The Undertaker's Widow by Phillip Margolin

After that, she looked into the camera for a few seconds more. Then she told all those voters that she couldn’t bring her husband back, but she could dedicate the rest of her life to trying to prevent similar catastrophes from happening to them and to seeing that those who break the law regret it.”
    Gage smiled without humor and shook his head inwonder. “She is one heartless bitch and she has played Hoyt’s murder like a violin virtuoso.”
    Clark allowed himself a rare smile.
    â€œShe may be playing a different tune by next week,” he said.
    â€œOh?”
    â€œCedric Riker called me. He wanted to make certain that you knew before the press. He’s going to the grand jury this morning. It looks like Fargo tipped the scales.”
    Gage grinned broadly.
    â€œThat’s that, then,” the senator said with satisfaction. “Once the indictment comes down, she’s dead.”
    â€œThat’s how I see it.”
    â€œGood work, Ryan. Very good work.”
[2]
    Henry Orchard knocked loudly on Ellen Crease’s hotel room door because he knew she would be sound asleep after an exhausting day of campaigning. Crease’s campaign manager was a slovenly, overweight dynamo who was uninterested in anything but politics. Until minutes ago, Orchard had been a happy man. His candidate had exploded in the polls, breaking away from a dead heat to take a substantial lead over Benjamin Gage.
    â€œWho is it?” Crease snapped. She sounded wide-awake. Orchard was not surprised. Crease never seemed to tire and she needed little sleep. When she did sleep, she had a knack for waking up fully alert.
    â€œIt’s Henry. Open up. Something’s happened.”
    Orchard heard Crease cross the room. Her door opened and he walked in. Orchard was unshaven and there were dark shadows along his fleshy jowls. The shirthe had thrown on was dotted with stains and his socks did not match. Crease was wearing a quilted bathrobe over a floor-length flannel nightgown. Only the bedside light was on in the room, but Orchard did not turn on any other lights. He spotted an armchair near the window and dropped into it.
    â€œI just talked to a source in the Multnomah County District Attorney’s Office. Tomorrow Cedric Riker is going to ask a grand jury to indict you for murder.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe’s looking for two counts. Lamar and the guy who shot him.”
    Crease looked stunned. “Is this the first you’ve heard about this?”
    â€œAbsolutely. I knew the investigation was still open, but I haven’t heard a thing suggesting that you were under suspicion.”
    â€œWhat have they got? What’s the evidence?”
    â€œI don’t know and neither does my informant. The first thing I asked him was what Riker’s got, but only Riker and the investigating officer …”
    â€œLou Anthony?”
    â€œRight, Anthony. They’re the only ones who know for now. What do you think they have?”
    â€œThere’s nothing out there, Henry,” Crease answered bitterly. “And this really hurts. I loved that old bastard.”
    Crease found a cigar in her purse and lit it. Then she paced across the room until she arrived at a writing desk. She pulled out the desk chair and sat on it, facing Orchard.
    â€œThis is unbelievable. An indictment will kill us.” Crease thought for a moment.
    â€œIt’s Gage,” she said angrily. “It has to be. He contributed heavily to Riker’s campaign and they go wayback. Gage and Riker cooked up this whole thing to help Gage climb back in the polls.”
    â€œI’d like to think that,” Orchard replied cautiously, “but this isn’t any old dirty trick. We’re talking an indictment for murder. Riker would have to have some evidence to show the grand jury. And even if Riker’s a prick, Lou Anthony isn’t. He’s an old friend of yours, isn’t