The President's Henchman (37 page)

Raleigh had launched his glider without a hitch but only seconds later he’d fallen halfway out of his harness. The glider went into a spiral and crashed into the ocean from an altitude of approximately four hundred feet. Raleigh’s body was washed up on the beach, but his glider was never recovered. The police theory of the event was that in a hurry to get airborne, Raleigh had failed to secure his harness properly. Somehow, he’d survived the fall, but the impact with the water knocked him unconscious and he drowned.

The coroner returned a verdict of death by misadventure.

The police report included photographs of the launch site, an aerial view of the ocean from the approximate height of Raleigh’s fall, a superimposed indication of an estimate of where he’d entered the water, and, of course, his body on the beach.

McGill had been to Hawaii on a number of occasions. He knew there was no continental shelf off the Islands. The water off the beaches got very deep very fast. If the tide hadn’t been coming in when Raleigh hit the water, his body never would have been found. It would have been consumed by sharks or simply lost to the deep.

In addition to the police report, Chief Manuala had sent a personal note to McGill.

I had a nodding acquaintance with Danny Akapa. He’d been in business locally for over twenty years. Rented every sort of recreational equipment a tourist might want: snorkeling gear, surfboards, sailboards, skateboards, roller blades, bicycles, and hang gliders. He was a good guy with a good reputation. Gave to the Police Benevolent Fund and other charities.

It wasn’t lost on McGill that Chief Manuala referred to the man in the past tense.

Danny committed suicide about a year after Mr. Raleigh died. Everyone thought it was because of business problems. Things here go up and down with fluctuations in the tourist trade. The family didn’t say any different. They sold the business to a Japanese company for what people tell me was a big loss, even considering business was off.

Nobody ever thought there might be any connection to the death of tourist on a day when anyone should have known better than to jump off a cliff, hang glider or no. But since you asked me to look into it, I went out to talk with Danny’s widow, Loni. It was like she’d been waiting all this time to confess.

The muscles in McGill’s neck and shoulders tightened.

She said right after Mr. Raleigh crashed, the first thing Danny did — he’d seen the whole thing — was call 911. But right after that, he checked his remaining gliders and found they’d all been tampered with. Every single one. Didn’t matter which one Raleigh would have used, they’d all have led to the same ending.

Danny got right on mending them. Never told anyone but his wife. Said if word got out, they’d be out of business. The way things were, he said, people were blaming that dumb haole from the mainland, but if they told the truth, people would blame them — for letting someone screw with their equipment if not being in on the crime themselves.

Turned out Danny’s conscience wouldn’t give him any peace. Then when the economy got soft, and his business fell off, he took it as a judgment. Decided the only way his family would be free of what he’d done was to end it all. After that, Loni didn’t want the business either and sold it cheap just to be rid of it.

She told me neither she nor Danny ever had any idea who would sabotage their gliders. I believe her. Sometimes we’re a little naive out here, childlike even, in not wanting to believe people can do bad things. Your business is helping people have fun, like Danny’s was, who’d mess with that?

Which is just what I hope to find out. We’re investigating. Very quietly. You have any ideas for me, Chief McGill, I’d be happy to hear them.

McGill had a name: Damon Todd.

Could be Todd had feared that Michael Raleigh, even remarried, had a continuing emotional hold on Chana Lochlan. Especially if Chana had filed for the divorce at Todd’s instigation.

That would fit with the pattern of Chana’s never having an enduring relationship with a man after her marriage had ended. Todd would allow her to have transient relationships. That would work with Chana’s image of a successful media figure. It would also allow for a perverse equity. Chana could have her lovers because Todd had other women. Say, Laurel Rembert, Nina Barkley, and who knew how many others?

But Raleigh had somehow latched onto Chana, married her, and kept her for three years. Maybe Todd had something really important going on that kept him away from Chana.at the time. Hadn’t anticipated such a development. But once he’d found out, he couldn’t allow anyone to come between him and Chana. And so the divorce. And Raleigh’s subsequent remarriage.

But Todd must have wanted Raleigh permanently out of Chana’s life. Or else Todd was being vengeful toward a guy who’d won Chana’s heart without first having to administer ketamine hydrochloride.

Maybe anyone who’d come between Todd and Chana in a serious way had to die.

Maybe, McGill thought, he was a target, too.

Welborn entered his office at the White House that morning and found a clue. It had been left smack in the middle of his desk. An unlined index card. On the card printed in black ink and a font he’d later identify as Times New Roman he saw the following:

Robert Merriman

Chief of Staff to Senator Roger Michaelson (D-OR)

Member Senate Armed Services Committee

Anson Merriman.

Chief Lobbyist

American Aviation Corporation

Relationship: Brothers

As even well-intentioned people weren’t allowed to drop by the White House and whisper secrets into Welborn’s ear, and he was pretty sure the clue fairy hadn’t left this gem for him, he felt the card might have noted one more tidbit of information.

Courtesy of: James J. McGill.

The guy was carrying him, at least part of the time. Not that he was going to complain. He stuck the card in his pocket, sat down, and picked up the phone. He called the Courtyard Inn off Route 50 near Landover, Maryland. An operator told him he wanted to talk with their special-events coordinator, Mary Kay Kinsley. She connected him.

“You recently held a jobs seminar,” Welborn said. “I believe it was called Command Careers after the Military.”

“Yes, we did,” Ms. Kinsley said brightly. “Were you a participant? Did you get a great new job?”

“I’m a lieutenant, ma’am. I don’t command anyone, and I’m still on active duty.”

“Oh. Well, maybe someday.”

“Until then,” Welborn resumed, “perhaps you can help me with some information.”

“Whatever I can.”

Welborn asked if anyone representing American Aviation was in attendance at the seminar. Mary Kay looked to see if that was the case.

“Why, yes, a Mr. Anson Merriman.”

“Are you allowed to divulge the names of military personnel who participated in the event?”

“I’m really not supposed to. Some of them might change their minds and stay in service, you know.”

“And job-hunting wouldn’t look good if their commanding officers found out.” Hence Colonel Linberg in her civvies. The others, too, no doubt.

“Exactly.”

“Thank you very much, Ms. Kinsley.”

She told Welborn to stop by the next time he was in the area. He sounded cute, and she’d like to buy him a drink. Welborn thanked her but said he was all but engaged. He intended that as a polite excuse, but he wondered if there wasn’t a kernel of truth to it.

With an inward sigh, he thought it would serve him right if Kira was out shopping for a ring right now. Turning his thoughts to more unpleasant matters, he now had a much better understanding of what motivated Captain Dexter Cowan. Someone had convinced him that his charm and good looks had carried him as high in the military as he would ever rise. So why not take a plum job with a defense contractor that would pay him ever so much more money? The signing bonus alone would be enough to set him up in high style, e.g. his Viper. All he had to do to earn his new position was fornicate with the lovely Colonel Linberg — and later accuse her of adultery.

Hardly gentlemanly behavior but not exactly tough duty.

Only things had gotten complicated as they so often did. Welborn was sure of that. Otherwise, why had Carina Linberg also attended the Command Career seminar? How could she hold down a fancy civilian job if she was serving a sentence for adultery in Fort Leavenworth?

The explanation, as Welborn saw it, was that Captain Cowan had compromised his mission by falling in love with Colonel Linberg. Welborn had damn near done the same thing, and he was only investigating the woman, not sleeping with her. Cowan would have had to be made of titanium to be Carina’s lover and not melt under the heat.

So the two of them had planned a double cross of General Altman.

Carina’s other lover, as the president saw it.

The general, who’d been on the phone to one of the Merrimans when Welborn had first met him, was also planning for his postmilitary employment. But now that Welborn thought about it, someone of his rank wouldn’t attend a job fair at a roadside hotel. His sinecure would be arranged in a far more elegant and private setting.

“You’re thinking again, aren’t you?”

Welborn looked up and saw Kira in the doorway.

“One of my failings,” he said. “You’ll have to get used to it.”

“I thought we could go to the mess and get some coffee.”

“I have to make a phone call.”

“I’ll bring the coffee back here.”

He wondered if sex would continue to make her solicitous of him. He didn’t want to spoil either the sex or the solicitousness but … “After the call, I have to go out.”

“Oh.”

She frowned and started to leave, but Welborn caught her before she got away. He kissed her, only briefly, but long enough to raise the eyebrows of two women from the clerical pool who were passing by.

“People will talk,” Kira whispered.

“I’m sure they already do.”

That possibility scared Kira. She fled. Welborn kept his laughter to himself so he wouldn’t raise her ire. Any more than he already had.

He returned to his desk and made his phone call to the Metro police. When the president had removed him from the working structure of the OSI, she’d effectively eliminated any chance he could ask for backup from his own agency. He couldn’t pick and choose when he wanted to be one of the guys. But the way things were playing out, he needed have someone in his corner.

“Lieutenant Bullard,” a voice answered his call.

“Lieutenant Welborn Yates calling from the White House.”

“Do tell. I was just about to call you. We found your car.”

“You did?”

“Yes, indeed. It’s being checked by our forensics people right now.”

“I think I know who was behind the wheel,” Welborn told her.

“And you called to share. How nice.”

“I’d like to get together with you, Lieutenant.”

“The feeling’s mutual, Lieutenant.”

By the time Welborn got to Annapolis and entered Ruggers, the place was packed for lunch. Most of the diners were civilians of the yuppie stratum, but many were off-duty naval officers. Their haircuts and erect postures, even while seated, were dead giveaways. So was the fact that they hadn’t peeled the labels off their bottles of Aviator Lager. Scanning the room, Welborn didn’t see Dexter Cowan among their number. Several of the Navy guys and a handful of civilian ladies were looking back at him. Welborn was wearing his Air Force uniform.

A familiar figure waved to him from behind the bar. Carleen. The friendly barmaid who’d warned him of the impending arrival of the TV crew on his last visit. She pointed out an empty seat at the bar to him. He quickly crossed the room before anyone else could claim it.

“How you doin’, honey?” she asked. “Leave that little redhead at home today?”

“She’s darning my socks,” Welborn said.

Carleen laughed. “Not her. I know the type. Suck your toes, yeah. Darn your socks, no.”

Welborn quickly reviewed: no, toes were among the few things that hadn’t been sucked the other night. Not that he would have objected.

Carleen asked, “Get you a beer and a burger? Or you want a menu?”

“I’m working today, came here hoping to find you.”

He was seated between the station where the waitresses picked up their drink orders and a civilian couple who only had eyes for each other. Meanwhile, Carleen was giving him the eye, trying to determine the nature of his interest before she said the wrong thing.

He helped her out. Put a headshot of Captain Cowan on the bar.

“This guy come in here by any chance?”

“Dex? He’s been coming here for years. Anytime he’s nearby and off duty.”

“Life of the party?”

“As often as not.”

“So he has friends who come here, too.”

“Sure.”

“Any of them here now? I’m interested in anyone who’s a close buddy.”

Carleen was getting the idea by now that this could be serious and frowned.

“Is Dex in trouble?” She looked at his picture again.

From her tone of her voice and the way she looked at the photo, Welborn knew that Carleen’s feelings for Cowan were based on his being more than a good tipper. Neither Arlene Cowan nor Carina Linberg was a sweet, simple girl, but Carleen fit the bill perfectly. He put the picture away.

“I’m afraid he is,” Welborn said.

“He’s a good guy,” Carleen asserted.

“In many ways, I’m sure he is,” Welborn agreed.

“Is it
really
bad?”

“I suspect there are people grieving.” Assuming Mrs. Altman had family.

“Well, shit.” Carleen’s chin quivered. “The guy you want is right over there.”

She nodded in the direction of a booth against the far wall. Three Navy men, two on one side of the table, single guy on the other. All three had their eyes on Welborn.

“The one by himself,” Carleen said. “His name’s Tony Sheridan. Dex’s best friend.”

“Rank?”

“Commander.”

“The other two?”

A pair of lieutenant commanders. Welborn didn’t insult Carleen by leaving money for the information. He simply said he was sorry for her pain and thanked her for her help. Then he crossed the room. Sheridan and friends never took their eyes off of him.

Welborn stopped in front of their booth and showed them his ID. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I’m Lieutenant Welborn Yates, Air Force OSI. I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch.”

“Then make it brief,” one of the Navy subordinates told him crisply.

Welborn ignored the tone. “Commander Sheridan, I need you to come with me, sir.”

“Why is that, Lieutenant?” Sheridan asked.

“For questioning, sir.”

Both of the commander’s companions glared at Welborn.

Other diners were starting to look at them as well.

“Regarding what?”

Sheridan was doing a nice job of keeping his voice down, but the volume of conversation in the restaurant was dropping, too. A drama was being acted out, and people were paying attention. There wasn’t even any clanking of silverware.

“Regarding a homicide, sir, and your possible role in it.”

“Just a goddamn minute, buddy!” The lieutenant commander nearest Welborn started to rise. Welborn shoved him back onto his seat.

Looking at the man, taking control of the situation as he’d been taught at Glynco, he told the Navy officer, “Right now, you’re not involved in this, sir. But please remember, I’m a sworn federal agent. Try to interfere with me again, and I’ll arrest you. Your military career will be over.”

As his table companions glared at Welborn, Sheridan got to his feet.

“Put a hand on me, Lieutenant, I’ll file charges against
you.
I’ll get my attorney, then report to your office with him. I imagine we’ll have an interesting conversation with your commanding officer. Where do you work, Andrews?”

“No, sir,” Welborn told him. “I work at the White House, but I don’t know that the president will have time to see you.”

Sheridan paled, realizing he was in more trouble than he could have imagined. He muttered an expletive and started for the door. Welborn didn’t chase, he followed. Certain that Sheridan’s demeanor betrayed an awareness of guilt, his own.

Outside Ruggers’ door, Rockelle Bullard was waiting with a pair of Maryland state troopers. They brought Sheridan up short. Welborn took his arm from behind.

“You’re in a
world
of hurt, Commander,” he said. “Unless, of course, you choose to cooperate with me and with Lieutenant Bullard of Washington Metro Homicide. You think you might like to do that, sir? So I won’t have to arrest you here and now.”

The fight had gone out of the man. He rode back to Washington without saying a word, but he heard Rockelle tell Welborn, “You were right about Captain Cowan. We found his fingerprints in your car. He wiped the steering wheel and the door latches but he forgot the rear view mirror.”

“It was all a joke,” Sheridan said. “That’s what Dex told me.” Having been Mirandized, he was making his statement in front of a videocam in a Metro PD interrogation room.

“The joke was on me?” Welborn asked. “It was my car.”

“Dex didn’t give me a name. He just said it was some Air Force twerp.”

Welborn didn’t bat an eye at the slur.

“That’s why I was keeping an eye on you at Ruggers today,” Sheridan continued. “Your uniform, I thought you might be the guy, and you didn’t look like you thought the joke was funny.”

“Grand theft auto’s a felony,” Rockelle pointed out. “And if you knew Captain Cowan was going to steal a car, didn’t matter whose it was. You’re an accessory.”