Page 98 of The First Gentleman
CHAPTER 94
Kingston, New Hampshire
I t was a long first day at trial.
At the end of it, I grab a Domino’s pizza and a six-pack of Sam Adams and head to my hotel.
The day Cole Wright’s trial was announced, I snagged a hotel room in Kingston, a few miles south of the Rockingham County courthouse.
From what I hear, locals are now renting out rooms and basements for five hundred dollars a night.
This entire day has reminded me of Garrett.
Drafting the manuscript over the past eight months has distracted me from his death.
In a way, it’s also kept him alive.
With each page I write, I can feel him standing over my shoulder—editing my grammar, correcting my syntax, and always pushing for clarity.
No literary or legal flourishes allowed.
“Don’t write to show off,” he always told me.
“Write to make the reader understand.”
After a bit of wrangling with the landlord of the Litchfield house, I got him to let me out of the lease.
I lost the security deposit, but that was a small price to pay.
For the past six months, I’ve been renting a nice condo in New Haven within walking distance of Yale Law School, and soon I’ll be back to teaching classes three days a week.
When I moved, I put most of Garrett’s stuff in storage—his books, his clothes, his notes from Integrity Gone and Stolen Honor .
The one thing I keep in the condo is his guitar.
It brings me comfort to see it leaning in the corner of the bedroom.
Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can still hear him playing.
Like he did the day he bought it at Sammy’s.
Naturally, I played my recording of Leo Amalfi’s confession for the detectives in Brattleboro, Vermont.
But it wasn’t the bombshell I expected.
They thought the White House angle was just hearsay or maybe the ravings of a dying man.
But at least they started looking for some of Amalfi’s known associates in an attempt to track down the actual shooters.
They’re still looking.
Personally, I believe Amalfi was telling the truth.
I think the First Gentleman ordered Garrett’s murder because he was getting too close to finding out about the murder Cole Wright himself had committed.
The one he’s on trial for now.
I think Garrett learned something that day at the airport—and I think he died because of it.
I realize I haven’t called Dr. Graham to thank him for the pass yet.
Truth is, I wanted to wait until I was sure it would actually get me in.
And it did. Good as gold.
I send a text to Brother, but my phone says it’s not deliverable.
I decide to do a little probing on LinkedIn to get his contact info.
Interesting. I find an email address, but no phone number.
He probably doesn’t want students pestering him at all hours.
At this point, I think most people would just shoot off an email.
Not me. Not since Garrett taught me the wonders of the dark web.
Just for fun, I click on my Tor browser and go down the rabbit hole on Dr. Cameron Graham.
There has to be a phone number in here somewhere.
At first, I’m just scrolling through the usual junk—pictures of him at conferences and seminars, links to papers he’s written and books he’s edited, civic awards and speeches.
Then suddenly, I’m reading an obscure political blog linked to Dr. Graham.
We should have listened to Doc Cams. Maddy and her sports-lug spouse have been a nightmare!
Doc Cams? Cameron?
I dig deeper.
A lot of these posts are from three or more years back, some from before the election.
Now I’m finding posts from Doc Cams himself.
Electing Wright, with her muscle-headed hubby, and the fascist ex-cop VP will be a disaster.
If Wright dies in office, you know who becomes president?
Faulkner, that Philly police chief who crapped all over BLM.
Holy Jesus…
More scrolling.
More vitriol. Then this:
If you want to get rid of Wright before her second term, go after her jock husband.
Easy to weaken her by taking down Cole W.
I close my laptop. What was it Dr. Graham told me?
One group wants very much to stop you.
The other wants very much to help you.
Now I know which group Dr. Graham belongs to.
Now I understand his motives.
But what about his methods?
I’m not sure I understand that.
This stuff sounds pretty dark.
I give up looking for his personal number and check the Columbia Law School directory.
It’s almost ten. Should I wait until morning?
Screw it. I need to know what’s going on.
I call his office, and as I expected, it goes straight to voicemail: “This is Dr. Cameron Graham. Please leave a message.”
No way I can ask him about this Doc Cams thing on a recording.
I need to talk to him, preferably in person.
So, for now, I just make nice.
“Hi, Dr. Graham. It’s Brea Cooke. The courthouse pass is great, so thank you. Need to talk to you when you have a minute. Bye.”
I hang up and turn on the television.
I scarf down two slices of pizza while I watch Court TV’s recap of today’s testimony.
Another New Hampshire state trooper testified about finding a grave-size hole on property belonging to Cole Wright on Lake Marie.
The prosecution tried to suggest that Wright was attempting to get the bones buried there to hide them away.
But Tess Hardy got the trooper to admit that the property wasn’t secure and that anybody could have dug that hole.
The next person on the stand was a woman named Stacey Millett.
She’d worked at Gillette Stadium during the time Cole and Suzanne had dated and confirmed it was an open secret that they were together.
Everybody there also knew about Cole’s temper, she claimed, backing it up with a memory of hearing him talking rough to Suzanne after practice one day, saying something like “Suzanne, I’m gonna wring your pretty little neck!”
Tess Hardy poked holes in Millett’s memories.
Then she asked her why she’d never reported these threats to the police if she was so concerned.
Stacey’s answers weren’t great.
I turn up the sound as they show the same clip for the third time.
The camera is focused on the witness box.
Poor Stacey looks a little bewildered and tired.
Not used to this kind of pressure.
Tess Hardy’s voice comes from off-camera.
“Ms. Millett, have you ever been angry at someone?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I mean really mad.”
“Sure.”
“In the heat of the moment, have you ever said anything like ‘I could kill you right now!’”
“Well, yeah,” says Millett, “but I didn’t really mean it. I was just letting off steam.”
“So you’ve never actually killed anybody?”
“Objection!” Bastinelli’s voice.
“Overruled,” says the judge.
“Ms. Millett, you may answer the question.”
“No! Of course not!”
“I didn’t think so,” says Hardy.
Another point scored for the defense.
But the game clock has just started.