Wrongful Death (17 page)

“The witness statements explain what happened, and I know you have them. They’re conclusive that James Ford was acting incident to his service.”

“Maybe, but the court won’t have those statements if you bring a motion to dismiss, and it has to accept any reasonable hypothetical set of facts I offer. The motion will be denied.”

“Anything in that hypothetical that would convince a court to conclude James Ford was not acting incident to his service?”

“That’s not my burden at this point in the proceeding.”
Sloane reached into his briefcase and pulled out several documents. “I’ve brought subpoenas with me for the investigative file and to speak to whoever conducted the witness interviews, under oath.”

“We’ll fight both, and you won’t get either.”

“I guess that’s why the horses actually run the race. You never can be certain who’ll win. I believe Judge Natale will grant us the right to conduct discovery before entertaining a motion to dismiss.”

“I don’t. You need to have some evidence to back up your complaint.”

Sloane ignored the comment. “As I said, Judge Natale won’t have the witness statements and she’s duty-bound to consider the facts liberally in our favor.”

Pendergrass raised a hand. “Enough saber rattling.” He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out several folded pages of his own, and handed them to Sloane. “You might find this to be of interest.”

Sloane unfolded the document, a copy of a federal court case. “What is it?”

“A way to resolve this that could be a win-win for everyone,” Pendergrass said.

MONTLAKE DISTRICT
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

BEVERLY FORD ANSWERED
the door dressed in her nurse’s uniform. Sloane had caught her in between getting the kids off to school, following a graveyard shift at the hospital, and much needed sleep. On the drive to her house he had called Charles Jenkins, but Jenkins had heard nothing back from Alex. Sloane was trying to think of that as a positive sign, and not an indication that something was wrong.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Ford asked. Sloane declined. She invited him to the couch in the living room. Sloane had left his leather coat in his car. “Well,” she said, dispensing with the pleasantries. “You said you had news.”

“You remember I told you that the administrative office had reopened your claim? They want to settle it, Beverly. They reopened it to make you an offer.”

“An offer?”

One of the documents Pendergrass had provided was a legal case detailing an incident during the First Gulf War when two American F-15 fighter planes shot down two Black Hawk helicopters. The pilots mistook the helicopters for Iraqi, killing fifteen Americans and eleven Kurds on board. The secretary of defense exercised his discretion and paid the Kurd families $100,000 each, but concluded Feres barred compensation to the families of the American soldiers. That didn’t sit well with the American families, Congress got involved, and eventually the secretary exercised the same discretion. Pendergrass intimated that same discretion could be exercised as to Ford’s claim, though he didn’t say why and Sloane wasn’t flush with possible answers.

Maybe the government didn’t like the potential public relations dust that Sloane could kick up about the lack of body armor, but the body armor issue had come and gone and the public seemed to be growing more and more numb to news of soldiers dying as the months, and the war, pressed on. Kannin had been given a different kind of trump card, the potential embarrassment to a powerful U.S. senator whose nephew tried to cover up a serious crime. Sloane held no such card.

“I was called to a meeting at the U.S. Attorney’s Office this morning. The government is prepared to pay you one hundred thousand dollars, though I think they will go higher. I know it’s not a fortune, but it’s a tax-free payment, and I would waive my
fee. Invested wisely, it will allow you to stay in your home and keep your children in Catholic school. You’d be able to keep your promise to James and get some help for Althea.”

At one point Sloane had considered a settlement to be the best that he could hope for to help Beverly Ford. But that was before Mr. Williams showed up at his door and he learned of Phillip Ferguson’s and Dwayne Thomas’s deaths. A settlement now looked like the best way to get rid of him, and Ford’s claim. Still, Sloane was duty bound to notify Ford of the offer. The ultimate decision was hers alone.

Ford stood and walked to the mantelpiece, her back to Sloane. “Why?” She turned to him. “They denied my claim. What changed their minds?”

Sloane shook his head. That was the question gnawing at him. “I don’t know.”

“But it strikes you as odd, doesn’t it? I can hear it in your voice. Something is bothering you too.”

“It strikes me as odd, but this is your decision, and you have the right to do what’s best for you and your family.”

“What are they afraid of?” she asked.

Again he shook his head. “Maybe public sentiment—”

Her voice rose. “Public sentiment? How much worse can it get?”

“There could be other reasons we’re not privy to, Beverly, information the government does not want to come out.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know.”

“How would we find out?”

“We won’t—not if we accept their offer.”

“And if we don’t?”

“The government’s offer is contingent on you dropping your claim before the hearing on their motion to dismiss. If you don’t, the government will withdraw the offer.”

“Then we’ll go to court.”

“We could, but there are obstacles in our path that still might prevent us from getting answers. As I told you, it isn’t likely we can get around the Feres doctrine unless we find someone who was with James the night he died and that person tells us James died while doing something not traditionally associated with being a soldier. At the moment, I haven’t found anyone to tell us that and I have no evidence that’s the case.”

“But you filed the complaint.”

“To let the government know we weren’t going away, and to use the court to try to get more information.”

“That’s what I want, more information.”

“I can’t guarantee we’ll get it, Beverly.”

“James was a good man, David. The men would have genuinely liked him. If there is something, one of them will tell us. I’m certain of it.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“What is it, then?”

Sloane debated what more to tell her. “Two of the three men who were with James that night are dead. We haven’t been able to find the third.”

“They died in the war?”

“No,” he said. “They died after coming home.”

She gave him an inquisitive look. “What are you not telling me?”

She had a right to know, Sloane thought. She’d earned that right when her husband put on a uniform and died for his country. For the next ten minutes he told her everything that had transpired since his meeting with Captain Robert Kessler to his finding the bug in the lining of his coat.

“The problem is we don’t have any concrete evidence those two men died other than how it was reported.”

“But you think it’s possible they didn’t.”

“I think it is.”

“My God,” she said, hand covering her mouth.

“A hundred thousand dollars is not a small sum of money. You would have every right to accept it—”

She snapped. “I told you, this isn’t about the money. This is about James.” She caught herself. “What about those other men? If you’re right, who will find justice for them? My husband did what he was told.” She pointed to the front door. “He had four children and the hardest thing we’ve ever done was watch him walk out that door. But we made that sacrifice. If what you’re telling me has even an ounce of truth, it means somebody didn’t do right by him or this family. Somebody needs to acknowledge that. Somebody needs to accept responsibility for what happened to my James.”

“I don’t want to give you false hope, Beverly.”

“My husband is dead. This isn’t about hope.”

“If you don’t accept this offer, the government will move forward with the motion to dismiss your case, and as hard as it is for me to say this, at this point the judge would be duty bound to grant it.”

Ford closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She was about to speak when a voice interrupted her.

“Tell them no.” Lucas walked in wearing a collared shirt and baggy blue jeans. He dropped his backpack with a thud.

“Lucas?” she said. “What are you doing home?”

“They’re paying us to keep quiet. They want us to go away. Dad would have said, ‘No.’ He would have said we can’t be bought. It’s a matter of principle.” He stepped further into the room, addressing Sloane. “We don’t need their money—we’ll be fine. We’ll get by. I can work. But Dad always told us to never compromise our principles. I’d rather lose.”

Sloane spoke to Beverly. “You don’t have to make your decision now. Sleep on it.”

Ford looked at her son, smiling. “I don’t have to, David. My James just spoke to me.” She hugged her eldest son. “He just made a man out of his boy.”

DARSENA MARINA
CABO SAN LUCAS, MEXICO

ALEX WATCHED THE
taxi depart the marina, then turned to Vincent. “On second thought, a shower would feel good. Do you have any extra towels in your room?”

Vincent smiled. “No, but I’m willing to share.”

She laughed and slid inside the taxi, Vincent sidling up close beside her. The cabbie drove down Marina Boulevard through the shopping district and bars. “How many years did you say you and your friends have been taking trips like this?” Alex asked.

“Five,” Vincent said. “We usually go to Lake Tahoe, but this being a milestone, we thought we’d go international.”

“And how many came?”

“Twelve. Usually there’s more. Some couldn’t get permission from their wives.”

“How did you swing a weekend pass?”

“I’m not married,” he said, smiling.

“And do you get this lucky every year?”

He laughed. “You mean fishing, right?”

She grinned. “I didn’t see you catch anything.”

“Not yet,” he said.

The taxi stopped at the hotel. Vincent stepped out and held the door open, insisting that he pay the fare. Alex let him. As they walked toward the arched entry to the hotel, Alex stopped suddenly.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” Vincent asked.

“I don’t think I’m exactly prepared for this.” Vincent looked like the line on his fishing pole had just snapped. “Relax,” she assured him. “I just need to go to my room for a second. I don’t have my diaphragm.”

“I’ll go with you,” he said, not wanting to let his catch out of his sight.

She put a hand on his chest. “It’ll only take a minute. I’ll meet you in the bar. Order me a strawberry margarita and a shot of Cuervo Gold. I drink fast, and I’m a lot more fun after a couple of cocktails.” She brushed a hand across his forearm as she turned and walked off.

Halfway down the block, she slipped into the pink sandstone entrance to another resort. Her sandals slapped against the red tile floor of an open-air foyer filled with leafy plants blowing in a light breeze created by multiple ceiling fans. Water trickled from a tile sculpture into a pond of lily pads and fish.

Alex approached the concierge, mindful of the man in the blue ball cap entering the hotel lobby seconds behind her. She had first spotted him on the pier. Her senses were heightened after the captain took the phone call on the boat and immediately looked down at her, Jake, and Tina. Alex wasn’t as proficient at reading lips as she had once been, but from what she could decipher, the captain confirmed that he had two women and a young boy on his charter.

When they returned to the pier, Alex had spotted the man discussing a charter with a deckhand. When the man touched his ear unnaturally she noticed the tiny earpiece. The man was likely letting his partners know that the boat had returned. Alex spotted a second man over by the taxis. He wore sandals, a yellow Tommy Bahama shirt, shorts, and sunglasses, just another tourist, except he, too, had an earpiece. She had Tina and Jake take a separate cab to force the men to split up. She had to be certain of the num
ber following them, and now knew there were two, what Argus believed would be sufficient to handle two women and a young boy.

Alex also knew that she had been too careful for Argus to have randomly found her. They had to have known about the Cabo trip, and that meant either they had planted a bug somewhere other than in David’s house and car, or they had learned about Cabo when Jake talked to the man on the beach. She chastised herself for not sticking with her instincts. The fishing excursion had been a mistake. Mr. Williams, or whoever the man on the beach was, would have known that Jake loved to fish, and even with the multitude of available charters, two men splitting the chore could easily call to find out if any had taken out two women and a young boy.

Tina spoke Spanish to the woman at the concierge desk, asking if the resort had an affiliated hotel in La Paz that could accommodate them for two nights.
“Me gustaria hacer una reservacion por dos noches. Me puede alojar?”

The woman at the counter checked her computer and a minute later confirmed that she could.

“And I’d like to wire cash to a friend staying there,” Tina continued. “He’ll pick it up later tonight.”

“No hay problema,”
the woman replied.

When she had completed the transaction, Alex asked for the restroom. The woman directed her across the tiled lobby past the fountain. “
Gracias.
And if my husband is looking for me, will you tell him I’ll be right back?”

The woman said she would. Alex left the counter and walked to where the man in the blue ball cap had taken a seat in a wicker chair. “Excuse me.” The man looked up from his paper, nonplussed, well trained. “Would you happen to have the time?”

The man smiled. “It’s about cocktail hour. I was just about to head into the bar. Care to join me for a drink?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m meeting someone.”

“Too bad.”

She stepped across the lobby to the bathroom and pushed open the door. A middle-aged attendant in a blue uniform who handed out towels and lotions for a small tip greeted her.