"The inspector," Kerry cut in with muted anger, "found this in Bowden's room."
Lara walked over to the coffee table. Spread open was a copy of the SSA magazine; on the page, beside a notice for a gun show in Las Vegas, an advertisement described the features of the Lexington P-2. "Endangered Species," the bold print said. "Banned in California."
"Remember George Callister?" Kerry asked.
FOUR
The next morning, Kerry and Lara sat in the walled Italianate garden of the mansion. It was orderly and quiet—the flowers and bushes carefully pruned and tended, water spilling from a marble fountain the only sound—and would have seemed the perfect urban refuge save for the Secret Service agents on the rooftop. Lara picked at a plate of fruit.
"Kit sat down with me last night," Kerry said. "We talked about the funeral."
Lara looked up from her plate, her long, cool gaze more focused than at any time since the murders. "Mary and I have already decided," she answered. "We want the funeral to be as private as we can make it. I need you to be there as my husband, a member of our family."
But not as President, she was clearly saying. In the silence which followed, Kerry thought of his meeting with Kit Pace.
Kit had arrived the night before, after Lara had retreated upstairs. It was the first time they had spoken since the shootings: Kerry sensed that Kit, as others, had been waiting for clues about how and when to approach him. He had waved her to the chair across from him, accepted her condolences. A few awkward moments passed before Kit addressed what could no longer be avoided. "This is your tragedy," she said with unwonted hesitance. "But it's also the country's. My sense is that people need you to help them mourn, and to help them know how to feel."
Fruitlessly, Kerry wished for a respite from obligations. "Compared to Lara," he answered, "it's not my tragedy at all."
Kit lapsed into contemplative silence. "Does Lara plan to speak?" she asked. "It might be enough for people to see her . . ."
"See her?"
"I know how you'll feel about this, but I think you should consider letting television do its work." To ward off a quick response, Kit had reached out to touch Kerry's wrist. "A funeral where you speak could be the best memorial. It would allow the nation to participate, and reflect on how the victims died, like in Columbine or Oklahoma City . . ."
Now, Lara put down her fork. "Kit wants to televise the service?" she
repeated with an air of muted incredulity. "What a tribute to my family that would be. Perhaps we can read Bowden's letter, explaining how television pushed him to the edge."
Kerry could say nothing: to Lara, these deaths were so enmeshed with his decisions, the cost of being President, that he could not give voice to his own guilt, nor penetrate her sense of complicity. "I don't want to mourn them as symbols," Lara said more evenly, "but as three people I loved, who will always be a part of me. Even if I felt otherwise, I could never push Mary to bastardize the funeral. She's the one who saw them die, and she's all the family I have."
I'm your family, as well, Kerry thought. But all he ventured was, "If you want, Kit can help Connie Coulter with the media. Like it or not, they're out there."
Lara looked around her at the garden. "I'll ask Mary if she minds a press pool," she said with a faint sardonic undertone. "Perhaps in the rear of the church, as they did at our wedding."
I didn't kill them, Kerry wanted to say. We didn't kill them. But he could not even persuade himself. "We're the President and First Lady," he said in measured tones. "We'll be that at the funeral, like it or not. We're also two people who've been married for five days, three of them so hellish that neither of us knows what to do. Once we leave here we'll need to begin to find our way." Reaching across the table, he took her lifeless hand. "You can start with the fact that I love you."
Silent, she gazed at their intertwined hands. "Then let me have my family back," she answered softly. "At least for the funeral."
* * *
An hour later, after Lara left to be with Mary, Kerry and Clayton watched CNN: in the unspoken protocol of Kerry's mourning, Clayton Slade was the only person—except as absolutely required—whom the President wished to see. The broadcast showed a collage of national mourning—cards and bouquets left at the base of the iron bars surrounding the White House; a deluge of letters to the President and Lara; impromptu memorial gatherings in scores of American cities, and several in Asia and Western Europe; interviews with women who wept for three victims they had never known; a commentator weighing the impact of these deaths against that of Princess Diana. Then Wolf Blitzer began reading a statement from George Callister:
"All of us," Blitzer began, "are shocked and saddened that the murderer of seven innocent people used a gun and ammunition manufactured by Lexington Arms. On behalf of all the employees of Lexington, I've conveyed to the President and First Lady our profound sympathy and sorrow . . ."
"He called," Clayton told the President, "while you were with Lara."
Kerry did not turn. "Callister? What did he say?"
"How sorry he was. I didn't want to interrupt you."
Kerry let a brief, harsh laugh escape through tightened lips. He did not respond in words.
On the screen, Blitzer continued reading. "We must remember," Callister went on to say, "that a gun in itself is neither good nor bad, and that millions of Americans use guns safely and responsibly, from hunting to sportshooting to protecting their home and family from people like John Bowden. The essence of this tragedy lies not in the fact that Lexington makes guns, but in the recesses of this man's demented mind . . ."
"Tell Callister," Kerry said quietly, "that he'll be hearing from me. In my own time and way."
* * *
That afternoon, the President materialized before a startled press pool, speaking briefly and without notice in the circular driveway. He took no questions; Lara was not with him. This was his first public statement since the murders.
He looked weary, but composed. "On behalf of the First Lady and her family," he began, "I would like to thank all Americans for their understanding and compassion in this very private time . . ." He did not mention Callister, or guns.
FIVE
The funeral mass was held in a simple Roman Catholic church in the Sunset District, near the stucco home where the Costello family had lived since Lara was born. The mourners filling the church were parishioners and other friends. The sole public official besides Kerry was Vice President Ellen Penn, who had represented the district before advancing to the Senate; the press pool was limited to ten reporters, consigned to the rear and confined to pads and pencils. Kerry sat with Lara and Mary, Carlie and Clayton Slade beside him. A few times Carlie touched Kerry's hand, as if she knew that Kerry felt alone. He did not know what Lara would say, or how she would manage to say it.