A Long Day for Dying Page 3

  The answer came out of the blue, from aWashington Post article published several years back. A murder suspect dug up dirt on Simon and tried to blackmail him into backing off. Simon wouldn’t play along, so the story got leaked. For anyone else, the revelations would have ended their police career. In Simon’s case, they only proved mildly embarrassing. There was no public back-lash, no talking heads hollering for his badge, no editorials questioning his fitness to serve. None of that. Simon said his reputation and his close relations to the press saved him, and I agreed.

  Of course, the half mil he spent hiring the big-time D.C. PR firm didn’t hurt.

  When I read thePost story, I felt as if someone had flipped on a light switch to Simon’s soul. Suddenly, everything that had puzzled me about him made sense. His secretive nature, his generosity to anyone in need, his early forays into the priesthood—it was all there if you read between the lines. Specifically, the write-up was a scathing exposé on Simon’s father, a Cuban exile who made a fortune in the 1960s Miami real estate boom. It turned out that between business deals, Papa Santos got his jollies strangling young girls and dumping their bodies in Biscayne Bay. Simon learned the truth when he was something like ten or eleven. Since then, it’s been the defining event in his life. He’d become a homicide cop not because he wanted to; hehad to.

  And that’s what the article attacked through innuendo and suspicion. Simon’s motive for being a cop. Ahomicide cop. The son of a serial killer.

  Why?

  Frankly, I worried for Simon. Someday he was going to realize that what he was doing was ultimately pointless. No matter how hard he pushed himself or how many cases he solved, nothing would change. His father’s victims would remain dead, and he would always feel the guilt. But I suppose he probably already knew—

  A hand touched my arm.

  When I looked over, Simon was giving me a relaxed smile. “It’s cleansing for the soul, Martin.”

  “I’m sure it is.” As he returned the rosary beads to his jacket, I said, “Ready?”

  When he nodded, Amanda started unbuckling her seat belt. “The seat swivels,” Simon told her.

  She found the lever and swung around. I dug out my notepad.

  “The victim,” Simon said, “is the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Garber.” He paused, anticipating a reaction.

  Amanda and I gazed back calmly. We’d prepared for the worst, and this almost seemed like good news. To many in the military, it probably was.

  Simon seemed puzzled by our indifference. But he’d never served in the military and wouldn’t be privy to the rumors that swirled around General Michael J. Garber.

  Since the chairman of the Joint Chiefs resided on Fort Meyers, near the Pentagon, I said, “Did General Garber die on Andrews or—”

  “Andrews. A number of the Joint Chiefs attended a terrorism conference in London. Their plane landed early this morning, and Garber’s body was discovered in his private compartment by his security detail.”

  That meant the army’s Criminal Investigative Division, since they had the responsibility for protecting the chairman on international trips. I asked Simon for the name of the agent in charge.

  He paused, retrieving the information from his mental file bank. He possessed what amounted to total recall. Once he heard or read something—a name, a phone number, an e-mail address, anything—he never forgot it. “Andrew Hobbs.”

  “Oh,beautiful, ” Amanda said.

  Simon frowned at her.

  “Andy,” I explained, “is an old-timer and a little past his prime. You don’t know him because he rarely handles homicide investigations.”

  “What Marty really means,” Amanda said, “is no onetrusts him to handle homicides.”

  “He’s not that bad,” I said.

  “Unless he’s awake. Cause of death?” She was looking at Simon, pen poised over her notepad.

  “The information hasn’t been verified,” he said. “Secretary Churchfield had a brief conversation with the Joint Chiefs who’d been aboard the plane, and called me.”

  Opening my notepad, I said, “General Markel one of the chiefs on the plane?” Because this would explain his call to Colonel Hinkle, initiating the investigation.

  Simon nodded. “General Johnson and General Sessler were the others.”

  I jotted down the names with their titles. It was a who’s who of the military. General Mark Johnson was the marine commandant, and General Robert Sessler the air force chief. General David Markel, the vice chairman, would temporarily assume the chairmanship and become the military’s top dog. There were twenty-four stars between the three men, if you counted both shoulders. Nothing like witnesses with horsepower to enhance credibility.

  By now, Simon was recalling the events that led to the discovery of General Garber’s body and I had to write fast to keep up.

  Simon spoke for five minutes without stopping. My hand was cramping by the time he finished. He’d related the factual details in a rough chronology. He offered no opinion as to whether he thought the death was an accident. He didn’t want to influence Amanda and me in any way. Yet.

  Afterward, he sat with his chin sunk to his chest, watching as we skimmed through our notes to see if there was anything we didn’t understand.

  After making an initial assessment in a case, most experienced cops have an inner voice that tells them how things probably played out. At the moment, mine was whispering that we were wasting our time. That this was in all likelihood simply a case of accidental death.

  According to Simon, General Garber’s aide-de-camp, a Lieutenant Colonel Tina Weller, was the first to realize something might be amiss with her boss. When the C-32—the military version of a Boeing 757 airliner—landed on Andrews at 0546 hours after an eight-hour flight, Colonel Weller had gone to Garber’s compartment to awaken him. Receiving no response, Weller alerted the three-man CID security team, led by Andy Hobbs. Andy had his men kick in the door, and when they entered, they found the general lying dead on the floor, still dressed in his pajamas, a deep bruise on his throat. The body’s temperature had cooled significantly, indicating the general had died hours earlier. After a cursory investigation, Andy concluded that the general had tripped and fallen forward, striking his throat on a coffee table.

  Two additional items supported Andy’s accident theory. First, General Garber had reportedly downed the better part of a bottle of whisky earlier that evening, and second, the flight had experienced a fair amount of turbulence over the Atlantic, some occasionally severe.

  The makeup of the thirty-two people aboard the aircraft also seemed to dispel any notions of foul play. Excluding the three members of the Joint Chiefs, the remainder were all either support staff or flight crew. No media types or civilians of any kind had gone on the trip.

  This latter point was telling. It implied that, with everyone on the same military team, no one would have a motive for wanting General Garber dead.

  A dubious assumption, but was that relevant in light of the facts? Probably not.

  Before I could mention this to Simon, Amanda beat me to it, announcing, “Everyone hated General Garber.”

  Simon’s frowned. “That’s rather a harsh assessment—”

  “Hated,” Amanda repeated flatly. “No one in the military could stand the guy. Everyone knew the only reason he made rank was because his father happened to chair the Senate Armed Services Committee. Rumor had it that Garber was basically incompetent and a womanizing drunk. He never should have gotten one star, much less four. But Senator Garber pulled strings and made sure his kid moved up the promotion chain. You probably know General Garber’s only been the chairman a couple weeks—” At Simon’s nod, she went on. “Major Katie Tucker was one of my roommates at the academy. She works in Pentagon LL and gave me the scoop on how Garber got selected. It’s not pretty.”

  “LL?” Simon said.

  “Legislative liaison,” I answered. “The military’s lobbying arm with Capitol Hill.”
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  “According to Katie,” Amanda continued, “the SECDEF fought General Garber’s appointment hard. So did practically everyone else in DoD. No one, I mean no one, wanted General Garber placed in the top billet. Garber’s an air force general, and even the SECAF, his own service’s secretary, tried to blackball him. Still, General Garber got the job. Know why?”

  Simon said, “You’re suggesting that Senator Garber—”

  “Suggesting?”Amanda said. “Katie got this straight from her contacts on Senator Garber’s staff. The senator cranked up the pressure on the president big-time. Quid pro quo with a sledgehammer. He threatened to stall the defense bill in committee unless the president appointed his kid chairman. This when we got a war going on. You believe that shit? Scumbag.”

  She sat back, looking flushed and morally superior. I almost said, Down, girl.

  Simon still appeared skeptical. He was aware that Amanda did occasionally embellish to make a point. He glanced to me, seeking confirmation. I nodded. While I didn’t know the specifics behind Garber’s appointment to the military’s top slot, I’d heard dozens of stories about the Air Force’s Teflon general over the years—none good.

  Simon adjusted his bow tie as he thought things over. To Amanda, he said, “Assuming what you’re saying is true—”

  “It is.”

  “—and even if some passengers deeply resented General Garber and had a motive—”

  “They did.”

  “—it still might not matter without the existence of a crime.”

  “We don’tknow there wasn’t a crime.”

  “Agent Hobbs has concluded—”

  “Andy Hobbs should be collecting social security.”

  Again Simon looked to me, and again I nodded. Andy and I went back twenty years, and as much as I liked him, the bottom line was that he probably should have been put out to pasture long ago.

  Returning to Amanda, Simon said, “You still must consider the facts—”

  “Like what? A pickled general and a turbulent flight? That still doesn’t prove—What now?” Simon was shaking his head emphatically, and I had a pretty good idea why.

  “You’re forgetting the door,” he said to her.

  At her frown, I prompted, “Andy Hobbs had to break down the door. Remember?”

  “So what, Marty? I assumed he didn’t have a key, and—What are you doing?”

  The question was directed at Simon, who had reached behind his seat and opened the lav door. He indicated to the locking mechanism and gazed at her expectantly.

  A flicker of understanding crossed Amanda’s face. She asked, “That the same as the one on General Garber’s compartment?”

  “I was told it was similar,” Simon said.

  “Actually,” I said, “the one on the plane is much stronger.” Noting their curious looks at my sudden expertise, I explained that I’d flown as part of the SECAF’s security detail some years earlier. I added, “Because the vice president often used the plane, the Secret Service added a reinforced slide latch. The Secret Service didn’t like the idea that someone aboard could possibly get a hold of a key and walk in on the Veep.”

  Amanda said, “But you were flying on the older Boeing 707, Marty. Not the 757.”

  “I’ll bet the door still has a latch assembly that only locks from the inside. Be silly to change it.”

  She was silent, considering this. His point made, Simon closed the lav door.

  We sat, listening to the muffled beat of the rotors. Amanda tugged on her lower lip, her eyes shifting between Simon and me. She said, “I don’t know, guys. It all seems a little too…coincidental. I’ve heard stories about how General Garber used to destroy people’s careers, just to show he could. It gave him some kind of power trip. A guy like that, someone with as many enemies as General Garber, and he conveniently has a fatal accident a couple weeks after he becomes the chairman? Give me a break.”

  I said, “But if the door was locked—”

  “I hear you, Marty. I’m just saying it doesn’tfeel right.” She shrugged. “But hey, what do I care? This means we can wrap this up quick, and everyone will be happy. No muss, no fuss.” She looked at me. “Looks like you’ll make Emily’s birthday after all.”

  “Possibly,” Simon said. “Though we’re certain to encounter resistance to a finding of accidental death.”

  Amanda and I looked to him in surprise. I said, “Someonewants this to be a murder?”

  Simon hesitated. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Out with it, Simon,” Amanda said. “Who could possibly want this thing to be—”

  Her brow furrowed at the ringing of a cell phone. I started to reach inside my jacket, then realized it was Simon’s.

  He stared at the caller ID box on the face but made no move to answer it. Without looking up, he said, “I was going to explain about this. Don’t misunderstand.”

  I said, “Misunderstand?”

  The phone rang again. This time Simon punched the talk button and put it to his ear. He watched Amanda and me as he spoke.

  “Hello, Senator Garber,” he said.

  4

  Simon spoke for less than two minutes. His tone was deferential and formal. He said “Yes, Senator” three times and “I’ll take care of it, sir” twice. He ended with: “We’ll be expecting you, sir. I see. Again, my condolences to you and your wife for your loss. If there’s anything else I can do…Fine. Good-bye, Senator.”

  Not much of a conversation, but enough for Amanda and me to put two and two together and conclude that it had to be Senator Garber who wanted this to be a murder investigation.

  Amanda fired eye darts at Simon. She looked at me as if to urge me to comment, but I sat quietly; there wasn’t any point. Simon was being Simon. His habit of playing everything close to his chest was a reflection of his past and the years he’d spent trying to keep the secret of his father hidden. Besides, I knew Simon hadn’t been feeding us a line earlier; he would have told us about his connection to Senator Garber.

  Eventually.

  As Simon put his phone away, Amanda cracked, “Cozy. You and the Senator have sleepovers and everything?”

  Simon appeared more amused than offended by her comment. He smiled, saying, “You’re wrong about Senator Garber. He’s an honorable man.”

  “Oh, please—”

  Simon went on, “I’ve known the senator for years and supported his campaign. This morning he asked if I would investigate his son’s death, and I agreed.” He paused, eyes on Amanda. “But first I made it clear I would operate with no agenda other than to uncover the truth.”

  “I seem to recall,” Amanda said cryptically, “that you mentioned the senator is pushing for this to be a murder.”

  “Because that’s what he believes occurred.” Simon flashed another smile. “Frankly, he voiced concerns similar to yours. He, too, feels his son’s death was suspiciously…convenient.” To me, he added, “As you’ve probably guessed, Secretary of Defense Churchfield has taken the opposite view and is convinced General Garber’s death was nothing but a tragic accident.”

  I said, “The two parties you mentioned.”

  “Correct. Senator Garber asked Secretary Churchfield to initiate a comprehensive investigation. The secretary was reluctant, but agreed on the condition that it be handled by the military, or possibly a task force comprised of military and FBI. Senator Garber balked, insisting that he wanted someone outside the government running the investigation.”

  “Meaning you,” Amanda said. “The senator is worried about a cover-up.”

  Simon nodded.

  “And you requested us?”

  “Through Senator Garber, yes.”

  “So how long until we know who else is on the task force?”

  “There won’t be a task force now.”

  “Oh?”

  “That’s what the senator was calling about. The secretary wouldn’t agree to civilian control of the investigation. Senator Garber contacted the president t
o resolve the impasse. The president’s overriding concern was to prevent any hint of scandal. He ordered the investigating team be kept small, to prevent press leaks. He also sided with Secretary Churchfield’s position that the military retain sole jurisdiction. Since the death occurred on air force property, it was determined the OSI would take the lead with CID assisting.”

  Amanda said, “By CID, you mean Andy Hobbs and his boys?”

  Simon nodded.

  She asked, “Can we have them removed?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t make sense to remove them. They were aboard the plane and have begun a preliminary inquiry. They’re familiar with passengers and can provide us insight.” He gazed at her, anticipating an argument.

  For a moment, Amanda seemed tempted. Instead, she shrugged and said, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I said to Simon, “So the FBI is definitely out?”

  “Yes.”

  I said, “And your role?”

  “A member of the team.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all.”

  Amanda had a wry smirk, which I understood. Simon was taking orders from someone else. This we had to see.

  “So who is in charge, then?” I asked. “They bringing in someone with more firepower like Colonel Hinkle, or—”

  “That’s whom Secretary Churchfield suggested,” Simon said. “Of course, Senator Garber couldn’t allow it. He’s convinced an active duty military officer would be too easily pressured by Churchfield.”

  “Imagine that,” Amanda said.

  Simon continued, “They reached a compromise. Someone with military connections who still retained the freedom to be objective.”

  As he said it, he looked at me with an odd smile. When I caught on, I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. Amanda followed Simon’s gaze, her eyes widening. She said, “Don’t tell me it’s—”