by David Wind
Steven turned to Latham. “Why did you call Savak, in Washington, if you—”
“Steven, I’m sorry,” Latham said, his face apologetic as he cut Steven off. “When I realized the patient was Ellie, I must have panicked. I don’t know why, but for some reason I didn’t even think about calling you here. I called you in Washington. When there was no answer, I called Arnie. He told me you were here. Steven, I..I just didn’t think. I’m sorry,” Latham repeated.
Steven gripped Latham’s arm. “It was a natural reaction. I usually call you when I’m in town,” he said, understanding what happened. Steven turned to Banacek. “All right, Sheriff, let’s go get my statement taken.”
Downstairs, Steven and the sheriff left Latham by the lobby elevator. They were halfway to the front entrance when two men entered. The taller of the two took off his hat, revealing short-cropped dark hair. When his brown eyes swept across Steven and Banacek, he nudged his companion.
“Sheriff Banacek?” the man called, advancing on them.
Nodding, Banacek stopped to wait for the two men.
The man in the lead pulled out an ID case and flipped it open. “I’m Special Agent Everett Blayne, FBI. This is Special Agent Grodin,” he added, tilting his head at the second man.
“Yes?” Banacek said, slowly drawling out the word.
“We’re here on the Rogers’ case.”
Silently, Steven sized up the two agents. Blayne was the shorter, about Steven’s six-foot height. He was in his mid-thirties. He wore a dark gray suit, white shirt, and plain blue tie. Hard eyes and thick lips marred his neatly conventional looks.
The second agent appeared to be about twenty-eight. He was blond-haired and blue-eyed and a couple of inches taller than Blayne. His hair was longer and his lips thinner. His clothing was more modish.
“The Rogers’ case? You mean the accident, don’t you?” Banacek asked.
“No, I don’t,” Blayne said. “And since Miss Rogers is on the staff of a United States senator, we’ll be taking jurisdiction in the case.”
“On what grounds?” Banacek asked, his voice turning hard.
“The National Security Act,” Blayne stated smoothly. “We’re here to take Steven Morrisy into custody. That is you, isn’t it, Mr. Morrisy?” Blayne asked, shifting his gaze to Steven.
Chapter Three
“Not so fast,” Banacek said, holding his hand palm-outward and stepping between the inspector and Steven. “As far as jurisdiction is concerned, Miss Rogers’ accident occurred in Greyton. Mr. Morrisy is a resident of Greyton, and as such, he is under my jurisdiction. So, unless the rules have been changed, I think you boys are forgetting something in the way of constitutional legality—like a warrant?”
“I’m not trying to force the issue, Sheriff, but if it’s necessary, I’ll have a warrant drawn up.”
Blayne favored Banacek with a forbearing look. “Because we came here as soon as we got your query, we didn’t have time to get the warrant. But Sheriff, Miss Rogers is a United States senator’s personal assistant. We have ample reason to believe her accident is not what it appears to be.”
“That may be so, but it still seems a bit unusual, you being here so soon,” Banacek remarked, “seeing as I haven’t filed a report yet.”
Blayne nodded. His smile warmed. “As I said, it was your ID query which brought us to Greyton. Was it an accident?”
Banacek glanced at Steven before saying, “Well, I guess you’ll find out soon enough. No, it wasn’t an accident. It was attempted murder.”
Steven followed the brief exchange of eye contact between Blayne and Grodin. “In that case, Sheriff, I must insist on your letting us take Mr. Morrisy with us. It’s imperative for the sake of the country.”
“Oh, I think not. You guys come riding in here on your high horses, spouting national security but not showing me diddily shit to back yourselves up. So, I guess you’ll just have to get that warrant. Mr. Morrisy is entitled to know the charges; and, national security sure sounds like espionage to me. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No,” Blayne responded quickly. “There are other charges we can bring out.”
“Make them very specific, ‘cause if I don’t like the way that warrant reads, there ain’t a chance in hell I’ll let you take Mr. Morrisy out of my jurisdiction.”
“That wouldn’t be a smart move, Sheriff. Your career isn’t worth it,” Special Agent Grodin said.
Steven heard Banacek’s sharp intake of breath. The sheriff glared hotly at the brash young FBI agent. “My career isn’t at issue here. You just bring your paper to the station. We’ll talk further there. And son, don’t think because you carry federal tin you can intimidate me. More important people than you have tried. You understand what I’m saying?”
Without waiting for a reply, Banacek motioned to Steven and walked past the two men. When they reached the police car, Banacek opened the passenger side front door and motioned him in.
When Banacek got behind the wheel, Steven said, “Why?”
Banacek turned and favored Steven with a long stare. “Because they used the wrong charge. I know a little of your history, Mr. Morrisy, and after what you went through, there’s no way you would be a traitor.”
With that, Banacek drove out of the hospital’s curved drive and into the light flow of traffic.
On the two-lane highway that doubled as Greyton’s main street, Steven continued to study Banacek. “Greyton is my home,” Banacek said suddenly. “I’ve been on the force for thirty-five years. I was a deputy when you were going to high school. I remember you from the football games. That was one hell of a team with you, Latham and Savak, and Londrigan and the others. We had two state championships, right?”
Steven nodded, wondering where Banacek was leading with his innocuous dialogue. “When the war came, you, the Savak boy, and Doctor Latham made this town damn proud.”
“I thought you didn’t consider me part of Greyton any longer?”
Banacek gave him a half-smile. “That was part of my job. I was looking for a reaction. But regardless of what I said in the hospital room, you are one of us. You may live in Washington most of the year, but you’re there for us. No FBI man wearing a three-hundred-dollar pinstriped suit and spouting bullshit legalities is going to take you out of my jurisdiction before I’ve made sure you’re clear. Greyton always looks after its own.”
Steven was still reflecting on Banacek’s words when they passed the high school. Lights showed in almost all of the windows. The American flag fluttered in the breeze; the Keystone state flag hung beneath it.
Steven remembered when he, Latham, and Savak had returned from Southeast Asia. Unlike other towns and cities in the country, Greyton had treated the three of them to a hero’s welcome.
Their shared resentment of what had happened in Southeast Asia had made Greyton’s homecoming reception a bittersweet event. After the welcoming festivities, the three friends had decided to donate their medals to the high school, where they still rested in a glass-encased wall unit just inside the high school’s main entrance.
“My only alibi is the two men who were with me last night,” Steven said when they had passed the school. He looked at his watch. It was almost ten-thirty. Three and a half hours had passed since Arnie Savak’s phone call. It seemed a lifetime.
Seven minutes after leaving the hospital, Banacek turned into the parking lot of the sheriff’s station. He shut off the ignition but made no move to get out. Banacek drummed thick fingers on the steering wheel, and then said, “Mr. Morrisy, this isn’t Washington. Once we go inside, whatever you have to say will stay there. There are no press leaks here, and no games. Now,” Banacek added, opening his door, “we might as well get this over with.”
Inside, Banacek paused at the duty officer’s desk. “Have Helga come into my office with her machine,” he told the man whose name tag read O’Bannon, before taking Steven into a large office with a single glass wall that looked out on the rest of the statio
n.
The office was plain, with utilitarian furniture and randomly placed plaques on graying white walls. The sheriff motioned Steven to an old caster-legged armchair and told him he’d be back in a minute.
Through the glass wall, its Venetian blinds drawn up, Steven watched Banacek go to O’Bannon’s desk and say something to the duty officer.
Banacek returned, followed by a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair wrapped in a prim bun. The sheriff went to his chair, while the woman set up her steno machine.
When the woman was ready, Banacek said, “Helga, please note Mr. Steven Morrisy is making a statement of his own accord, and shows a willingness to help speed along our investigation on—” He stopped talking to look down at his desk. He shuffled through several papers before finding what he was hunting for. “—Case number AZD6196. Put in the date and time. Add that Mr. Morrisy is here acting as Miss Eleanor Rogers’ next of kin.”
Looking from the stenographer to Steven, Banacek said, “Shall we begin?”
Steven held Banacek’s gaze for several seconds, trying to judge the man and find a sense of who Banacek was. He thought he saw openness in the sheriff’s dark brown eyes, a willingness to trust him. The doubts and anger growing since the sheriff first appeared in Ellie’s hospital room ebbed.
Then, before the sheriff could ask his first question, the intercom rang. As Banacek listened, Steven saw his eyes narrow.
When the sheriff hung up, he regarded Steven thoughtfully. “Sam Londrigan went to West Virginia. Lomack is with him. They went to a car auction. Flew there in Londrigan’s private plane. Took off about two hours ago and won’t be back until tonight or tomorrow.
“Did you know about this little trip, Mr. Morrisy?”
Steven met Banacek’s inquiring stare. “Sam didn’t mention it. I guess he didn’t know I’d need an alibi.”
“I imagine,” Banacek agreed, unperturbed by Steven’s sarcasm. “When did you see Miss Eleanor Rogers last, Mr. Morrisy?”
Hearing the subdued shift in Banacek’s tone, and the formality of the question, Steven answered in kind. “On Monday past, January twenty-eighth, just before I left Washington for Greyton.”
“And under what circumstances did that meeting take place?”
“We had spent the weekend together, as we always did. After breakfast on Monday morning, I drove Ellie to work. I dropped her off just before nine and...”
Helga closed up her machine at eleven twenty-five and left Banacek’s office. Cradling a cup of coffee between his palms, Steven said, “I’m still trying to figure out those circumstantial facts you mentioned. All I can come up with is that Ellie is my fiancée.”
“There’s much more,” Banacek declared. Holding up his left hand, he unfurled his index finger. “One: You and Miss Rogers work for the same person. Two,” he said, flicking up his second finger, “as the senator’s legal advisor and aide, you’ve got to stay squeaky clean—”
“That’s a necessity, not a fact.”
“Which means, if you’ve done something that might affect the senator, and Miss Rogers found out about it, she could have been blackmailing you.” Banacek brought up his third finger. “Which leads us to fact number three: The possibility she was about to go public with whatever it was she found out and when you learned of it and you decided to do her in.”
Banacek’s words triggered a disgust Steven was hard pressed to contain. “That never happened.” Banacek cocked his head to the side. “You asked me what makes you a suspect. I’m answering you, Mr. Morrisy, not accusing you. The fourth fact,” Banacek continued smoothly, bringing up his little finger, “is the location of the ‘accident’. Everyone from around here knows Lake Pompton is fed by an underground stream. Hell, that’s why the kids who play hooky from school in the spring swim at the north end of the lake, water’s warmer. During the winter, the ice is thinner there. But the real question is, with all the shoreline available, why pick that exact spot?”
“Coincidence?”
“Or the knowledge it insured privacy and a damn good chance the body wouldn’t be found until spring thaw, if then. No one is around there from December to March. The weekenders and vacation people don’t use their places in the winter. Even when there’s an occasional resident who wants a few days alone up there, they let us know. But populated or not, we patrol it twice nightly. Once at eleven p.m., and again at three a.m. It was on the return from the eleven o’clock patrol my deputy spotted the reflection of taillights by the lake.
“So you see,” Banacek said, lowering his hand, “there’s ample reason to suspect you.”
“Suspect him of what?” Arnold Savak asked as he entered the sheriff’s office.
“I’m sorry, Sheriff, I tried to stop him,” a harried-looking O’Bannon said from behind Savak.
Banacek waved the duty officer away. “Come in, Mr. Savak.”
Savak nodded to Banacek, but spoke to Steven. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said, relief washing over him with his friend’s unanticipated arrival. “But Ellie isn’t,” he added as he stood and embraced Arnie.
After they stepped back, Savak took off his overcoat and sat in the chair Helga had recently vacated. “I still can’t believe what happened. And this garbage Chuck told me about—that it wasn’t an accident—it isn’t true, is it?”
“It is,” Banacek said.
Savak met the sheriff’s eyes. “I understand the FBI wants to question Steven.”
“They want more than to question him,” Banacek said, leaning back in his chair and absently rubbing his chin with the flat of his thumb. “You seem pretty well informed for just having gotten into town.”
Savak stared at Banacek for a moment. Then he smiled easily. “Sheriff, I landed in Greyton field forty minutes ago and drove straight to the hospital. Chuck Latham filled me in on everything, including the argument you and Steven had with the FBI agents. He also told me that you suspect Steven of....” Savak stopped and turned to Steven. “At least you have Sam and Larry to back your story. That should take care of any questions.”
“When the sheriff can get hold of them.” At Savak’s blank stare, Steven explained about the two men’s sudden trip to West Virginia.
“But,” Banacek said, “I may have to hand Mr. Morrisy over to the FBI before then. Judging by that agent’s attitude, he’ll be along pretty soon with his warrant. I think you should wait here until then, Mr. Morrisy. They won’t play their games with me.”
“A warrant?” Savak asked, his face going rigid. When the sheriff nodded, the muscles on each side of Savak’s jaw knotted. Then came the characteristic double stroke of his bent finger against the side of his nose. Savak turned to Steven, his gray eyes dancing. “Which will give me all the time I need.”
“For what?” Banacek asked.
“To get this stopped before it goes any further. Sheriff, if the media gets wind of this—” He cut himself off, shook his head, and said, “I’ll need a phone, and some privacy.”
Special Agents Blayne and Grodin showed up two hours later, not one as Banacek had predicted. Blayne, armed with a federal arrest warrant, smugly presented it to Sheriff Banacek.
For his part, Banacek didn’t bother to look at the warrant; he handed it to Steven.
“It’s all in order, Mr. Morrisy,” Blayne said.
When Steven read it, he experienced another painful jolt. The charge was kidnapping. He felt his anger grow. He stared coldly at Blayne, while trying to discern exactly what it was that the FBI inspector was after. “What happened to all the national security bullshit? Wasn’t that what you were so damn concerned about at the hospital? There’s no way you’re going to make a kidnapping charge stick.”
“It’ll do for now.”
“I’m afraid it won’t,” Savak said in a low voice as he stood to face Blayne. “My name is Arnold Savak, Agent. And your warrant has been rescinded.” Extending his hand, Savak held out a white business card. “Call the number on
the back.”
Blayne matched Savak’s hard stare for several seconds before looking at the card. When he did, a flicker of doubt crossed the FBI agent’s features. He scowled at Savak, and glared at Steven. “May I?” he asked Banacek, nodding toward the telephone on the sheriff’s desk.
Banacek waved him to the phone. A few seconds after he dialed, he said, “This is Agent Blayne.” He was silent, and then, “I understand.”
Hanging up, Blayne turned to Savak. “You hot-shot political pariahs are all alike. You think you pulled a fast one on us, don’t you?”
Savak stiffened, his eyes narrowed, but his voice remained calm. “Not at all, Agent. You see, we’re all very much aware the present administration will do anything in its power to interfere with Senator Pritman’s nomination, should he decide to run for office. And the Bureau….Well, it is common knowledge that in the past few years, the administration has looked with undeserved and ah...shall we say partisan favor upon the Bureau.”
Steven watched a vein on the agent’s forehead pulse angrily before Blayne pivoted from Savak to face him. The agent flushed. His eyes were dark with anger, his lips tight and bloodless. “This won’t change anything, Morrisy. Your friends have just bought you a little time.”
After hours of worrying about Ellie, and of listening to the accusations about him, Steven’s control snapped. He shot from the chair and closed the space between himself and Blayne.
He grabbed Blayne’s shoulder before the surprised agent could react, and found the nerve endings near the collarbone. He dug sharply into Blayne’s muscles, immobilizing the man, and eliciting a startled grunt of pain.
Blayne’s partner start toward him, the agent’s right hand sliding into his jacket, going for his pistol. Savak stepped calmly in front of him, a tight and thin smile turning his face hard.
Steven held his punishing grip on Blayne for three painful seconds before releasing him. Then he stepped back and, in a soft and barely audible voice, said, “The woman lying in that hospital bed is going to be my wife. Don’t threaten me; don’t get me angrier than I already am. You won’t like the results.”
