“Good,” Grayton said. “You and Clarence have not had much luck lately. I hope it doesn’t spread.” He looked at Addis. “Good night.” Grayton walked away.

Addis and Lancette headed through the old pressroom. Much of it had been removed: the podium was gone, the blue curtain and the White House seal that had hung on it, the chairs in the row in which the assassin had sat. Seats were still upturned. Lighting wiring and adhesive tape were strewn about. It was the first time Addis had been in the room since the murder. In the days after the assassination, there had been talk of sealing the room and maintaining it as a memorial. But Margaret Hanover had objected. Addis remembered what she had told one reporter: “I do not want to see the people’s White House, the very symbol of our democracy, turned into a tomb.”

“Nick,” Lancette started to say. But then she realized she had nothing else to tell him.

He stood in the middle of the room.

“That’s where Mary sat,” he said, pointing to an overturned seat in the front row. “She always got the first question. Been here the longest. Always let the press secretary know what she was going to ask about. Thought it looked bad for the President to appear surprised on television around the world.”

He pointed to a seat in the second row. A crumpled fast food-bag was next to it.

“That was Jeffrey’s spot. Pompous prick. Did that story on the President bringing in a masseuse. Demanded to know where the masseuse was from. And when he didn’t get an answer within an hour—shit, we didn’t know and the President was traveling—he said the White House was stonewalling. After the piece was on, he told me, ‘Sorry, I’m renegotiating my contract and I need lots of airtime.’ Shithead. When he was flying with us on the plane during the campaign he was sleeping with an assistant press secretary in the White House.”

Addis stared at a wall, as if he could see through it to the press office.

“She worked right there … . Conflict of interest? Didn’t stop him. Did we complain? What do you do? Make a stink and then they’re all out to get you.”

Another seat: “Paige. Fox News. Invited me to dinner at her house. Tried to … . Well, you know. I said no. The next week she did this piece saying Dan Carey was pushing me aside, that the President had … had lost confidence in me. Wasn’t true. Though I’m sure she accurately reported what Carey was telling her.”

“Okay, Nick, okay.” Lancette placed a hand on his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

They walked across the room. A reporter’s notebook was lying on the floor. A stack of old press releases was on a table by the door. They left the building.