The Coal Black Asphalt Tomb: A Berger and Mitry Mystery (Berger and Mitry Mysteries) (16 page)

“I am so happy to see so many smiling young faces here this morning,” the congressman exclaimed as the news cameras rolled.

The four dozen or so old-timers who were gathered there—most of them ladies—squealed with delight.

“And I’d like for all of you to know that I am always—”

“Hang on a sec, Congressman!” a reporter from Channel 8 bellowed. “We didn’t have sound. You’ll have to start over again.”

Luke Cahoon didn’t so much as blink. He was a consummate pro whose job was playing a role for the cameras. If he was told to say his lines again then he said them again—calmly, graciously and convincingly. When viewers saw this little snippet on tonight’s news they’d have no idea that what they were watching was a retake of a staged event.

Washington, as Mitch was fond of saying, was nothing more than Hollywood for the homely.

Luke Cahoon was tall and lanky with shaggy eyebrows, a long blade of a nose and a lopsided smile. He combed his silver hair across his forehead in a style that harkened back to Bobby Kennedy. He was dressed in a rumpled gray flannel suit, white button-down shirt and striped tie. Wore a pair of reading glasses on a chain around his neck, and the relaxed air of a man who’d become a pillar of his generation. Back in 2000 his name had even been floated as a potential running mate for George W. Bush. The congressman had vast foreign-policy experience and decades of service on the Armed Services Committee. He was a courtly, affable moderate who got along well with members of both sides of the aisle. But Bush veered hard right and chose Dick Cheney instead.

And so today Luke Cahoon was in Fairburn ladling up oatmeal and schmoozing with the oldies. “What can I get for you this morning, young lady?” he asked the white-haired lady who stood before him with her tray, dazzled by his star presence. “And how about
you
, dear?” he asked the next lady in line, smiling, smiling. Give it up for him—the man knew how to work a room. When he spotted Des standing there he never stopped smiling. “Master Sergeant Mitry, I’ll see you outside in five minutes.” And then kept right on working it. “Say, that is some kind of a lovely sweater you’re wearing, dear. Knit that yourself?”

The news vans were all clustered together in the parking lot, which overlooked a soccer field that was attached to the community center next door. The congressman’s humongous black Chevy Suburban was parked just outside of the door for a quick getaway. His driver/bodyguard, a bulky man in his fifties, sat behind the wheel waiting for him. A retired cop by the look of him. A state police cruiser on escort detail idled there next to the Suburban. Des didn’t know the young trooper, who was out of Troop E in Montville. But she did know that the Deacon would scorch his ears off if he caught him reading a magazine like he was.

The congressman was punctual. Precisely five minutes later he came striding out of the senior center trailed by two young aides. One was a ferret-faced guy with an officious air about him. The other was a clenched-looking woman who was barking into her cell phone. His driver got out and opened the back door of the Suburban for him.

“Tom, why don’t you go inside and grab yourself some chow?” the congressman suggested. “Steve, Polly? I’m going to need the car for a few minutes, okay?” On their surprised looks he said, “Get in, Master Sergeant Mitry.” She got in. He joined her in the roomy back seat and closed the door, gazing at her admiringly. “You wear that uniform well. Is it custom tailored?”

“No, sir.”

“Yet you seem at home in it, unlike most of the female troopers who I’ve encountered. West Point, weren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Perhaps that explains it. I want you to know that I truly appreciate the job you’ve been doing as Dorset’s resident trooper. You approach your work with the same mind-set that I have. You’re a uniter, not divider. And I like your style. Bob and Buzzy do not. In fact, they never miss an opportunity to tell me just how much they detest you. I think you scare the crap out of them, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

He flashed a smile at her. “I also want to thank you for keeping an eye on the family homestead on Johnny Cake. I treasure that old house.”

“It’s a lovely home. Or it sure looks that way from the outside.”

“You haven’t been inside? Hell, you’ll have to come to tea one of these days. Noelle and I restored it from top to bottom after we were married. Our daughter, Katie, spent the first two years of her life there, not that she remembers.”

“Does it have exposed chestnut beams like so many of the old places do?”

He nodded his head. “In the taproom.”

“I’ll bet those beams are full of those old square-headed nails. My friend Mitch’s place is.”

Luke Cahoon narrowed his gaze ever so slightly. “Why are we sitting here in Fairburn talking about square-headed nails?”

“No particular reason, sir. I just find them charming.”

He glanced out the window at the soccer field, which hadn’t greened up yet. The grass still looked pale and dead. A layer of high, thin clouds had started to move in, dimming the morning sunlight. “Those
are
Lance Paffin’s remains that they dug up, correct?”

“Correct. The DNA results leave no doubt. We’re continuing to keep his identity under wraps until the ME can finish going about his business.”

“Has he been able to determine what happened to Lance?”

“I haven’t seen his preliminary finds yet,” Des answered truthfully.

“Well, what in God’s name was Lance
doing
under there?”

“Not a whole heck of a lot.”

The congressman glared down his long nose at her. “Sarcasm? You show up here requesting face time with me so you can pitch sarcasm? Lance Paffin was a
friend
of mine.”

“Really? That’s not how I’ve heard it.”

Calmly, he laced his fingers together around his bent left knee. His socks sagged. Des could see three inches of pale, hairless shin above them. “Exactly what have you heard?”

“That you and Lance had an argument the night he disappeared.”

Luke Cahoon shrugged his shoulders. “We always argued. The man was a total ass when it came to certain subjects.”

“Certain subjects such as Noelle?”

“We argued about all sorts of things.”

“Such as Noelle?”

“
Yes
, Noelle,” he acknowledged impatiently. “That was the night Noelle and I met. She was a school chum of Beryl’s. I liked her right away. She was the first girl I’d liked ever since I’d…” He broke off, his face darkening. “I told that preening peacock of a flyboy to stay away from Noelle or I’d kill him with my bare hands. I meant it, too. I’ve committed murder, Master Sergeant. I killed at least eight enemy soldiers in combat—that I know of. But Lance Paffin was the only man who I’ve actually said those words to in my entire life.”

“Because of what he’d done to Frances Shaver?”

“You’re damned right.”

“Did you and Lance come to blows that night?”

“Not a chance. Lance didn’t care enough about any woman to put up a fight for her. Plus he was a coward at heart. Any man who could behave the way he did toward Frances is a coward. There was no fistfight. Just an exchange of words out in the parking lot.”

“And then what happened?”

“He laughed me off and went trolling for other prey.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Congressman, what really happened to Lance Paffin that night?”

“I have no idea. All I remember is that he was ‘stoked’ to take the
Monster
out. It was quite late and we’d all had a lot to drink. No one else wanted to go with him.”

“Not even his brother Bob?”

“Bob doesn’t go out on boats. He gets seasick.”

“And then what happened?”

“Lance took her out by himself and was never seen again. End of story.”

“So you have no idea how his body came to be buried underneath Dorset Street?”

“Master Sergeant, you asked me what I know. I just told you. Let’s move this along, shall we?”

“Sir, we’ve reviewed our case file from 1967 and found some red flags. The Lance Paffin investigation was not handled in a way that the state police can be proud of.”

He drew back from her, studying her curiously. “So that’s why you’re here. You’re doing your father’s bidding, aren’t you? He’s trying to bypass the Major Crime Squad and keep it quiet. Of course he is. He’s an organization man. That’s what organization men do.”

Des kept her face a blank. “I’m simply here to ask you the questions that you’re going to be asked again approximately twelve hours from now—in much less private surroundings.”

“Questions such as…”

“Fingerprint evidence taken from the tiller of the
Monster
somehow managed to disappear. And the lead investigator, Dave Stank, somehow managed to reappear as your chief of staff when you were elected to Congress.”

“You’re thinking that it doesn’t look very good.”

“I’m not the only one who’ll be thinking it.”

“I can assure you there was no quid pro quo,” he said mildly. “The Stankinator was a good man. Smart, energetic and focused. He made a strong impression on me during that investigation.”

“
What
investigation, Congressman? There was zero follow-through.”

He let out a pained sigh. “After I was voted in, Dave reached out to me and mentioned that he was looking for a new career opportunity. I gave him one. Any subsequent success that he enjoyed was due entirely to his own hard work. Beyond that, I wouldn’t care to comment further.”

“That’s your privilege, sir. But you
will
be asked these questions again later today. And once you get the Major Crime Squad, you get the media. There will be scrutiny. A lot of it. And it won’t be pretty.”

“And I couldn’t care less,” he said. “Before you waste any more of our time, Master Sergeant, I’m going to tell you something that no other human being on this planet knows. Not even those three incredibly loyal people who I just kicked out of this vehicle. I am formally announcing my retirement from the US Congress at 5
PM
today, effective immediately. Absolutely no one else knows about this. If word leaks out before I have a chance to make my announcement I’ll know who the source was and I’ll have your badge. Do you understand?”

“Not exactly. Is this because of the Lance Paffin matter?”

“Officially, I’m retiring because I want to spend more time with my family. Not very original, I’ll grant you, but it’ll have to do. My daughter, Katie, and her husband Ken live up in Burlington, Vermont, with my three grandkids. I’m a complete stranger to those kids. I’d like for them to get to know me. I’d like to write my memoirs. Maybe teach a class on modern governance at Yale if they’ll have me.”

“And how about unofficially?”

“Let’s just say I’m getting out because I can’t bear to go through this again.”

“Go through what, sir?”

“I fought two tours of duty in ’Nam, Master Sergeant. I saw things that no human being should ever have to see. Yet nothing that happened to me over there compared to the pain I felt when Frances took her own life. I’d loved her with my heart and soul ever since I was a boy. What Lance did to her … that was the single worst thing I’ve ever experienced. I can’t go through it all over again. I can’t let the media drag her name through the mud simply because of my own high profile as a US congressman. I won’t let Frances be used that way. She was the only woman I’ve ever loved. There was never anyone else.”

“What about Noelle?”

“I was
smitten
by Noelle,” he answered wistfully. “Couldn’t take my eyes off her at the spring dance. She caught me staring at her from across the table and smiled at me ever so faintly. I’ll never forget that smile. Noelle was a wonderful person who gave me every bit of love she had. I tried to love her back. Truly, I did. But I had no love inside of me to give her. Noelle realized it soon enough and we went our separate ways. It was an amicable divorce, if such a thing is even…” He trailed off. Seemed far away for a moment. Then shook himself and said, “I owe it to Frances to head off this mess if I can. I owe it to Buzzy, too.”

“You’ve heard that he tried to shoot himself yesterday?”

Luke Cahoon nodded his head sadly. “Poor Buzzy can’t bear to go through it again either. He adored Frances.”

“With all due respect, Congressman, your retirement won’t head off our investigation.”

“You’ll do what you have to do,” he acknowledged. “But at least the media won’t bray quite so loudly if I step out of the picture. Besides, I’ve had it with the partisan blood sport in Washington. I’m viewed as something of a hopeless old fuddy-duddy, you know, because I don’t happen to consider the fellow who sits across the aisle from me to be Satan’s spawn. I started serving in Congress because I wanted to fight for things. And I did fight for them. I brought jobs home to my district. I exposed tens of millions of dollars of fraud in our military procurement procedures. I’ve seen to the health needs of our combat veterans when not one of those armchair warriors on Capitol Hill gave a damn about them. When I saw a problem I tried to solve it. That’s what the voters elect us to do. But Congress doesn’t solve problems anymore. Now we
are
the problem.”

“And so you’re going to run away? I thought you were a fighter.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m all done fighting.”

“I don’t believe you, Congressman.”

He shot an angry look at her. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“Let’s just say I don’t understand.”

“And you never will. Not if I have anything to say about it. And I do.”

C
HAPTER
10

“M
AKE SURE IT’S GOOD
and taut, Mitch.”

“Good and taut,” he promised Bitsy, yanking hard on the orange string line. They were busy staking and measuring the site of his future patio. The day had turned overcast and raw. Gray clouds hung low over the waters of the sound, and the gulls were exceptionally vocal. Mitch drove the stake into the earth with a rubber mallet and stepped back to examine their work. “What do you think?”