yesterday. Child’s play to write a program like that, Naz said. They’d hoped to look at the laptop, but if the police had it, they were left with guesswork for now.
“When did the schedule for yesterday get announced? How far in advance did you know you’d be speaking?”
“We’ve known about the event for weeks. This debate was a big deal.”
“And the running order?”
“That kept getting changed. At first, they wanted to do some sort of presentation to local veterans at the beginning, but then they switched it to the end, right before Elodie Bryan was meant to perform.”
The cynic in Alaric said they’d saved the best part until last to keep people from leaving. Elodie Bryan was an up-and-coming country singer from Frankfort, and he’d been looking forward to her set himself.
“When did they finalise the timings?”
“Sometime in the morning. Around eleven o’clock? You’d have to check with my team.”
“And where was the laptop then?”
“On the battle bus.”
“The bus that takes you between campaign stops?”
“Yes.”
“And who has access to the bus?”
“Just my team. But I’m telling you, none of them would have done this. And besides, my wife was there for most of the day, sitting in the chair right next to my desk. She wasn’t feeling well.”
It wouldn’t be the first time a wife had sabotaged her husband, but it seemed an unlikely option. Meagan O’Shaughnessy had always appeared supportive.
“Okay, so let’s narrow it down to the times the laptop was out of sight of the two of you.”
“The police already asked these questions.”
“Would you mind going over it again?”
“Why am I even doing this? I still don’t know who you’re working for.”
“Let’s assume we’re working for you.”
Emmy chipped in. “The police aren’t going to win you this election, Mr. O’Shaughnessy, but they’ll sure as hell help you to lose it if you don’t take steps to control the damage.”
O’Shaughnessy had started off pale, but now he lost another shade of colour. “The only time the laptop was out of my sight was when I handed it over to Malorie.”
“Then we need to speak to Malorie.”
“I’m not sure she’s in a fit state—”
Emmy tapped her watch. “The clock’s ticking, Mr. O’Shaughnessy.”
Malorie Sykes was a nervous blonde in her early twenties. This was her first job in politics after majoring in political science at the University of Kentucky, and possibly her last if she was involved in this monumental fuck-up.
“I only ran to the bathroom,” she said. “I was gone, like, five minutes max.”
“And you didn’t take the laptop with you?”
“There’s no place to put it in those bathrooms except on the floor, and…” Her ski-jump nose crinkled. “Yuck.”
“So you left it…where?” Emmy asked.
“On a chair beside the stage. There were people around. Like, security people. I thought it would be okay, and when I came back, the bag was right where I left it.”
“Security people?” Emmy slid a photo out of her purse, an old picture of Eric Ridley from his Navy days. Alaric wasn’t sure whether Black had called in a favour to get it or sent in one of his pet hackers, but it was the best they could do on short notice. “Did you see this guy hanging around?”
“Kyla Devane’s boyfriend? Sure, he was around. Why? Do you think he was involved in this…this…horror show?”
Kyla’s boyfriend? This just got better and better.
“Devane’s dating this man?”
“Well, yeah, I think so. I mean, isn’t she?”
O’Shaughnessy leaned forward and plucked the photo from his intern’s hand. Studied it. “I always thought he was part of her security team. Eric, right? He looks younger in this picture. Must be fifteen years older than her if he’s a day.”
“You’re familiar with him?”
“Not really. I’ve seen him with her a time or two, and he introduced himself once.” O’Shaughnessy tapped his head. “Never forget a name. It’s been a blessing in this game.”
Emmy turned back to Malorie. “What makes you say he’s her boyfriend?”
“I… I… I’m not sure. I guess I just saw them standing real close, like…you know. And so I figured…”
“It’s okay. We’re not trying to catch you out here, only understand your thoughts. Gut instincts are often the right ones.”
If Ridley was involved with Devane on more than a professional level, it certainly gave him an incentive to assist with a dirty-tricks campaign. The money he’d get for providing security services paled beside the influence he’d gain as one half of Kentucky’s newest power couple. He’d had it all—means, motive, and opportunity.
The only thing missing was the evidence.
But now