by Ty Patterson
Clare had come through and had sent them the addresses of the nine other men in Billy Patten’s unit.
Three of them, Bartlet, Munoz, and Bielecki, were no more. They had died some years back.
Duhan and Garrett were still alive. Garrett was living in Nice, France, while Duhan was in Granbury, Texas.
Beth snapped her fingers, signaling for her sister to stay quiet.
‘Oui, ma’am, Pete Garrett,’ she said in French.
He’s living with his daughter-in-law, she whispered to her sister.
‘Non, ma’am. He doesn’t know me. I would like to talk to him. About one of his friends. Billy Patten.
‘Oui, ma’am. I will wait.
‘Mr. Garrett.’ She switched to English and straightened. ‘I’m Beth Petersen, sir. I wanted to talk to you about Billy Patten. I don’t know if you’ve been following the news in America, sir.’
She broke it down for him quickly and waited for him to digest it.
‘No, sir. We haven’t spoken to his wife’s family. Only distant relatives are around.
‘We, sir? That’s my sister, Meg, and me. We take on interesting cases, sir.
‘No, sir. We aren’t a detective agency. We work for a security consulting firm. We advise the NYPD on cases. I can get the NYPD commissioner to give you a call, sir, if that helps. Yes, sir. I can do that. Sure, sir. I’ll call you back.’
She made a face when she hung up. ‘He wants a reference. I said the commissioner would call him and confirm we are who we say we are.’
‘So what are you waiting for?’ Meghan urged her. ‘Pick the phone up. Call Commissioner Rolando.’
Bruce Rolando, the NYPD commissioner, had a soft spot for them. He was friends with Zeb and Broker. He had met the sisters during one case the Agency had helped on, and had been deeply impressed by their ability to connect the dots.
He had a standing offer for them. They could join the NYPD as special consultants whenever they wished.
Beth dialed his number and spoke to his executive assistant.
‘Sir, I come seeking a favor,’ she told him when he came on the line.
She spoke quickly and then smiled when she hung up.
‘He’ll do it. He says we’re wasting our lives working with the old people in this office. You located Duhan?’
‘Yeah. He’s in a nursing home. Let’s see where we get with Garrett, and then we’ll turn to him.’
Pete Garrett didn’t turn out to be very helpful. He spoke freely once the commissioner had called him, and he seemed to be impressed by the sisters’ connections.
However, he didn’t have much to say about Cole and Josh Patten.
‘Billy shared their pictures,’ he explained. ‘But, you have to remember, ma’am. This was the 1960s, and we were in ’Nam. We didn’t carry a whole load of photographs with us. Those boys, they looked so alike in the pictures Billy shared, it was hard to tell them apart.’
Beth nodded unconsciously. Strangers found it very hard to tell Meg and her apart, they looked that similar.
‘You never visited him, sir?’
‘Just twice, ma’am.’ Garrett continued to address them despite Beth’s request. ‘Once, we had a shindig, after we all returned. This was in a hotel in Chisholm. Lot of people around. I spent time with my unit. I’m afraid I don’t remember much of anyone’s family.
‘The second time was another gathering, five years after we returned. Like an anniversary. Same bunch of people. My memory is just as bad.’ He gave an embarrassed laugh.
‘Did Billy Patten tell you anything about his family?’
‘A lot. That boy couldn’t stop talking about his kids. But nothing that would help you identify them.’ He broke off, thinking, and then resumed, ‘No, ma’am. Can’t recollect anything. We stayed in touch when we returned, but by then, his life had changed drastically. He’d become a businessman. He spoke about his business, his travels, his ’Nam trip, that kind of stuff.’
‘You met him just the two times after returning, sir?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Leroy was closer to him. Much closer. You speak to him?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Try. You might get somewhere.’
Leroy Duhan was in a nursing home in Fredericksburg, Texas. From her first call, Meghan got a sinking feeling.
This isn’t going to go well.
The receptionist at the home was a battle-axe who protected the residents’ privacy fiercely.
She neither confirmed nor denied Duhan’s presence.
‘I don’t care if you’re the president, or the pope,’ she snapped when Meghan cajoled. ‘I don’t give out such information.
‘’What if I was Elvis?’
‘That might work. Can you sing? No? Didn’t think so.’ She hung up.
Meghan looked up and grinned ruefully at her sister’s expression.
‘You think she might tell me if I dressed in sequins and carried a guitar?’
She picked the phone again without waiting for an answer.
‘Ma’am,’ she pleaded with the receptionist, ‘this is important. It concerns Leroy’s friend, Billy Patten. They both served in Vietnam.’
‘Honey, you know this is a nursing home, don’tcha?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘You know what kind?’
Meghan blinked. ‘No, ma’am.’
‘It’s for those who are dying. Those who are in bad shape. Mr. Duhan, if he was here, which I can’t confirm or deny, wouldn’t be in a position to come to a phone. Not in this home.’
Meghan smacked her forehead with her palm.
‘We’ll come there, ma’am.’
Chapter Thirteen
The sisters set off to JFK, where the Gulfstream was waiting.
Meghan didn’t notice the other black SUV following them at a distance. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have made out Bwana and Roger in it.
Neither of the operatives spotted the yellow cab tailing them.
Zeb did. He was shadowing the cab, the same one that had been parked outside their office.
‘Fredericksburg is small. About ten thousand people. Founded in the 1840s. German settlers,’ Beth read out as the aircraft took off.
‘What about the nursing home?’
‘She was right. It provides care to those who are in the last stages of a terminal illness.’
‘How come we missed that about Duhan?’ Meghan groused as she worked on her screen, reading the vet’s file. ‘It’s not in here.’
‘People who are dying don’t advertise it,’ her sister replied sarcastically.
Beth closed her screen and pushed her seat back.
She wriggled her toes in the plush leather and glanced at her sister, who raised an admonishing finger.
‘Don’t!’
Beth pouted but kept quiet. She never failed to comment on the luxurious seats whenever they flew in their aircraft.
‘They’re heaven,’ she burst out after a while and warded off the cushion her sister flung at her.
An SUV was waiting for them at San Antonio airport.
They had similar vehicles cached in garages in big cities all across the nation, and in several other countries too.
The garages were owned and maintained by veterans who provided the vehicles as and when the operatives needed them, took them back after a mission, and kept them ready for the next.
Each garage was paid for from a fund that Zeb and Broker had created for former military personnel.
Meghan drove swiftly, and when she eased into an empty parking space at the nursing home, it was hot and dry outside.
Normal for Texas.
She donned her shades and paused for a moment to get her bearings.
The home was on South Washington Street, a compound wall separating it from the bustle of traffic. The building was red brick and was surrounded by a lush garden and several leafy trees.
It was an oasis of calm, and when they walked up the driveway, several of the residents were r
elaxing on benches or in their wheelchairs in the garden.
Meghan pushed open the double doors and waited while the sole receptionist behind the desk dealt with other visitors.
She recognized her immediately from her voice. She was in her fifties and had frizzy, white hair, granny glasses, and a string of pearls around her neck.
She joked and laughed with residents and had a permanent smile on her face.
She aimed that towards the sisters as Meghan approached her.
‘I’m Elvis,’ Meghan introduced herself.
She didn’t react for a moment and then burst into a guffaw.
She came around the desk and smothered the twins in hugs and went back to her chair.
‘I still can’t tell you if Mr. Duhan is here.’
‘It’s like this, Debbie.’ Meghan read her name plate and made a spur-of-the-moment decision to confide in her.
Trust won the day.
Debbie listened without interruption and then rose from behind the desk.
She beckoned to a coworker and asked her to man the desk.
She then led the sisters through winding hallways and past several rooms.
Bright colors. Cheerful. Residents seem to be well-cared for.
‘What’s he suffering from?’
Debbie stopped and shook her head sadly. ‘He suffered from PTSD when he returned. Didn’t get treatment in time for that. Then a liver problem went undiagnosed for a long time. Turned into cancer. Failing organs. Fading memory. Honey, that man fought for us, and now he’s fighting his last battle.
‘You may not get your answers,’ she warned as she knocked on the last door in the hallway. ‘He goes in and out, and even when he’s aware, he can mix realities.
‘Leroy,’ she called out. ‘You have visitors.’
Leroy Duhan was frail-looking, his shirt and trousers hanging limply on his skinny frame. He had thinning hair and watery eyes. His hands shook as he fumbled with the TV remote and turned the volume down.
He turned towards the sisters and looked at them blankly for a moment before smiling.
‘Visitors. Don’t have many of them.’ His voice was strong as he pointed to a couple of chairs.
‘Mr. Duhan, I’m Meghan Petersen, this is my sister Beth. We’ve come from New York, sir.’
‘New York. Fine city. Visited a few times.’
He lapsed into silence as he squinted at them. ‘Do I know you?’
‘No, sir. We’re working on something. We’re investigators, sir, working on a case. Someone you know. Do you remember Billy Patten, sir?’
‘Billy.’ He clapped softly. ‘Of course, I know him. Fine boy. He did well. He’s alive?’
‘No, sir,’ she replied gently. ‘Billy died several years back, in Vietnam.’
‘No, no. He came out alive. With me. We survived.’
‘Sir, he had gone back.’ She eased into the backstory, taking her time, making him comfortable, and when she had finished, he sat in silence.
‘I remember now. I spoke to him a few weeks after he had come back. He said he was planning to take his kids to Cu Chi.
‘I liked Billy.’ He wiped his eyes. ‘He was different. Not like us. He liked to cut corners. That was why he was so good in the tunnels.’
‘Cut corners. Like what, Mr. Duhan?’
‘Brenda. She was good to me. I loved her.’ He started weeping silently.
In confusion, Meghan looked at Debbie, who made a calming gesture with her hand.
‘His wife. He lost her soon after he returned. They never had children. He’ll be back. This is how he is.’
Duhan got back to full awareness half an hour later and reminisced about his friend. He didn’t talk much about his time in Vietnam, except to say all of them were lucky to be alive.
He spoke about Billy Patten’s business. ‘He told me about some Russian, and then the next day he calls me and says Rachel’s family helped him.
‘“What about the Russian?” I bellow down the line.’
‘“Oh, him. I’ll just say sorry.” That was Billy. He could be your best friend, but he could also cut you loose. Just like that.’
He fell silent, gazing at a photograph on a wall. Duhan, surrounded by his unit, the same picture that Farrell had sent them.
‘He had a dark side. Not many knew of it. I think even Rachel didn’t know of it. Once he told me it wasn’t just her family who helped him.’
‘Who were the others, sir?’
He shook his head. With Beth’s help, he rose slowly and went to the picture. He ran his fingers on it lightly and returned to his chair.
‘I didn’t ask, ma’am. It wasn’t something I wished to get involved in.’
Ask him about the sons, Beth whispered to her sister. Before he fades.
‘His sons, sir?’ Meghan bobbed her head at her twin. ‘You met them?’
‘Several times,’ he chuckled. ‘I used to visit them every year when Brenda died. Right until he took them to Vietnam.’
‘You could identify them, sir? Many people seem to be unable.’
‘Me?’ he scoffed. ‘Yeah. They looked like mirror images, but I had a simple solution. If I was confused, I used to ask them to strip.’
‘Strip, sir?’ Meghan asked, confused.
‘Yeah. Get them to remove their shirts.’
‘Why, sir?’
‘There was that mark.’ He looked at them in surprise, as if everyone knew about it.
‘What mark, sir?’
‘Josh had a scar on his chest. Above the right nipple. From an accident when he was very young. It never faded.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘We can’t believe what he said. Not without further confirmation.’ Beth toyed with a lock of her hair as Meghan drove them back to the airport.
They had spent a further hour with Duhan and had left when he’d started to tire.
The vet had told them a lot, not all of it useful to their case, but he had started flagging the more he spoke.
‘He contradicted himself a few times. The first time he said the scar was on Josh. The second time, it was on Cole,’ Meghan agreed.
Debbie had called time when she saw Duhan slipping in and out of reality. ‘That’s the most time anyone has spent with him.’ She thanked them. ‘He hardly gets any visitors. His face lights up when he has some.
‘You get what you wanted?’ She gave them a searching look.
‘Not quite.’ Meghan mentioned the scar, and the receptionist nodded in understanding.
‘Yeah, that happens a lot. He’s a good man, however. If he remembers anything more and tells me, I’ll call you.’
‘What now?’ Beth demanded when they were back in the aircraft.
‘We go to Chisholm. Visit the family house and search through whatever’s there. I’m surprised there aren’t any photographs of the brothers—in fact, of the entire family. The ones Farrell and Patten sent aren’t very helpful.’
The images the billionaire and his lawyer had sent were studio photographs. The four members of the Patten family, formally dressed, staring intently at the camera. Various poses, either in a group, or individually. There were a lot more pictures of Billy Patten in Vietnam than of the young children or any other family member.
‘Neither Billy nor Rachel believed in photographs,’ had been Farrell’s explanation when Beth had pressed him.
‘Yeah.’ Beth brought them up on her screen and scrolled through them rapidly. ‘No birthday parties. No picnic photographs. Nothing. Are we going to tell them about Duhan’s revelation?’
‘We have to.’ Meghan fished out her cell.
The outcome of the call wasn’t what she or Beth expected.
Farrell immediately arranged for a press conference and broke the news that a witness would prove Salaluga’s accusations to be wrong. ‘We have conclusive proof that the CEO of Chisholm Corporation is Cole Patten. We have an independent witness, Leroy Duhan, a vet who served alongside Billy Patten.’
‘Yo
u can’t do that,’ Meghan yelled at the speakerphone in their vehicle as she drove back from JFK to their office. ‘Leroy Duhan is the last person you should drag into his. His awareness and memory aren’t what they used to be. He’s dying, for Chrissakes. We can find some other way to prove Patten’s identity.’
‘You know what the share price is today? My job is to do what’s best for my client. Cole Patten has no scar on his chest. That’s proof.’ He hung up.
She swore a blue streak, rolling down her window and giving the finger to a cab driver who honked angrily as he overtook them.
By the time they reached their office, there was a further update.
News channels reported that Cole Patten was flying to Fredericksburg, along with his lawyers, to get a recorded statement from Leroy Duhan.
The media went to town with the story. One war hero coming to the rescue of a fellow soldier. What’s more, the two had served in the same unit and were fast friends. Black-and-white pictures from Vietnam rolled on screens across the country.
This was the stuff that won awards and shot ratings to the roof.
The twins watched in dismay as talking heads came on the air, heads nodded, tongues wagged and predictions were made.
Chisholm’s share price registered an uptick.
They went to their apartments, which were on an upper floor, to shower, and when they returned, there was another development.
Daniel Lavrov, Gorbunov’s lawyer, had given an interview, discrediting Duhan’s comments.
‘He’s old. We know he doesn’t have full possession of his faculties. In any case, we too will be flying to Fredericksburg. We’ll take our own statement from Mr. Duhan. We are sure the CEO of Chisholm isn’t Cole Patten,’ he said scornfully to a bunch of reporters, paraphrasing Farrell’s line.
Beth rose silently from the couch, turned off the TV and strode to the elevator.
‘We should be in Fredericksburg, too.’
The town was a changed place when they arrived four hours later. Neither the Chisholm nor the Salaluga party had arrived yet.
From snatches of conversation, they gleaned that both were expected in the next hour.
