard,” Aidan said.
She didn’t offer them anything to drink and didn’t suggest they sit. Her room wasn’t small, although it was a junior suite. Nothing like Branch’s. But she had a desk, sofa, coffee table and small kitchenette.
Voorhaven leaned against the wall. Van Camp didn’t wait for an invitation; he walked across the room and took a seat on the sofa.
Jilli turned, her fingers curled around her drink, and sat on the bed.
“It was a good day. A good travel day that became a good campaign day,” Jilli said.
“Why was he campaigning up here?” Voorhaven asked. “He was