The 56th Man (41 page)

"Moria did not go to bed. She
suspected--perhaps even somehow knew--the Kayak Express would be
running that night. Perhaps it was normal for them to put in an
appearance the day before Christmas, to sell product to holiday
revelers. A busy time. Unfortunately, Moria did not have their cell
phone number, or she would have advised the kayakers not to set off
their rockets that night. Perhaps she did not understand the risk
she was taking. If Jerry could not be accepted as an artist, he
could at least be seen as a local celebrity known for his good
works. Even if his donations had dried up after the loss of Moria's
allowance, his standing in the community lingered. That the money
came from his father-in-law made no difference. He was the public
face.

"Think of the storm of mockery that would
fall upon Jerry and his family if they were arrested for
distributing cocaine. Not only were the Rigginses no better than
anyone else, they were a bit deal worse. But while this might have
been preying on Jerry's mind, it was only a minor contribution to
the final tragedy.

"Moria, still awake, is waiting for the Kayak
Express. She was as desperate as her husband, and in her
desperation she took the fatal step that killed her. To steady her
rattled nerves, and to make certain she was awake when the Express
came, she used cocaine.

"Near midnight, the Whistling Jupiters go off
above the island. Moria runs outside. But the noise wakes Jerry. He
puts on his trousers and shoes and goes out to the gazebo. When the
kayakers arrive, he is there to threaten them with the very gun
Moria had bought from them. She calms him down temporarily and
reassures him she will not buy any more product. He retreats to the
porch and watches. She asks the kayakers to come back in a little
while, after things have settled down.

"In the meantime, William has gone to bed.
Joshua is alone in his room, when he is attracted to the sound of
movement. He goes into his parents' bedroom and sees they are gone.
He hears talking outside and looks out the master bedroom window.
He sees his parents talking to the kayakers. He's a curious boy. He
runs back to his bedroom and puts on his robe and slippers. He's
going to go outside. But when he gets downstairs, he sees a small
plastic bag filled with white powder sitting on the living room
coffee table. 'Isn't that the stuff Mom takes whenever she feels
upset?' Of course, Moria would never have indulged herself while
the boys were around, but it's possible Joshua saw her taking the
drug without her knowledge. He might even have noticed how his
mother seemed more alert and lively afterwards. He takes the bag
and goes back upstairs. William hears his brother shuffling around
in the next room and rejoins him. They wonder if the powder will
keep them awake all night tomorrow so they can greet Santa Claus in
person. There's only one way to find out.

"The parents are back in bed. Moria pretends
to sleep, hoping her husband will nod off before the kayakers
return. But Jerry hears a noise in Joshua's room and gets up to
investigate. Moria, pretending to sleep, keeps pretending.

"Jerry goes into Joshua's room and finds
Joshua holding his brother against his chest. William is having a
seizure. Jerry sees the envelope on the bed and realizes what has
happened. He hesitates to call for an ambulance, because he knows
that any doctor will report what has happened to the police, and
the last shred of hope for whatever dreams he might have had will
be gone. He shouts for Moria, then races into the bathroom. He
returns with a facecloth soaked with cold water, a glass of water,
and his wife's prescription bottle of Valium. He is going to try to
reduce William’s heart rate. Perhaps he gives a pill to Joshua,
too, because he is sitting wide-eyed on the bed. He's not in very
good shape, either. But it was too late."

"I can't be certain of this, of course,
because the results from the coroner’s report have been withheld
from me, just as they were withheld from the newspaper. But judging
from what I saw in the pictures, I think my conclusion is
reasonable: William was the first of the Riggins to die, and it was
not due from a gunshot. The traces of blood and mucous on Joshua's
shirt, where he had held his brother against his chest, seem to
indicate a hemorrhage.

"Jerry is sobbing by now. He tells Joshua
that his brother has fallen asleep. He carries William to his room
and puts him in bed, pulling up the covers to his chin.

"He can't believe it. For years he has lived
in a fantasy world. Reality is coming down all around him. And now
his son is dead and he knows it's as much his fault as Moria's,
because he knew all along about her drug dealings. So…is it all
over?

"He is not sure what he will do next. But a
man in his situation often chooses nihilism. It's a concept I'm
sympathetic with. He takes the gun from wherever he put it after
his encounter with the kayakers and returns to the bedroom--to find
Moria sitting up in bed, looking out the window, obviously waiting
for the return of her dealers. He says something to her, or perhaps
he says nothing. Perhaps she never knew that William had died of a
drug overdose.

"After Jerry shoots her, he goes to Joshua's
room. Joshua has begun to remove his robe, which was wet with his
brother's blood. He can see his father is distraught. He has heard
the shot that killed his mother. His father tells him to look away,
and then shoots him in the side of the head.

"Jerry goes into William’s room. He shoots
the body, hoping to disguise the real cause of death.

"Then he goes downstairs, turns the easy
chair around, and sits, watching the river. The Moon. Filling
himself with final sights. He is unaware that Howie Nottoway has
put in an anonymous call to Crimestoppers."

Carrington had slumped in further and further
into the uncomfortable chair as Ari recited his case. Now he jerked
up. "It was Howie?"

"You didn't think the Matt and Tracy
Mackenzie would involve themselves, did you?"

"It was a cell phone. Someone on the river
could have called."

"The only people on the river that night were
Mother's boys. When they returned, they heard a gunshot. They
thought Jerry was firing at them and they fled. Yes, it was Jerry.
He had shot himself."

"And the 'accomplices'?" Carrington asked
lowly.

"You were on duty that night and heard the
call go out to Jackson and Mangioni. Recognizing the address, you
raced out here out of concern for your daughter. When you ran up
the front sidewalk, you saw Jerry's body through the picture
window. You circled the house, your weapon drawn, looking for any
signs of a break-in. You did not call for backup because you
assumed the worst: that your daughter's drug-dealings had gotten
her killed.

"You saw the damaged back door and entered.
You went upstairs and found what I have described. At first you
thought it was the action of murderous intruders. Then you saw the
gun lying next to Jerry and knew the truth.

"Your daughter might have been the result of
an affair with Heather Massington, but you loved her dearly
nonetheless. You couldn't bear the thought that she had been
murdered by her own husband. Further investigation would have
unveiled her crimes. You had to get rid of the gun quickly in order
to support the story that intruders had committed the murders. You
didn't dare take the gun out to your car because you didn't know
who might be watching. And a patrol unit would be arriving at any
moment. You saw the central air vent at the top of the wall. You
used the same stepping stool Jerry had used while decorating the
top of his tree and dropped his gun in the ductwork. Then you
turned and saw Jackson and Mangioni watching you through the
window. You told them what had happened and convinced them the
intruder story was for the best. Nothing could bring back the dead,
and the killer had committed suicide. They might wonder why you
cared so much about the family's good name, but they went along
with your plan. The result is that, to this day, the crime has gone
'unsolved.'"

Carrington roused himself out of his chair
and went over to the refrigerator. He opened it and stared inside.
He took out a small bottle and frowned at it. "What the hell,
liquid yoghurt?"

"It's quite good."

"Bottled vomit." He closed the door and
turned to Ari. "So now you've solved your little mystery, who do
you plan to tell about it?"

"No one," said Ari.

"I can't believe that."

"You'll have to trust me."

"Or kill you."

"Why? I see no reason to threaten your
daughter's reputation. What good could that do?"

"And you'll stay quiet about the Kayak
Express? It's more complicated than you let on."

"Killing me wouldn't be feasible," said Ari
reluctantly, knowing he would have to go further than he originally
intended.

"Why not? I know a million hiding places to
put your body."

"You would shoot me here? Don't you think it
would be better to choose a spot away from the prying eyes of the
Neighborhood Watch?" Ari's grin unsettled the detective.

"Like in the middle of the woods? Yeah, why
not?"

"You would have to take my car with you, to
explain my absence from the house."

"No problem."

"But that's actually more complicated than
you have imagined, Detective Sergeant Carrington. My body would be
located within minutes. The U.S. Marshals Service has incorporated
a LoJack device in the frame of my car."

"Fuck!" Carrington picked up the empty chair
and slammed it to the floor. "I knew it! Fuck!"

"Even if you shot me and dumped me in the
river, the Federal government would bring together all their
resources to track the killer."

"You think they care that much about some
made-guy asshole?"

"It would be a matter of national security.
They'd have to assume Iraqi agents had penetrated their
security."

"Iraqi?" The detective dwelled on this, the
weight coming back down on his eyes. He picked up the chair,
checked it over for damage, then sat across from Ari. "What do you
want to tell me?"

"Open that envelope."

Carrington took up the envelope on the table,
studied the commercial return address, and opened it. A USB flash
drive fell out.

"That was left for me. You're lucky the
delivery man did not meet Howie, who I believe would have provided
a very inadequate explanation as to why he was in my house and
pulling out my stove. Can you connect that to your Blackberry?"

"No."

"Then go upstairs and use my computer. I
won't go anywhere."

"Right. What's on it?"

"Obscenities."

"Iraqi porn?"

"Pictures of atrocities. Men dragged away
from their homes in the middle of the night or in broad daylight.
Men tortured and murdered. Men ambushed on the road or in their
offices. And the men who did the killing. They often make home
movies of their crimes. They wear disguises, usually kuffiah
scarves, but sometimes I can see through their masks."

"And report back to...?"

"CENTCOM. That's United States Central--"

"I know what it is." Carrington flipped the
flash drive between his fingers, as though toying with a napkin
ring at a dull dinner party.

Ari looked closely for any sign of inner
resignation that this was all over, that he and Carrington could go
their separate ways. He had already put a message in the pipeline
for assistance, but in the hope he would not need it.

"I just can't let it go," Carrington shook
his head. "You're like a gun at my head. At Moria's head."

"My word is my honor."

In this case, at
least
.

"The honor of a man spying on his own people.
That's rich. Okay, I can't kill you without incurring a major
inconvenience. But I can still cut you off at the balls. I have
contacts with the news media. A little call to Twelve On Your Side
about a spy setting up shop in one of our more respectable
neighborhoods would blow this game wide open. You're a real threat
to the community. What if a bunch of Arab assassins shows up and
starts shooting rockets every which way? They don't care who they
hit, so long as they finally get you. And then there's this number
in fucking Iceland, of all places."

Of all
places
....

"You can't say I wouldn't be doing the right
thing. I'd be helping the press with some of that goddamn freedom
they love so much. Even if the U.S. Marshal found the leak, I would
be acclaimed as a good citizen."

"And the Kayak Express?"

"Black Mamma wouldn't sell me out. If she
did, she'd lose her little white sugar cubes, and she can't live
without her sugar."

Ari believed him.

"Can you give me a chance to set this
straight before you do that?"

"Sell me," said Carrington.

"I have been responsible for saving many
American lives."

"How many is 'many'?"

"I don't know the exact number. I've been
told--"

"Hearsay. Great. Are you out there now,
giving mouth to mouth to some poor slob? Are you gunning down the
enemy? Exactly how many
bad
guys have you ID'd?"

"Twenty-seven, if you include my work
in-country."

Carrington sat back. "That many?"

"Yes."

"And they were legit? You didn't finger them
just because you didn't like their dog barking at night? I hear
that's a popular pastime over there, using G.I.'s to settle
personal scores."

"I've 'liked' very few people in my life.
Most of them are dead. But no, I haven't sent any of them to prison
without just cause. I wouldn't want my worst enemy in an Iraqi
prison."

“
How many bad guys have been arrested,
and or otherwise?"