A Long Day for Dying

by Patrick A. Davis

  I fell into step beside him, and we continued toward the hangar. “Your guess is as good as mine.” I explained the best I could.

  Afterward, Simon shook his head patronizingly. “Martin…Martin…”

  “What?”

  “You. Your obliviousness. Frankly, you’re a fool.”

  My jaw tightened. “Now just a damn minute—”

  But he was talking over me, asking, “Do you really want her to go out with other men?”

  “Sure. Of course. It’s not healthy for her to—”

  “Don’t lie.”

  “I’m not lying. I think she should—”

  “Isaw you. I saw the way you looked at her.”

  My face got hot. “Simon, it’s not what you think.”

  “It’sexactly what I think. You have feelings for her.”

  I started to deny it. I wanted to deny it. But all I could think about were those nights I’d see Amanda sitting on her porch, and how much I’d wanted to talk to her. I shot back, “So what if I do?”

  “Ah.” His face relaxed into a smile. “Now maybe you understand why she became so angry.”

  I hesitated. “Actually, I’m not sure I do.”

  He looked at me like I was a certifiable idiot.“She told you.”

  “But she didn’t. All she said was she was tired of—”

  And then I finally got it. I stared at him, unable to speak. My mouth felt like it was full of sand.

  “My God,” I finally managed, “it’s me. She’s waiting for me.”

  19

  We came to the side door. Before opening it, I asked Simon, “How long have you known?”

  “For the past six months.”

  “And you never said anything?”

  He shrugged. “Amanda asked me not to.”

  “You know I can’t act on this. It’s too soon. I’m still not ready.”

  “Nicole has been gone three years.”

  “You’re still mourning Romero.”

  “And I expect I always will. But I’ve accepted his death, and now I’m ready to move on.”

  “Bullshit,” I said.

  He gazed at me, his face softening. “She’s a beautiful woman. She won’t wait forever, Martin.”

  “I know.” I swallowed. “It’s Emily. It wouldn’t be fair to her. She wouldn’t understand….”

  “Have you asked her?”

  I looked at him in shock. “Of course not.”

  “Doesn’t Emily like Amanda?”

  “As friends. This…this would be different. You don’t have children. You wouldn’t understand.”

  I saw the disappointment in his eyes. “That’s the problem, Martin. I do understand.”

  He went inside the hangar.

  As the door began to close behind him, I reached out to catch it and caught the glint of sunlight on my wedding ring. I froze, mesmerized by it.

  It was a simple, gold-plated band that I’d bought for a couple hundred bucks. When Nicole and I got married, that was all I could scrape together on a second lieutenant’s salary. In the twenty-three years since, I’d never removed it. And now, the thought of actually taking it off and sticking it in some box—

  I felt a heaviness in my heart. Christ, how I missed her.

  As I entered the hangar, Simon said, “You’ll have to tell Amanda. It’s kinder.”

  “I will.”

  The door closed behind us, and the two SPs moved aside to let us by. We saw Amanda going up the portable stairs. As she disappeared into the jet, I told Simon that she and I agreed with his conclusion about Weller’s fingernails. “Andy’s right. Weller probably didn’t have a struggle with General Garber. Amanda’s checking with Martha to see if any of the buttons were found in the compartment.”

  “I’d be surprised if theydidn’t find any, Martin.”

  “Oh?”

  A step later it came to me. “Weller. You think she planted the buttons when she went into the compartment this morning?”

  “That would explain her hysterical display.”

  “Display? She was putting on an act?”

  “Without question. Colonel Gustin told us Weller was someone who rarely lost control of her emotions. Andy described Weller similarly. And you and I witnessed her reaction to my questions. To me, it’s unlikely that someone with her composure would fall apart at the sight of the body of a man she despised.”

  His comment jogged my memory. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten to tell him about Churchfield. As I described her emotional reaction in the compartment, Simon began nodding.

  “So you noticed her, too?” I said.

  “Yes, but there’s a difference. Churchfield’s emotion seemed genuine. She was also clearly trying to hide her reaction from us.”

  “Obviously,” I said, “there must be some history between her and Garber.”

  A nod. “It’s something we should pursue, but I wouldn’t put much faith that it has any bearing on the murder. Weller, on the other hand, had something to gain by her theatrics.”

  He glanced over, waiting to see if I could connect the dots.

  “An excuse,” I said. “Weller needed an excuse to stay in the compartment so she could plant the buttons.”

  “Yes. And if you recall where she sat…”

  “On the chair with the robe. It would have been a cinch for her to slip the condom in the pocket. Busy girl.”

  An approving smile; I’d passed his little test. Still, I wasn’t all that enamored of his latest theory. It bothered me that Weller, a junior aide, would be capable of orchestrating all this. Would bewilling to do this. I mentioned my reservations to Simon.

  “She had no choice. She’s obviously acting under the orders of Churchfield.”

  I asked him why she would she want to make us think Garber was a rapist, adding, “That seems excessive as hell. Amanda and I think maybe it’s because Garber really was a rapist. Maybe he even tried to rape Colonel Weller in the past.”

  “That’s certainly possible. I’m inclined to think the rape charge is a crucial element of the fallback plan.”

  “Fallback?”

  “I think the military’s term is contingency. You still don’t see it? Think about it this way, Martin. From the beginning, Secretary Churchfield has orchestrated the cover-up like a military campaign. She had to consider that a ruling of accidental death might be unsuccessful. So, like any competent general, she developed a fallback position—”

  I stopped so suddenly, he went by me a few steps. “Jesus. Blackmail.”

  “Yes.”

  “Senator Garber. She’s going to blackmail him.”

  “If necessary, yes.”

  I spoke quickly, following the thread. “Hell, it all fits. If we keep pushing, get too close to the truth before the deadline expires, Churchfield will haul Colonel Weller before the senator, have her give him a song-and-dance about how she was attacked. With General Garber’s reputation as a drinker and womanizer, it would be believable—”

  “Yes—”

  “—so the senator will be faced with a choice. The ultimate catch-22. Either he calls off the investigation, or Weller goes before the press and tells the world that his son is a rapist.” I shook my head. “Churchfield had all the angles worked out. No matter what we do, she can’t lose. Did I say something?” Simon was looking at me in a disapproving way.

  “You’re admitting defeat, Martin. Don’t.”

  “The hell I am. I’m being realistic. This thing is over.”

  “If we uncover enough evidence in time, we can still prove—”

  “Whatevidence? Churchfield’s tainted the crime scene, thrown up bureaucratic roadblocks, pressured witnesses—”

  “We have Dr. Bowman.”

  “Aren’t you jumping the gun? He hasn’t accepted your offer yet.”

  “He will.”

  I sighed as we resumed walking. “Fine. How much?”

  “Initially, I told Andy to offer Dr. Bowman up to a hundred thousand.”


  “And now?”

  “Up to a million.”

  I gave a low whistle. Even for Simon, this was a chunk of change. I asked, “Why the interest now? Earlier it sounded to me like you didn’t care if we succeeded in solving the case.”

  “In some respects, I don’t,” he said. “But I’m committed to finding the truth.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  He shrugged.

  “Fine,” I said. “But I know Billy. He’s gung-ho military, especially for a doc. I don’t see him taking a bribe—”

  Simon looked pained; he hated that term.

  “—no matter how much money you toss at him. And even if he agrees to help, I doubt we’ll get much we don’t already know. Hell, we can pretty much guess the time of death and how much Garber had to drink. Now as to whether someone slipped Garber a Mickey, I thought we’d decided—”

  I clammed up when I heard someone calling to us. It sounded like Amanda. Approaching the nose of the big jet, we turned toward the voice. She was waving to us from the top of the stairs. “Marty! Simon! Get up here now!”

  Now what?

  Amanda met us on the landing, looking thoroughly pissed off. A knot of somber-faced forensics team members were crowded into the entryway behind her, suggesting that I wasn’t the sole source of her irritation.

  “They found two shirt buttons,” Amanda snapped.

  I said, “So what’s the problem?”

  But she was already squeezing through the parting bodies. She led us into the forward section of the aircraft. Martha Jones was standing in the aisle by the cockpit door. As soon as she spotted me, Martha sprang forward and gestured to several cardboard evidence boxes on a nearby seat. “Marty, I swear I don’t know how it happened. We kept the evidence in here, so it would be out of the way while we were working. I never thought to have anybody guard it. Why would I? I never even considered that anyone would…in all the years, nothing like this has ever…” She trailed off, her eyes locked on mine, searching for a sign I believed her.

  By now I’d realized what had happened. I said, “Someone took the buttons?”

  Martha nodded miserably.

  “Not just the buttons,” Amanda said. She directed me to one of the boxes; the lid was off, and we could see that it contained several glassine bags filled with blue hairs—carpet fibers that had been vacuumed. “Both the buttons and Weller’s lipstick were in there. And they’re gone.”

  “The bottle and glasses, too?” I said quietly.

  “No. They’re still here.” She picked up a second box and raised the lid to show me.

  For a moment, I was puzzled that glass with lipstick smear hadn’t been taken. Then I realized it didn’t matter; there was no lipstick to compare the smear with now.

  There was a long silence. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, waiting to see how I was going to play this.

  Martha touched my arm. “Marty, I swear to God. I had no idea that this would happen.”

  “No one called you from Churchfield’s office. Told you to—”

  “No.”She choked out the word.

  I studied her. Martha and I went back almost fifteen years. She’d never lied to me before, and I knew she wasn’t doing so now. I gave her a tiny smile. “I believe you.”

  She sagged with relief.

  From behind me, Simon asked her, “The buttons? Where did you find them?”

  “Sergeant Keele,” Martha called out, looking past us. “Pete, you back there?”

  We turned at a shout from the entryway. The CID men, Paul Carter and Tommy Gentry, who were standing at the front of the group, slid into nearby seats to make room for a slender, balding man who came forward.

  “Wasn’t it the couch, Pete?” Martha said.

  Keele nodded. “One button was under it, near the right front leg. The second we found when we removed a cushion. It was lying next to one of the springs on the foldout bed.”

  I said, “Did you check to see if there were any buttons on the bed?”

  “Sure did, sir,” Keele said. “We unfolded it. Took apart the sheets. Nothing. Not even a hair sample. Never was slept in.”

  “Thanks, Pete.”

  Keele nodded and stepped back.

  My eyes went down the tense faces, peering back at me. I knew I was wasting my time, but I had to take a shot. I repeated my question about anyone receiving calls from Churchfield’s office and got negative responses all around.

  I asked, “How about from the offices of General Markel, General Sessler, or General Johnson?”

  Denials and head shakes.

  “Did anyone of you receive a call fromanyone in the Pentagon?”

  More head shakes.

  I asked if anyone had an idea who might have removed the evidence from the box. This time, the denials were even more emphatic. Then I noticed Paul Carter.

  He was sitting rigidly in his seat, his eyes fixed blankly on his lap. He glanced up as if to say something, then saw me looking. His eyes dropped again.

  Simon was also watching him. “Something wrong, Paul?” he asked.

  Paul’s head rose slowly. “No. Of course not, Lieutenant. Why?”

  “You seem preoccupied.”

  A nervous smile. “It’s my wife, Lieutenant. She’s due in a few days. Our first kid and all.”

  Simon smiled understandingly. “We’ll see if we can’t wrap things up soon, Paul.”

  “I’d appreciate it, Lieutenant.”

  Afterward, another silence fell upon everyone. I knew the team members expected me to jump down their throats, read them the riot act. I didn’t. In a quiet voice, I reminded them that we were acting with the support of Senator Garber. I calmly informed them that I intended to find who had removed the evidence. “When I do,” I added, “the senator and I will ensure that person is prosecuted to the full extent of the law. The same goes for anyone who knows who that person is and has chosen not to come forward. Questions? No? Get back to work.”

  As everyone drifted away, Simon made a suggestion to Amanda. She immediately went over to Paul Carter and Tommy Gentry, telling them to stay seated.

  Martha Jones said to me, “I’ll personally supervise all the remaining evidence. Log everything in and out myself. This won’t happen again, Marty.”

  I gave her hand a squeeze. “Forget it. It wasn’t your fault.”

  She hesitated. “We’ve also got a problem with General Garber’s classified briefcase. It’s Chairman’s Eyes Only. Technically, we don’t have the clearance to take possession. You want me to find a safe until I get the authorization?”

  “It’s still in the closet?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “While you’re there, you also might want to take a look at the lower right wall. When we bagged the pillows, we noticed some marks that are a little curious.”

  “Oh? What kind of marks?”

  20

  Amanda was kneeling in the aisle, talking to Paul Carter, while Tommy Gentry looked on. I slid by her, looking for Simon, but he’d disappeared.

  I went to the compartment to retrieve the briefcase. It was a zoo. Nate Green and Thad Fuller were removing the door so they could analyze it in the lab. They would do the same thing with the closet doors. Inside the room, three fresh-faced latent-fingerprint specialists were in the process of dusting literally every inch of the room. The photographer Bobby Baker was standing outside the bathroom, shooting the interior. Over by the couch, I saw Simon talking with Sergeant Pete Keele. Keele removed a cushion, pointed down. Simon leaned over and stared for few moments, then nodded in satisfaction.

  He came up behind me as I bent down to retrieve the briefcase from the closet. “Excuse me, Martin.”

  But I didn’t move. I was studying the base of the right wall, the area that had been blocked by the blanket and pillows. Against the stark white siding I could see the black smudge marks that Martha had mentioned. They were roughly an inch above the closet floor. I c
hecked the left side. Clean.

  Simon said, “Martin—”

  When I stood, he was slipping on latex gloves. I pointed out the marks and moved aside so he could kneel down for a look.

  “Heel marks,” he concluded, a moment later.

  I said, “That means someone must have passed through the closet into the hallway.”

  Garber’s uniform and hangup bags were still hanging inside. Simon slid them against the left wall, then bent forward until his face was inches from the heel marks. “I count seven—”

  I said, “Martha said there were eight.”

  Simon nodded. “Why so many?”

  I’d been wondering the same thing. One or two could be explained by someone using the closet as a passageway and catching a heel. But that many…

  “Could be someone hid inside here,” I said. “But that doesn’t make much sense either. Why would the killer hang around in the closet after killing Garber?”

  Simon stood. “Perhaps the marks were there previously.”

  “I doubt it. Left side’s clean. Besides, with all the heavy hitters who use the compartment, I imagined it’s cleaned thoroughly after every flight. I can check.”

  Simon panned over the closet interior. After a several seconds, he unzipped one of the hangup bags and started searching through the contents. I saw a short-waisted formal mess-dress blouse, another medaled jacket, a couple uniform shirts, three slacks—

  “You looking for anything in particular?” I asked.

  No response. He felt around the bottom of the bag, zipped it up, then methodically went through the side pockets, removing a series of items. Shoes, socks, belts, ties, T-shirts…

  He turned his attention to the second bag, which contained mostly civilian clothing. Finding nothing of interest, he began scrutinizing the locks on both the interior and exterior doors. He carefully locked and unlocked each one a number of times, then shook his head. “It doesn’t seem possible.”

  He was talking about locking the doors from the outside. I said, “Try this: What if the reason for Weller’s emotional display was to distract everyone so her accomplice could lock the door?”

  “The interior door, perhaps. But the person would have had to open the closet, reach inside and lock the exterior door, close the closet, lock the interior door, then step away, all without being noticed.”