No Way Back(Jack McNeal #1)(22)

“Jack, do what you can.” She dabbed her eyes. “I believe I’m being watched. One man. There might be others. I’m worried. Really worried. I thought I was imagining it. But I’m not. I just think . . . I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. So, I’m making this recording for you to know that I believe this man is going to kill me. I have no proof of that. But I think it’s because of my investigation. The woman was a socialite, Sophie Meyer. Magazine covers, you might remember.”

Jack remembered reading about the story in the New York Post.

“I believe her husband was involved in her death. I don’t know how. But I believe he had some part in it. His name is Henry Graff.”

The name crashed through Jack’s head. His mind flashed back to the brief Fox News clip he had seen back in the Internal Affairs office in New York. He remembered that the President had attended a private memorial service on the third anniversary of her death. And they specifically mentioned it was to commemorate the late wife of Henry Graff, an old friend of the President. He paused the footage and told Peter. “I remember that name, son of a bitch!”

Peter wrote it down.

“He’s a friend of the President,” Jack said.

“I swear to God. This is not good.”

“The clip didn’t mention the name Sophie Meyer, as far as I can remember. But they definitely said Henry Graff. The same woman Caroline is talking about.”

“And he was married to this socialite, Meyer?”

“That’s what she’s saying.”

“That’s fucked up.”

Jack gathered his thoughts and resumed the footage.

“You’re probably wondering what made me look into her death. Well, journalists talk to people. Off the record. And something about the nature of this woman’s death—she overdosed—and her connections to a host of powerful people in Washington . . . I thought that was too convenient. She took a lot of secrets with her to the grave. It looked like a typical overdose. But why now? Had she gotten careless? And so, I started digging into it. I was greeted by a wall of silence to begin with. I was warned by people not to pursue this. That freaked me out. But it also made me more determined to find out what really happened. I believe the same people who killed her will come for me. I don’t have any proof of that. But the man who is following me might be one of them. Why did they kill her? The woman who died knew too much. Maybe I know too much. Henry Graff is the key.”

Jack sighed. “Oh Jesus, Caroline.”

“I hope you take the necessary action with all this information. I want people to be held accountable. It’s probably too much for one person to investigate. I would hope the FBI would be interested. But I’ve come up against numerous brick walls since I started this investigation.”

Jack closed his eyes tight. The sound of her voice was breaking his heart. It reminded him of the day of their wedding. The clarity of her speech. The lightness. It made him feel good remembering it.

“I miss you so much, Jack. I don’t blame you for not wanting to get involved after Patrick died. I understand now. I understand the terrible hurt you must have gone through. I know you felt guilty. I don’t blame you at all. When Patrick died . . . I know part of you died. I tried to reach out to you. But you had retreated into yourself. I can see that now. I was harsh on you. I did blame you. I was wrong. I don’t blame you. I only loved two people in my life. You and Patrick. That’s all there ever was.”

Jack bowed his head and began to sob.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m very scared. I wish you were here with me. I wanted to talk to you about it. I just never got around to it. I was afraid if I called you, they would know. It would lead them to you. And I didn’t want that. But I just wanted you to know all of this in case something happens to me. Until we meet again, Jack. Love you.”

Then the screen went blank.





Fifteen

McNeal gripped the table, losing his grasp on reality. This was getting weirder and darker. The same thoughts had run through him five years ago. The night all the trouble began. Now this had opened up all the hurt and anger he had suppressed. He could feel it building. Slowly.

“You okay to do this?” Peter asked.

Jack grabbed them another couple of cold beers. “She wanted me to know what she knew. So, I need to see it.”

“I’m just trying to protect you. I don’t want you going off the rails.”

Jack took a long gulp of Schlitz. He wondered what the hell he was going to find on the goddamn CD. “Let’s do this.”

“You sure?”

“Do it.”

Peter handed the CD to Jack, who slid it into the side of the laptop. Dozens of Word documents appeared on the screen. He scanned the file names. He printed them all out. Together, Jack and his brother read the contents as the time ticked away.

Slowly a story fell into place . . .

Caroline had been privately investigating the death of a Washington, DC, socialite, Sophie Meyer, the daughter of a wealthy blue blood East Coast family. Meyer had died three years earlier. Found by her cleaner at her DC home, sprawled on the floor of her bedroom, pills strewn over her body.

Jack googled the name Sophie Meyer and countless articles appeared. It showed her at museum openings, Vanity Fair parties, the Met Gala, White House parties, film premieres—anywhere people with money and influence gathered. He didn’t see any pictures of her with her husband, Henry Graff. None at all.