I shrugged. “What’s the point? I know what I like and—”
Then I saw the disappointment in her eyes. She shook her head pityingly, and I heard the sadness in her voice.
“You’re right, Marty. You’ll never change, Marty. You can’t.”
I looked away from her, my pulse quickening. I now realized what she was really trying to say.
Even though she’d given me an opening, I couldn’t take it. More than anything, I wanted to avoid a repeat of our earlier confrontation. We rode in a strained silence, neither of us willing to make the next move. When the song ended, Amanda said softly, “I know, Marty.”
I felt her eyes on me. I didn’t reply.
“Simon,” she said. “He told you, didn’t he? About the way I feel?”
I finally turned to her. Her beautiful face was a mask, eyes fixed straight ahead. I said, “How did you find out?”
“The way you’ve been acting. It’s not like you’ve been exactly subtle.” She wouldn’t look at me. “Besides, I expected him to tell you eventually. Frankly, I didn’t think it would take this long.”
“Youwanted me know?”
She hesitated. “Part of me did. I had this silly idea that maybe if you knew, it would make things easier. Somehow.”
“Amanda, I care for you a great deal. But with my situation—”
“Don’t, Marty. Please. No explanations.”
“No. I want you to understand that this…this has nothing to do with you. It’s me. If things were different—”
“But they aren’t. And the last time I checked, three was still a crowd.” She gave me a tiny smile. “It’s okay. We’re still friends. Let’s leave it at that, huh?”
“I don’t want this to change anything between us.”
She sighed, her eyes returning to the road. “It won’t, Marty. We’re adults. We can handle this.”
But of course we were fooling ourselves. From this moment on, nothing would ever be the same between us; it couldn’t. I think that’s what I regretted most, the fact that our relationship was forever changed. Soon she would pull back completely; she wouldn’t want to be reminded of this rejection. When that happened, I would miss her, and so would Emily.
My earlier sense of loss returned. Despite my attraction to Amanda, I knew I’d done the only thing I could. Anything else wouldn’t have been fair. She deserved someone who could commit himself fully to her, who wasn’t weighed down by the memories of his dead wife or a child—
“Marty, your phone’s ringing.”
It was my daughter Emily. Hearing her voice was the emotional boost I needed. Glancing at the clock on the dash, I saw it was three-thirty; she’d just gotten out of school.
“Dad, I don’t have much time before the bus, but I had to call. I’m…I’m sorry about this morning.”
“So am I, honey.”
“If I could have shown you the letter, I would have. Mom…she only wanted me to read it. Please understand.” Her voice quivered, and she sounded close to tears.
“Emily,” I said gently, “it’s okay. It’s no big deal about the letter.”
“But, Dad, itis a big deal. The letter, I mean. I’m confused. Mom told me something. I need…Ihave to talk to somebody.”
“I’m here.”
“Dad, please.”
“Amanda is with me.” She was listening, her face knitted with concern.
“No,”Emily said with sudden feeling. “Not Amanda. It has to be…I was thinking…Uncle Simon. Do you think I could call him?”
I tried to keep my surprise in check. “I…well…I suppose. But he’s kind of busy, honey.”
“He’s your best friend, right?”
“He’s a good friend.”
“It won’t take long. I just want to ask him a question. Dad, I gotta go. I’ll miss the bus.”
“You’ll need his cell phone number.”
“I’ll look it up in the computer. I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too.”
As I tucked the phone away, Amanda said, “What was that all about?”
I sighed. “I wish I knew.”
After I explained, she said, “Now you’ve got me wondering what’s in the letter. Emily usually tells me everything. The boys she likes, what music she’s into…”
“Boys? What boys?”
She winked. “You’d be surprised.”
“She’stwelve.”
“Chill, Dad. She’s thirteen tomorrow.”
“Even so—”
“Change,Marty,” she said with a sardonic smile.
“Everyone changes. Moves on with their life. Get used to it.”
I caught the dig. Still, I probably deserved it. “You still see our friends?”
Her eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. “Yeah. They’re playing it cool. Always keeping a few cars back.”
I was still thinking about the letter. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. But I had a job to do, and I tried to refocus on the case by looking over my notes.
After several minutes, Amanda asked, “You looking for anything in particular?”
I shrugged. “Trying to find out what we missed. Simon must have a reason for thinking the time of death is so important.”
“Maybe he’s mistaken for once.”
I gave her a look. “He isn’t.”
She reluctantly nodded. “I don’t get it. How does he see stuff that we don’t? He’s smart, but so are we.”
“He says he thinks outside the box.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
For the remainder of the drive, we discussed varying possibilities, no matter how seemingly improbable. As we turned onto a tree-lined street in a quiet Fairfax neighborhood, I threw out a final suggestion. I hadn’t meant for Amanda to take it seriously, which was why her reaction caught me off guard.
She inhaled sharply, as if in surprise. She turned to me, her face flushed with excitement. “Shit—that could be it, Marty. That would explain why they kept the body so cold and why he was wearing cologne. And the hairs in the shower. Why they cleaned up. We had it all wrong. It wasn’t someoneelse’s hairs they were worried about us finding—”
“You’re not talking sense, Amanda. What about all the witnesses?”
“They’re all suspects or staffers. They could all be lying. They have to be lying. We’re on to something. I can feel it.”
“You’re forgetting Sergeant Blake. She specifically told me she saw General Garber.”
“So what? She could be in on the cover-up. She could have said that so—”
She was looking at me more than the road. I sat up, pointing. “Better slow down. That’s Billy’s house. Simon’s already here.”
36
We parked behind the limo. The driver, Bennie, was behind the wheel, reading a paper. As we got out of the car, he gave us a hesitant wave. While I waited for Amanda to retrieve the file from the backseat, I checked out the maroon Buick. It had pulled against the curb a block away. I could make out faces watching us.
Amanda said, “Not exactly subtle, are they?”
“No.”
“I don’t like this, Marty. They’re going to know why we’re here.”
“It can’t be helped. Besides, their orders are probably only to keep tabs on us.”
She said uneasily. “And if it’s more than that?”
I knew what was bothering her. She was reacting to Churchfield’s apparent concern that we might uncover the truth before the clock ran out. “Relax,” I said. “They’re not going to jump a couple of cops in broad daylight.”
“Thanks,” she said sarcastically. “I feel a whole lot better now.”
The Bowmans lived in a cookie-cutter colonial two story fronted by colorful flower beds and a neatly trimmed lawn. As we headed up the walkway toward the front door, Amanda said, “Call Sergeant Blake.”
“Amanda, it’s not possible—”
“It was your suggestion.”
�
��I was joking.”
“You said we should consider the improbable, think out of the box.”
“Not that far out.”
She slapped the file to my chest. “Call, or I will.”
I sighed and opened the file for the number. This time Sergeant Blake sounded wide awake.
“Well, now that you mention it, sir—”
Amanda was ringing the doorbell when I ended the call. She read my stunned expression and said, “My God, Marty, I honestly didn’t think—”
The door opened.
A small, doughy woman with an annoyingly bubbly personality, Deloris Bowman could probably dethrone Martha Stewart for the title of America’s Homemaker if she tried. Bridge parties, wives’ teas, charity dinners, you name it, Deloris always volunteered to play hostess. While she enjoyed being the center of the military social scene, her main purpose was to ingratiate herself to the generals’ wives, so she could whisper Billy’s accomplishments in their ears. So far, her efforts had paid off spectacularly; her hubby was a boy colonel on the fast track to a star. Even though it had been a few years since we’d last met, I knew Deloris would remember me, or at least pretend to.
“Marty, it’s been ages.” We went through the drill of hugging like long-lost friends. After I introduced Amanda, Deloris brought up Nicole’s passing, saying how sorry she was that it happened. I just nodded, hoping she’d read my silence as a message that I didn’t want to go there.
“How about a brownie?” she asked, taking the hint. “They’re still warm. I just took them out of the oven. Something to drink?”
When Amanda and I declined the offer, she looked genuinely disappointed. “Billy’s with your friend in the study. If you change your minds—”
“Thanks, Deloris. It’s tempting.”
Amanda and I continued down the hallway past an immaculate formal living room filled with freshly cut flowers, stopping at a set of double doors. At my knock, we heard a grunted reply and entered a typically masculine study of dark paneling, heavy wooden furnishings, and shelves brimming with medical books.
Simon nodded to us from one of the armchairs near the desk. Billy was standing by the wet bar in the corner, fixing a drink. Since he rarely drank during the day, I took this as an encouraging sign.
Dr. Billy Bowman, it seemed, was a worried man.
He carefully swirled a glass of what appeared to be Scotch, ignoring Amanda and me. The cold-shoulder treatment meant he was still stewing over my comments in the plane.
Returning to the desk, Billy sat down heavily, fortified himself with a swallow, then said to Simon, “Your offer is generous, Lieutenant. Hell, a million would go a long way toward funding my research.”
“I could deliver the check tomorrow.”
“I wish you would, Lord knows. But that won’t change what I’m telling you. General Garber died between one and twoA .M. The autopsy proves it.”
“Does it?” Simon said mildly.
Garber studied him. “You questioning my conclusions?”
Simon smiled pleasantly. “I think you’re lying, Doctor.”
Billy’s face reddened, matching his hair. Normally his temper would kick in and he’d tell Simon to go fuck himself. But apparently Billy wasn’t quite ready to give up on the money yet.
So he calmed himself with another sip. Afterward, he said coolly, “My time of death stands, Lieutenant.”
“Like your determination of accidental death.”
Billy’s face turned to stone. “Maybe you’d better leave, Lieutenant.”
“Come now, Doctor. I’d hoped we could reach some kind of agreement.”
“You’re asking me to fabricate evidence. I won’t do it.”
“I’m only asking for the truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
Simon shook his head regretfully. “Then it seems we’re at an impasse. I must apologize. I wanted to avoid unpleasantries, but you leave me no option.”
Billy squinted at the implication. “Unpleasantries? Is that some kind of threat? You trying to threaten me? Because if you are, you can go straight to—”
But Simon wasn’t listening to him. Instead, he turned to Amanda and me and asked, “Were you followed?”
We nodded; she identified the men.
“Churchfield’smen?” Billy said, sitting up. “What are they doing here? What the hell is this?”
His eyes darted to each of us, demanding a response. No one said anything.
He glowered at Simon. “You want to play hardball, fine. Discussion’s over. I want you all to leave.Now .”
Simon remained seated and addressed him calmly. “I’ll ask you once more: When was General Garber murdered?”
“I told you. Now get out of here.”
Simon shrugged and looked to me. “Advise those men outside that we’ve spoken to Dr. Bowman. Tell them that he’s informed us of General Garber’s time of death. Speak in generalities. Just say we know it was”—Simon’s eyes returned to Billy; he wanted to see his reaction—“significantly earlier than previously assumed.”
He sat back and gave Billy a knowing smile.
There was a long silence. We all watched Billy.
At first, nothing. Billy was working hard to keep his face blank. But if you looked close, you could see the cracks start to appear. First came a slight tightening along the jawline, then a nervous shifting in his chair. When Billy spoke, he tried to sound casual but couldn’t quite pull it off. “You’re bluffing. You can’t possibly know anything.”
“We do,” Simon said.
“How?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Simon said. “We know the truth.”
“We all figured it out,” Amanda said.
Simon looked to her in surprise. She smiled faintly. One for the B-team.
Billy shook his head, insisting, “That’s impossible. You’re guessing. You can’t—”
Simon interrupted him. “We can place the general’s death within a few hours. If you don’t cooperate, we will reveal to those men outside that you provided us this information. They will believe us. They know that’s why we came here. Things will go badly for you. Your safety could be jeopardized. There have been threats against Mrs. Garber, to prevent her from revealing what she knows.”
Billy stared at Simon in astonishment. His mouth moved, but there was no sound.
Simon went for the kill, talking fast. “Frankly, I’d rather avoid that step, Doctor. At the very least, the consequences to your career would be severe. Your wife seems a very pleasant woman, and I’d rather not take such a drastic measure. I have no desire to destroy you professionally or ruin your lives. But make no mistake, I will.I want to know the exact time of death. ”
Billy’s eye twitched under Simon’s relentless gaze. He drained his Scotch and coughed. For the first time, we detected defeat in his eyes. He looked at Simon and said bleakly, “It seems I don’t have any options.”
“One.”
Billy slowly set down the glass on the desk. “Hell, I’m screwed either way. If I tell you, they’ll know I talked.”
“Not from us.”
“C’mon, Lieutenant. They’ll figure it eventually.”
“They might suspect,” Simon said. “But we’ll deny it. We’ll insist we learned the truth from the evidence.”
It wasn’t much of an out, but it was all Billy could hope for. He nodded his acceptance.
By now, Amanda and I had our notepads out. She took the chair beside Simon, and I sat on the sofa against the wall.
In a resigned voice, Billy began describing his analysis of the stomach contents, which was the key to establishing when Garber had died. He said the contents were only partially digested, which indicated that the general had died less than two hours after consuming his last meal, give or take thirty minutes. Since Garber didn’t eat during the flight, that left one irrefutable conclusion. The one I’d considered impossible only minutes earlier.
General Garber had been dead before h
e’d ever been placed on the plane.
37
Billy wrapped up his summary of the autopsy results by explaining that he was still awaiting the toxicology reports that would confirm whether or not Garber had been drugged.
“But he was definitely drunk,” he said. “General Garber’s blood tested at .022. Over twice the legal limit. The guy was bombed off his ass.”
Simon said, “Did you note his inebriation level on the autopsy?”
“Yeah. It supported the accidental death theory. That he’d fallen because he was drunk.”
Simon asked him if he’d been told when Garber had eaten his last meal.
“No,” Billy said, “and I wasn’t about to ask. I figured the less I knew, the better.”
I looked up from my writing. “Hang on a sec.”
As everyone watched me, I removed Garber’s itinerary from the file. I found what I was looking for on the last page. “Here it is. All the generals attended a dinner party the evening before they left. At the officers’ mess on Brize Norton Air Base, near London. Cocktails at 1900, dinner at 2000. If we subtract five hours to get local time, that means Garber ate around 1600.”
“So time of death would be around 1800,” Amanda said.
Simon and Billy nodded. Simon said, “And the plane departed England at—”
I looked. “At 0200. That makes it 2200 our time. They took off from Brize Norton”—I checked at the first page—“which is also where they were quartered.”
“Convenient,” Simon murmured.
“Yeah,” I said. “That probably explains how they were able to get his body on board without anybody noticing. They were on a military field. They could have driven right up to the plane without being stopped.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment.
Amanda said, “Timing works out. We can assume Garber was killed somewhere around 2130 to 2200, British time. That means they could have easily gotten his body aboard the plane before the other passengers arrived.”
I nodded, my eyes on Billy, “Who ordered you to fabricate the autopsy?”
“Secretary Churchfield and General Markel. Churchfield contacted me first. She called last night. It must have been around 2130. She said she wanted—”
A Long Day for Dying Page 25