The Value Of Valor - KJ3

by Lynn Ames

  “Ma’am, you can’t go beyond the yellow tape.”

  “Jay!”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay here.”

  “No. I have to get to her. Jay!”

  “Ma’am,” he said, more gently this time, “there’s nothing left.”

  Nothing left. The words reverberated in her head. She tightened her grip on Fred, wondering if truer words had ever been spoken.

  The FBI agent sitting in Kate’s living room looked uncomfortable.

  He’d been assigned the unenviable task of liaising with the press secretary to the president of the United States in the matter of the death of her beloved partner. “Ms. Kyle, you saw the evidence yourself. There was no mistake. The forensics matched. The license plate they found corresponded with the car Ms. Parker rented when she arrived at the airport.” He slid across a copy of the rental agreement, signed and dated by Jay three days earlier: January 21, 1989. In the appropriate box in the upper right-hand corner of the form, the license plate number was typed in. It matched the mangled one shown in the Polaroid sitting on the coffee table.

  “You were there—you saw the condition of the vehicle.”

  Kate fought to control her emotions, but the rage and helplessness were too close to the surface.

  “You found absolutely no conclusive evidence that the body was Jay’s, though, did you? No. You can’t prove that she was in the car when it crashed, can you? What if she wasn’t? What if…”

  “Ms. Kyle, I’m so sorry for your loss. We searched everywhere around the vicinity. The explosion obliterated most of the evidence we The Value of Valor

  might have found. We did come up with some teeth, a femur, and bone fragments from the skull, all clustered on the driver’s side of the car.”

  Kate felt her head swim, and her body swayed as if she would keel over. She fought to steady herself.

  “Technically, you’re right,” he went on, “we can’t rule with absolute certainty that the body was Ms. Parker’s. However, the pathology tests indicate that the bones belonged to a Caucasian woman about Ms.

  Parker’s size. Unfortunately, we are unable to make a more positive ID

  than that due to the condition of the specimens.”

  Kate felt the bile rise in her throat at the thought of Jay being hurled into space and burnt beyond recognition.

  She apparently didn’t hear him call her name the first time, so he tried again. “Ms. Kyle?”

  “Yes?”

  “To the best of your knowledge, was anyone else in the car with Ms.

  Parker?”

  “No,” she murmured.

  “Ms. Kyle,” he said softly, “no one could have survived that impact—no one.”

  “I can’t give up on her. I just can’t. Doesn’t the FBI have new technology that can identify a person from her DNA?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but as I said, there simply wasn’t enough material to work with; the heat of the fire destroyed the bone marrow from which we would have drawn samples. I’m so sorry.”

  Desperate to hold herself together, Kate thanked the agent for coming to the house to give her the latest update on the investigation into Jay’s accident and dismissed him.

  “She’ll always be alive in your heart.”

  Kate looked up from where she still sat on the couch to see Dr.

  Barbara Jones standing in the doorway. Her tears began anew.

  Barbara was Kate’s physician and one of her closest friends. Theirs was a relationship formed out of mutual respect, love, and admiration.

  Barbara had seen Kate through some tough situations, patching her up physically and supporting her emotionally. “Kate, you did everything you could.”

  “No. Don’t you understand? I left her there. I gave up on her.”

  “That’s not true, honey.” Barbara switched to a different tack. “What more could you have done?”

  Kate began pacing manically. Her voice trembled. “I could have stayed. I could have searched myself.”

  “Kate, you got to the site within hours of the first report of the accident. You stayed there for two days while state police and FBI agents Lynn Ames

  combed the area. You watched while forensic experts reconstructed the path of the car and assessed the speed of impact. You saw them collect whatever evidence there was to find.”

  “What if she’s out there somewhere, Barbara? Hurt, alone, and frightened.” She could barely get the words out.

  “Oh, Kate.” She enveloped the grieving woman in a hug, knowing from her vast experience with comforting the inconsolable, that there was nothing more to say. Only time could heal this kind of wound.

  “Hi.”

  The two women looked up as a tall man in his late thirties crossed the threshold to Kate’s living room.

  “Hi, Peter.”

  Peter Enright was Kate’s best friend and confidant. An expert in technology, weapons, and security, he was the older brother Kate never had.

  “The FBI guy just left.”

  “I know, I saw him on the way out. He looks like he went ten rounds with Muhammad Ali. What’d you do to him, Kate?”

  She sighed, moving away from Barbara to stare blankly out the window. “I’m sorry about that. I guess I just want different answers than he can give me.”

  “Ah, so you browbeat him. I get it now. He’s just doing his job.”

  Peter moved to Kate and put a comforting hand on her arm to lessen the impact of his words. “He can’t change the outcome or bring Jay back.”

  “I know.”

  Kate was plainly beyond exhaustion, with deep circles etched under her normally vibrant blue eyes. Her hair, usually a glossy black, was dull and unruly. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and she was gaunt.

  “Why don’t you go lie down for a little while? Barbara and I will fix some coffee and breakfast. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  “No.”

  Barbara stepped in. “As your doctor, Katherine, I order you to get some rest.” When Kate looked as if she would snap at her, Barbara softened her tone. “As your friend, I’m really worried about you. It won’t do anyone any good if you get sick. Please?”

  “I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see Jay.” A single tear slid down Kate’s face. “I can’t close my eyes anymore. It’s too painful.”

  “Kate, you have to sleep. Here, take this.” Barbara handed Kate a pill.

  “What is it?”

  “Just something to help you sleep—soundly—for a couple of hours.”

  “You know I hate to take anything.”

  “Doctor’s orders. If Jay were here, she’d be giving you holy hell for not taking care of yourself and you know it. Please, Kate.”

  The Value of Valor

  She sighed, knowing she was beaten. “You’ll wake me if there’s anything?”

  “Of course,” Peter promised.

  When she was sure Kate was out of earshot, Barbara turned to Peter.

  “Do you really believe it was an accident?”

  “Not for a second.”

  “You have proof?”

  He sighed in exasperation. “No. There doesn’t appear to be anything to go on.”

  “But?”

  “My gut is screaming. Jay’s car mysteriously flies off a cliff two days after a jury convicts two scumbags of kidnapping Kate and using the cover of a prison riot to try to have her killed? Seems like too much of a coincidence to me. I smell a rat.”

  “What’re you going to do about it?”

  “I’m going to visit an old friend.”

  “Oh? Who would that be?”

  “Derek LaPointe, deputy director of the FBI.”

  Barbara whistled softly. “It’s nice to have friends in high places.”

  “We’ll see about that. Derek and I served together in Vietnam. I saved his bacon once. I’m hoping he can put some pressure in the right places to get the fibbies to keep looking. So far, all I’ve gotten from them is that there’
s ‘insufficient evidence to proceed with a murder investigation.’”

  As they made their way into the kitchen, Barbara stopped Peter with a hand on his arm. “I know I shouldn’t ask this, but…”

  “Do I think there’s any chance Jay might be alive, right?”

  Barbara nodded. “Because they can’t say positively that the tooth and bone fragments belong to Jay, Kate seems convinced that she could be out there alive somewhere.”

  “My best judgment is that it’s a remote possibility but highly unlikely. It would’ve taken a miracle to survive the crash. Not only that, but the pathology reports show the bones are consistent with someone Jay’s size.”

  “I figured. What are we going to do about our Kate? You know she’s not going to give up easily.”

  “Would you, if you were in her place and it was your lover?”

  “No, I sure wouldn’t.”

  “Right.” Peter raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to give her false hope when the probabilities and evidence say otherwise.” He held up his hand to forestall the anticipated interruption. “Which is not to say I’m not going to look into the possibility that Jay’s alive while I’m Lynn Ames

  searching for answers about the crash. You know I won’t give up as long as Kate believes there’s any chance she’s out there somewhere.”

  “I’m afraid Kate won’t let it rest without absolute proof of Jay’s death.”

  “I’m not sure we can get that for her.”

  “I know. That’s what worries me.”

  “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to track you down for days,”

  Michael Vendetti, the high-strung deputy press secretary to the president, hissed.

  “Take your hands off me, you idiot.” Robert Hawthorne, a former four-term U.S. senator and current chairman of the Democratic National Committee, was clearly livid. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Parker’s dead.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you do that—have her killed?”

  “Of course not, you fool. Parker was Breathwaite’s obsession.”

  “Then—”

  The chairman fixed Vendetti with an incredulous stare. “Please tell me you’re not naïve enough to think that could have been an accident.”

  “No,” Vendetti replied defensively, “of course not.”

  “Thank God,” Hawthorne muttered under his breath.

  “Jesus, Breathwaite did that from prison?”

  “Apparently. Revenge suits him.” Hawthorne waited a beat. “Let me ask you something, Michael. Why would I want to take a chance on a meaningless hit like that at this point? We’ve got what we want—

  Charlie’s in the White House.”

  “I know that’s not all you wanted out of this. How could it be?

  What’s ‘Part B?’”

  “Part B, Michael? Really. I said all along what I wanted was to make Charlie president. I succeeded. What more could I want?”

  Vendetti shrugged. He’d been asking himself that very question ever since Hawthorne had approached him in New York with his scheme two years earlier. He still had no plausible answer. Hawthorne said he wanted them all to gain power and status by taking over the White House with Governor Charles Hyland as the unwitting front man. Since the former senator had failed in his own bid to become president, getting Vendetti’s boss elected seemed the only way for Hawthorne to regain a position of influence. Still it felt like he’d wanted more than that—Michael just couldn’t figure out what the “more” was.

  It was plain to him what the rest of the members of the group had wanted: David Breathwaite, one-time spokesman for the New York state prison system, had been exiled to a meaningless backroom position—he The Value of Valor

  had wanted his old job back. William Redfield, executive deputy commissioner of the prison system, had wanted to be commissioner.

  Michael, the governor’s press secretary, had coveted the big chair—

  spokesperson for the president of the United States. But Hawthorne…

  “I don’t know, Mr. Chairman, but I know you’re up to something.”

  His temper obviously close to the boiling point, Hawthorne growled,

  “Be careful, Michael. Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

  Taken aback by Hawthorne’s tone, Vendetti changed directions. “I was supposed to be the president’s press secretary. That was part of the deal.” Bitterly, he added, “Now that ‘Amazonian bitch,’ as you call her, is sitting where I should be.”

  “Ah, ah, ah…careful, Michael. If you keep talking like that, people might wonder if you weren’t the one to bump off Ms. Kyle’s lover.

  Overcome with grief, she would step aside and make way for you.”

  Vendetti visibly reddened with rage. “Are you threatening to set me up? That job was earmarked for me; that’s how you got me to join your little cabal. You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain.”

  “Oh, but you’re wrong. I did everything I said I would. You can blame Breathwaite for getting passed over, Michael. It was his hare-brained scheme to take Kyle hostage and kill her in that asinine prison riot. If it hadn’t backfired, the governor wouldn’t have appointed her spokesperson for his presidential campaign, and she wouldn’t be press secretary right now.”

  As much as he wanted to argue further, Vendetti couldn’t dispute the truth or the logic of Hawthorne’s words. Still… “It was your idea to include Breathwaite on the team and get him his job back in the first place.” Vendetti pointed his finger at Hawthorne accusingly. “You were the one who insisted Kyle had too much sway over the governor and needed to be neutralized.”

  Hawthorne laughed. “Next thing I know you’ll be telling me it’s my fault Breathwaite and Redfield got convicted and sent to jail.” He looked at Vendetti, his face a cold mask. “Now get out, Michael, and don’t contact me again. If I need you, I’ll find you. Do you understand?”

  Vendetti slammed the door forcefully on his way out.

  “Hmm,” Hawthorne tapped his fingers rhythmically on his desk. With Breathwaite and Redfield safely behind bars, Vendetti was the only loose end.

  “I sincerely hope you’re not going to be a problem, Michael, or I might be forced to do something about that.” Hawthorne contemplated for a moment, then sat down and picked up the phone.

  Lynn Ames

  “No.”

  “C’mon, Derek. You and I go back a long way. You owe me,” Peter said.

  The beefy man’s slightly bulging belly pushed up against the desk as he leaned across it to make his point. “What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand, Peter? Is it the part where I can’t manufacture evidence that isn’t there?”

  Peter stood ramrod straight, his eyes boring into the deputy director of the FBI.

  LaPointe blinked. “Look, old friend. If there was some reason, any reason to presume foul play, you know I’d have my boys turn that scene inside out.”

  “You should be turning the scene inside out anyway.”

  “Why, because you have a hunch?”

  “Derek, you don’t need me to point out the obvious. Jay’s partner is the press secretary to the president. Two days before the accident, two heavy hitters involved in a plot to kill her were sentenced to life in prison. Doesn’t the timing strike you as a little odd?”

  “Of course it does.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “But that isn’t enough, Peter. There’s just no smoking gun, you know what I’m saying? Not even a water pistol. My guys spent three days at the scene and found nothing. I can’t justify assigning any more manpower to the case.”

  Peter stalked to the window, trying to rein in his anger. “Very well.

  Will you at least stay out of my way while I investigate?”

  The deputy director shook his head resignedly. “You’re tilting at windmills.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. If you find anything, I’ll consider reopening the investi
gation.

  How’s that?”

  “Big of you.”

  “Look, I know I owe you. I wouldn’t have made it out of that POW

  camp in Nam without your help. I’d love to tell you we’ve got evidence to support your theory, but right now it’s just not there.”

  “It’s there—you just haven’t found it.”

  “Whatever you say. I’ll be here if you come up with anything tangible, okay?”

  “Affirmative. Bye, Derek.”

  “Good hunting, my friend.”

  The Value of Valor

  Kate stood on the patio breathing in the chilled winter air. Her head throbbed painfully and her heart was heavy. Visitors—friends and acquaintances—had been stopping by throughout the day to pay their respects. All Kate really wanted was to be alone.

  Every time someone expressed sorrow at her loss, it made Jay’s death more real. Kate didn’t want that. It wasn’t real. She refused to believe it.

  This was just a bad nightmare. In the morning, she would wake up to Jay’s gentle snoring, her disheveled blonde hair sticking out in all directions. If only she could make it through this day.

  “Kate?” Barbara watched her friend’s tall silhouette in the moonlight, her shoulders obviously sagging.

  “Yeah?” Kate answered wearily.

  “Trish is here.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Patricia Stanton was Jay’s editor at Time magazine and one of her closest friends. As soon as Kate had been able to compose herself after the phone call from Arizona, she had made three calls of her own—one to Peter, one to Barbara, and one to Trish.

  In some ways, telling Trish had been the hardest. She had known Jay for years—had hired her right out of college as a reporter for the magazine.

  “Hello, Trish.”

  “Hi.” The petite woman reached up on tiptoe to hug Kate. When she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes. She turned away. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s okay, Trish.”

  “I’ve been over it dozens of times in my mind.” Trish pounded her fist into her palm. “If I hadn’t let Jay talk me into doing the story out there, this never would have happened.”

  “No. Don’t do that to yourself, Trish. Jay wanted to do the story; she was really excited about it.”