Getting Away Is Deadly (23 page)

MacInally had been removing the lid from his coffee and didn’t seem to have heard our exchange. “I forgot what a racket there is in here,” he said as the vent droned above us.

The only up side was that we wouldn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing our conversation. “It’s all the glass,” MacInally said. The room was a boxy modern-day conservatory with glass ceiling and walls. Add throngs of tourists, several fast food restaurants cranking out steaming fries and burgers as if they were on conveyer belts, and the place bordered on sweltering.

“So, you’ve enjoyed your visit here?” MacInally asked.

“I have,” I said. “I’m not so sure about Mitch. It’s been work for him. He hasn’t really seen anything except the Ronald Reagan building. And restaurants, lots of restaurants.”

Mitch shrugged. “It’s been fine. I’ll see a few things this weekend.”

MacInally took a sip of his coffee and pleated the edge of his napkin. “How much longer are you here?”

“Just until Monday. We fly out in the afternoon.”

MacInally nodded, his gaze on his coffee cup. I glanced over at Mitch as I took another big slurp of my shake. Something was wrong. MacInally seemed distracted, like he didn’t really want to be here. He folded the corner of his napkin a few more times. Maybe he didn’t know how to begin?

I leaned over the table and said, “Mr. MacInally—” That got his attention and he opened his mouth to correct me, but I said, “Sorry. Jay. If you don’t want to talk about Noel, that’s okay.”

“No.” He sat up straighter. “I do want to talk about Noel.” But then his phone rang. “Excuse me. I have to take this.”

His side of the conversation didn’t amount to much. He only said yes a couple of times. Mitch slid his arm around my shoulders and leaned in to whisper in my ear, “I think he’s nervous. Maybe if I leave the table he’ll feel more comfortable.”

MacInally said, “Fine. I’ll meet you there in an hour.” He punched a button on his phone and placed it on the table near a pile of napkins.

Mitch stood up. “I think I’ll get one of those shakes for myself. You two go ahead. Don’t wait on me. The line’s long.”

MacInally nodded. Did he look paler? His dark eyebrows and eyes contrasted with his skin, which looked as white as the napkin he was fidgeting with again. He took a swig of his coffee and set the cup down with a thump on the table. “Ellie, there’s no new story about when Noel and I were on leave. I just told you that so I could meet with you again.”

“O
kay,” I said slowly. His gaze was concentrated and I leaned back in my chair. He scared me a little. I looked over his shoulder and saw Mitch waiting in the longest line, watching me. I swallowed and refocused on MacInally. We were in a crowded restaurant. I had no reason to be afraid. As I looked closer at MacInally, I saw a couple of drops of sweat at his hairline. He grabbed a few napkins and wiped his face.

“Are you feeling all right? Are you sick?” I asked, my alarm had switched from fear to worry for him. Was he about to have a heart attack or something? He’d been through a lot in the last week. Maybe he wasn’t as tough as he thought.

“No.” He took a deep breath and leaned forward, his elbows braced on the table. “What I told you before about Noel, how he shot at the patrol that night, that was how I remembered it.” His tone was regretful, almost apologetic. “It was in the official report.”

“Right. That’s what you told me.” Did he think I doubted him?

“I’ve been thinking about that day.” He drained the last of his coffee. Tremors from his hand made the cup tremble for a second before he put it down. “More of it is coming back to me.” He looked up from his cup and held my gaze. “And what’s coming back to me, my memories, don’t match the official report.”

The air conditioner droned as he waited for my reaction. “I don’t understand,” I said.

“I didn’t either. It means I was lied to.” He waited for that to sink in and then he said, “And it means that Noel’s family believed a lie.”

“What lie?” I realized my hands were icy. I put the shake down.

“The lie that Noel killed Shipley and wounded me.”

“What? That’s not true? But you believed it was.”

MacInally held my gaze and said, “At the beginning of this week, I believed it. Now I don’t.” He pushed his empty cup of coffee and napkin away, making room for his forearms on the table. His color looked better, but I think mine probably looked worse. Why had he put me through that worry?

“God, it’s a relief to say it,” he said, almost to himself. He tilted his head and asked, “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m trying to understand,” I said, crossing my arms.

MacInally snorted. “Me, too. Look, last week I believed Noel shot Shipley and me. That’s what everyone said. I had what the docs call dissociative amnesia, but my memory loss was selective. I could remember bits and pieces, but most of that day, after the claymores went off, was gone. I remember the mosquitoes and the rocks tossed to probe our position. And until I went into the hospital a few days ago, I didn’t remember anything else. But this week, I think it was being in the hospital again…” He paused and ran his hands over his hair. “I can’t explain it, but stuff started to come back. Anyway, what I know now is that Noel didn’t fire that gun.”

“Then who did?” A sudden horrible thought hit me. “Did you?”

He actually laughed. “No. Now, that would have been a terrible thing to remember. Here I thought remembering what really happened was awful, but you’re right, if that was what I remembered, that would be worse.” He smiled ruefully. “Sorry. This is a little stressful. It was the other man on patrol with us, Alan, who shot me and Shipley.”

“Hold on, I’m confused. Alan? Alan who?” I asked.

“Alan Archer.”

“Alan
Archer
was on that patrol? I thought you said the other guy’s name was Stretch.”

MacInally snorted. “We called him Stretch because he was so short. He had to stretch for everything.”

“I thought Archer served in Vietnam,” I said, trying to work it out.

“He was in Korea and Vietnam. Lots of guys were in both theaters.”

“So what do you remember?” I asked.

“I remember the ambush, waiting, the mosquitoes. And I remember that right before we left on the patrol a few days before that, Archer found out Shipley was getting promoted. Archer wasn’t. Archer thought he deserved it. He was furious, but he got it under control before we left on patrol. The whole time, though, he was tense and you could see the anger almost shimmering off him.”

MacInally looked pasty again. He swallowed and pushed the napkin away. It was folded into a neat rectangle. His voice was soft as he said, “When the ambush broke and the firing started, I saw Archer fire at Shipley. Noel charged at Archer. Then Archer shot Noel and aimed at me. Noel died and I went into a coma.”

It was a few seconds before I managed to say, “But that’s the opposite of what you were told.” MacInally nodded and I said, “He blamed Noel for everything. He couldn’t blame you. You might contradict him.”

“Not with amnesia, I couldn’t. That’s why he’s always kept in touch. Always wanted to know if I was a threat to him. He probably figured this long and I’d never remember, but he was consistent, always calling on my birthday, checking in whenever he was in town.” He smiled. “My first wife didn’t like him. Thought he was a creep. She was right. She always said it was odd when he came around and didn’t feel right. I should have listened to her.”

“Does he know you’ve remembered?”

“No. I think he suspects. Week before last I was at dinner with him and his wife and I mentioned Debbie’s e-mail, how she’d contacted me out of the blue. ‘Brings back a lot of memories,’ I said. He must have thought that meant something more than I intended, because I was almost dead a few days later.”

“And before you were able to talk to me.”

“Ironic, isn’t it? At that point, I hadn’t remembered anything to tell you and I nearly died because of one comment.”

“You think going into the hospital was what brought back the memories?” I asked.

“They don’t really know why my memory is coming back now. It might have happened without going into the hospital. Or not. If Alan hadn’t sent that thug to beat me up, he might still have his secret.”

“You remember what the thug looked like?”

“I saw him last night at the fund-raiser, following Archer around. It was like a light switch flipped on in my brain. What had been fuzzy and indistinct before was clear now.”

“The guy who shadowed Archer last night? The one who looked like he should be in the WWF? He was the one who beat you up?”

“Yes. It was him.”

“Who is he?” I asked.

“I have no idea. A hired thug, I don’t know. That’s for Detective Mansfield to figure out.”

“Have you told anyone about this?” I asked.

“Only you.”

Despite the overheated room I felt a shiver crawl up my back. “You’d better tell someone else soon.”

“That’s what I’m on my way to do next,” he said. “I’m meeting with Detective Mansfield in…” He paused to check his watch. “Thirty minutes. I should go soon. Debbie deserved to know the truth first. She was the only one who believed in her dad, who kept on believing.”

He swallowed, rubbed his hands over his eyes, and said, “I knew Noel. I shouldn’t have believed he was capable of something like that.”

I reached out, touched his arm. “You can’t blame yourself. You were wounded. Of course you’d believe what they told you.”

He shook his head. “No. I shouldn’t have. Why is it that we’re so quick to believe bad things about our own people?”

I didn’t have an answer.

“Well.” He slapped his hands down on the table. “I’ve got to go.”

Before he left, I said, “What about Lena? Do you think she knows?”

He paused. “I don’t think she knew in the beginning, but I think she’s figured it out.”

MacInally ran his hand over his hair again. “She asked me about it last night. She wanted to know whether I remembered anything from the firefight. It was the way she asked, like she was checking up on me, making sure I still didn’t remember anything that tipped me off. That’s when I knew she was playing me.”

He looked so beaten down that I said, “I think she does care about you.” She had seemed genuinely fond of him when she talked about him. Not like she was in love, but I did think she liked him.

MacInally smiled sadly. “But not as much as she cares about herself.”

“How did she know?” I wondered. “She wasn’t on the patrol.”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I was pretty fuzzy those first few weeks after I was hit, but I do remember Lena talking with the other nurses about Archer. She fancied him. Apparently, he’d been in to see me when I wasn’t awake. He must have gotten leave somehow.” He smiled his bleak smile again. “I was disappointed to overhear her going on and on about Archer. They were serious. I thought they were going to get married. I was sweet on her myself.”

He went silent, lost in the past. Then he came out of his reverie. “When we ran into each other a few years ago, we became friends. At least, I thought we were friends, but now I wonder if she was just keeping an eye on me for Archer. She’d asked about my memories of Korea every so often. Maybe we became more than friends so she could get even closer to me.”

Or maybe she was hurting and on the rebound from Jorge? I didn’t say that aloud. “She and Archer never married?”

“Nah. Don’t know what happened there. She told me one time about ten years ago that Archer wasn’t the marrying type. Then a couple of years ago he married Vicki, a political alliance. It’s certainly no love match, I can tell you that.”

I wasn’t exactly feeling sorry for Lena, but I knew it couldn’t have been easy for her to see Archer married to Vicki. Maybe that incident was a factor in her little fling with Jorge.

There was no way I’d ever get the answers to those questions, but my mind raced to the implications of MacInally’s story. It had to be what she’d used to blackmail Archer.

I refocused on MacInally. His gaze was bleak. The closeness he’d shared with Lena last night was over. He wasn’t going to excuse her role in the cover-up. He was going to turn her in, too.

“I think you need to be very careful until you talk to Mansfield,” I said, suddenly worried for him. “Did you tell Lena you remembered what really happened?”

“No. I can’t trust her,” he said simply. “But don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” He stood. “Where’s your husband?”

I glanced around the room as I stood up, too. I spotted Mitch talking to a couple I didn’t recognize. “Over there by the door. He must have run into someone he knows. No matter where we go he bumps into someone he knows.”

“Military life does that for you—gives you lots of friends.” He kissed my check and said, “Give my love to Debbie. I’d like to meet her someday, if she’s still interested.”

He left and I dropped back into the chair, my thoughts spinning. MacInally thought Lena had lied to him. Did that mean she was the one who pushed Jorge? To keep her relationship with him, not to mention their blackmail, a secret? She was on the platform, but how did she get Summer’s Metro card?

A phone rang and I reflexively reached for my purse, which was draped over the back of my chair. I’d switched back to my large Coach backpack, which had room for maps, guidebooks, and a new supply of Hershey’s Kisses. My phone was quiet when I pulled it out. I glanced around again because the ringing continued and it was close. I saw a flash of silver under the napkins in the center of the table. The phone changed over to voice mail as I brushed the napkins away and picked up MacInally’s phone.

I might be able to catch him before he left the museum. I waved to Mitch, showed him the phone, and shouted that I’d be right back. I hurried out the doors and into a corridor that led to the museum. A stubby woman in a security guard uniform with the longest fake eyelashes I’d ever seen guarded the double glass doors. “No food,” she barked and pointed to a trash can.

Fake eyelashes or not, she looked like she’d take me down if I tried to sneak a french fry into the museum. I opened my hand. “It’s just a phone.” She reluctantly nodded her head and I pushed through the doors. She was obviously practicing for when Homeland Security called with an opening in airport screening.

I hurried down the walkway, looking for MacInally. I spotted his tan windbreaker as he stepped on the escalator. Why was he going to the second level?

I wedged myself onto the crowded escalator. I realized the man with the terrible toupee was one step above me, blocking my view. I had to lean around him to keep MacInally in sight.

What was it about our society that we went for so much fake stuff—fake eyelashes, fake hair, fake white teeth? And why did so many people wear things like wigs and eyelashes that were
obviously
fake? Wouldn’t it make more sense to go for the natural look?

The escalator slid to the top. I stepped off and turned right. A few more steps and I placed my arm on MacInally’s shoulder. “You left your—” I dropped my hand and stepped back. “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t MacInally. The man had the same jacket, the same dark hair tinged with gray, and the same tall, hefty build, but it wasn’t him.

Something about those words…I closed my eyes and concentrated. Then I had it.

We’d been so focused on the people we could see on the platform that we’d completely ignored the person we couldn’t see. Who was the person with long red hair and a denim jacket? I turned slowly, went to the edge of the walkway, and looked down into the crowd on the first floor. Suddenly, everything came together for me. I knew who’d pushed Jorge. It was the only thing that made sense.

I reached back to pull my phone out of my purse, but realized I’d left my purse and phone in the food court area. I gripped the oversized handrail, leaned over, and peered into the crowd below. I had to get back and call Detective Brown, but I had to look for MacInally, too. He could be in danger and since I had his phone there was no way to warn him. He’d probably stayed on the first floor and was already gone. I scanned the ebb and flow of the crowd and saw another tan jacket topped with dark hair.

“MacInally!”

He turned and I shouted his name again. His gaze climbed to the walkway over his head and I rose on tiptoe, waving his phone to get his attention. At the moment he saw me, a solid blow between my shoulder blades tipped me over and sent the phone arcing away as I scrambled for a hold on the slick handrail.