More Deaths Than One (18 page)

Harrison drained his beer. “I know. In the
forties and fifties, they sent soldiers to the Nevada desert where
they did the bomb tests. The scientists wanted to see first hand
what effect radioactive fallout would have on humans. It’s not that
big a leap from purposely putting soldiers in harm’s way to
physically doing experiments on them.”

Bob’s brows drew together. “You are, or were,
an investigative journalist. You discovered a drug connection with
the CIA that affected a heck of a lot more people than these
hypothetical experiments could have. Why is this so painful for
you?”

“Maybe because I’m getting old. Or perhaps
because it’s personal.”

“Personal how?”

Harrison responded with a shake of his
head.

“If, in fact, someone experimented on
soldiers in the Philippines,” Bob said, “it happened a long time
ago. Finding out now what had been done to them could only bring
them more grief.”

Harrison stared at Bob for several seconds.
“Do you believe that?” he said at last.

“Yes. I do.”

Harrison yawned and rubbed his eyes. “We’ll
have to continue this discussion another time. I’m beat. I have a
long flight tomorrow, and then the book tour, so this might be my
last chance for a good night’s sleep.” He sighed heavily and
lumbered to his feet. “I’ll stop by to see you tomorrow before I
leave.”

***

Bob was in the courtyard, cutting flowers for
a banquet to be held later that evening, when he heard Harrison’s
voice inside the restaurant.

“Is Bob around?”

“He’s out by the lotus pool,” he heard
Hsiang-li answer.

Bob watched Harrison walk out the door, look
around, shrug, sit, remove his boonie hat, drop it on the table,
then look around some more. He noticed that the writer looked old
and tired, as if he’d aged ten years overnight.

When Bob finally stepped forward, Harrison
glanced at him, then fixed his widened eyes on the knife Bob had
been using to cut the flowers.

“Is something wrong?” Bob asked.

Harrison’s gaze returned to Bob’s face, and
Bob could see the recognition dawning in his eyes.

Harrison’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t
recognize you, Bob. I thought . . .” He shook his head, looking
bewildered. “I didn’t see you come through the door.”

“I’ve been out here the whole time.”

“You have?” Harrison took a deep breath, and
peered at Bob. “There’s something different about you.”

“I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Maybe that’s it.” He sighed. “I couldn’t
sleep either.”

“Did you eat? We’re not open yet, but I can
fix you something.”

Harrison massaged his neck, then dropped his
hands between his knees, and stared at them. After a moment he
raised his head. “I don’t have time to eat right now. I have to go
catch a plane. I came by to tell you . . .” He glanced at Bob, then
averted his eyes. “I came to say goodbye.”

He pushed himself off the chair. Bob
accompanied him outside where they made their final farewells.

Harrison walked away. He stopped abruptly and
looked back at Bob. They stared at each other for the space of
several heartbeats, then Harrison turned and shambled off.

When Bob went back to get his basket of
flowers, he found Harrison’s boonie hat lying forgotten on the
table. He grabbed it and dashed back outside, but Harrison had
already disappeared.

***

Bob blinked, trying to bring the present into
focus.

“I thought you were asleep,” Kerry said.

“No.”

“Where did you go?”

“The past. Harrison. He played a big part in
my life. One time in Da Nang, I got in a spot of trouble and he
rescued me in his own oblique way.”

She nodded. “A couple of guys beat you up in
the men’s room. I remember.”

“How . . . oh, right. Harrison’s book. It’s
so strange that you know almost everything about me and I know
almost nothing about you.”

She shifted her gaze from the road to him,
then back again. “There’s nothing to tell. For as long as I can
remember, I lived for some mythical future where fantastic
adventures awaited me. I never had a present, only that
longing.”

“Still, something must have happened to you
in your thirty years.”

“I’m not thirty.” She craned her neck to look
at herself in the rearview mirror. “You think I look thirty?”

“You don’t look a day over twenty, but that’s
beside the point.”

“Not to me it isn’t.”

“Were you a cheerleader? I picture you as the
girl on top of the pyramid who jumps fearlessly off into some
brawny guy’s arms. Or maybe you were a homecoming queen.”

She giggled. “Not even close. I was too much
of a daydreamer to get involved in school activities, and no one
ever thought of me as one of the beautiful girls.”

He studied her for a minute, taking in her
glossy black hair, radiant skin, and eyes that sparkled like a
clear midnight sky. “The kids in your class must have been blind.”
He gave her a sly smile. “I’ve seen better looking women than you.
The girls in Chiang Mai are considered to be the most beautiful
girls in the world, but you’ll do in a pinch.”

She reached over and pinched his cheek. “So
will you.”

Suddenly they were both laughing, though Bob
did not know why. The exchange hadn’t been that funny.

She stopped laughing. “I had a lot of
boyfriends, but none of them were worth anything. One of my very
first memories is of cuddling a sweet little baby chick against my
face. It was so soft, the softest thing I had ever felt. Then it
pecked me. It taught me that the world may be soft and cuddly, but
it could still peck. And that’s all I’ve met in my life, a bunch of
peckers.”

He didn’t know whether she wanted him to
laugh or commiserate, so he nodded, but she stared at the road and
didn’t look his way. He glanced out the window and realized they
were far from the city. Long stretches of open field alternated
with new housing developments. The air smelled of diesel fuel and
onions.

“Where are we?”

“On the Valley Highway heading for Wyoming. I
thought we could cash a few of your traveler’s checks in Cheyenne.
Lay a false trail.”

Bob nodded reflectively. “Good thinking. Then
what?”

“Circle back, I guess, unless you have a
better idea.”

“No. Besides, I have to return to ISI.”

A breath caught in her throat. “Why?”

“I met a girl—a young woman—who seemed
inordinately interested in me. I need to find out why.”

“I wish I could come with you.”

“I’ll be better on my own. You’re too much of
a distraction.”

“It’s supposed to rain.”

“Then I know what we’ll buy in Cheyenne.
Khaki pants, a plain white shirt, a blue jacket, and maybe a
clip-on tie and non-prescription eyeglasses.”

“I see. You want to be able to keep changing
your appearance like you did in Vietnam so people won’t notice you
hanging around the cafeteria all day.”

“You know me much too well.” He tried to
sound severe, but he could hear the smile in his voice.

Chapter 15

It rained all day Monday.

Although Bob spent the day in a corporate
cafeteria in the United States instead of an NCO club in Vietnam,
he had a strong sense of continuity, as if the intervening years
had simply vanished. He kept glancing at the door, expecting Bill
Harrison to come breezing in to enliven the room with his ready
laugh and his steady stream of stories.

No Harrison, of course, and no sign of the
in-tense young woman, either.

After a tasteless meal from a fast-food
restau-rant, Bob checked into a motel.

He sat on the bed, propped against the
headboard, squeezing the pink rubber ball, first with one hand and
then another. Squeezing. Squeezing. Squeezing.

In the early morning hours, still not tired
but knowing he needed to rest, he put away the ball and turned off
the light. He laid his head on the pillow, pulled the covers to his
chin, and fell instantly asleep. It was as if, in some remote past,
he had trained himself for such a contingency.

***

Tuesday dawned bright and clear.

Bob thought he detected a hint of pine in the
air, blown down from the mountains on a rain-washed breeze. His
fingers ached to lay on canvas the images the scent evoked, but he
closed his mind against the desire and went on the prowl at
ISI.

Around noon, he sat at a picnic table,
letting himself be seen. Shortly afterward, the young woman laid
her tray on a nearby table.

She glanced at him. He gave her a nod.

She dropped her gaze to her plate and ate her
food as if it were the last meal she’d ever consume.

When she finished, she walked by Bob’s table
and tripped over her high-heeled shoes. She landed at Bob’s feet,
the contents of her tray strewn around her.

“Help me up,” she said out of the corner of
her mouth, “but act like you don’t know me.”

“I don’t know you,” Bob said.

“That’s real good. Keep pretending.”

As Bob leaned over to give her a hand, she
said, “You’re not the new guy in marketing, are you?”

“No.”

She stood and brushed herself off. “That’s
what I thought. You’re here to investigate Doug Roybal’s murder,
aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Bob said, agreeing as he usually did.
He stooped to retrieve her dishes and utensils.

“Meet me at Pignoli’s at five o’clock,” she
said. “It’s on One Hundred and Twentieth Avenue, just past the
highway.”

She picked up her refilled tray and strode
off, good-naturedly parrying jeers and catcalls from the witnesses
to her tumble.

***

At four o’clock, Bob entered Pignoli’s,
ordered a draft beer, and took it to a table at the rear where he
had an unimpeded view of the entire bar and its patrons.

Pignoli’s, decorated with dead animal heads,
seemed a strange choice for an office worker, especially a woman.
The bar seemed to cater to construction workers, day laborers, and
old men with grime permanently imbedded in the wrinkles of their
leathery skin. No one who crossed the threshold had the pampered
arrogance of Evans’s men or the soft hands of a corporate drone. No
one exhibited any interest in Bob.

The young woman entered at five o’clock
exactly. Bob remained seated and watched her. She perched on the
edge of a barstool, facing the door. After a minute or two, she
shrugged, turned around, and ordered a beer. She drained it in long
gulps.

An old man slapped a bill on the table.
“Another for the lady.”

“No thanks,” she said. “I can get my
own.”

“Aw shucks, honey. Humor an old man for
once.”

She smiled. “All right, Mr. Tonetti, you win,
as always.”

“I keep telling you to call me Tony,” he
said.

When her second beer arrived, she took a long
pull. “Do me a favor, will you, Tony? I’m meeting a guy I don’t
know very well. Will you watch to make sure nothing happens?”

Tony puffed out his meager chest. “Sure,
honey, you can count on me.”

She slid off the barstool, mug in hand. “I’ll
be in a booth at the back if anyone comes looking for me.”

“Okay, I’ll keep an eye out.”

Bob continued to watch awhile longer. No one
but Tony showed any interest in the young woman. When the old man’s
attention wandered, Bob crossed the room and slipped into the seat
across from her.

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t see you come
in.”

Bob gestured with his head. “I was sitting
over there.”

“I didn’t see you.” She nodded in approval.
“You’re good at what you do.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed
to mean?”

“The tumble you took at lunch today looked
artistic.”

“Oh, that.” She laughed. “Ten years of
gym-nastics and all I have to show for it is the ability to trip
over my own two feet.”

“What do you want with me?” Bob asked.

“I want to help you with your investigation
into Doug’s murder. No matter what anyone says, he didn’t die in a
rock climbing accident. He was afraid of heights. I know Issy
killed him.”

Bob studied her, noting the determined tilt
of her chin, the fierceness of her expression. “What’s your
name?”

“Tracy.” She made a sweeping gesture. “This
was our place, Doug’s and mine. Nobody from Issy would ever be
caught dead in a place as unsophisticated as this, so we felt safe
here.”

“Safe from what?”

“Issy and their stupid corporate policy. If
two employees are dating, they have to sign a letter of intent.
Supposedly, it protects the company if the romance goes sour and
one of the employees decides to sue the other for sexual
harassment. Doug and I wanted to keep our love away from Issy’s
prying eyes, so we had to sneak around. If Issy found out about us,
we’d both be fired.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “We were going to
get married this Sunday.” A single tear brimmed over and slid down
her face. “I can’t believe he’s gone.” She rubbed her eyes with her
fists like a little girl.

Mr. Tonetti hurried over to them and glared
at Bob. “He bothering you, Tracy?”

Her lower lip quivered. “I’m okay, Tony.
Really.”

He didn’t leave, but continued to glare at
Bob.

“Thanks, Tony,” she said. “I can handle it.
I’ll let you know if I need you.”

Mr. Tonetti walked away slowly, turning
around several times to stare at Bob.

“Why do you think ISI killed Doug?” Bob
asked.

“A friend of his, Will Turnow, hacked into
Sven Berquist’s home computer. A couple days later, Issy sent Will
to Boston for a seminar, and nobody ever heard from him again. Doug
thought someone at Issy murdered Will, and he tried to find out
what Will learned that got him killed.” An unreadable emotion
flared in her eyes. “I guess he found out.”