Night Fall

FBI went through all that trouble?”

“They were probably witnesses to the crash.”

“So what? There were six hundred eyewitnesses who saw the explosion. Over two hundred of them said they saw a streak of light rising toward the plane before the explosion. If the FBI didn’t believe two hundred people, why are these two unknown people so important?”

“Oh, I forgot. One last detail.”

“Ah.”

She said, “Also on the blanket was a plastic lens cap belonging to a JVC video camera.”

I let that sink in a moment as I looked around at the terrain and the sky. I asked her, “Did you ever hear from these people?”

“No.”

“And you never will. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER FIVE

We drove back through the Village of Westhampton. “Home?” I asked.

“One more stop. But only if you want to.”

“How many one-more-stops are there?”

“Two.”

I glanced at the woman sitting in the passenger seat beside me. It was my wife, Kate Mayfield. I mention this because sometimes she’s Special Agent Mayfield, and other times she’s conflicted about who she is.

At this moment, I could tell she was Kate, so this was the moment for me to clear up some things.

I pointed out to her, “You told me this case was none of my business. Then you took me to the beach where this couple had apparently witnessed and perhaps videotaped the crash. Would you care to explain this apparent contradiction?”

“No.” She added, “It’s not a contradiction. I just thought you’d find it interesting. We were close to that beach, and I showed it to you.”

“Okay. What am I going to find interesting at the next stop?”

“You’ll see at the next stop.”

“Do you want me to look into this case?” I asked.

“I can’t answer that.”

“Well, blink once for yes, twice for no.”

She reminded me, “You understand, John, I can’t get involved in this case. I’m career FBI. I could get fired.”

“How about me?”

“Do you care if you get fired?”

“No. I have a three-quarter NYPD disability pension. Tax free.” I added, “I’m not thrilled to be working for you anyway.”

“You don’t workfor me. You workwith me.”

“Whatever.” I asked again, “What do you want me to do?”

“Just look and listen, then whatever you do, you do. But I don’t want to know about it.”

“What if I get arrested for snooping around?”

“They can’t arrest you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’m a lawyer.”

I said, “Maybe they’ll try to kill me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not. Our former CIA teammate, Ted Nash, threatened to kill me a few times.”

“I don’t believe that. Anyway, he’s dead.”

“There are more of them.”

She laughed.

Not funny. I asked yet again, “Kate, what do you expect me to do?”

“Make this case your part-time secret hobby.”

Which reminded me again that my ATTF colleague, Mr. Liam Griffith, had specifically advised me against that. I pulled off to the side of the road and said, “Kate. Look at me.”

She looked at me.

I said to her, “You’re jerking me around, sweetheart. I don’t like that.”

“Sorry.”

“Exactly what would you like me to do, darling?”

She thought a moment and replied, “Just look and listen. Thenyou decide what you want to do.” She forced a smile and said, “Just be John Corey.”

I said, “Then you just be Kate.”

“I’m trying. This is so… screwed up. I’m really torn about this… I don’t want us… you to get into trouble. But this case has bothered me for five years.”

“It’s bothered lots of people. But the case is closed. Like Pandora’s box. Leave it closed.”

She stayed silent awhile, then said softly, “I don’t think justice was done.”

I replied, “It was anaccident. It has nothing to do with justice.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No. But if I worried about every case where justice wasn’t done, I’d be in long-term analysis.”

“This is notany case, and you know it.”

“Right. But I’m not going to be the guy who sticks his dick in the fire to see how hot it gets.”

“Then let’s go home.”

I pulled back on the road, and after a minute or so I said, “Okay, where are we going?”

She directed me to Montauk Highway, heading west, then south toward the water.

The road ended at a fenced-in area with a chain-link gate and a guardhouse. My headlights lit up a sign that read UNITED STATES COAST GUARD STATION-CENTER MORICHES-RESTRICTED AREA.

A uniformed Coast Guard guy with a holstered pistol came out of the guardhouse, opened the gate, then put up his hand. I stopped.

The guy approached, and I held up my Fed creds, which he barely glanced at, then looked at Kate, and without asking our business, he said, “Proceed.”

Clearly we were expected, and everyone but me knew our business. I proceeded through the open gate along a blacktop road.

Up ahead was a picturesque white-shingled building with a red-dormered roof and a square lookout tower; a typical old Coast Guard structure.

Kate said, “Park over there.”

I parked in the lot at the front of the building, shut off the engine, and we got out of the Jeep.

I followed Kate around to the rear of the building, which faced the water. I looked out over the floodlit installation, which was set on a point of land jutting into Moriches Bay. At the water’s edge were a few boathouses, and to the right of those, a long dock where two Coast Guard boats were tied to pilings. One of the boats looked like the one that had participated in the memorial service. Other than the guy at the front gate, the facility seemed deserted.

Kate said to me, “This was where the command post was set up right after the crash.” She continued, “All the rescue boats came in here through Moriches Inlet and deposited the debris from the crash, then it was trucked to the hangar at the Calverton naval installation to be reassembled.” She added, “This was also where they took the bodies before they went on to the morgue.” She stayed silent awhile, then said, “I worked here, on and off, for two months. I lived in a motel nearby.”

I didn’t reply, but I thought about this. I knew a few NYPD men and women who’d worked this case day and night for weeks and months, living out of a suitcase, having nightmares about the bodies, and drinking too much in