Last Witness

by Glen Carter

  The editing suite went deathly quiet.

  Jack felt heat rising in his cheeks. He wanted to get in McCoy’s face in a serious way, but he knew Kaitlin would end up paying the price for it. It was her fight, and Jack knew she’d handle it.

  McCoy was on a roll. “As a matter of fact, I’m not really sure what you’re doing here. As non-staff you could be escorted from the premises.”

  Jack wasn’t surprised at McCoy’s behavior. He’d want to take a piece out of Jack after what happened in New Orleans. A doped up drug dealer had murdered nine people, most of them teenagers. The murders had strong connections with the drug industry in Colombia so that’s where Jack followed the story. McCoywas sent in to cover the New Orleans funerals, but he had been caught with his mic open during a live hit and what he said was extremely inappropriate. A producer had been fired after decking McCoy. McCoy blamed Jack for going AWOL on the funerals. Jack could see by the look in his face that the tall skinny bastard was still smarting over the debacle.

  Jack flashed his visitor’s pass. “Let’s not get crazy, McCoy. No need to call in the muscle.”

  Malloy stepped forward and displayed his pass as well.

  McCoy wouldn’t be placated. “Leave the editorial to us, Jack. Why don’t you take your friend on a little tour of the control room?”

  Miraculously, Jack held his temper, though what he really wanted right now was to feel McCoy’s nose flattening beneath his fist.

  Kaitlin pleaded with her eyes.

  Suddenly Maria’s cellphone snapped shut. “Simmons says he’s in charge because Carmichael is incommunicado,” she reported. “The piece will need re-editing because the chief anchor at CNS wants to make room for a kicker at the end of the show.” Maria gave Kaitlin an apologetic look. “Maybe if we gassed the interview with the guy at the airport.”

  Kaitlin simply nodded.

  Jack knew Kaitlin had worked hard on her story, but orders were orders. She’d do what was necessary to keep the folks happy back in New York. But, at that moment, Jack was getting seriously pissed at the smug look on McCoy’s face.

  Ten minutes later, Kaitlin’s story on the President’s trip to Miami, an integral component of his grandest and most enlightened foreign policy initiative since taking office, played second in the network news cast. The court-ordered rehab for a twenty-something pop star led the show. The kicker was a psychic’s convention.

  36

  Jack and Malloy huddled together in a booth at the back of the bar. Oblivious to the noise and the music. This is what they knew. Roberto Sevier had been captured on surveillance video with two men shortly before the drive-by shooting. On that same video, the two men were seen getting into a car that was identical to the one Malloy had spotted in the seconds before bullets started to fly outside their hotel. Malloy, drawing from years of investigative experience,was now able to connect Sevier to the shooting.

  Neither of them ventured to say what they were both thinking. That if everything had gone according to plan, they would have died on that sidewalk in Little Havana.

  “OK,” Malloy said. “That’s the who, the what, the when, and the where.”

  “But not the why.”

  “Precisely.”

  Jack pondered it, eventually taking a step back. “Pabon is dead.”

  “Yes, Pabon is dead.”

  “Murdered.”

  “In cold blood.”

  “Killed after we met with him. And if our hypothesis is correct, we were targeted too. In short order.”

  “You still haven’t answered the question.”

  “What question.”

  “Why?”

  Jack thought for a moment. They had met with Sergio Pabon during which they spoke in somewhat general terms about the Bay of Pigs and more specifically about the White House screw-ups, which doomed the operation. Of course there was the photograph, confirmed by Pabon to be a picture of Julio Rasconi, who had been tasked with taking out Fidel Castro once the invasion began. Admittedly, that had been a jaw dropper since the photograph had been taken nowhere near the Bay of Pigs but at Dealey Plaza in the seconds after President John Kennedy was assassinated.

  Once again, Malloy solemnly declared a connection. In this case, between a deadly sniper and the crime scene where a president was murdered.

  “Old news,” Jack said.

  “Now it’sofficial.” Malloy took the next step. “No one knew what we talked to Pabon about and they’d have known nothing beforehand about the Rasconi picture and the fact it placed him in Dealey Plaza.”

  “Maybe not no one.” Jack studied Malloy’s face to see if he had closed the circle, brought things around to where they’d started.

  “Sevier,” Malloy said.

  “Maximo Gomez Park. I showed him the photo of his old pal, Rasconi. It might have been the wrong thing to do.”

  Malloy shook his head. “I knew it was a mistake to let you play alone. You likely had a shadow before you left the park.”

  Jack thought it wasmore than possible.

  A waiter suddenly appeared with two drinks. Placed them on the table and pointed. “The hottie at the end of the bar. She sent them.”

  Jack tipped his glass at Kaitlin who smiled. Shewas talking to the reporter from the Washington Post. A good-looking dude, leaning a little too close to his beautiful wife. Maybe it was time to rescue her. Kaitlin rolled her eyes, which was Jack’s cue.

  Malloy told him to get lost, and then grabbed his cellphone.

  Jack pushed his way through the crowd to the bar. “Hi, honey.” A kiss on the cheek. The Post guy looked absolutely deflated, excused himself, and disappeared into the crowd. “Print guys are all alike,” Jack snickered. “Can’t handle an audience.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  “You betcha.”

  “In this case, the audience happens to be my husband.”

  “Your selfish husband. Not willing to share you.”

  Kaitlin smiled. “He doesn’t have to.”

  “Now, about today,” Jack said. “I may have overstepped my boundaries. But McCoy is a schmuck, and he deserved more than I gave him.”

  Kaitlin was about to say something but stopped. Instead she simply nodded.

  Jack was thankful and more than eager to put it behind them.

  Something with lots of bass was playing on the sound system. Jack spotted Seth and Maria dancing together. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a dance.”

  “Tell Maria, Seth’s a wanker.”

  “Will do.”

  Everyone was having a good time and in the morning most would regret it. The place was full of reporters who were assigned to cover the President. The next day was going to be another busy one. Kaitlin, Seth, and Maria were accredited for the flight aboard Air Force One to Havana. Kaitlin was pumped about it. Her first trip aboard the President’s ultra-high-tech plane to cover one of Denton’s most important acts since his inauguration. In all his years in the business, Jack had never been aboard Air Force One and he truly envied her. He’d find out everything about the aircraft and the trip, once she got back. CNS was sending in another aircraft full of equipment in a couple of hours. Techies would be burning the midnight oil setting up for the live coverage of the ceremonies. That meant assembling the anchor desk—lights, cameras, and hundreds of feet of cable from their assigned location in Revolution Square. It was all for Kaitlin’s big day, anchoring the network’s coverage of the historic signing. When she’d told him, Jack was ecstatic. It was going to make her career, and Carmichael’s confidence in her was the sweetest part of all as far as Kaitlin was concerned.

  Jack was about to say something when McCoy suddenly appeared through the crowd.He elbowed his way to the bar and shouted at the bartender for another drink. With wobbly eyes he looked from Jack to Kaitlin and back to Jack again. His hair, normally coiffed to perfection, was amess against his forehead.

  Jack saw resentment in his bloodshot eyes. Something was bubbling up in his g
ut besides the booze. McCoy took a fresh drink off the bar and swallowed a large mouthful. “You might wanna go easy on the alcohol,” Jack said. “There’s nothing worse than puking on your shoes while you’re trying to knock off a standup.”

  “I don’t need your advice, Doyle.”

  Jack let it pass.

  “You remember when I cleaned up your mess in New Orleans? Weren’t worried about that, were ya?”

  Jack was tempted to remind McCoy that he had screwed up in New Orleans when he inadvertently called the father of a teenage murder victim an as shole—on live television. At that moment, Kaitlin reached out to touch Jack’s arm.

  McCoy wasn’t done. “You’re little Colombian adventure nearly got her killed.”

  Jack tensed. McCoy had hit a sore spot, and any man would have understood that. “Mind your own business, McCoy,” he said, his tone full of warning. Jack took a swallow of liquor and cast a look around the bar. People were starting to notice. McCoy’s body language was offensive. Jack didn’t know what to expect from the guy when hewas drunk. Chances were he was a bag of bluster, but who knew what the man was capable of. Kaitlin was getting uncomfortable, and that meant it was time to leave.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Jack said to her.

  Kaitlin pushed away from the bar.

  Then McCoy blocked her way. “I was going to bring this up later. But now’s good.”

  “Let’s go,” Jack said.

  Kaitlin gave the drunk a look that said it all.

  McCoy was emboldened by the both of them. “You won’t be on the anchor desk in Havana. Frank has made changes to the talent.”

  “Frank doesn’t have the authority to make changes,” Kaitlin said, inches from McCoy’s face.

  “Oh, you haven’t heard.”

  Jack moved closer.

  Seth and Maria ambled up, wondering what was going on.

  McCoy continued. “Carmichael has been admitted to hospital. They think he’s had a heart attack. His wife has read him the riot act— no phones, no work. It’s all in Simmons’s hands now and he wants me in the anchor chair in Havana. I’mcelebrating.”

  In his drunken state, McCoy managed a self-righteous demeanor that made Jack sick.

  “No…hard feelings,” McCoy stammered. “Oh and, by the way, me and my crew have been accredited for Air Force One. You’re going down with the tech monkeys and the equipment. Have a nice flight.”

  Kaitlin was speechless. Eyes like lightless pits of tar. She remained quiet. Locked in place, but boiling with anger.

  It was a noble strategy, Jack decided. Now’s not the time to fight. She could call NewYork and set things right. Nothing to be gained by getting down in the mud with this guy.

  Maria took Kaitlin’s hand, but before they could walk away, McCoy swallowed his drink and grabbed Kaitlin’s arm. “A woman like you travels a longway on her tits and ass,” he smirked. “This time you’re outta luck.”

  Kaitlin’s jaw dropped.

  People gasped.

  “Arsehole,” Seth said, slamming his drink on the bar.

  Horrified, Kaitlin reached for Jack, who was already in motion. McCoy was still smirking when Jack swung.

  McCoy hit the floor.

  As drunk as he was, McCoy was made to understand that just grabbing Kaitlin’s arm constituted assault—in this case, assault against a female which, when blown out of proportion by the tabloids, would become a bloodied attack by a vicious drunk in a very public place. The victim was a highly respected television journalist, her attacker, a bottom-feeding hack. There were witnesses who would gladly embellish the facts. Besides, McCoy hadn’t even been bloodied. In an instant he was back up, hissing about cops and civil action until a couple of his buddies calmed him down. It was explained to McCoy that if the cops were called there’d be two complaints, one lodged by McCoy, the second by Kaitlin O’Rourke. And a lady always made a better victim than a drunk. McCoy wisely left the premises, still muttering nonsense.

  Ten minutes later, they were in Seth’s suite. Kaitlin and Maria, Jack and Malloy.

  There was a knock at the door. Seth jumped off the bed and came back a moment later rolling a cart full of food and beverages. Seth parked it, grabbed a bottle of stout, and told the others to help themselves. “It’s on McCoy’s tab. Don’t ask for details.”

  The rest helped themselves to beverages and plates of food.

  Jack rubbed his knuckles between mouthfuls of cheese. “Lucky bastard,” he said. “McCoy wouldn’t have gotten up otherwise.”

  Malloy nodded in agreement. “And right about now you’d be in a holding cell with some cross-dressing hooker named Satin.”

  Everyone laughed, bleeding tension from the room.

  Even Kaitlin seemed to be coming around.

  Jack was trying to find the words she’d need to hear right now. After amoment, he walked over to where she was sitting and kneeled. “This was not Carmichael’s decision.That’s a given. Simmons and McCoy engineered this, and believe me when I tell you Carmichael would not like it one little bit. I’d be willing to bet my first Emmy that Walter doesn’t even know, and unless he’s in a medically induced coma, he will hear about it. Then those two bastards will get what’s coming to them.”

  “Thanks. But really it isn’t that big a deal.”

  Yes, it is. Jack was tired of pricks like Simmons and McCoy, men who slithered along the low road and took whatever underhanded opportunities they needed to get ahead. Normally it was at the expense of others, who were usually harder working and definitely had more smarts and talent. Jack had a difficult time understanding what motivated guys like McCoy. Maybe ambition, though more likely they were frightened of being found out for what they really were.

  Maria went to the cart and filled two glasses with whatever expensive wine McCoy was paying for. She handed one to Kaitlin and raised her glass. “To the finest reporter I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. And the classiest.”

  “Here, here,” Seth said.

  Malloy and Jack hoisted glasses.

  Kaitlin’s cheeks reddened. “You know, it really doesn’t bother me that McCoy has hijacked the anchor desk, and it’s no sweat off my ass what he thinks about me.”

  Jack laughed at Kaitlin’s crudity and was thinking about her well shaped ass right about then. It must have showed.

  “But what really bothers me,” Kaitlin continued, giving Jack a look of reproach, “is that they dumped my story from the top of the show for some drugged-out pop star.”

  Malloy sat forward. “You want my opinion?”

  Kaitlin smiled. “Sure do.”

  “We make heroes and idols of the most undeserving assholes on the face of the planet,” he said. “Remember that grunge guy shot himself in the head years ago.”

  “Yes. Tragic.”

  “Yeah, real tragic. The front page of the paper was nothing but himthe next day. It was all about Mr. Angst with pictures of him, the placewhere he ate his shotgun. The storywas full of it.” Malloy looked at each of them and then continued. “Back of the same newspaper I remember a two-inch story about the guy who helped invent the pacemaker. Guy’s work saved how many people? Millions? How screwed up is that. One guy with everything in life offs himself, which is in my opinion one of the most cowardly things you can do. The second guy, this brilliant medical engineer lives his life to help others and when he dies, he gets a couple of lines of ink squeezed between ads on the back page.”

  No one said anything.

  “I think you guys are way out of touch with what’s important.”

  “Go on.” Kaitlin seemed genuinely interested.

  “People are sick and tired of the assholes. The greedy bankers, the corrupt politicians, the numbskull actors and athletes who squander their God-given talents.”

  Kaitlin nodded a woman’s understanding.

  Malloy shook his head. Sipped his drink. “But what really pisses me off is the way you guys go so hard after the good guys.”

  Ka
itlin appeared to give that some thought. After a moment she said, “Sometimes, I guess, it’s hard to tell the bad guys and the good guys apart. That’s probably true in your former line of work, too. The thing we both have in common is no one likes innocent people to get hurt. But sometimes they do. It’s too bad.”

  Malloy nodded thoughtfully.

  Jack thought about Salisbury Green. No one was more innocent than a child. But there were two victims that day. Special Agent Ed Malloy, whom the press had vilified, was one of them. He was portrayed as no better than a liquor-store bandit with a snub-nosed six-shooter. Christ. How had Malloy survived with his sanity intact? Jack couldn’t imagine the strength it required.

  “This is too shaggin’ deep for me,” Seth said. He turned on the television, which seemed to be a welcome distraction. It was just in time to catch the affiliate’s newscast. Kaitlin’s piece on Denton’s day was the lead.

  Maria yelped something in Spanish.

  Kaitlin smiled at Jack. “The local boys wanted the original version. So we reinserted the stuff we cut out for the network show.”

  “Good.”

  The piece played. Jack was reaching for another cold drink when he suddenly stopped. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

  What you really want to know is, do I feel angry, vengeful, upset, because we’re about to embrace the bastards who killed my parents.

  Jack was transfixed.

  Malloy was up now. Poking the screen. “You slimy bastard.”

  The man was suddenly gone. Another shot filled the screen.

  “Where did you find him?” Jack said.

  “He’s a guy we tracked down,” Kaitlin said, perplexed. “Some big wig with the Cuban exiles.”

  “Barely tracked him down,” Maria added.

  Seth leapt off the bed and grabbed his camera. In a flash he opened a panel at the side and removed the storage disk, then slid it into his laptop. “We got lots of him. I’ll cue it up.”

  A second later the face came up. Seth adjusted the volume and the five of them arranged themselves around the bed to listen to the raw interview Kaitlin had done earlier that day.