3 a.m. (Henry Bins 1) by Nick Pirog Page A

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Callie/Jessica didn't mean that he didn't kill her. In fact,
it gave him motive.
    “ I know what you're
thinking, even a better reason to kill her, and don't think it
didn't cross my mind. But she'd gone away for six years the first
time I paid her, I had little doubt she would disappear for another
six, whereby if she ever came back to the well, I would have served
out my presidency and I could deal with the fallout if the tape
came out.”
    “ Okay, so say I believe
you. What happened that night? And start from the beginning, like
how you got out of the White House and into a Ford
Focus.”
    “ You know that was the
first time I'd driven in nearly three years. Man it felt good!” He
laughs.
    I don't react. I'm still sitting next to a
killer. And I don't give a shit when the last time he drove a car
was.
    He straightens.
    “ I told my guys I wanted
to go for a drive and that I didn't want any record of it. Red, the
guy that tased you, heads up my detail. He made it
happen, but he insisted he come with me. Snuck me out, got me into
that car and we drove. We went five miles, then I pulled
over and told him to get out. Some SS might not have gotten out of
the car, but Red and I go back to college. We'd played ball
together for two years. Like brothers. He got out. I told
him I'd pick him up in an hour. Drove down to the address that
Jessica – I had no idea she was calling herself Callie now – had
given me, and went inside.
    “ I gave her the money, two
hundred grand this time, and she took it. She tried to kiss me and
I pushed her away. That's when she started screaming. I covered her
mouth and told her to shut up, then I ran out.”
    “ What about your
phone?”
    He shakes his head. “I had this great plan
to record the exchange, so I would have proof she was blackmailing
me, if it ever came to that, but Jessica is smart. She patted me
down, found the phone and said she was keeping it. It was her
insurance if I ever tried to prove she was blackmailing me.”
    “ And what, you just left
and then someone came and strangled her?”
    “ Yep and they took the two
hundred thousand dollars with them.”
     
    …
     
    The President drops me off five blocks from
my house at 3:50 a.m.
    I open the door and ask, “So if you didn't
kill her, then who did?”
    He had no idea.

 
     
     
~Eleven~
     
    I have no idea if the Clemens moved back. If
they have, I will know in the next thirty seconds.
    I pick up a rock from a nearby garden and
weigh it in my hand. It has some heft, maybe three pounds. It will
work.
    My plan is to smash the lock on the sliding
glass door and hope it opens. I raise the rock above my head.
    Meow.
    I look down.
    I decided to bring Lassie along for my B
& E encore, hoping he might be able to sniff out something the
cops had missed.
    “ I know it’s a stupid
idea, but how else are we going to get in?”
    Meow.
    “ Really?”
    Meow.
    “ Well, why didn’t you say
something earlier?”
    He shrugs, then leads me to a
flower pot at the back edge of the porch. The flowers are long
dead, having not been watered in two weeks, and the soil is filled
with small crusty leaves. I dig my hand in the soil and feel
around, then hit pay dirt. I pull out a key.
    “ Good job
Watson.”
    Meow.
    “ No, I’m
Sherlock.”
    Ten seconds later, we are inside.
    It is 3:10 a.m.
    The TV remote is in the same place I’d last
seen it and I decide the Clemens are still tanning their hides in
the Florida sun. I wonder what their plans are for the estate. And
I also wonder if they believe in ghosts. Ten to one, the house
would be on the market within the year. Virginia real estate prices
were on the rise, some were even throwing out words like “seller’s
market”, but I’d be surprised if the Clemens got sixty percent of
their asking price.
    As for the cops, if they’d moved stuff
around, they’d put it back in relatively the
same fashion as they’d found it.
    I head into the kitchen and I grab myself