“No,” he said, and gripped her hand as the plane backed away from the gate. “About the Watsons. If they hadn’t been at your place...well, they would almost certainly be dead now.”
Chapter 11
THEIR TAKEOFF WAS smooth. By the time they were in the air, he’d told her about Larue’s call and going out to the Watson house, and the violence visited on the furniture and everything else there, including Arnie’s picture. She was upset for the Watsons, he knew.
As soon as they were in the air, their flight attendant came by offering drinks. They both asked for coffee.
The flight attendant asked if they wanted champagne. Quinn could barely keep himself from laughing, and he saw Danni looking at him in curiosity.
“Sorry,” he murmured, when the attendant had moved on. “I was just thinking that we’re both so overtired, one sip of anything would probably put us under our seats.”
Danni smiled. She knew he never drank more than a few sips of beer just so it looked as though he was drinking. He’d died and been resuscitated because the adulation he’d received as a star football player in school had led to overindulgence in too many ways.
He hadn’t known Danni then, and he was glad of that. He liked the man he was now, and when he looked back, he didn’t like the man he had been.
“I slept a few hours,” she said.
“I’m glad. But man, these hours are going to catch up with me soon.”
“Did you learn anything helpful at the Watson place?” Danni asked.
“Not really. Grace Leon—you know Grace. She heads Larue’s favorite crime scene unit—was there, though. If there’s something to find, she’ll find it. Thing is, once she starts dusting for prints, she’ll find lots of them. Arnie had lots of friends, musicians mostly, and then there are his parents’ friends. And of course our prints will be there. It’s a nightmare, for sure. I feel terrible for the Watsons.”
Danni leaned back, wincing as he spoke. “We’re not there,” she said. “Who’s going to tell the Watsons what happened?”
“I talked to Father Ryan on my way to the airport—Larue sent me by squad car, so it was easy to make a few calls. Larue will stop by your place with Father Ryan, and they’ll tell them what happened together. Their place is going to be even more of a mess when the crime scene unit finishes. Trying to return that house to any semblance of normal is going to take tremendous effort and expense.”
“We can all help them.”
“Of course.”
“I just...”
“What?”
She looked over at him. “Well, I’m the one who thought going to DC today was so important, but now I’m wishing we were there with them.”
“I’m sure it is important.”
“But I probably could have gone alone,” she said softly.
He sat back, remembering how aggravated he had been with Jenny for her dependence on him and the way it had upset Brad that she had so little faith in him. And he’d realized soon afterward that he owed Danni the same kind of faith. He cared about her so much that his love was keeping him from trusting her judgment. And he couldn’t be that way—not if they were going to make it.
“You probably could have gone alone,” he said, nodding. “But who knows? Maybe it will take both of us to figure out the right question to ask. And Father Ryan is the perfect person to talk to the Watsons. It’s part of his job, after all.” He turned and smiled at her. “We’re going to be all right,” he said softly.
* * *
“Hattie took care of everything. We’re being met and taken straight to Walter Reed and then straight back to the airport,” Danni told Quinn. “And to think you didn’t even like her when you two first met.”
“Have to say, I’m loving the woman at this moment,” Quinn said, grinning. Then he grew serious. “She really has come through for us so many times in so many ways.”
“She really has,” Danni said. “I mean, I know we could have gone to see Kevin without her, but not so soon, and she’s made it all so easy. In fact, we’re being picked up by one of the surgeons who’s been on Kevin’s case from the time he returned to the States, a Major Victor Johnson.”
“Really nice of him to take time out of his schedule, but I guess he wants us to be prepared for Kevin’s challenges, physical and maybe mental, too.”
As soon as they landed and stepped out of the security area, they spotted Major Johnson, standing ramrod straight and looking distinguished in his uniform. He wasn’t holding a placard, but the way he was keenly observing the crowd told Danni he was looking for them. He must have been given a description of them, because he walked right up and introduced himself.
Quinn explained that he had to hit baggage claim before they could leave, and Danni realized he had indeed brought his gun.
“You served?” Johnson asked after Quinn explained that he needed to reclaim his weapon.
“Private first class, US Army,” Quinn said. “Then I was a cop, and now I’m a PI.”
“Then you know what you’re doing,” Johnson said, and pointed toward the sign that directed passengers down to baggage claim. “I can hold on to that for you while we’re at the hospital.”
Once they were in Major Johnson’s Jeep and headed to Bethesda, he asked them what they knew about Kevin Hart. Danni told him what Tyler had told her, and Johnson filled in the gaps.
Kevin had been severely wounded by a land mine. He had been fitted with a prosthetic leg and had extensive surgery on one side of his face. He was doing well. He was a solid individual who wanted to make it back to his old life, but he didn’t like being seen in his hospital room. They were going to meet up with him at the cafeteria.
“May I ask why you’re here?” Johnson asked Quinn. “From what I understand, you’re not friends with Kevin. Hattie just told me that it was important that you talk with him.”
Interesting, Danni thought. Hattie was on a first-name basis with the major.
“We’re looking into a series of murders in New Orleans,” Quinn said. “Kevin was close with one of the victims, Arnie Watson.”
“Watson?” the major asked sharply.
“Yes. Did you know Arnie?” Quinn asked.
Major Johnson shook his head. “No, but I remember talking with Kevin about him. He said there was no way his friend OD’d. But I’m not sure what Kevin can tell you. They kept in contact. In fact, I understand that Watson was one of the few people Kevin allowed in to see him when he returned about six months ago. Arnie was with him when the mine blew. He was the one who pulled Kevin back to safety. Kevin doesn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him. He’s a strong guy, but the day he heard about his friend dying...well, it was a bad day for him.”
“He knows we’re coming to see him?” Danni asked. “And he’s okay with it?”
“He does,” Johnson said.
After that, Quinn told Johnson more about the case and how Tyler Anderson had come to them and that had led to the discovery that Arnie’s supposedly accidental death slash possible suicide had been anything but.
Danni listened and watched the scenery as they drove. The foliage around DC and into Maryland was beautiful. It was truly spring.
Finally they drove up to the security checkpoint outside the hospital complex. Johnson knew the guard, and was quick to exit the car and allow it to be inspected. Then they parked and were on their way to the cafeteria.
On their way in, they passed a group of World War II veterans handing out pamphlets on veterans’ centers across the country.
“Our servicemen and women look after their fellows,” Major Johnson told them.
As they walked through the halls, Danni immediately noticed the number of men in wheelchairs, walking on prosthetic legs and gesturing with prosthetic arms as they emphasized their conversational points.
“This is the place, though,” Johnson told her. “This is where they come for the finest help they can possibly receive. Most of us...most of us don’t see this as work. It’s a matter of dedication.”
In a few minutes they entered the cafeteria, where people were getting food, sitting around dining and talking. Some were civilians, but judging by the number of uniforms, most were in the service in one way or another.
A harpist was playing softly in one corner, and Danni remembered that Tyler had talked about coming, too, and about entertaining the injured.
“That table with the reserved sign on it is ours,” Major Johnson said. “I don’t see Kevin yet, but I’m sure he’ll be right in. I’ll go get coffee. Want something to eat?”
“Thank you, no. Thanks to Hattie, we had plenty to eat on the plane,” Quinn told him.
Johnson smiled. “Her late husband enlisted just out of college,” Johnson said. “And Hattie herself started an organization called Civilians for Soldiers to raise money for the Wounded Warrior Project and the USO. Too bad there aren’t more of her in the world.”
“Amen,” Danni told him. She knew that Hattie was a true philanthropist, quietly supporting a number of worthy causes, but this was one she hadn’t known about.
Danni headed toward their table, but Quinn obviously didn’t feel like sitting yet; he walked back and forth near the entrance then paused to listen to the harpist.
Danni’s eyes were caught by a small beautifully—but also uniquely—set table, with a small metal frame in the center that held a typed sheet of paper. She moved closer to read what it said.
The Fallen Soldier’s Table
This table, set for one, is small, symbolizing the frailty of one prisoner alone against his or her oppressors.
The tablecloth is white, symbolizing the purity of their intentions to respond to their country’s call to arms.
The single red rose in the vase signifies the blood they have shed in sacrifice to ensure the freedom of our beloved United States of America.
This rose also reminds us of the family and friends of our missing comrades who keep the faith, while awaiting their return.
The yellow ribbon on the vase represents the yellow ribbons worn on the lapels of the thousands who demand with unyielding determination a proper accounting of our comrades who are not among us tonight.
A slice of lemon on the napkin reminds us of their bitter fate.
The salt sprinkled on the plate reminds us of the countless fallen tears of families as they wait.
The glass is inverted—they cannot toast with us this night.
The chair is empty—they are not here.
The candle is reminiscent of the light of hope that lives in our hearts to illuminate their way home from their captors, to the open arms of a grateful nation.
Reading the beautiful words, Danni felt the sting of tears at her eyes.
Real ones, she thought. Not the petty tears that plagued her when her feelings were hurt or she was worried about things that might not even be real.
She tried not to look around at all the men and women in the room who were in wheelchairs, who were fitted with prosthetics. She knew they didn’t want pity.
“Danni!”
She turned gratefully to see Major Johnson walking her way, balancing three cups of coffee. She hurried over to grab one. “Oh, thank you. I could have stood in line with you,” she said.
“That’s okay. I want you to meet Corporal Kevin Hart. Kevin, Danni Cafferty,” Johnson said, stepping aside.
For the first time she could see the man who had been standing behind him.
Kevin had been gorgeous. His hair was the color of wheat, his eyes a brilliant blue. He had the look of a Midwestern farm boy with Scandinavian antecedents. He was tall, and he seemed to manage well on his prosthetic leg. He smiled as he shook her hand, and the smile almost reached the half of his face that still bore the scars of the explosion and surgery.
“Thank you so much for seeing me—us,” she said. “Quinn is right over there. He hears music and he’s suddenly lost.”
Kevin’s smile turned rueful. “Like Arnie. He was the only guy who didn’t mind being woken at the crack of dawn by a bugle—as long as it was played well.”
“I’m not sure how I’d feel about a bugle in the morning,” Danni said. “But that harpist is really good.”
Hart nodded. “The USO takes care of us. Even here, they bring in all kinds of people to entertain us. But you came to talk about Arnie. I loved him. I’ll help you in any way that I can.”
Quinn had apparently noticed that Johnson was back and was with Kevin Hart, because he headed right over.
“You want anything, Kevin?” Johnson asked as Quinn approached.
“Nope. And you know me, Doc. If I wanted it, I’d go get it. Part of the therapy,” he explained, looking at Danni. “So tell me. I wrote letters, you know. I wrote to Arnie’s parents. I wrote to the New Orleans police. I knew Arnie didn’t leave work one night and suddenly decide he was going to pick up a heroin habit, much less commit suicide.”
“Why don’t you three take the table?” Johnson said after Quinn reached them and introduced himself. “You can talk while I go over and see how Private Osborn is doing.”
“Will do,” Kevin said, heading for the table. Quinn and Danni followed.
“We don’t believe he committed suicide or that it was an accidental OD, either,” Quinn said. “What we do believe is that someone was after his sax. Unfortunately, if you wrote a letter to the police, some poor first-year file clerk probably just filed it away, given that there was already an official cause of death.”
“Someone killed him for a sax?” Kevin asked incredulously.
“Him—and two other people,” Danni said. “But I guess he gave up on trying to make the deaths look accidental. The others were tortured and killed.”
“Over a sax,” Kevin said, shaking his head. “You face all kinds of hell in a war, and then someone sticks a needle into your arm and you’re dead on your home turf. That’s bitter.”
“Arnie’s folks are good people. I know they want the truth. But more than that,” Quinn said, “we don’t want anyone else to die. We want this killer to face justice.”
“Justice,” Kevin murmured. “Forgive me. Justice to me would be to see the bastard skinned alive. I guess it’s a good thing I’m not judge and jury. You didn’t know Arnie. He went into every situation, no matter how bloody and gruesome, when he had to. But he played with the kids over there, and he believed in making a better world. He could make an instrument out of anything—drums out of pots and pans. Hell, he could play a paper bag and make it sound like a symphony.”
“Danni and I both knew him back in high school. He was a musical genius even then,” Quinn said.
“Damn, this sucks,” Kevin said. “And I’d do anything in my power to at least catch whoever killed him. But I’ve never even been in New Orleans, you know?”
“We were hoping that maybe he had told you about someone who was jealous of him, someone he had some kind of beef with, especially someone who was part of the music scene,” Danni said.
“Arnie wasn’t a fighter. Well, that sounds odd—he was a great soldier. I mean that he didn’t like to pick fights. If someone had a problem with him, he wanted it out in the open so they could talk it out. He didn’t harbor resentments. If they disliked him, well, he was sorry, but they didn’t have to hang with him. In the service you’re with who you’re with, but you learn to get along.” He frowned. “You don’t think it was someone he served with, do you?”
“No,
we don’t,” Danni told him. “We’re as close to certain as it’s possible to be that it has to be someone who lives in New Orleans and knows the city backward and forward. Whoever is doing this disappears into courtyards or down alleys, or blends in with the crowd so quickly you’d barely have time to blink. It has to be a local.”
“That’s good to hear,” Kevin said. He shook his head. “Arnie made a point of getting along with everyone. I do know one thing, though, that he wasn’t telling anyone else.”
“What’s that?” Danni asked.
“He was in love.”
“With who?” Quinn asked.
“That I don’t know. He said I would be the first to know, if and when he found out if she loved him, too.” He shrugged. “He told me, ‘Kevin, I found the girl I want to bring home to my mama. In my family, that means a lot.’ I guess he thought anybody knowing about her would jinx him. He said he never mentioned it to anyone else—not even Tyler.”
“So he liked her but didn’t know if she liked him?” Danni asked.
“I’m not sure she had any idea Arnie was crazy about her. I think he’d been admiring her from afar for a long time. But I don’t think knowing her name would help you any. If Arnie was in love with a girl, I don’t think she’d be a homicidal maniac. Anyway, who the hell kills people over a sax?”
Danni glanced at Quinn. He didn’t respond. She didn’t know everything about his police work or some of the things he’d been involved with before they met, but she did know that he’d seen people kill for what most of humanity would consider ridiculous reasons.
Kevin answered the question himself. “How can I ask that, coming back from war? People get crazy things in their heads—ideas, beliefs, customs—and then they kill.”
Danni set a hand on his. “We’re trying to stop this killer,” she said. “And anything you can do to help...”
“Of course,” Kevin said. “Ask me anything you want. And I’ll give you my cell number, too. If you think of anything at any time, feel free to call me.”
“We will, thank you,” Quinn said. “What about the guys in the band Arnie usually played with? Did he ever talk to you about any of them?”
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