A Long Day for Dying Page 4

  “Martin,” Simon said, “is the compromise. A military civilian.”

  They both gazed at me, waiting for my reaction. I tried to keep my cool. I told myself that I been a cop for over twenty years, solved a lot of tough cases. That this was just one more.

  But of course it wasn’t. This time I’d be caught in a tug-of-war between the secretary of defense and a powerful U.S. senator. And if I made one wrong move—

  “Andrews, five minutes out,” the copilot called out cheerfully from the cockpit.

  I swore.

  As the home of Air Force One and one of the most famous military installations in the world, Andrews got more than its fair share of maintenance dollars, and it looked like it. We approached the base from the west and flew over wide, clean streets, perfectly manicured lawns, and seemingly endless numbers of cream-colored buildings that gleamed as if freshly painted. Because it was the morning rush hour, cars were backed up a half mile along the access road leading from the main gate, waiting to pass through the security police checkpoints.

  Nearing the runway, the helicopter angled left, keeping clear of the traffic pattern. At the far end, I caught a glimpse of the control tower and the newly renovated base operations/passenger terminal building. The helicopter landing pads, which the president often used, would be on the massive concrete ramp out front, to the right of the grass infield with the big American flag. Our forward speed slowed, and we began a gradual descent.

  “Martin—”

  When I turned, Simon and Amanda were looking at me. He said, “I’ve been assured you cannot be removed without the consent of Senator Garber and will also be granted the authority to do the job. Still, if you’d rather decline, I can request—”

  “Define authority,” I said.

  “You will have complete control in the investigation. You can request any assistance you require, conduct any tests you wish, and compel whomever you want to cooperate.”

  “Including the four-stars?”

  “Yes.”

  “So they have to talk to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cooperate in every way?”

  “They’ve been instructed to do so, yes.”

  Amanda shook her head. She wasn’t buying this, and neither was I. This was the military, and they were four-star generals. Regardless of my expressed authority, I wouldn’t be able to compel them to do anything. I sighed. This was turning into a morning of being cornered into jobs I didn’t want to take. “Relax, Simon. I’ll run the investigation.”

  His eyes bored into mine. “You understand the generals will test you, pressure you. That’s why they agreed to allow you to be in charge. They are counting on you to be deferential toward them.”

  I nodded.

  “Remember, we are in a war. Our government cannot afford a scandal within the military hierarchy. It’s imperative that the investigation be conducted quietly and efficiently. At times, that will be difficult to accomplish, but we must—”

  “Simon, I’m a big boy. I can handle this.”

  He smiled and squeezed my shoulder, a significant gesture, since he wasn’t into touching. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, Martin.”

  Recalling his phone conversation, I asked him when Senator Garber was coming out to Andrews.

  “He and Secretary Churchfield are wrapping up a meeting at the Pentagon. They’re flying to Andrews by helicopter sometime within the next hour.”

  “Lucky us,” Amanda said. “So who gets to baby-sit?”

  “The senator,” Simon said, “will not interfere with our investigation. He’s only interested in seeing his son’s body.”

  “And the SECDEF?” she asked.

  No response.

  I asked Simon where General Garber’s body was now.

  “In the compartment. Agent Hobbs called the senator within minutes of the landing, to notify him of his son’s death. When Senator Garber told Agent Hobbs to secure the compartment, he was informed by Hobbs that he’d already done so.”

  I gave Amanda a little smile.

  “Marty,” she said, “any rookie knows you seal off a death scene.”

  “Cut Andy some slack, huh. He can be a good cop when he wants to be.”

  “Now that,” she said, “is one ringing endorsement.”

  In response to Simon’s quizzical gaze, I explained that Andy Hobbs and Amanda had worked on a series of robberies over at Fort Meyer about a year ago. “The suspect,” I said, “was an air force sergeant. The case file got misplaced, and the guy walked.”

  Amanda almost choked. “Misplaced? Andy lost the file in a bar.”

  “He denies it.”

  She gave me a dirty look and asked Simon about the status of the passengers. His response was pretty much what I’d anticipated; the generals and key members of their staffs had returned to their Pentagon offices. Not the approved solution, but tracking them down wouldn’t be difficult.

  Amanda asked Simon if Senator Garber had any evidence pointing to murder. Simon replied no, saying only that the senator was aware that the other members of the Joint Chiefs were resentful of his son’s appointment to the chairman’s position. I told Simon my primary concern was whether the senator would believe us if we concluded his son’s death was an accident.

  “He’ll believe me,” he said. “But he must be convinced we made a thorough inquiry.”

  I said, “So we go through the whole drill? Conduct interviews, process the compartment, order up tests—”

  “Yes.”

  “—even if we verify the door was locked—”

  “Yes.”

  “—and even if Dr. Billy Bowman examines the body and determines the death wasn’t homicide?”

  Simon smiled. “Ultimately, it’s your decision, Martin.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  The helicopter stopped its descent, and I glanced outside. We were maybe ten feet up, following a taxiway toward the ramp. I could see a line of security policemen spaced out every hundred yards or so, to prevent access from the adjacent flight-line road. I looked for a blue-and-white Boeing 757 with “United States of America” painted across the side. It wasn’t there.

  Then I noticed the enormous double hangar over to the right, its entrance marked with a red-coned security perimeter. Two Humvees were sitting out front, men manning the roof-mounted machine guns. The military wasn’t messing around about keeping the investigation into Garber’s death quiet.

  The landing pads appeared, and I could see a marshaler with his wands, waiting to park us. Thirty yards to his left, I spotted two shiny air force staff cars, a knot of air force uniforms clustered around them. Our welcoming committee. I didn’t see Andy Hobbs and his CID team or the members of the OSI forensic unit, but I didn’t expect to. Priority number one for the air force would be to keep them out of sight.

  The helicopter turned into the ramp area, and the marshaler motioned us forward. The group waiting by the cars spread out expectantly. I could seem them clearly now. A one-star general, two full colonels, a major with a dark blue Security Police beret, and couple of sergeants. One colonel produced a cell phone and ducked into a car, obviously to report our arrival to some Pentagon heavy hitter.

  The helicopter touched down.

  Showtime.

  5

  As we unlatched our seat belts, Simon explained that the helicopter would be returning to his mansion in Manassas—another security precaution the military had insisted upon, to lessen the chances of the two pilots guessing why we’d come here.

  George came back into the cabin and opened the door. This time he was cool and distant, completely ignoring Amanda as she went down the steps. Simon followed her, and I brought up the rear.

  As I emerged onto the bright concrete, George spoke into my ear and pressed his business card into my hand. I told him to forget it; Amanda wouldn’t be interested. He kept insisting, and I finally agreed to try.

  “What did George want?” Amanda asked, as I joined her and Simon.
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  “Why do you care?”

  She shrugged. “Just curious.”

  “George likes Chinese food and wants at least two children. A boy and a girl. The boy will be named Samuel, after his grandfather—”

  She’d tuned me out, and so had Simon. I followed their eyes toward our welcoming committee. None looked happy to see us, and the general had a particularly sour expression.

  “C’mon,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Wait, Martin,” Simon said, turning to me. “There’s one more item that slipped my mind. The president’s approval for the investigation contained a condition.”

  A warning bell sounded in my head. Nothing ever slipped Simon’s mind unless it was intentional. I asked him what the condition was.

  “Are you aware that the president will be addressing the American people tonight?”

  I nodded. “Right. EightP .M. The rumor is he’s going to declare war on Iraq. So?”

  “That’s it. That’s the condition. The president wants this issue resolved by then.”

  I was incredulous. “You meantonight? ”

  He nodded.

  I checked my watch. “That’s twelve hours from now.”

  His gazed back innocently. I was furious with him. I said, “You set me up. You know there’s no way in hell we can finish this in a day—”

  My words were drowned out by the sudden roar of the rotor blast behind us. Simon used the diversion to wheel around toward the waiting group. Amanda strolled after him, grinning. She couldn’t resist shouting out a comment that I couldn’t deny.

  “You’ve been suckered, Marty,” she said.

  Brigadier General Morley, the Andrews Air Force Base wing commander, was graying and angular, with a thin face and a thinner smile. He went through the introductions in an abrupt manner and made no attempt to shake hands. Following their boss’s lead, the two colonels and the security police major gave us their last names and titles and nothing else. Colonel Timmons, a wiry black man in his forties, was the support group commander, which meant he was the equivalent of a city manager for the base. Colonel Jessup, a compact guy with a barrel chest, as the operations group commander, managed all the Distinguished Visitor aircraft, including the C-32 that General Garber had died in. Major Vega, a Barney Fife clone with a surprisingly deep voice, introduced himself as the security police CO, which made him the base’s top cop.

  At the moment, General Morley was scrutinizing my flip-top OSI credentials as if hoping to find something out of order. He’d spent two minutes on Amanda’s and was going onto his third minute with mine. He’d also given me the silent treatment when I tried to ask questions about the plane and the whereabouts of the OSI team. It was clear that he was jerking us around to reinforce the message that we weren’t going to get much cooperation on his turf. I also noted that some of the armed security policeman had circled behind us in an attempt to crank up the intimidation factor.

  Morley returned my credentials, then extended his hand to Simon.

  Simon gave me a sideways glance and made no move to produce his badge. I said, “I’ll vouch for him, General.”

  Morley gave me a hard look. “This is a classified operation, Mr. Collins. I need to confirm this man’s identity.”

  “Are you satisfied with my ID, sir?”

  He hesitated, then nodded.

  “Then I’m vouching for him, General.” Amanda nodded along, backing me up.

  Morley’s jaw tightened. He returned to Simon and thrust out a bony hand. Now maybe as a rigid military type, he had a natural suspicion for guys who wore wild bow ties, but I didn’t think so. Simon looked to me and shook his head. He was tired of this crap, and so was I. Better to determine once and for all who was in charge.

  “I’m vouching for Lieutenant Santos, General,” I said for the third time.

  “Now see here, Collins,” Morley said. “This is a classified operation. IfI don’t verify this man’s identity, he will be escorted off the base.”

  “What were your orders, General?” I asked politely.

  “None of your damned business.”

  “Weren’t you ordered to fully cooperate with my investigation? If not, I need to know that now.” I gave him a pleasant smile accompanied by a not-so-pleasant fuckyou-sir look.

  There was a long pause. Morley was struggling to keep his anger in check. He lost the battle and jabbed a finger at Simon, saying, “This ismy base, Collins. You understand me.Mine. Now unless I personally see this man’s ID—”

  “Santos,” Simon said. “My name is Detective Lieutenant Santos.”

  “He’s often in the papers,” I said helpfully.

  Morley stared at me. “I don’t give a damn if he’s on the front page of theWashington Post . I want to see his ID.Now .”

  The SPs who’d circled behind us moved in closer a few steps.

  Screw this. I said, “Make the call, Simon.”

  Simon calmly drifted back a few paces and took out his phone.

  General Morley watched him, uncertainty in his eyes. So did the two colonels and the SP major. The two sergeants stood with their mouths open. In their minds it didn’t compute, a civilian defying a general.

  Simon carefully punched in a number and spoke louder than necessary. “Senator Garber, it’s Simon. I have a problem I need relayed to Secretary Churchfield—”

  Colonel Jessup stiffened. “The SECDEF? Jesus.”

  Colonel Timmons coughed. “Ah, General, if I might recommend…”

  His anxious eyes locked on Morley, waiting. Colonel Jessup’s blink rate kicked into high gear, and Major Vega began an anxious two-step.

  The general continued to glare at me in defiance, but his twitching eyelid gave him away. He’d obviously been ordered to give us a hard time and was now wondering if he’d gone too far. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to back down because—

  And then Simon said Morley’s name.

  Loudly.

  That did it. Morley stepped toward him. “Hang up,” he ordered.

  Simon cupped the phone and eyed him coolly.

  “Hang up,” Morley said again.

  Simon didn’t move.

  I said, “General, we need to be assured of your complete cooperation.”

  Morley’s eyes darted to me. He slowly nodded.

  I said, “My men will also need office space, access to computers and phones—”

  “Fine. Anything. Colonel Timmons will get you what you need.Now hang up the fucking phone. ”

  I saw a hint of panic in Morley’s eyes. He knew one-star generals who cause problems don’t grow up to be two-stars. At my nod, Simon resumed talking on the phone in apologetic tones. A moment later, he returned, tucking it away.

  Morley stood there, glowering at us. I expected a caustic remark, but instead he spun angrily on his heels and motioned to one of the sergeants, obviously his driver. Morley jumped into the back seat of a staff car, and they sped away.

  Colonel Jessup and Colonel Timmons watched us expectantly. Major Vega had stopped dancing and was now nervously licking his lips.

  I said to him, “Tell the SPs behind us to beat it, Major.”

  “Yes, sir.” He stepped past me and barked, “Sergeant Crenshaw, get your men back to their posts.”

  As the SPs trudged away, I pointed to the hangar guarded by the two Humvees. “General Garber’s C-32 in there?”

  Jessup and Timmons nodded in unison. “Your names are on the access list, sir,” Major Vega added. “You’ll need these in the restricted area.” He held out three bright yellow plastic badges with the words “Cleared Entry. No Escort Required.”

  As Simon, Amanda, and I each clipped a badge onto our lapels, Vega said, “Your team’s been escorted to the hangar.”

  “They’ve already started to work?” I said, surprised.

  “No, sir. After we cleared out the maintenance personnel from the hangar, Agent Hobbs figured he’d have your people set up in the vacated offices.”

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nbsp; Andy Hobbs taking charge. Encouraging. I said to no one in particular, “I understand there are still some of the plane’s passengers on base.”

  “In the DV lounge,” Colonel Jessup said, gesturing in the direction of the passenger terminal. “There’s only about a dozen or so. Mostly nonessential members of the various staffs. The rest returned to the Pentagon with the generals.”

  “You know which passengers are here, Colonel?” I asked.

  “Agent Hobbs does. He had one of his men make a list.”

  “And the complete passenger manifest?”

  “Hobbs has a copy.”

  “I’ll also need all the passengers’ work and home phone numbers, along with their work and home addresses.”

  Colonel Jessup’s hesitation told me I’d finally brought up something that Andy hadn’t requested. “Give me thirty minutes,” he said. “Anything else?”

  “The plane’s crew,” I said. “Pilots and flight attendants. I’d like to talk to them as soon as possible.”

  “That’ll take longer. I’ve sent them home. They were pretty beat, flying all night.”

  I checked my watch: 0753. “Have them report at 1000 hours, in the hangar.”

  Jessup nodded, unclipped his cell phone from his belt, and began relaying my instructions.

  “That it?” Timmons said to me.

  Simon came forward. “I have a request, Colonel.”

  Timmons could only gaze in astonishment at the paper Simon handed him, with a name and a license number neatly written on it. Timmons said, “You want a base pass for a stretch limo?”

  Simon nodded.

  “Yourstretch limo?”

  “It should arrive within the hour. That’s the name of the chauffeur.”

  Timmons slowly nodded. “Sure. Not a problem.” He passed the paper to Vega, saying, “The major will clear it with his troops at the main gate. Let’s go, Sergeant Rickers.” As Timmons walked toward the car, he said to Vega, “A limo, huh? Must be paying cops a helluva lot more than—What was that, Major?”

  Vega said something.