Read The President's Henchman for Free Online

wife to vote the right way. Do it, or she’ll know what it’s like to see the taking of an innocent life.
    “The note doesn’t specify the vote in question,” McGill told the philanthropist. “Nor does it say which way is the right way to vote, but when you read it to your wife, she understood perfectly, or so you told me.”
    Andy nodded, and said quietly, “Yes, she did.”
    The congresswoman’s rebuttal was a good deal louder. “It could all be a bluff!”
    She marched over to the table, stood before McGill, daring him to contradict her. This time Andy Grant didn’t intervene. Candor was more important than comity now.
    “Congresswoman,” McGill said, meeting her eyes, “I won’t ask you if you’ve ever made a death threat because I’d bet you haven’t. Never in any serious manner. But this note is serious. It communicates a threat that’s real. A threat that resonates. That’s why you’re so scared.”
    McGill was sure she wanted to pick up her drink and throw it in his face. But if she did that, she’d let Andy know just how terrified she was. Then how could she cast the vote that would endanger his life?
    McGill had no choice but to continue. No way to spare Mrs. Grant’s feelings.
    “If you vote against these people —”
    “You think there’s more than one?” Andy asked.
    “One is possible. But a group is more likely.” He turned back to the congresswoman. “If you vote against them after you’ve been warned, what do they say to themselves? ‘Well, it was worth a try.’ If they don’t at least attempt to kill Mr. Grant and give it their all, they won’t be able to believe in themselves anymore. Add in the inevitable religious element, and what they will believe is they’re all going to hell. I’m sorry, Congresswoman, but this is real. Defy these people, and they will come for your husband.”
    Patti Grant loathed McGill at that moment.
    But Andy agreed to install an underwater barrier to protect his beach.
     
    The next day, McGill got a courtesy call from the FBI office in Chicago. They’d been advised of the threat on Mr. Grant’s life by Congresswoman Grant. The congresswoman wanted the Bureau to take over the case. Only as far as they could tell, Mr. Grant’s being a private citizen and Congresswoman Grant’s saying her husband never tried to influence her congressional votes, the threat was a matter for the local police.
    Still, the case was being studied by DOJ lawyers in Washington to see if there was any reason federal authorities should take over. Sweetie was in McGill’s office when he took the call, and he gave her the gist of the conversation.
    “The lady wants some control back in her life,” Sweetie said. “She figures she has a better chance of getting it with the feebs than with you.”
    McGill nodded absently.
    “There is a way in for them,” he said. “They’ll spot it before too long.”
    Sweetie gave him a look.
    McGill told her, “Andy Grant said his copy of the Journal wasn’t in the newspaper box outside his gate, it was in his mailbox.”
    “Federal turf,” Sweetie said. “Maybe Mr. Grant didn’t share that with his wife.”
    “Maybe.” McGill got to his feet. “I’m going to talk with him again. You start asking around. Did anyone see a passerby who didn’t look North Shore near the Grant house yesterday morning? Someone who took Andy Grant’s newspaper out of its receptacle and put it in the mailbox? Start with the Journal’s delivery person.”
    “We should’ve thought of that right away.”
    “I know,” McGill said.
    “Well, aside from getting shot occasionally, we don’t get to do much real police work out here in the leafy ’burbs. A cop can get mentally lazy.”
    “Let’s watch out for that.”
     
    There were two armed guards at Andy Grant’s gate — a first for Winnetka — and his mailbox had been removed. The Journal’s plastic bin, too. McGill wondered if the FBI had them. Some sharpie had learned how the