Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project

by Douglas, Daniel P.

  “What kind of strain?”

  “Pressure from work. Odd schedules. I didn’t think—” Megan clenched her jaw and held back tears. Her mouth formed into a deep frown, and her eyes closed.

  “I’m sorry. We can do this later.”

  Megan held out her hand and regained her composure. “No. No, it’s all right. I just keep thinking that I could have helped him more. He wanted to work through it on his own, though.”

  The sound of a motorcycle’s engine approached the house. It seemed to be right outside in the driveway when it stopped. The sound drew Harrison’s attention away from Megan briefly before he continued.

  “To work through the strain?” Harrison said.

  “He didn’t want anyone to think he couldn’t handle the stress. His air force career meant a lot to him.”

  Heavy footsteps approached the front door.

  “Did he talk to you much about his work?”

  “Not really.” Megan paused, bowed her head, and then tightened her grasp on the rocking chair’s arms.

  The front door opened, then closed. A police officer turned the corner and entered the living room. Harrison rose from his seat and, confused, said, “Good morning.”

  The officer looked directly at Harrison, but did not acknowledge him. He stepped over to the rocking chair and knelt next to Megan, moving a lamb statue out of the way in the process. After the officer took Megan’s hands into his, she nodded and said, “It’s okay, thanks, Nicky.”

  The officer turned to Harrison and said, “You are?”

  “Wes Hiatt. I’m with Insurance Underwriters.”

  “Nick Ridley. I’m Megan’s brother.” Ridley looked back at his sister. In a low voice, he said, “I thought I’d come by before my shift and see how you were doing.”

  “I’m okay, just answering some questions for Mr. Hiatt.” She patted her brother’s hand. “I’m sorry, you can continue, Mr. Hiatt.”

  “Umm.” Harrison fumbled for his next question. “Do you know why your husband would have been in Vegas that evening?”

  “That I don’t know. It’s unusual, but maybe he was there with a friend or two from the base.”

  Ridley released Megan’s hands. “Are you investigating Eric’s accident?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m here for. We’re just trying to learn more about the nature of alcohol-related accidents. It’s for prevention purposes, educational guidelines, and such.”

  “Oh,” Ridley said, standing. He moved behind his sister, out of her view, and took a seat on the staircase.

  “Do you think it warrants further investigation?” Harrison said.

  Looking at Harrison through the vertical supports of the banister, Ridley said, “Nope.”

  Harrison looked back at Megan and said, “I know your husband didn’t talk much about his work, and that his work was stressful, but was there anything in particular or specific you know of that may have made him feel under strain? Let me also mention that my inquiry is confidential.”

  “I’ve thought about that a lot, actually,” Megan said, glancing left and right, trying to find her brother. She turned around. Ridley shrugged and shook his head. The rocking chair leaned forward as Megan faced Harrison again. “I think it was the combination of work and becoming a father. That happened last summer, and that’s when he started having difficulties.”

  “Last summer?” Harrison said.

  “Seemed like July, I think.”

  “Is it possible that he may have discussed these kinds of things with his friends?” Harrison said.

  “You have to understand, Eric was a pretty quiet guy,” Ridley said, interrupting. “His family was most important to him. He would have discussed these kinds of things, as you say, with us before anybody else. And he didn’t. Whatever bothered Eric, he kept to himself. You can be certain of that.”

  After jotting down a few notes, mainly hunches about Ridley, Harrison said, “Would you say, Mrs. Gonzales, that your husband had a fairly average lifestyle?”

  “Well, we attended church. In fact, that’s how we met. He volunteered at a Catholic soup kitchen one Thanksgiving a number of years ago. I helped there too. Then, there was the air force. That was really a boost for him. He didn’t have it easy growing up, and the military offered him a way to improve himself and his life. When he had time, he was a wonderful father. He was nervous about that, about being a father. I knew he’d be just fine, though. Eric really cared about others. He always put others ahead of himself. There are many good things to remember about him. Actually, you know, he wasn’t average. He was better than average. He set an example for others. That’s why this is so unfortunate, especially for our son. Owen will grow up not knowing his father. That’s an awful price to pay for someone so young, don’t you think? He’ll want to know about his father, and I can tell him stories or show him pictures, but that is just so inadequate. It’s fake in a way. He won’t really know him. I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

  Harrison found himself staring at the lamb statue next to the rocking chair. Its eyes seemed oddly human.

  Megan broke the silence. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t go on like that. Do you have any more questions?”

  “I don’t think so. You’ve been most helpful. Thank you for your time. You have my deepest sympathies.” Harrison stood and shook Megan’s hand. He nodded at Ridley. “It was nice to meet you both.”

  Megan smiled and tilted her head toward Ridley, who whispered something in her ear. Megan looked up at Harrison and said, “Can you leave your business card? In case we think of anything else?”

  “I’m sorry,” Harrison said, patting the various pockets of his coat, shirt, and pants. “I must be out. If you have any questions, though, the personnel officer for Eric’s unit will be able to help you further.”

  “Please, let me walk you to your car,” Ridley said. He moved past Harrison and led him outside. When they reached the sidewalk, Harrison pulled the car keys from his pants pocket, but they dropped to the ground. He stooped and groaned.

  “Are you all right?” Ridley said.

  “Just old age.” With the keys recovered and the car door opened, Harrison turned and said, “Thanks again. I know this is a difficult time.”

  “I’m glad you understand that. You don’t need to worry though; Eric followed the rules.”

  Harrison tossed his paperwork onto the briefcase. Cops could be such clever, suspicious bastards. “Yes, he was a good guy.”

  “But not good enough to be trusted?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.” In part, Harrison wanted to leave, but it was becoming clear that his hunches about Ridley were probably true. It also seemed that Ridley had a few hunches of his own.

  “He kept your little secrets. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  “What?” Harrison’s voice remained calm, but he also tried to sound virtuous.

  Ridley assumed an interrogation stance, strong leg back, foot angled outward, knees bent, and torso forward. The position offered balance, strength, and flexibility. Cops used it to protect themselves while questioning suspects.

  “Isn’t it good enough that your rules killed him? Now you have to come here and make sure he didn’t tell us anything he shouldn’t.”

  “This is just a routine follow-up.”

  “Don’t give me that, Mr. Hiatt, if that is your real name. I suppose if I ran your license plate, I’d find that out for myself. That’s if I don’t arrest you right now.”

  “You’re making a big mistake.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Listen to me for a second. If I were here, as you say, to find out whether Eric discussed anything with you, well, I’d have to say he did judging from your tone. In that case, you’d be in big trouble.”

  “What are you going to do? You can’t order me around, or tell me to keep quiet.”

  “Calm down. Look, your instincts are sharp, but you’re letting your emotions get the best of you.
Obviously you have something to keep quiet about.”

  “At least I can talk about it. I don’t have to keep it inside. Not that it would make any difference. So you don’t have to worry. Whatever secret was so important to keep, it went to the grave with Eric. He should get a goddamn medal.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Don’t patronize me. He sacrificed his sanity keeping quiet for you guys. Well, you got what you wanted. Just leave us alone and stay out of other people’s business.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Okay, fine.” Harrison walked over to Ridley’s motor, hands out from his sides, in full view of the officer. “Let’s stop this right now.” He checked the motorcycle’s rearview mirror. It was clean. “This will tell you who I am.” He made perfect imprints of his thumbs and index fingers. “Check the license plate, too. Here’s a pen. Write it down.”

  Ridley just stared at Harrison, and then he took the pen and wrote the information on the back of his left hand.

  “My name is William Harrison, and I’m a private investigator. And believe me, I’m not trying to cause you or your sister any problems.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I wanted to verify something an anonymous informant gave me regarding your brother-in-law’s accident.”

  “What is it?”

  “There was an article in the paper about the accident. Among other things, I wanted to get a better idea about what kind of person Eric was.”

  “Why did you have to lie about it?”

  “For the same reasons Eric couldn’t tell you the truth.”

  “What, you were under orders?”

  “No, not exactly. But before I explain it to you, I have to know something.”

  “What?”

  “What did he tell you? Believe me, it is important, and it can make a difference.”

  Ridley eased his position and gazed at his motorcycle. “Nothing.”

  Harrison shook his head. “Let’s not play any more games.”

  “That is, I don’t recall anything at the moment.”

  “I see. You know the Sundowner Inn?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, if you’re able to recall anything, you can reach me there. I’ll be there through Sunday. Maybe longer.”

  “Should I ask for Harrison or Hiatt?”

  “Hiatt. Look, if you check hard enough, you’ll also find out that I’m a former FBI agent.”

  “Uh-huh, and I’m Sigmund Freud.”

  “In that case, Herr Doctor, you can appreciate confidentiality. Whatever you do, whatever you believe, do yourself a favor. Don’t discuss this with anyone. I’m not kidding. Keep it to yourself.”

  “I have so far.”

  “Good.”

  Harrison did not bother to continue the conversation. He got into his car and drove away, headed for the Sundowner Inn. Given the way this interview went, he decided not to embarrass himself any further by calling on the grieving relatives of suicide victim Airman Bresch.

  Chapter 23

  Maybe We’ll Get Lucky

  Colonel Samuel Ritter telephoned James Evans at his quarters and said, “General Stone will be too busy for his afternoon appointment with you. He needs to see you in his office now.”

  James waded through unusually crowded hallways full of people in a rush, pilots in flight suits, and triplets of the ones in black. Fifteen minutes later, James walked past Colonel Ritter—who also wore a flight suit—and stood before General Stone.

  Seated at his desk, Stone flipped through the last few pages of a report, and then rubbed his face. He yawned, one that lasted long enough to redden his cheeks and forehead. “One of our Nevada sources updated the Protocol One report regarding Sergeant Gonzales.”

  James held little interest in the conversation. “What is there to update? Everything went better than could be expected.”

  “The source has acquired additional information, necessitating another visit.”

  “I’m going back to Vegas?”

  “Gonzales has a brother-in-law who is a Las Vegas cop.”

  “I know that. The impression I got was that Gonzales didn’t tell him or anyone about the Dreamland encounter. That was in my report.”

  “I understand, James, and probably nothing will come of it. But since then, the cop checked his department’s records for radio transmissions surrounding last July’s event. Maybe he’s suspicious, I don’t know. You may have missed something. I just don’t want any loose ends. A cop is just the type of person we don’t need taking a closer look at things.” Stone leaned forward and handed the report over to James. “Review this on your flight to Nellis.”

  Colonel Ritter knocked on the door and stuck his head just inside the office. “Sorry to interrupt, sir—I just wanted to make sure you got these status reports before I leave for Nevada.”

  “Bring them here.”

  “The transfers and reclassifications are moving forward,” Colonel Ritter said, handing several files to Stone. “But some of the research is a little time consuming. We’re still having a problem bringing the computer access alerts online, but some of our tests are encouraging. All the pertinent updates are there.”

  “So, if I understand you correctly, Colonel, at some point in the very near future we will know when people go looking for these various government records?”

  “Yes, sir, we will absolutely have that capability.”

  “How are things shaping up for tomorrow night?”

  “We are in great shape, sir. General Lanham’s team is excellent. And everything’s a go with the experimental.”

  “Dare I ask about the weather forecast?”

  “Only if you want more good news, sir.”

  “Excellent. Get out of here, Colonel. The ELF test is your top priority.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After Colonel Ritter left, James said, “Is that what all the hullabaloo is about?”

  Stone laughed. Or was it a cough? James was unsure.

  “All I can say is that after tomorrow, Saint Mary won’t be the same.”

  “I wish I could help.”

  “You are helping, but I can’t have you in two places at once. Now, review the file on your flight. Simply put, I want you to find the cop, scan his thoughts, and find out what he knows or suspects, if anything. Don’t initiate any resolutions until I say so. We can’t afford any breaches or mistakes right now.”

  James stood and walked toward the door, his hand slipping off the knob when he reached for it. The scan was involuntary, reflexive. Stone felt anxious, uneasy, and James felt it with little effort. He shook it off and concentrated on leaving. Saint Mary maintained orders about unauthorized scans. James grabbed the knob and turned it. “I’ll take care of this,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  <> <>

  “You want a hit?” the blond female blackjack dealer said, looking at Harrison.

  Harrison peered at his cards. He held a ten and a four. “I’ll stay.”

  The dealer also held fourteen. She drew her next card. A seven.

  The players around the table grumbled, most of them obscured by cigarette smoke, primarily from Harrison.

  “I’m out,” Harrison said, departing the table. He had lost all of the imitation silver dollars provided to him compliments of the Sundowner Inn.

  Stepping outside the Sundowner’s small casino, Harrison found a bench in a small garden landscaped with desert rock and foliage. He sat, lit up his last cigarette, and watched the smoke trail off. The setting sun left a smooth blend of orange, blue, and purple across the sky. Muffled sounds of music and laughter came from inside the casino. The mild air, nudged by a dry breeze, filtered through the desert garden’s walkways and open spaces.

  The serenity simply stirred Harrison’s frustration with Echo Tango. It welled momentarily into anger. He could be watching me right now. He felt useless waiting for an anonymous informant to make choices for him.

&nb
sp; Harrison glanced once more at the sky, and then he stood up, looking around the area to see if anyone observed him. Approaching his room, he noted the cars parked in the lot next to his wing of the hotel, but only concluded that minivans seemed popular.

  He unlocked the door and entered. Still, nothing.

  Hating to do it, he grabbed the remote and planted himself at the end of his bed. During the third or fourth wave of semiattentive channel surfing, he finally settled on a local news station. Holiday shoppers stuffed the malls, according to the reporter. Only four shopping days left until Christmas. Retailers anxiously awaited sales comparisons with previous years. Harrison hoped Janice would have a nice Christmas.

  The loud ring from the room’s telephone startled Harrison and interrupted his unexpected but pleasant thoughts about Janice.

  “Hello?”

  No response.

  “Hello?” Harrison said again.

  Silence greeted him, and then the phone clicked and returned to a dial tone.

  After hanging up, Harrison stepped over to the window and looked between the curtains.

  Nothing unusual.

  Harrison had stowed his briefcase under a writing desk next to the television stand. His Colt .45 was inside, wrapped in a nylon holster. He moved away from the window and removed the gun. After strapping it to his belt, he checked his watch. Nearly seven o’clock. Maybe he should leave the room? His thigh ached, so he leaned on the desk, relieving some of the pressure.

  Before the quiet tapping on the motel room door finished, Harrison drew his gun and held it along the side of his leg.

  Concentrate now!

  Harrison crept to the door and pointed the .45’s barrel at it from his side. He peered through the peephole and saw a man’s face illuminated from the orange glow of the streetlights in the parking lot.

  “Comrade, I’ve come for my vodka,” the man said, with a cartoonish Russian accent.

  The man’s appearance differed from what Harrison remembered. He was thinner now, older of course, approaching the half-century mark. Baldness overtook his head almost completely now.

  The chain lock kept Harrison from opening the door more than a few inches. But that’s all he needed to see it, the permanent appearance of baffled consternation. A facade, a mantle, the look of a volcano on the verge of a long-overdue eruption. The expression kept most people away.