A Long Day for Dying Page 7

  Bowman glowered sullenly, but didn’t respond. His silence spoke volumes; he hadn’t found anything.

  Simon pressed on. “How do you know he was drunk, Doctor? You’ve done no blood tests or—”

  “I cansmell, ” Bowman said. “Can’t you?”

  Simon smiled easily. “But that’s just it. Other than the smell, there is no evidence that the general was drinking.”

  Bowman blinked. “No evidence…”

  Simon gestured around. “No glasses. No paper or plastic cups. No bottles or cans. No alcohol.Nothing. ”

  A delayed reaction. Perhaps a second, and then we saw it. A flicker of comprehension in Bowman’s eyes. He moved forward to look around the room. His eyes darted from one end to the other.

  But there was nothing to see.

  “Someone must have cleaned up,” Bowman said. “Probably the flight attendant, Sergeant Blake.”

  “When, Doctor?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “And what about the missing bottle?”

  Bowman visibly tensed. “Bottle? You mean the booze? What are you getting at?”

  “I think you know, Doctor.”

  And then Simon turned and looked to the corpse in a suggestive way.

  The effect on Billy Bowman was startling. As he followed Simon’s eyes, the blood drained from his face. He stared at Simon and ran a tongue over his thin lips.

  There was a long silence in the room. Twice, Bowman seemed on the verge of speaking, but didn’t.

  My suspicion had evolved into a certainty. A fast burner like Billy Bowman hadn’t shot up the promotion food chain by not being a team player.

  I said quietly, “Who got to you, Billy? Secretary Churchfield? One of the generals? What did they promise you? A star on your next promotion—”

  “That’s enough, Marty.” His voice rising in warning.

  I kept on talking. “Or maybe they promised funding for that research project. Was that it, Billy? C’mon. You can tell us if you’ve been bought off. We’re all friends here—”

  “I said, that’s enough!”

  He’d suddenly stepped toward me, literally shaking with anger. His hands curled into fists, and for an instant, I thought he might actually take a poke at me.

  I said, “Now, Billy. Don’t do anything stup—”

  “Go to hell, you son of a bitch!”

  He wheeled and stormed from the room.

  We heard Billy stomp his way down the hall. Simon closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. I said dryly, “So much for the autopsy results.”

  He nodded absently.

  “You don’t seem very upset over this.”

  “I’m not. I anticipated this eventuality.” He lowered his hand and appraised me. “The military is caught in an unwinnable situation. Public and world opinion is a fragile thing. With the prospect of war with Iraq looming, the military cannot afford to be tainted by scandal. Frankly, I find myself sympathetic with their position.”

  I understood what he was trying to say; I was feeling similarly conflicted. “You’re questioning whether we should proceed? If finding the truth is somehow…unpatriotic?”

  A nod. “That’s also a concern shared by Senator Garber.”

  “It is?”

  A faint smile. “Don’t look so surprised, Martin. Senator Garber has no desire to embarrass the military. He’s only interested in seeking the truth about the death of his son.”

  “He can’t have it both ways,” I said. “Not if this turns out to be a murder.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no question it’s a murder.”

  “Because of the missing bottle?”

  “Among other inconsistencies. But the bottle containing the alcohol is the key. It was removed because it was evidence. Doctor Bowman knew this, that’s why he reacted so…strongly.”

  “That’s what I don’t understand. How can you be so sure General Garber even had a bottle of booze in here? The flight attendant usually serves the drinks from the galley.”

  He gestured to the body. “The bruise on the throat, Martin. If you look at it closely, you’ll find that it’s too large to have been caused by—”

  From the hallway outside, we heard a voice call out, “Lieutenant Santos, we found it. Lieutenant!”

  9

  Paul Carter and Tom Gentry filed excitedly into the room. Carter was carrying two highball glasses, one in each gloved hand. Gentry stepped out from behind him, gingerly gripping a liter-sized bottle by the neck with two fingers. The label was facing out and read “The Glenlivet Premium Whisky.” It was almost a third full.

  “It was like you said, Lieutenant,” Carter told Simon. “We found these in the forward galley trash bin, jammed at the bottom.”

  Simon’s eyes went from the bottle to the glasses. “Hold them up toward the light,” he directed.

  Carter did. Both glasses were spotted with faint, teacolored droplets that had long since dried. On one rim, we detected a hint of pink or red, perhaps a lipstick smear that had been hurriedly wiped away.

  Simon nodded in satisfaction, and Carter lowered the glasses.

  Simon asked Gentry if he’d managed to contact the flight attendant Sergeant Blake.

  “Yes, sir,” Gentry said. “I got her number from the squadron. She’ll be reporting here at 1000 hours, with the rest of the crew.”

  I checked my watch. Eight-forty-two. Simon said, “And you asked her about…”

  “Right,” Gentry said. “Sergeant Blake swears she never served the general alcohol during the flight. She admits it’s possible that the general served himself, but he’d never done that before.”

  “Curious,” Simon murmured.

  “Maybe not, sir,” Gentry said. “If you look at the price tag on the bottle, it appears that the general probably brought the bottle with him.”

  He spun the bottle a half-turn, revealing a little white sticker attached near the base. Simon and I bent forward. The price was in pounds; it had been purchased in England.

  “Good work,” Simon said to Gentry.

  Gentry’s chest puffed out, but not enough to pop his shirt buttons. “Thank you, sir.”

  Simon told the two men to deposit the items on the coffee table. As they did, we heard a jumble of loud voices and the sound of numerous approaching footsteps. Seconds later, Amanda poked her head into the doorway, Martha Jones peeking over her shoulder. As usual, Martha was lugging her bulky “doctor” bag full of collection equipment.

  Simon smiled apologetically. “We still need a few minutes.”

  “A few minutes?” Amanda said. “Andy said you guys were ready for forensics.”

  “Tell everyone to have a seat in the front of the plane.”

  Groans from the hallway. Martha made a face. Amanda said, “Oh, come on, Simon. They’ve hauled all their equipment up here—”

  “Please,Amanda.”

  She sighed and reluctantly stepped into the hallway. “Okay, you heard the man. Back on up. That’s it. It’ll only be a couple of minutes.”

  Carter and Gentry were standing before Simon, eyeing him in anticipation.

  He nodded them to the door. “That’s all for now. You’ve done well.” He gave them a pleasant smile.

  Their faces reflected their disappointment. They were dying to learn the significance of the bottle. But as military men, they were used to obeying orders. They left, squeezing past Amanda.

  Simon said to her. “Come in and close the door.”

  “It’s broken.”

  He gave her a look.

  “Keep your shirt on.” She entered the room and started pushing the door closed. At that moment, we heard Andy’s belligerent voice: “Move aside, people. What’s the holdup? Let me by, Martha. Just step into the galley for a sec, will ya? Paul, where the hell you going?” A mumbled reply, then Andy again: “Bottle? What bottle? Oh, he wouldn’t, huh? Screw him.”

  Amanda had gotten the door closed to within an inch and was bracing it shut with a foo
t. Someone began pushing on it. “Open the fuck up,” Andy growled.

  Simon hesitated.

  “Open up,” Andy said again. “Or I start kicking the shit out of the door.”

  “He will, Simon,” Amanda said lightly.

  “All right.”

  She stepped out of the way, and Andy burst inside. He immediately looked to the table. “What’s so damned important about the bottle?”

  Simon said, “Please leave us for a moment, Andy.”

  Andy planted his feet wide. “Why the fuck should I?”

  Simon gazed back, saying nothing.

  “Shit,man,” Andy said. “You’re unbelievable. I thought we were all working on this thing together. But that ain’t the way you see it at all. Why don’t you just come out and say it? You think you’re better than us. Well, I got news for you, asshole. I’ve been a cop since you were crapping in diapers—”

  I said, “Andy, you’re out of line.”

  “Screw you, Marty. You’re supposed to be running the show. You gonna let him get away with cutting us out?”

  Simon said, “It’s not what you think. It’s for your own good. I don’t want to place you or your men in an untenable position.”

  “Untenable? Aw, don’t tell me you think this is a murder. You heard Doc Bowman.”

  “Bowman,” Simon said, “was mistaken.”

  “You got any evidence of that?” Andy’s tone was flat and sarcastic.

  Simon looked at me. Letting me know it would be my call.

  The way I saw it, the decision to confide in Andy came down to two questions. First, whether he could be intimidated by the brass. A ludicrous proposition, considering his history. In the twenty years I’d known him, Andy had never displayed the slightest respect for authority. None. His contrary attitude coupled with his laissez-faire work ethic had cost him jobs and promotions, not that Andy cared. In a sense, this was his singular talent. A total lack of ambition. Andy had never amounted to anything because he never wanted to; he just didn’t give a damn.

  So that left the question of Andy’s reliability. Could he be counted on to do more than his typical half-assed job?

  I looked right at him and asked if he wanted to remain on the case and why.

  “Hell, yes,” he snapped. “You guys are saying General Garber was murdered on my watch. That changes everything. I’m gonna be held responsible.”

  Amanda voted with a head shake. Andy caught it: “Dammit, this is important to me. My ass is going to be in a sling over this. I have to be in on getting the fucking killer.”

  In his eyes, I saw a passion that surprised me. It seemed that Andy had some pride after all.

  “All right, Andy,” I said.

  Amanda made a derisive sucking sound to express her opinion. Andy locked her with a glare. When Amanda flipped him off, I ordered them both to cool it and told Amanda to close the door.

  As she grudgingly did, Simon detailed why he thought Dr. Bowman was being pressured to rule the death an accident. Next, he brought up the condom and the cologne, which suggested that General Garber had planned on spending the evening with a woman. As evidence of this theory, he also cited the two whisky glasses found in the trash, one with an apparent lipstick stain. Finally, Simon went into his explanation of why he believed the general had been murdered. After concluding the evidence was irrefutable, he picked up the bottle and swirled the contents, pointing out that no one throws away expensive Scotch.

  “Move closer so you can see. This is the crucial part.” And still holding the bottle, Simon knelt down over the body.

  10

  Simon focused the beam of his penlight on the bruise on General Garber’s neck. He shifted the beam to the edge of the coffee table and said, “The wood is less than an inch wide. From the angle he fell, General Garber’s neck should have struck the upper corner of the table at no more than sixty degrees. The resulting trauma should be fairly narrow, less than an inch wide, with a sharp indentation from the table edge.” The beam returned to Garber’s throat again. “But as you can see, there is no indentation, and the bruising is quite extensive, covering most of the throat.”

  “So he couldn’t have hit the table,” Andy murmured.

  “No. Now look closely when I hold up the bottle flush against the throat. Like this—”

  Simon glanced up at us.

  “Son of a bitch,” Andy said.

  I could only nod.

  “A perfect fit,” Amanda said.

  Simon remained crouched as he set the bottle on the coffee table. We were all silent, picturing what must have occurred. How someone had either pressed the bottle against Garber’s throat or, more likely, used it to viciously strike the general. Either way, there were still two major problems with this scenario that we had to overcome.

  Amanda voiced the first one, saying, “But the general wouldn’t have just lain there, waiting to die. Any bruising on his arms where he was held down, or…There is?”

  Simon was nodding. “Another misstatement by Dr. Bowman.” He pushed up the sleeves of General Bowman’s pajamas, and we saw bruising along the triceps of each arm. The marks were roughly the size of a hand.

  Simon said to Andy, “I’m surprised you didn’t notice these earlier?”

  Andy appeared embarrassed. “To be honest, once I saw the injury to the throat, I figured that was it. I guess I shoulda been more thorough.”

  “You think?” Amanda said.

  I shot her a look of annoyance. She turned away, shaking her head.

  Simon said, “There are also two more marks on his back. Near his shoulder blades.”

  He lifted the collar of the pajama top and pointed with the beam. Amanda, Andy, and I took turns, peering down. I caught a glimpse of a dark bruise near right the shoulder blade and a fainter discoloration along the left side of the upper back.

  Amanda said, “So someone held him down until he died. Chose to let Garber suffocate instead of finishing him off, so the death would appear accidental. One cool killer.”

  Simon nodded and began readjusting the pajama sleeves.

  Watching him, Amanda said, “The murderer must have been pretty damned desperate to kill Garber here in his compartment. Jesus, talk about risky.”

  “Might not have been that much of a risk,” Andy said. “Most everyone was asleep.”

  “Including you?” she said.

  A grudging nod. “Our job was to baby-sit the general on the ground, not in the air. Never thought in a million years that someone would go after him in the plane. We were all racked out in the seats up front.”

  She said to him, “Any clue as to the identity of the woman the general might have met with?”

  “You got me,” he said. “If General Garber was playing slap-and-tickle with someone on the side, I never saw it. Never even heard anything from the rumor mill that he might have something going.”

  I asked, “How about his aide, Colonel Weller? Any possibilities there?” By definition, aides were close to their generals, and this wouldn’t be the first time a sexual relationship had developed.

  Andy shrugged. “All I know is she damn sure didn’t kill him. Weller really became unglued when she saw the body. Crying and carrying on. For a while there, I thought we might have to get her sedated.”

  Simon had risen to his feet and was frowning at Andy’s comment. I stepped in and told him not to read anything into Weller’s emotional reaction, explaining that aides often develop an almost parental affection for their generals.

  “General Garber a father figure?” Amanda snorted. “Youmust be kidding, Marty.”

  I shrugged. “Garber could have treated her well.”

  “Sure. If he was trying to cop a feel or get into her pants.”

  “From what I saw, he treated her okay,” Andy said. “He never chewed her out like he did everyone else.”

  “Sloppy,” Simon said.

  We all looked over. He was staring pensively at the bottle and glasses on the coffee table.


  “I’ll bite,” Amanda said. “What’s sloppy?”

  Simon focused on her. “The disposal of the bottle and glasses. It was clumsy, showing little forethought. Much like the use of the bottle as the murder weapon. It’s as if the killer simply reacted and devised his game plan as he went along.”

  “You’re saying the killer never intended to kill Garber?” Amanda said. “You think there was some kind of argument, and she or he just lost their head, grabbed the bottle, and lashed out?”

  Simon nodded. So did Andy and I. A “crime of passion” made the most sense, since it explained away the big question: why someone would be crazy enough to knock off Garber on an airplane.

  “I don’t know, guys,” Amanda said, after a moment. “I’m not sure we can rule out premeditation. For all we know the killer had a reason for killing Garber when he did. Could be the general was going to reveal something damning, and the person couldn’t allow it. Or maybe someone had a grudge against Garber, saw an opportunity for payback, and took it.”

  Simon shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”

  Amanda continued, “Of course, it’d be a good thing for us if the killer did get into an argument with Garber beforehand. Someone could have overheard them and recognized a voice—Why not, Andy?” She’d noticed his sudden scowl.

  Andy waved a beefy hand around the compartment. “For starters, the walls are completely soundproofed. You could holler your head off, and you’d lucky to hear a peep outside. Add in the plane noise, and it’s damn near impossible to hear anything going on inside here.”

  Amanda said, “But if someone passed right by the door—”

  “Doubtful,” Andy said. “The door’s also soundproofed, and there’s an air-conditioning vent in the ceiling right outside. And it’s loud. I’ve stood outside when the general had staff meetings. Never heard a thing. You don’t believe me, give it a try.”

  Amanda took him up on the offer. She went out into the hallway and closed the door as best she could. I let out a yell. She reentered moments later. Even with the door open a crack, she’d barely heard me.