Page 116 of The First Gentleman

CHAPTER 112

A bout two minutes later, there’s a knock on the attorney general’s office door.

“Enter!” Pope calls out.

She stands up. Bastinelli does too.

The heavy oak door swings open.

A uniformed security guard is standing next to a man in his sixties dressed in baggy jeans and a flannel shirt.

Pope glances at the security guard.

“Thanks, Kevin. Just wait in the outer office with Ruthie if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Pope extends her hand to the visitor.

“Mr. Donovan? I’m Attorney General Pope, and this is Hugh Bastinelli, the deputy attorney general.”

Bastinelli shakes Donovan’s hand.

It’s warm and damp. The visitor looks a bit intimidated.

“Come in,” says Pope.

“Please sit.” She pulls an extra chair from behind a small conference table and moves it over beside the desk.

Donovan takes the seat.

“Thank you.” He’s clutching a large manila envelope in his hands.

“I’m Craig Donovan. Nice to meet you both.”

Bastinelli pulls his chair closer to the guest. “You said you were a longtime employee of the Pats?”

“Yes, sir. I was a staff photographer.”

Pope is back behind her desk, rocking in her leather office chair.

“And what did that job entail?”

“I basically shot behind-the-scenes stuff. Not for publication, just for organization records. I shot practices, trips, celebrations, charity visits, you name it.”

“And now?”

“Oh, I retired ten years ago. Moved up here to be near my daughter.”

“So why did you ask for this meeting, Mr. Donovan? What was so important that you had to see me right away?”

Donovan looks down at the envelope.

“Watching the trial has been bringing back memories. Everybody knew Cole and Suzanne, but not the way I did.”

“You knew Cole Wright and Suzanne Bonanno?” asks Bastinelli.

“Sure I did,” says Donovan.

Then he seems to backtrack a bit.

“Let me explain. I knew them the way a photographer does. I took pictures of them. I’d talk to them, get them to move this way or that for a shot, that kind of thing.”

“You photographed both of them?” asks Pope.

“Yeah, but not together. I’d usually shoot the cheerleaders when they were rehearsing their routines or when they made appearances at community events. And the players, like I said, I’d shoot mostly during practices and around the facility. And at team celebrations. Like parties after a win.”

Bastinelli glances at the envelope in Donovan’s hands.

He’s holding it so tight, the edges are crinkled.

“So what’s in the envelope, Mr. Donovan? What is it you couldn’t wait to show us?”

“Look,” says Donovan, “you gotta understand. I liked Cole Wright. He was always polite to me. Never gave me any attitude. But when I heard that lady on the witness stand, the doctor…”

“The medical examiner?” says Pope.

“Dr. Woods?”

“Yeah,” says Donovan.

“Her.”

“What about her?” asks Bastinelli.

“Something she said about Suzanne being strangled,” says Donovan.

“It reminded me of some pictures I took back when Cole was playing, and I found this.” Donovan fingers the clasp on the envelope and opens the flap.

He pulls out an eight-by-ten color print and lays it on the desk.

The photo appears to have been taken in the harsh fluorescent lighting of a sports facility—in a locker room or training area.

A bunch of male athletes are in towels or workout gear.

A few have their arms raised.

Others are pumping their fists.

Bastinelli’s heart lifts.

At the right side of the image is Cole Wright—with his hands around the neck of a cheerleader.