Page 19 of The First Gentleman

CHAPTER 15

Dartmouth College

C ampus is just as we remember.

It’s easy to locate the operations and maintenance department.

Judd Peyton’s office is near the Geisel School of Medicine.

The janitor is wearing scuffed work boots, jeans, and a khaki uniform shirt stitched with his name and the Dartmouth Lone Pine.

His gnarled, callused hands, thinning black hair, and lined face suggest he must be close to retirement age.

Peyton’s face lights up when he sees Garrett.

“Hey, Mr. Bestseller,” he says.

I introduce myself. “Brea Cooke, Garrett’s researcher and coauthor. Also his classmate. Fellow alums. I remember you from when we were students.”

“Sure, sure, of course!” says Judd, smoothing over any awkwardness.

He sits down in an old office chair patched with duct tape and stares at me for a second, and I see the light bulb go on.

“You used to study at Baker-Berry Library.”

The machine smell inside the building reminds me of the place where my pops worked—the MTA’s overhaul shop in uptown Manhattan.

The office wall is lined with technical certifications.

In the midst of them is a single photo: a smiling young soldier in full battle rattle.

Next to it is a folded American flag in a triangular glass and wooden box.

Garrett told me all about Judd’s son Henry, killed in action in the Middle East. That explained Judd’s interest in the military themes of Stolen Honor .

But today we’re chasing down another kind of injustice.

“Judd,” Garrett says, “we’re here to follow up on Cole Wright, what we spoke about on the night of the Stolen Honor signing.”

Judd rubs his chin.

“It was Cole’s senior year. Couple guys I worked with were cleaning up after a homecoming party. A real disaster zone. Rumor was that during the party, Cole Wright had raped a girl. The underground campus newspaper was supposedly going to run a story about it, but it never got published.”

“Do you know why?” I ask.

Judd shrugged. “Word is the reporter was threatened. If you run that story, you’ll have to dictate your next one, because your fingers will be broken . Something like that.”

“What about the student who was assaulted?” I ask.

“Did she report it to the campus police or the administration?”

“Not that anybody knows of,” says Judd.

Garrett says, “You said you knew somebody down in Foxborough who knew something about the other matter. The cheerleader who went missing.”

A nod.

“That’s right. My cousin Manny York. He worked for me one summer on campus. He had a talent for landscaping that helped him get a job at Gillette Stadium the year after Cole joined the Pats. The pay sucked, but Manny got everything he wanted from the job and then some. Got to know a lot of the players.”

“What did Manny think of Cole?” I ask.

“Cole was a first-round pick from a school that’s not exactly known for athletics.” Judd covers his Dartmouth Lone Pine with his palm and says in a low voice, “Sorry, Big Green. From what Manny said, Cole had a real attitude, got into a few scrapes. Then he decided to sneak around with Suzanne Bonanno, one of the cheerleaders, which wasn’t allowed.”

I glance at Garrett.

“How did Manny know?”

“From what Manny told me, it was an open secret that Suzanne had broken up with her long-distance boyfriend, and Cole swept right in. They’d been dating only a few months when she disappeared.”

I ask, “What happened then?”

“The cops told the Patriots front office about the relationship, but the team decided to keep it under wraps. Didn’t want the bad publicity. The cops cleared him in her disappearance, but two weeks later, when the team got the report from California on Cole’s knee, they released him anyway.”

“Any chance you know the name of Suzanne’s former boyfriend?” Garrett asks.

“Italian name,” says Judd.

“Tony something or other.”

“When can we talk to your cousin in Foxborough?” I ask, hoping for a primary source.

“Can you arrange it?”

Judd shakes his head.

“’Fraid not.”

“How come?” Garrett asks. “Manny’s dead.”