Political Science 101

Chapter Ninety-Nine

But the relaxation of the song was shattered a familiar voice.

"Mr. McGarry," the young overdressed man said as they all entered the conference room, "There are people here to see you."

"Very well," McGarry replied, tapping his phone and stopping the music.

He stood from his chair, straightening out his business suit and acknowledged the men who entered. He wasn't nervous, but he was a little anxious, not knowing exactly what the subsequent conversation would entail. All he knew was, a man went on television and encouraged every voter to ask for a paper ballot because the voting machines were fraudulent and compromised.

"Mr. McGarry," the oldest of the men said, "I'm Detective Lenny Knight of the St. Louis Police Department." They shook hands.

"I'm Mitch Bradley," the next man said, shaking hands with McGarry. "We've actually met before at a dinner here a long time ago."

McGarry nodded his head, not recalling him.

"I'm Keating," the next man said, also shaking hands with Gerald McGarry.

"Keating," Mitch said, "you can use your real name. I mean, it's not like this a Woodward and Bernstein operation anymore."

"Actually," Keating replied, "that really is my first name."

"Seriously?" Mitch could hear the inflection in his voice as it swung unintentionally high.

"Seriously." Keating replied. "It's my real first name. Keating Williams is my full name."

"Damn," Mitch said, "I remember that now. You were one of Ashlynn's teachers! I can't believe I forgot that."

"Guys," Lenny said, "we don't have time for this."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

"Mr. McGarry," Lenny began, "we have some information you really need to hear." He paused, glancing over. "Actually, Mitch has some information you really need to hear."

"Yes," McGarry said, "I gathered as much. But I'm going to need some details before I can do anything."

"I have details. We have details," Keating said in a declaratory tone, as though he was about to reveal the shocking plot twist of a suspenseful drama.

The four men stood silently for a moment, as though they were all waiting for one of the others to speak. But the silence was broken by a cell phone ring, not a voice.

All the men looked at Detective Knight. His cell phone ring tone was an actual cell phone ringtone, and in a way, it somehow fit the antiquated "cop" motif he carried with his countenance.

It wasn't the kind of cell phone ringtone intended to sound like an old bell telephone, it was literally a digital cell phone ring, like something from the 1990s before Nokia decided to make cell phones ring with a song instead of a solid ring.

Detective Knight pulled a flip phone from his trench coat pocket and flipped it open like Captain Kirk flipping open his communicator before asking to be beamed-up to the Enterprise.

Keating giggled with an audible snort after seeing the flip phone. Knight gave him a dirty look.

"Detective Knight speaking," the he said into his flip phone, still holding his mild glare at Keating. "Yes," he said, and then his entire facial expression changed. Instead of annoyance, his facial expression almost seemed to drop in defeat, anxiety, and fear. "Okay," he said, his voice now slightly cracking.

Knight closed his flip phone and it made a louder-than-normal pop sound as it did — or maybe it just seemed louder because it shattered the unknown silence as each man looked into Detective Knight's face, wondering what kind of news would cause his entire countenance to change so rapidly. And yet, Knight did not look up. He did not look at the faces of the men who were searching him with their eyes for any clue of what was just said on the phone.

Detective Knight's chest felt heavy. He found himself in a situation he'd been in before, a situation he'd dreaded as a homicide detective, a situation he was hoping to never be in again. Because in all the years Detective Knight wore his badge, the only thing about being a cop he hated was telling someone else of the death of a loved one.

Knight finally looked up from his phone and made direct eye-contact with Mitchell Bradley.

Somehow, Mitch knew the call was about him. He immediately pulled out his cell phone and dialed Ashlynn's number. Knight tried to get a syllable out, but Mitch held up his hand to silence him as the phone rang. "Answer," Mitch said into the ringing phone. He knew he'd already nearly lost his daughter once in that car accident; he still wasn't ready to lose her.

"Hello?" a voice said on the other end of the phone.

"Ashlynn?" Mitch said, seemingly surprised that she answered.

"Yeah," she said, sounding confused. "Who did you expect?"

"Uh," Mitch stammered, "never mind; I meant to call someone else. Dialed you by mistake. We'll talk later. Love you!" Mitch hung up the phone and gave Knight a confused look.

"Who was on the phone?" Keating asked Knight, sensing the palpable confusion in the room.

"Do you gentlemen need a moment?" McGarry said. "I can step out."

"No," Knight said, "this will just take a moment."

"Who was on the phone?" Mitch asked with a stern tone, still sensing the call was about him.

"We just got a positive ID on the body they pulled out of the creek."

"It really was her, wasn't it," Mitch said with conflicted melancholy. He looked at Keating, who promptly looked away.

"The coroner confirmed she was shot in the back of the head and her body was dumped in Dead Creek," Knight said.

In the back of his mind, Knight had known this was true from the moment he arrived at the scene. but since a positive identification could not be made, no one knew for certain.

Mitch felt his knees weaken as the blood drained from his face. Although he was told of the discovery of her body hours before, nothing had been confirmed; in the back of Mitch's mind, a glimmer of hope still remained. But now it was confirmed. Now it was real. Now, Ana was dead.

As everyone in the room looked at him, he simply muttered, "Get Mr. McGarry up to speed. I need a moment." He walked slowly and carefully into the dark after-hours silent hallway.