Page 5

I’m reading Marcia’s expression and body language. She’s getting excited and trying not to show it. “All right,” she says. “I’m listening. Who’s your source?”
“An employee at Dartmouth College,” says Garrett.
“Where you and Brea went to school. Am I right?”
“Correct,” says Garrett. “As did President Wright and herhusband. They graduated before we started. Cole was a star on the Dartmouth football team.”
“So who’s this employee?” asks Marcia. “A professor? A coach? Someone in security?”
“A custodian.” Garrett plunges ahead. “Think about it, Marcia. Who knows everyone’s dirty secrets? Janitors and other low-level employees—like Frank Wills, the night watchman who foiled the Watergate break-in—they’re the ones who see everything, hear everything. And nobody pays them any mind.”
Marcia likes the fact that I have a law degree. I can see that I need to play that professional card now. “Judd Peyton is the custodian,” I say. “He’s legit, Marcia. He’s been working on campus for more than thirty years. Straight shooter.”
“And you first met Mr. Peyton at Dartmouth and stayed in touch with him all these years?” asks Marcia.
“No. We met Peyton at the campus signing forStolen Honor,” I tell her. “He’d actually read the book.”
“He cornered me afterward,” says Garrett. “And we started talking about secrets. Like the ones I’d written about. Then he told me that he had a secret he’d been keeping for years.”
Marcia leans forward. “And that secret is?”
“The secret,” says Garrett, “is that Cole Wright allegedly sexually assaulted a girl while he was an undergrad at Dartmouth.”
Marcia winces. “That’s horrible if it’s true.” She pauses. “But it’s not murder.”
“Stay with me,” says Garrett. I picture that fishing line getting pulled tighter and tighter. “Peyton was a big football fan. Followed Cole Wright’s career after he was drafted by the Patriots.”
My turn. “Peyton had a cousin who worked as a landscaper at Gillette Stadium. The cousin told him that Cole was dating one of the Patriots cheerleaders. A twenty-two-year-old named Suzanne Bonanno.”
“Which is against team and NFL rules,” says Garrett.
“Sounds like a good rule,” says Marcia.
“They tried to keep their relationship secret, but it looked like some teammates were about to leak it to the press.”
“Which could have tanked his career,” I add. “And cost him his pension.”
“What then?” Marcia asks. Her desk phone rings. She ignores it.
“Seventeen years ago,” says Garrett, “Suzanne Bonanno told her family that she was going to meet up with Cole Wright. She was never seen again. A missing person report was filed, but nothing ever came of it. A few days later, Cole Wright flew to California to have a knee injury treated.”
Marcia’s phone stops ringing. “There has to be more on what happened to the cheerleader,” she says.
“You’d think,” said Garrett. “I’ve kept my contacts from when I was reporting for theBoston Globe,and the paperwork on Suzanne Bonanno’s case seems to be missing. I think it was swept, Marcia.”
I lean in. “By someone working to help Cole Wright.”
“Dear God,” Marcia says. She taps her fingers against her desktop. “Still, going after the president’s husband? You’ll be called saboteurs, traitors to the country, operatives for the other political party, and if you’ve ever had even a sip of Stoli, they’ll say you’re Russian agents. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
Garrett says, “I’m ready.”
“What about you, Brea?” asks Marcia. “You’re not scared by this?”
“My activist granddad had his head cracked open in Selma. I’ve got his DNA in me. I’m more scared that the truth will never come out.”
The room is quiet again.
“All right,” Marcia says. “Any other editor here would toss you out on your asses. It’s a huge risk. If you’re wrong on this, it’ll sink you both, and me along with you. Maybe the whole company.”