Vietnam.
“We all wanted to be with him,” Tyrel said. “Because we all wanted to go back home. They said he was the man that could get you there.”
›› Atwater Apartment Building
›› Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
›› 0833 Hours
“Victor Gant was the most evil man I ever knew over there. There was nothin’ he wouldn’t do. Nobody he wouldn’t kill.” Richard McGovern took a drag on his cigarette, then blew smoke at the stained ceiling.
Maggie watched McGovern and locked into the man’s body language. The wheelchair threw some things off, but there were always tells she could read as a profiler-the eyes, the shoulders, and what he did with his hands.
Remy lounged at the window behind McGovern, just out of the man’s sight. Maggie knew Remy had chosen the position on purpose. No matter what he did, McGovern would know Remy was there just out of sight, and he’d have to wonder what he was doing. McGovern also had to wonder how Remy took everything he said.
“For somebody that didn’t like him much, seems you sure stayed around him a long time,” Remy said.
McGovern tried to look back over his shoulder but couldn’t. That frustrated him-Maggie read that in his eyes.
“There was nobody like Victor Gant in the jungle,” McGovern said. “The man could keep you alive, that’s for sure. We’d be in firefights, nobody knowing who was who, and Victor Gant could keep things straight. Like he had radar in his head or something. Never seen anything like it before. Never since, either.” He gave up trying to look over his shoulder and concentrated on Maggie. “I wasn’t hooked up with Victor Gant ’cause I liked the dude. I was just looking out for my own self.”
“Nobody can blame you for that,” Maggie agreed.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” McGovern nodded and took another hit off the cigarette.
“Do you think you owe Victor Gant anything?”
“You mean, would I lie to protect him?”
“Yes,” Maggie replied.
“No.” McGovern shook his head. “I haven’t seen him in thirty years. Not since I come back with no legs. That day I went down in the jungle, Victor didn’t even come after me. If it hadn’t been for the PJs, I wouldn’t have come back at all.”
PJs were pararescue jumpers, Maggie knew, specially trained military forces who went in behind enemy lines or in battle zones to rescue wounded.
“I owe anybody anything, it was them,” McGovern said.
“Do you still keep in touch with the men who rescued you?”
McGovern hesitated. “No. I was so hurt, I don’t even know who they were. Never found out.”
Which means you don’t really feel like you owe anybody anything, Maggie thought. It was an interesting insight, but she didn’t let anything show on her face.
“How did you know Dennis Hinton?” she asked.
“Man was just around, you know? I played football against him. Pickup games we had during downtime in Qui Nhon. Man had magic. There was another guy we played football with. A skinny country kid with a bad accent and a bad temper. He could throw that pigskin now, I’m telling you. But Country-that’s what we called him-he’s the one that killed Dennis Hinton.”
“‘Country’?”
McGovern nodded. “Don’t remember his name. We just called him Country on account of the way he talked.”
Maggie reached into her file and pulled out a six-pack of pictures she’d prepared. She’d put Tyrel McHenry’s service picture in with five other similar headshots.
“Is he one of these men?” she asked as she handed the six-pack over.
McGovern took the card, then twisted in his wheelchair so the light from the window behind him could hit it. He studied the faces for a minute. “You know, it’s been a long time. Over forty years. You’re not even old enough to remember back that far.”
Maggie sat quietly and waited. McGovern was just putting on a show and she knew it.
“But I still remember,” McGovern said. “It was this man right here. Top row. Third man from the left. That’s Country.” He tapped his finger on the image to confirm it. “That’s the man that killed Dennis Hinton.”
Maggie knew without checking that McGovern had just identified Tyrel McHenry.
52
›› Intensive Care Unit
›› Las Palmas Medical Center
›› El Paso, Texas
›› 0748 Hours (Central Time Zone)
“I’d met Victor Gant several times before,” Tyrel said. He focused on the ceiling and tried not to give in to all the pain and self-loathing that filled him. The medication circulating in his system helped keep him calm and quiet when all he wanted to do was get up and start running.
The biggest hurt was knowing Shel sat there, watching him and passing judgment on him. Tyrel had never wanted to face that.
“Tell me about the night Hinton died,” Shel said.
Tyrel listened to the calm professionalism in Shel’s voice. He’d never seen this side of his son. Over the years, he’d seen Shel hurt and mad, confused and restless, but he’d never known what it would be like to face his son as a potential enemy. Even the night they’d fought in the barn hadn’t felt like this. In the barn, they’d both been mad and scared and not really in control.
Shel was in control now.
Tyrel steeled himself to be just as strong, but it was hard. He was working from a weak position and they both knew it.
“It started at the cantina,” Tyrel said. “I went there to drink. It had gotten to be a habit. Not falling-down drunk. I hardly ever got falling-down drunk. I grew up around too many people where that was a way of life, and the pastor back at our church preached against the wickedness of whiskey.”
“You went to the cantina because Victor Gant was there?”
For a moment, Tyrel thought about just saying yes and being done with that part of the conversation. Except he knew that would be a lie. Here, in this moment, he needed to tell the truth.
“No, I went there to get drunk enough not to be afraid anymore.” Tyrel made himself not look at Shel. He’d never admitted to being afraid in front of either of his sons before. “I was tired of being afraid. I got up in the morning afraid. I went to bed afraid. I had nightmares from hell itself.” He paused and let out a breath. “And every waking moment between, I was afraid.”
The silence in the room was punctuated only by the undercurrent of voices outside the room and by the monitoring equipment.
“I’ve never been more afraid in my life. I got to tell you that. I couldn’t take drugs the way some others could. Couldn’t deny that death might happen to me the way some managed. So every now and again, I drank till I was numb enough to go to bed and get a decent night’s sleep.” Tyrel paused. “That’s what I’d planned that night.”
“But that’s not what happened?” Shel’s voice was gentle.
“No, sir,” Tyrel answered. “That’s not what happened. What happened was Victor Gant come up in the cantina and started carrying on the way he always did. There wasn’t another man I ever met that was like him. I swear to God on that.
“He come in from being out in the jungle for three weeks. Him and all his crew. Victor Gant bagged him two targets that were on the list the CIA had given the penetration teams. They’d killed other Charlie too. We knew ’cause they had the stink of death on them. And that stink was coming from the fingers and ears they’d chopped off
