Once In, Never Out

by Dan Mahoney

  McKenna got Meaghan Maher’s telephone number from Walsh’s reports, called Tavlin with his request, and then made himself a cup of coffee. The day shift was leaving and the night shift was reporting in, so McKenna lounged by the fax machine and exchanged pleasantries with the new arrivals while he waited and drank his coffee. He was still waiting and on his second cup when Sheeran came out of his office.

  “Staying late?” the inspector asked McKenna.

  “Yeah, I figure maybe nine o’clock. Got some things that need doing.”

  “Can I help you out with anything?”

  “I’d like to use your phone. Think I’m gonna be making some international calls.”

  International calls could not be made from the phones on every detective’s desk, but they could from the CO’s phone. “Her parents?” Sheeran asked.

  “That’s one of them. Also hope to get a line on somebody else she’s been talking to.”

  “Anybody in particular?”

  “There’s a mystery boyfriend in here somewhere and he’s in the military. He hasn’t been around for a while, so he’s probably not stationed at any base around here.”

  “I guess you asked Tavlin for some help,” Sheeran said.

  This Sheeran’s still sharp, McKenna thought.

  Ordinarily, bosses never wanted to hear about the slightly illegal things their detectives did as they went about their work. “Results count, but spare me some of the details” was the usual attitude. But not Sheeran. He trusted every man in his squad to do the right thing and then competently deny it if the need ever arose. Every detective in the Major Case Squad realized that trust was a two-way street and they all felt comfortable keeping Sheeran in the loop. “Yeah, we talked,” McKenna said. “He asked me to send you his regards.”

  “Thanks. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be at home.”

  Right after Sheeran left, the fax started spitting paper. It lasted an hour and didn’t stop until McKenna had every call Meaghan had made from home in the past year. McKenna took the paper into Sheeran’s office and made himself comfortable as he went over the bills.

  The last call Meaghan had made was at 1:10 A.M. on the morning of February 19th. It was an international call, so McKenna opened Sheeran’s directory and turned to the page listing country calls. It was Belgium. He picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Bravo Company, Sergeant Waters speaking.”

  Bingo! McKenna thought. Getting close to my soldier. “Yes, Sergeant Waters. This is Detective McKenna of the New York City Police Department. Could you please give me your full unit designation and tell me where you’re located?”

  “Yes, sir. Bravo Company, Fourth MP Battalion. We’re in Brussels, Belgium.”

  Only one thing an American army unit could be doing in Belgium, McKenna knew. “Is your unit assigned to guard NATO Headquarters?”

  “Yes, sir. Is there a problem?”

  “Yes, but it’s my problem, not yours. Thank you, Sergeant. You’ve been a big help.”

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  McKenna thought about asking Waters if there were any soldiers in Bravo Company named Owen, but decided against it. For all he knew, he might be speaking to Sergeant Owen Waters and he wasn’t ready to tip his hand yet, just in case Owen had something to do with Meaghan’s disappearance. Word travels fast in the military and the news that a NYC detective had called to ask about Owen would be sure to reach him. “Not yet, Sergeant. Thank you.”

  McKenna’s next call was to Meaghan’s parents in Ireland. According to her bill, she had last spoken to them three days before she disappeared. McKenna intended it to be a simple courtesy call, but figured the call was a couple of hours overdue because it was close to midnight in Ireland and the phone kept ringing. He was about to hang up when the phone was answered.

  “Hello?” It was a woman’s voice and she sounded like she just woke up.

  “Hello, Mrs. Maher. This is Detective McKenna of the New York City Police Department.” There was no response. McKenna was puzzled until he realized that Meaghan’s mother was expecting bad news from the midnight call and was probably holding her breath. “There’ve been no new developments, but I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been assigned the case,” he added.

  “Thank God, Detective McKenna, but you scared me out of my wits,” she said, relief sounding through her thick brogue.

  “Sorry I’m calling so late, but we’ve got a time difference,” McKenna said.

  “Don’t be sorry. Please call anytime. This wouldn’t be the Detective McKenna, would it? Detective Brian McKenna?”

  “Yes, it is. How do you know?”

  “Since Meaghan’s gone to America, we pick up the New York papers from time to time. We know all about you and I’m delighted that you’re going to help find her.”

  McKenna’s head was swelling. “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Maher,” he said.

  “Was Detective Swaggart too busy? Is that why you’ve been assigned?”

  “No, I don’t think that’s the case. Why would you think that?”

  “Because every time we call, they always tell us that he’s not in the office. They always tell us that he’s busy in the field.”

  That lazy, lying sack of shit! Except to fill his face, Swaggart probably hasn’t been out of the office in a year, McKenna wanted to scream. However, he didn’t see how that would help Mrs. Maher’s state of mind, so he said instead, “I’ve been assigned to find Meaghan because our police commissioner has taken a personal interest in this case. We’re going to do everything we can and I’ll call you every couple of days to let you know how we’re doing.”

  “Wonderful! Thank you, Detective McKenna. You can’t imagine what it’s like for us, not knowing where she is or if she’s dead or alive.”

  “I think I can, but it’s hard to put myself in your shoes. When was the last time you heard from her?”

  “That would be Sunday, February fifteenth.”

  McKenna already had the answer in the bills in front of him, but he had to ask. “Did she usually stay in touch with you?”

  “Always. Called us every Sunday, without fail. That’s one of the reasons we’re so concerned.”

  “Has anybody you don’t know called asking about her?”

  “Meaghan was very popular here. Everybody’s been asking about her, but we know them all.”

  “How about Chris O’Malley?”

  “Never met him, but he’s a wonderful boy. Calls every couple of days. I think he’s as worried as we are.”

  “Will you call me immediately, day or night, if you hear anything at all?” McKenna asked.

  “Of course.”

  McKenna gave her his work number, his home number, and his cell phone number.

  “Thank you, Detective McKenna. God bless you and good luck. From this moment on, you’re in our prayers,” Mrs. Maher said.

  Pray for yourself and Meaghan, not me, McKenna thought. The deeper I get in this, the worse it looks.

  Seven

  To avoid allegations of theft by police personnel, the rules clearly state that a relative or neighbor should be present whenever an absent resident’s premises are searched. Since McKenna intended to get deep into Meaghan’s life, he didn’t want to air her laundry in front of her brother the priest. Whether she was dead or alive, things that Meaghan wanted kept hidden wouldn’t be revealed by McKenna unless absolutely necessary. Besides, he already had somebody trustworthy who fit right into the rules.

  Chipmunk had gotten off work at eight o’clock and met McKenna in front of his and Meaghan’s building on East 76th Street. A minute later they were in Meaghan’s small studio apartment on the third floor. There was a small kitchen and a bathroom on opposite sides of the entry hallway that led to a combination bedroom/dining room/living room. Crowded into the room was a sofa with an end table on each side and a coffee table in front, a dresser with a TV and a stereo perched on top, a small table with seating for two, a hope c
hest, and a built-in closet containing a fold-down Murphy bed. The two windows were adorned with bright, cheery curtains and the floor was partially covered by a throw rug that matched the colors of the curtains.

  McKenna’s first thought was that Walsh had understated the condition of the apartment. It wasn’t just neat and clean. Except for the two-week layer of dust that had accumulated in her absence, Meaghan’s apartment was spotless. His second was that the apartment had that one feature so rare and precious in Manhattan—closet space, and plenty of it. There were two closets in the main room and another long one with sliding doors in the hallway.

  Meaghan’s feminine touch was evident everywhere. Plants hung from the ceiling in planters at three corners of the room, a line of ceramic kittens marched across the dresser in front of the TV and stereo, a frilly linen doily was under each of the matching lamps on both end tables, a matching tablecloth of the same material covered the dining table, and two photo albums with embroidered covers were on the coffee table. On the wall over the sofa was a painting that depicted an Irish country landscape seen through the window of an old-fashioned kitchen. On the opposite wall, over the TV, were two photos in pastel blue ceramic frames. One was a shot of Meaghan as a teenager standing between a middle-aged couple in front of an Irish country cottage. The other was a photo of a smiling priest in a Roman collar.

  “Some lucky guy should have married this girl already,” Chipmunk commented as he looked around.

  “I’m sure that thought’s already crossed the minds of quite a few not-so-lucky guys,” McKenna said. “I think she’s sick of hearing from them.”

  “Why you say that?”

  McKenna pointed to the phone on one of the night tables. “Because she has to be the only single girl in Manhattan without an answering machine. I would have liked to listen to who’s been calling her.”

  “Yeah, that would have been nice,” Chipmunk said. “Maybe she’s got call answering with NYNEX.”

  “She doesn’t.”

  “So where do we start?”

  “Could you do the hope chest while I look around?”

  “Sure. What are we looking for?”

  “Her cancelled checks, love letters, and a photo of Owen.”

  “The checks should be easy, but if there’s letters or Owen photos, they should be pretty well hidden,” Chipmunk said. “O’Malley spent a lot of time here, so she wouldn’t have left them anyplace he’d be likely to come across them.”

  “That’s too bad, because we’re here until we find them.”

  McKenna took off his jacket and tie and went into the kitchen. He was going through the cabinets when he heard Chipmunk yell, “Got the checks.”

  “That’s a start. Keep going,” McKenna yelled back.

  The cabinets contained only four cans of ready-to-drink Slimfast, tea bags, sugar, a dinner service for four, six glasses, four coffee cups, a tea kettle, a blender, and a box of Wheaties. In the single drawer was silverware for six and a dozen take-out menus from the local restaurants.

  The garbage can was empty. The stove looked new and the oven was so clean that McKenna was convinced that it had never been used.

  So Meaghan’s become a real Manhattan woman, McKenna surmised. Like most of the busy women in town, she didn’t cook. When he checked the refrigerator, he knew he was right. It was off and empty except for a jar of peanut butter and a can of coffee. The freezer was also empty.

  McKenna went on to the bathroom. It was scrubbed clean and he found nothing he considered important except for an unopened box of birth control pills. It was what he didn’t find that interested him—there was no toothbrush.

  The hallway closet was crammed with summer clothes and shoes, a vacuum cleaner, and suitcases. On shelves on one side of the closet were her sweaters, all neatly folded.

  McKenna took the vacuum cleaner out and hefted it. It wasn’t light and he smiled when he noticed that the heavy plastic cover was cracked. Chris O’Malley took quite a shot while learning his lesson, McKenna concluded. Then he took out the suitcases.

  Like Walsh had said, there were four of them, two old ones and two new gray ones. The old suitcases had Montreal International Airport baggage tags attached to the handles, but it was the two new ones that interested McKenna. They were part of a matched set. One was a small overnight bag and the other was a large suitcase. He figured there were one or two smaller suitcases missing from the set. He searched the luggage, found nothing, and started on the closet.

  It took a while to check the shelves, unfold and refold all the sweaters, go through all the pockets of all the clothes, and check the insides of all the shoes. It was an unrewarding task that yielded nothing about Owen, but provided another small mystery. One of the sweaters was homemade and the design on the front and back featured a Union Jack crossed with an Irish flag. Underneath, the words PEACE IN OUR TIME were embroidered. Considering the politics of most of the Irish immigrants in town, McKenna thought it was a very unusual sweater for Meaghan to own.

  When McKenna returned to the main room, he found Chipmunk kneeling on the floor carefully folding a wedding dress. The contents of the hope chest were neatly arranged around him in a way that reminded McKenna of a Marine Corps footlocker inspection. There were more photo albums, an old teddy bear, two jewelry boxes, and many unopened packages of newborn baby clothes in both pink and blue. The top tray of the hope chest was where Meaghan kept her bills, cancelled checks, and receipts, all neatly arranged, and a photo framed in black of a young man wearing a British Army uniform.

  Chipmunk finished folding the wedding dress and placed it in the bottom of the hope chest.

  “Find anything interesting?” McKenna asked.

  “Interesting? I found that our Meaghan is a girl who really thinks ahead. She’s got her wedding dress ready to go, but I don’t think she plans on marrying anyone soon. Better yet, she’s already bought clothes for the babies she’s not even close to having.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No sign of Owen, but there is this.” Chipmunk reached into the tray and handed McKenna a folded credit card receipt. “Looks like Walsh was wrong,” he said. “Meaghan’s got herself a Visa card.”

  She sure does, McKenna thought as he examined the receipt. It was in her name and Meaghan had used the card at Travel Plans Unlimited to charge eight hundred and seventy dollars the previous August. The card expired in the following October, so McKenna knew that she had had it for some time. How could Walsh be so wrong on something important like this? he wondered. That’s not like him.

  Walsh wasn’t wrong, he concluded. “The card’s in her name, but I’ll bet it’s not her account. Somebody who loves her gave her a credit card to use.”

  “Well, it’s not O’Malley,” Chipmunk said. “He’s illegal and would have a hell of a time getting a Visa card. So that leaves her brother, her folks, or Owen.”

  “Hate to do this, but we gotta find out.”

  “Hate to do what?”

  “Call Ireland. It’s two in the morning there now.” McKenna picked up Meaghan’s phone and dialed. It rang for a while, but he didn’t have to announce himself this time. “Detective McKenna?” Mrs. Maher asked.

  “Yes, Mrs. Maher. Sorry to bother you again, and it’s nothing else for you to worry about. There are a few things I need to know right now.”

  “No bother at all, but could you please do me a favor?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Stop calling me Mrs. Maher. I’m probably not much older than you and my name’s Peggy.”

  It was a shock to McKenna, but she was probably right. He had married late, but if he had started his family earlier in life he could have a daughter about Meaghan’s age. Suddenly he felt uncomfortably old. “Okay, Peggy. It’s a deal, but only if you call me Brian.”

  “Thank you. What do you need to know, Brian?”

  “Did you give Meaghan a credit card?”

  “No, she never asked for one. We’re not rich and she
knows we had a hard enough time getting one for ourselves.”

  “Did Meaghan ever come home for a visit?”

  “Just once, last August for three days. She didn’t have vacation, but she added two days to her weekend and popped in. It was such a wonderful surprise for us.”

  “Do you know what airport she left here from?”

  Mrs. Maher didn’t answer, and McKenna thought he knew the reason why. “Peggy, I know Meaghan is an illegal immigrant here, but that’s a secret I’ll keep. Besides, her legal status isn’t important to me. Now tell me, did she fly out of Montreal?”

  “Yes, she left from Montreal and returned the same way.”

  “Does she have an Irish passport or a British one?”

  “What makes you think she would have a British passport?”

  “Just a hunch. She knits, right?”

  “She used to,” Mrs. Maher said, sounding puzzled. Then she got it. “You’ve seen her sweater with the flags?”

  “Yes, and I’m also looking at a photo of a young man in a British army uniform.”

  “That’s my son James. He was on the Sheffield in the Falkland War.”

  The HMS Sheffield? That was the British ship that was hit by an Argentine Exocet missile, McKenna thought. There were horrible casualties among the British soldiers and sailors on board. He didn’t want to ask the next question, but it was the logical one. “Was he killed in action?”

  “Yes. It was quite a blow to us and I don’t think Meaghan ever got over it. James was eleven years older than her, but he doted on her and she simply adored him. She still has a special place in her heart for soldiers, no matter where they’re from.”

  Explains a lot, McKenna thought. Also tells me that the Maher family isn’t unfamiliar with tragedy. Sure hope I’m wrong about this one shaping up, but now’s not the time to dwell on it. “Well, which is it, Peg? The British or the Irish passport?”

  “Both. She was born in Belfast in the North. We moved south to Dublin when she was ten, but we still have family there.”