“When Ella Grasso was governor of this state,” Tom Royce said, “she could get to a press conference with fewer people than Elvis’s entourage in attendance.”
“Tom is a Democrat,” Stacey Spratz said. “Let’s go.”
2
Gregor Demarkian had never seen the governor of the State of Connecticut in person before. The only time he had ever seen him in action on television was after the 1997 mass shootings at Connecticut Lottery headquarters in Newington, when a disgruntled employee just returned from medical leave had shown up for work armed to the teeth and then walked around the facility blasting away at one lottery corporation executive after another. Gregor could remember, in the aftermath of that case, thinking that for once the killer had got it right. He had gone after the people in power instead of the people he worked with, although that was going to be cold comfort to the families of the people who had died. All Gregor remembered about the governor was a round fair face at a press conference—that, and a very good suit.
“The governor doesn’t really travel with an entourage the size of Elvis’s,” Stacey Spratz said unnecessarily. “From what I hear, he’s actually pretty easy to work with. You should hear some of the stories going around about some of the others.”
Gregor had a few stories of his own about various government officeholders, including two speakers of the House and a president, left over from his days at the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He let himself be led down the narrow corridor to the front of the building. The governor was standing with a small clutch of people near the station’s front counter, enveloped in a very good winter coat. This governor seemed to like good clothes. Bennis Hannaford would have approved.
“Governor?” Stacey Spratz said, “I’m Stacey Spratz, of the state police. I’m the resident trooper in Caldwell? And this is Gregor Demarkian.”
The governor’s face did not look blank, even for an instant. Either he’d been very well briefed for this meeting, or he liked reading true crime stories in The New York Times Sunday Magazine. He put his hand out and grabbed Gregor’s.
“Mr. Demarkian,” he said. “You have no idea how grateful I am that you agreed to come. We’re all grateful. This is a terrible situation. The murder of any young person is a terrible situation, but the ramifications here—”
“Governor?” It was one of the men in the plain black suits.
The governor dropped Gregor’s hand and turned away. “Are we ready?’
“You’d better be ready,” somebody else said. “They’re ready to eat raw meat out there. And they’re cold.”
“Does everybody know what it is we’re doing?” the governor asked.
A young woman raced up to Gregor and brushed his hair out of his eyes. She had a clipboard and her hair held back in the kind of hairband Hillary Clinton had favored before the professional handlers had gotten to her.
“The governor’s going to make a short statement,” she told Gregor, “and then he’s going to introduce you and you’re supposed to make a short statement. Just that you’re glad to be here and that you’ll help in any way possible. That kind of thing. You don’t actually have to say anything. Would you like to have something written out for you?’
“No,” Gregor said.
“It wouldn’t be any trouble. In fact, I’ve already got something. I took the liberty—”
“No,” Gregor said again.
“It will be all right,” the governor said. “Mr. Demarkian has handled press conferences before. I’ve seen him.”
“If they try to ask you any questions, don’t answer,” the young woman said. “Or don’t be too specific. Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”
“Let’s go,” the governor said.
Somebody opened the police station’s front doors. Gregor wondered what a person would do if he actually needed police protection at this moment. Nobody who didn’t know about the back door would even be able to get into the station. Was the dispatcher sending out cars when people called in? He hadn’t seen a dispatcher.
The governor stepped outside first, followed by two men Gregor assumed to be either aides or security personnel. The young woman in the hairband pushed him out immediately afterward, followed by Stacey Spratz and Mark Cashman. Tom Royce stayed behind. As soon as the group of men filed out onto the station steps, the people in the minivans came to life. Men with cameras on their shoulders moved in close. Gregor saw that, between the time he and Stacey Spratz had left the car on the side of the road and now, somebody had put up extra folding chairs.