Ballots and Blood Read Online Free PDF Page A

only concern is appointing the right person. And I will look at Democrats as well as Republicans, especially given the fact the voters of Florida elected a Democrat to the seat.” He could almost feel Long recoiling over the phone line.
    â€œI see your predicament,” said Long abruptly. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing. Just wanted to check in with you. Good luck.” He couldn’t get off the phone fast enough.
    â€œThank you, Mr. President.”
    Birch hung up the phone and shook his head in wonder. Did Long really want him to appoint himself, thinking it might weaken him in the presidential race? Or was he just playing head games?
    He picked up the phone again and quickly dialed the cell phone of Nick Furhman, his chief political advisor and sounding board on all things.
    â€œGood morning, Governor,” said Furhman, who was on his way to the office.
    â€œGuess who just called me about the Senate seat?”
    â€œLet me guess . . . Don Jefferson,” said Furhman in a drawl laced with contempt. Jefferson was a famously ambitious wingnut from central Florida. It was an inside joke that Birch wouldn’t appoint him if he was the last man alive.
    â€œNope. It wasn’t Don, though I’m sure he’ll be calling both of us soon.”
    â€œOkay, I give up. Who?”
    â€œBob Long.”
    â€œWhat?! Who’s staffing his calls?”
    â€œApparently no one! It was one of the most awkward conversations I’ve had in my life. He was on his knees begging me to take his advice on the appointment.”
    â€œHe’s wetting his pants at the thought you might appoint a Democrat.”
    â€œOh, it’s better than that. He suggested I appoint myself.”
    Furhman burst out laughing. “Fat chance.”
    â€œI’d be committing political suicide. Which is why he urged me to do it.”
    â€œThe guy’s infatuated with you.” Furhman was getting worked up. “What did you tell him? I hope nothing.”
    Birch chuckled. “Not a thing. I was very careful.”
    â€œI wonder: should we leak this? This is highly inappropriate, almost icky. I think people should know he tried to influence who you appointed before Miller had a decent burial.”
    Birch paused. “Let me think on it. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t mind burning him. I just don’t want to get burned at the same time, you get my drift?”
    â€œYes, I get it. But I can feed this to Marvin Myers, and he’ll be my lap dog for six months,” laughed Furhman. “I can’t wait until you announce the appointment. In a sense it’ll be the first shot fired in the presidential campaign.”
    Birch hung up, turning it all over in his mind. Bob Long begging him to appoint himself was beyond comical. In truth Birch loved the attention, thrived on it, needed it like most people needed oxygen. To keep everyone talking about him, he intended to drag it out a bit. Yes, Birch thought, he would take his sweet time.
    IN A CRAMPED, WINDOWLESS INTERVIEW room painted a bland, putrid green on the sixth floor of the industrial-looking, antiseptic Metropolitan police headquarters building on Indiana Avenue, a visibly frightened Amber Abica fidgeted in a metal-backed chair. She hardly fit the profile of a murder suspect. Demure and striking, with soft, jet-black hair that fell to her shoulders, she wore black pants, towering heels, and a clinging top. Her curvaceous figure proved irresistible to the police officers. A slash of ruby-red lipstick highlighted luscious, full lips, creamy white skin and sparkling blue eyes. Also present were her attorney, Patrick Mahoney from the FBI, Metropolitan police detective Paul Browne, and an attorney from the district attorney’s office.
    â€œAlright, just to dispense with formalities prior to conducting today’s interview,” said Browne, “Ms. Abica is here voluntarily and has been informed of her