Night Fall (53 page)

“Later. Let me finish.”

“What does it show?”

“It shows a fucking missile blowing that 747 out of the sky.”

“My God…”

She sat down and said to me, “I still don’t understand why Jill Winslow decided to confide in you after all these years and admit that she copied that tape and still had it.”

I thought about that question, and said, “I think I won her confidence… but more important, she’s a good person who was haunted by this event. I think she was waiting for an opportunity or a sign that the time had come to do the right thing.”

Kate nodded. “I understand. But does
she
understand what’s going to happen? I mean, her marriage, her life, her friend Bud…?”

“She understands. Bud’s the one having a problem.”

“But she’s a stand-up witness?”

“She is.” I continued and told Kate about coming to the Plaza, and about my various phone calls from Dead Ted, and Jill’s phone calls from her husband, and Bud Mitchell, and also Jill’s call from Ted.

Kate remarked, “That poor woman. How is she holding up?”

“Pretty good. She’ll be better now that you’re here. She needs another woman to talk to.”

“That’s uncommonly sensitive of you. Is your new shirt in any way related to the new you?”

“No.” I said to her, “I also called our boss, and I have to tell you, Kate, Jack Koenig knows something about this, and he’s sitting on the fence.”

She seemed surprised, then incredulous, and asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure something is not right there.”

She didn’t respond to that, but asked me, “All right, what happens next with Mrs. Winslow and the videotape?”

“I’ve arranged a meeting for tomorrow morning with Ted Nash, Liam Griffith, someone from the attorney general’s office, Jill Winslow, maybe Bud Mitchell, and maybe others like David Stein, and also Jack Koenig, who wanted to take a pass on the meeting, but who I convinced to be there.”

She asked, “Where is the meeting?”

I replied, “I was thinking about you, and our last night together in New York, so I made it for breakfast at eight-thirty at Windows on the World.”

She thought about that and said, “I guess that’s a good place… public…”

“And we said we’d return there.”

She said, “I don’t think we’re going to have as good a time as last time.” She asked me, “Are you sure that’s the right way to handle this?”

“How would you handle it?”

“I’d go right to the top. To FBI Headquarters in Washington.”

“I don’t know anyone in Washington.”

“I do.”

“You don’t know who you can trust there.”

“That’s a little paranoid.”

“Whatever. Washington’s a stretch. Let’s meet the devils we know here on our turf before we go meet the devils we don’t know in Washington.”

She thought about that, then asked me, “Who do you think could be involved in a cover-up? And why?”

“I don’t know. That’s not my problem at the moment. But when the shit hits the fan, we’ll see who runs for cover.”

She processed all this and said, “I hope it’s not Jack.”

“Kate, I don’t give a shit who’s involved. They all have to go down.”

She looked at me and said, “This… I guess you can call it a conspiracy… may go right to the top.”

“Not my problem.”

“It could be. That’s the point I’m making. It could be so big, and reach so high, that it’s not going down.
We
could go down.”

“You don’t have to get involved.”

She gave me an angry look and said, “Don’t even
say
that.” She gave me a hug and said, “I started it. We’ll finish it together.”

“We will.” Kate, like me, was already in so deep that the only way out was to keep digging until we reached daylight on the other side.

She said to me, “Let’s see the tape.”

“Maybe you should meet Jill Winslow first.”

“Well… what do you think?”

If you have both evidence and a witness, you usually see the evidence before you talk to the witness, but this situation was a little more complex. I decided that I should take it in the order that I got it-Jill, then the tape. Or should I show Kate the tape, then introduce her to the star of the tape, who was my suite mate?

“John?”

“Uh… well, I think you should meet Jill Winslow so you can put the tape into context. Perspective.”

“All right. She’s in her room?”

“Yes. Unless she went to church again.” I went to her door and knocked. “Jill? Mrs. Winslow?”

I heard her say, “Yes?”

“Are you available-?”

She opened the door, and I said, “Jill, I’d like you to meet my wife, Kate.”

Jill smiled, walked over to Kate, and they shook hands. Jill said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. John was a little worried about you at the airport.”

Kate replied, “And with good reason, as it turned out.” She smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

I checked out the situation, and it seemed to be cool. Kate’s not the jealous type, and she’s a professional, and Jill Winslow was every bit the lady-except, of course, for her sexual escapades on the beach. But that was long ago.

Kate said to Jill, “John has been telling me a little about the last few days. How are you doing?”

“Very well, thank you. Your husband is like a rock.”

Perhaps not a good choice of words considering the shared suite, but Kate replied pleasantly, “You can count on him.” She added, “I want to thank you for coming forward, and for being so honest about everything. I can’t imagine how this is affecting you.”

Jill replied, “I actually feel better than I’ve felt in five years.”

I suggested, “Why don’t we have some bubbly?”

I opened a bottle of champagne, poured, and we all clinked glasses. I said, “To Kate’s homecoming and to Jill’s being here.”

Kate added, “And to a great detective.”

Jill added, “And to… justice for those who lost their lives…”

We drank in silence, then Jill said, “I feel like I’m interfering with what should be a private reunion.”

Kate replied quickly, “Not at all. John and I already hugged and kissed. We can swap war stories later.”

Jill said, “That’s very nice of you, but-”

Kate interrupted. “No. You
must
stay. I have so many questions to ask you, I don’t know where to begin.”

Jill replied, “It’s actually not that long a story, and it comes down to me doing something I shouldn’t have-and I don’t mean having an affair. I mean, I should have been brave enough to come forward five years ago. If I had, a lot of lives may have been ruined, but more lives, including my own, would have been better.”

Kate looked at Jill awhile, and I could tell she was as impressed with Mrs. Winslow as I had been since we’d met Sunday morning. Kate said to her, “Sometimes we can’t make the hard decisions when they have to be made. Sometimes we have to come to those decisions after a lot of soul searching.”

Jill replied, “Your husband showing up on my doorstep was like a sign that the time had come.” She glanced at me, smiled, and said, “Also, he’s very convincing. But I still feel that I didn’t do the right thing on my own.”

I said, “You could have shown me the door, but you didn’t. I’ll tell you something else-had you given up that tape five years ago, it probably would have been destroyed. So, in some way, through fate or chance, it worked out for the best.”

We sat there awhile and chatted. This is called putting the witness at ease, winning their confidence, and convincing them that they’re doing the right thing.

Also, I hoped that Jill and Kate would bond a little, and that seemed to be happening. I envisioned Kate being designated as Jill Winslow’s hand-holder, as we say. The fallout from all this would go on for a long time, and I was glad to see that they were getting along.

At some point, Kate asked Jill, “Did you pick out that shirt for John?”

“Yes, I did. He couldn’t leave the hotel room, and I was able to go out, so I got him a fresh shirt.”

Kate said to Jill, “He looks good in coral. It brings out his tan. He never wears anything bold or trendy. Where did you get it?”

“Barneys. They have wonderful things for men.”

I felt excluded from this conversation, so I stood and said, “I’m going to talk to the patrolman at the elevator. I’ll be about an hour. If you’d like, you can watch the videotape while I’m gone. It’s under my mattress.”

I left the suite and went down the hall to the elevators.

The uniformed cop was sitting in one of the upholstered chairs in the small elevator lobby reading the
Daily News
. I introduced myself to him, and showed him my Fed creds and my NYPD retired detective ID.

I sat in the empty chair and asked him, “When do you get off duty?”

The young officer, whose name tag said Alvarez, replied, “Three hours ago. Hey, who is this guy Fanelli? He’s got more pull than the police commissioner.”

“He is a man who trades favors. Favors are the currency of the police department. You can’t take money, so you pay in favors, and you collect favors. That’s how things get done, and how you get ahead, and how you keep your ass out of hot water.”

“Yeah?”

“Let me tell you about it.”

I sat there with Patrolman Alvarez, telling him how his world actually worked.

At first, he seemed bored, but then he got interested when he realized he was in the presence of a master. After half an hour, he was asking questions quicker than I could answer them. I thought he was going to kneel at my right hand, but instead he pulled his chair around to face me so I had to keep my eye on the elevators.

He was getting a lot out of his overtime, but to tell you the truth, I was getting more out of it.

After an hour, I stood and asked him, “When do you get relieved?”

“At midnight.”

“Okay, I want you to do me a favor and be back here at seven-thirtyA.M.”

“There’ll be another guy-”

“I want
you
.”

I gave him my card and said, “Be alert, and be careful. The guys who may be coming out of those elevators are not ordinary scumbags. They’re trained professionals, and to make this real for you, I’ll tell you they’d shoot you in a heartbeat if they had to. Take your piece out of your holster and keep it tucked in your belt, with your newspaper on your lap. If you smell trouble, pull it. If you have to, shoot.”

Patrolman Alvarez’s eyes were wide open.

I slapped him on the shoulder, smiled, and said, “Don’t shoot any paying guests.”

I went back to the suite, which was dark because Kate and Jill were watching the last few minutes of the videotape.

I went to the bar, poured a club soda, and waited.

The lights came on, but no one said anything.

I suggested, “Why don’t we order room service?”

Kate, Jill, and I were at the dining table having a light supper. I didn’t bring up the subject of the videotape, and neither did they.

I suggested that no one check their cell phones, because as far as I was concerned, anyone who called had nothing to say that would change anything. The only person I needed to hear from was Dom Fanelli, and he’d call on the room phone.

We talked mostly about Yemen, Tanzania, and Old Brookville. Thankfully, no one had slides to show.

Jill was very interested in Kate’s assignment in Tanzania, and her work on the embassy bombing. Jill was also interested in my assignment in Yemen, and the USS
Cole
case. In our business, we tend toward understatements, as we’d been taught, and to watch for security breaches, but this usually makes people more interested. I thought about telling the story of the desert tribesmen on horseback attacking my Land Rover on the road to Sana’a, but I didn’t have a good ending for it yet.

Kate seemed genuinely interested in hearing about life on Long Island’s Gold Coast, but Jill said, with the same understatement that Kate and I had affected, “It’s not as interesting or as glamorous as you might think. I got tired of the charity balls, the parties, the designer showcases, the country club, and the displays of affluence. I even got tired of the juicy gossip.”

I said, “I love gossip, and I could get used to affluence.”

By all outward appearances, it was pleasant enough dinner conversation, but hanging over us was the future, which would begin at 8:30 the next morning.

At about 10P.M., the room phone rang. I picked it up and said, “Hello.”

Dom Fanelli said, “Hey, did I catch you in the saddle?”

“No. What’s up?”

“Well, for one thing there’s some fallout from my snatch job this afternoon. It’s like I pissed on a hornets’ nest or something. These guys got some friends high up.”

“Not for much longer.”

“Right. If you can’t beat ’em, and you can’t join ’em, I say kill ’em. Right? Anyway, here’s for tomorrow-I got three PDs each with two uniformed cops, including a patrol sergeant. I could get detectives and plainclothes guys, but I’m thinking the uniforms are the way to go. Right?”

“Right.”

“You got an eight-thirty at WTC North, so these guys are coming on duty at eight and they can get to you maybe eight-fifteen, and will meet you at the hotel entrance on the Central Park South side. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You pick how you want to go-separate cars, all in one with a lead, or backup car-whatever. Your call. If it was me, and I got three cars, I’d split it up. You don’t want all your cannolis in one pastry box.”

I glanced at Jill and Kate and said to Dom, “Right.”

“Okay, tomorrow is primary day. Second Tuesday of September. Did you know that? Don’t forget to vote. So, the traffic patterns in theA.M. may be a little different with people coming in a little late after they do their civic thing. But if you all get there a little late, you know they’re not starting without you.”

“Right.”

“Okay, so you want these guys to stay with you all the way up to the 107
^th
floor. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“You want them to take you someplace afterward. Right?”

“Yeah. Probably back to the Plaza, and I’ll need people at the elevator here all through tomorrow and tomorrow night until we see how this plays out.”