A Long Day for Dying

by Patrick A. Davis

  “Would they have?”

  She shrugged.

  “If you knew a way, would you tell me?”

  Her eyes widened. “Why, yes, sir. Of course.”

  Her reaction seemed sincere. I looked her in the eyes and asked if she been ordered not to tell us the truth about the door.

  She met my gaze. “No, sir. No one said anything to me.”

  Either she was telling the truth, or she was an exceptionally practiced liar. I asked her if she’d opened the closet during the flight. She said she had, to get the bedding for the bed. She looked puzzled when I asked if she’d noticed heel marks on the right wall of the closet.

  “Why would there be heel marks, sir?”

  “I take it you didn’t see any.”

  “No, sir.” She hesitated.

  I said, “Go on.”

  “I’m thinking Ishould have noticed the marks. I usually watch for dirt or stains. You know, so I can notify the cleaning crews. Do you mind telling me where the marks were, sir?”

  “On the right wall, just above the floor.”

  She looked relieved. “That explains it. I only opened theleft door to get the bedding. I never even noticed the right wall.”

  Which meant the marks could have been present. I asked if she knew who was in charge of cleaning the compartment when the plane returned from a trip.

  “That would be Chief Master Sergeant Wiffel. He’s in charge of passenger services cleaning crews. It’s spelled e-l.”

  “If someone entered or left the compartment, either by the closet or the main door, would you have heard anything? Perhaps the sound of the doors closing?”

  “Sir, no one enters through the closet.”

  “But they could.”

  “Well, yes, sir…”

  “Assuming they did, would you have heard anything?”

  “I’d have to be right up close, sir. The fan is awfully loud.”

  “So you wouldn’t have heard anything from your station or the galley?”

  “No, sir.”

  Great. “The other generals,” I said, switching gears. “Are you responsible for serving them?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you see any of them in the hallway outside General Garber’s compartment?”

  “Not once we took off, sir. While we were on the ground, the chiefs had a meeting with General Garber in his compartment.”

  “How long did the meeting last?”

  “Five, ten minutes.”

  “Anyone else in the meeting besides the generals?”

  “Some of the aides and execs were probably there. They often were.”

  “Colonel Weller and Colonel Gustin?”

  “I’m not sure, sir. It was a closed-door meeting.” She added, “You might ask Agent Hobbs. I think I saw him leaving the compartment around then.”

  I frowned. “Why would Agent Hobbs attend a closeddoor meeting of the generals?”

  “He normally wouldn’t, sir. I assumed he was finishing his security check of the compartment. He made one before every leg.”

  Diligent Andy. I asked Blake if the generals remained in their section during the flight.

  “As far as I know. They were always there when I saw them.”

  “Was anyone else with them?”

  “Yes, sir. Colonel Weller.”

  “What time was this?”

  Her forehead knitted. “I’m not sure. After 0200. Maybe 0210 hours.”

  “What was Colonel Weller doing?”

  “She was just sitting there with General Markel. He asked me to bring her some coffee.”

  This seemed to validate Gustin’s “favorite” comment. “They weren’t talking?”

  “No, sir. No one was talking. They were just sitting there.”

  “How did everyone appear?”

  “Appear?”

  “Did they seem anxious or upset?”

  A head shake. “They all looked pretty normal, sir.” She paused, blushing slightly. “General Markel commented he liked my perfume.”

  So did I. The only problem was, I could smell it the moment she’d entered the office. I asked her if she knew how long Colonel Weller had remained with the generals.

  “I don’t know, sir. General Markel said they didn’t want to be bothered. He said they’d call if they needed anything. An hour before landing, I came by to see if they wanted breakfast. By then, Colonel Weller was gone.”

  “She was the only other person you saw with the generals?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Scanning my notes, I said, “Getting back to General Garber, when you made up his bed, did he seem drunk to you?”

  No response. I glanced up.

  She hesitated. “I didn’t actually see him, sir.”

  I flipped back a page, frowning. “I thought he instructed you that he didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “He was in the shower when I went to make up his bed. He talked to me through the door.”

  “I see. Did you take him any drinks?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You’re certain? We found some glasses from the galley that we think he used.”

  “They didn’t come from me. We took off real late from England. The general already had dinner. Colonel Weller told me the general would ring if he needed anything. He never did. Not even to ask for a drink.”

  “Isn’t that unusual?”

  “A little. General Garber always had a martini. Sometimes several.” She gave me a knowing look.

  “Martinis? He wasn’t a whisky drinker?”

  “He might have been. I’ve always served him martinis. Occasionally a Manhattan.”

  I put a question mark by this. “I take it you flew with General Garber before he became chairman.”

  “A few times. When he was the vice chief of the air force.”

  I closed my notepad and studied her. “Did you like him?”

  She considered her answer. “I guess I felt sorry for him, sir. I’ve been a flight attendant for fifteen years, sir. Flown a lot of important people. Presidents, senators, kings, actors, you name it. Some were nice, regular people. A lot of them were…difficult. Still, even if you didn’t like them, you always respected them. You know, because they earned their place. I’m not sure if you understand what I’m trying to say.”

  “I think I do.” I added, “Did you respect the general, Sergeant?”

  “I thought he deserved my respect. I mean, he was the chairman of the Joint Chiefs.”

  “Even if he didn’t really earn it.”

  Her eyes chilled slightly. “That’s not for me to judge, is it, sir?”

  A deserved rebuke; there was a lot more substance to Sergeant Blake than I’d first realized. “Yours is a minority view, Sergeant.”

  “I’m aware of that, sir. I don’t think it’s right for someone to die and nobody cares.” Her voice grew quiet. “It’s true, sir. Nobody cares that he’s dead. It’s…sad.”

  I asked, “Do you think he was murdered?”

  “I don’t see how, sir. The compartment was locked.”

  “Forget about that.”

  She still seemed uncomfortable with the question. I went through the standard spiel about keeping what she said confidential.

  She drew in a deep breath. “I think hecould have been murdered, sir.”

  “Any guesses on suspects? Perhaps one of the other generals—Yes?” She’d been shaking her head and stopped.

  “I’m not sure I should say. It was more of a joke.”

  “Let me decide.”

  “About six weeks ago, I was working a trip to China. One of those military fact-finding missions. General Garber was on board. He’d been drinking quite a bit. He seemed upset. When I brought him another drink, he said something to me. You know, like he was kidding, but you could tell he wasn’t. He said if anything ever happened to him, I was supposed to remember a name. He even wrote it down for me. On a piece of paper. Made me take it. Kept saying it was important.”

>   “What was the name?”

  “That’s just it. I can’t remember.”

  “Where’s the paper?”

  “I don’t know. I might have thrown it away.”

  “Was it a man or woman?”

  “I…I’m not really sure. It was something foreign.”

  “Foreign?”

  “Asian. It was Asian.”

  “You were flying to China.”

  “It could have been Chinese.” She shook her head apologetically. “Maybe it will come to me later.”

  “Were there any Chinese people on the airplane?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Will you look for the paper?”

  Her head bobbed. “Yes, sir. As soon as I get home.”

  “Call if you find it.” I handed her my card.

  I watched curiously as she rose from the table and threw a couple glances my way. After the third one, I asked her if she had something else to tell me.

  “Do you…do you believe General Garber was really murdered, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s no mistake?”

  “No.”

  She grew quiet, her eyes dropping to the floor. “This isn’t easy, sir. I’ve got a couple years to retirement. And with two kids in college…” She drifted off, wrestling with her decision.

  I didn’t say anything. I just waited for her to make up her mind.

  She finally looked up at me. “What you said earlier, sir. About keeping anything I say confidential…”

  “Your superiors won’t know.”

  A vague nod. “I…I lied, sir.”

  “About?”

  “We…we were instructed not to cooperate with the investigation by General Markel.”

  Big surprise. “He spoke to you personally?”

  “He called each of us crew members at home.”

  “So what you were telling me about the door—”

  “That part is true. I don’t think it can be locked from the outside.”

  I contemplated her. “Why are you telling me all this now?”

  A sad smile played over her lips. “Some people are saying it’s a good thing General Garber is dead. That he got what he deserved. It’s not right. He wasn’t as bad as everyone thinks. And now that’s he’s been murdered…” Her lip trembled. “Anyway, I think it’s my duty to do what I can to help.”

  I said gently, “You must have liked him a great deal?”

  “He is…was…always good to me, sir.”

  Our eyes met, and an unspoken moment passed between us. I glanced to her ring finger; the wedding band was there. I smiled. “Thank you for your honesty, Sergeant.”

  As I watched her leave, I was torn. I liked her and was tempted to let her walk away. But I had to know.

  “Wait, Sergeant.”

  23

  After Sergeant Blake departed, I phoned the base operator for the numbers of the Andrews Support Division—the civilian maintenance contractors—and Passenger Services. I called the maintenance section first, asked for the commander, and was transferred to a Mr. Hardin.

  Hardin gave me the answer I expected. No, the DV compartment’s main and closet doors locked only from the inside.

  “You’d swear to that, Mr. Hardin?”

  “On a stack of Bibles.”

  “Gideon or King James?”

  “I prefer Gideon. It’s easier to read.”

  The guy was quick. “Appreciate the help.”

  I hung up, frowning. Hardin’s familiarity with Bibles notwithstanding, I tried to convince myself he had to be lying about the doors. The operative word wastried . Like Simon, I was also beginning to have doubts.

  When I phoned Passenger Services, Chief Wiffel was out, but I got his deputy, a Technical Sergeant Pantera. Pantera had one of those Tinkerbell voices that made her sound about twelve. After identifying myself, I asked her if the cleaning crews routinely scrubbed the closet walls after each trip.

  “Always, sir.”

  “So if there were black smudges on the interior wall—”

  “Sir,” she said stiffly, “the C-32 flies the vice president, the secretary of state, members of Congress, and major heads of state. We pride ourselves on attention to detail.”

  “Understood, Sergeant. Thank you.”

  I slowly cradled the receiver. The more I thought about it, the crazier it seemed that the killer would use the closet as a passageway more than once. Each time he did, he was taking a gamble. Anyone spotting him would have wondered why he hadn’t used the main door.

  No. To make that many heel marks, our boy must have hidden in the closet. And if so…

  I sat up, grabbed General Garber’s classified briefcase, since I couldn’t leave it unguarded, and hurried out of the office, hoping I was in time.

  I poked my head into the DV compartment and relaxed. The latent print techs still hadn’t gotten around to dusting the interior of the closet. After ordering them to hold off, I told Sergeant Keele to make sure no one touched the closet until he got the okay from Martha.

  I found Martha in the forward section, carefully marking a glassine packet with stick-on tape. Initially, the packet appeared empty, but when she held it up for me, I saw what appeared to be a single hair.

  “That’s all the hairs we collected from the shower,” she said.

  My eyebrows went up. Usually we recovered a small nest. “You remove the drain cap?”

  “How do you think we found this one? Notice the color?”

  I was squinting, trying to. “Brown?”

  “Closer to red. Since General Garber’s got gray hair, we know it wasn’t his. Could be the vice president’s.”

  I nodded; the Veep had a full head of auburn hair.

  Martha searched my face. “You’re the detective. Any guesses why someone might have cleaned up the shower after General Garber used it and removed all his hair?”

  I shook my head. This was another curve out of right field.

  She wearily tossed the packet in an evidence box. “Some case, huh, Marty. It’s days like this that make me regret not taking the early-retirement package last year. What’s that you got in your hand? More lipstick? Who’s the lucky girl, or should I ask?”

  “The flight attendant, Sergeant Blake.” I passed her the container and asked her to personally honcho the color-comparison analysis. I also told her I wanted her to supervise the fingerprinting of the closet interior, to make sure no one “accidentally” wiped away any prints.

  “Marty, I’d like to help. But right now I’m a onewoman show. As it is, I’ll be lucky to finish up anywhere close to the deadline.”

  “It’s important, Martha.”

  She sighed, looking at me. “You’re going to ride my screwup for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

  I winked. “What do you think?”

  A wry smile. “I guess I deserve it. You win, I’ll see what I can do. Might be a while until I can get around to it. Couple hours okay?”

  “Thanks, Martha.”

  “Oh, for what it’s worth—” She picked up her notepad from a seat, flipped several pages, handed it to me.

  “An informal survey,” she said. “I asked my team if any of them knew who might have taken the evidence. I got denials straight down the line. That’s what then in the first column means. So I asked them whom theysuspected might have been responsible. Big change. See the names.”

  I nodded, scanning the page.

  “Andy,” Martha said. “Nine out of twelve think it’s Andy.”

  “They say why?”

  She shrugged. “He’s a jerk.”

  “So it doesn’t mean much?”

  “Probably not.”

  I passed her the notepad back. “You might have made a mistake on Sergeant Keele’s response. You’ve got him down as suspecting Andy.”

  She looked puzzled. “Sure. That’s what he told me. You heard different?”

  After I related Simon’s comment, she said, “Simon must have misunderstood, M
arty.”

  “Probably.”

  On my way out, I swung by the compartment again and asked Keele to step into the hallway.

  “Suspect the new guys, sir?” he said. “Who the hell told you that?”

  It was a little after 1030 hours when I returned to the maintenance offices. I punched my mental time clock and figured we had less than ten hours to wrap this up. Simon and Amanda were both emerging from their respective rooms with their groups. From their tight-jawed expressions, I could tell their sessions hadn’t gone well. Big surprise.

  As I approached them, Simon gave me a questioning look. I shook him off, avoiding his gaze and the look of disgust that came with it.

  Before releasing the passengers and crew, Amanda passed out her card and instructed them to call if they remembered anything. They listened politely, but as they left, several people tossed the cards in a nearby trashcan.

  “Assholes,” Amanda said, as we trailed the group down the hallway.

  I said, “Sergeant Blake said they were ordered by General Markel to stiff-arm us.”

  She and Simon looked to me in surprise. He said, “Sergeant Blake cooperated?”

  “Completely. She liked Garber and wants to help us find the killer.”

  Simon read my face. “Defineliked. ”

  We pushed through the double doors into the hangar. I knew what he was really asking. “She denied that she and General Garber were having an affair.”

  “And your impressions…”

  “She was telling the truth. She’d flown with General Garber a number of times, and he was always pleasant to her.”

  “There was no other contact?”

  “Not according to her.”

  “Uh, Marty,” Amanda said, “I hate to break the news to you, butno one liked Garber.”

  I glanced at her. “Not unless she was screwing him, you mean.”

  “Not even then.”

  “Look,” I said. “Even if she was sleeping with him, I know she couldn’t have anything to do with the killing. She’s hasn’t got it in her. Besides, she’s married with a couple of kids, and—”

  I gave up when Amanda’s eyes glazed over. “You had to be there.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Simon said, “Her lipstick?”

  “Red. I gave it to Martha to check out.”