Chapter 7 - THE WITNESS WHO DISAPPEARED|
Margaret Ellis wasn't missing in the way television detectives used the word.
There was no overturned furniture.
No abandoned vehicle beside an empty highway.
No dramatic discovery that immediately proved a crime had occurred.
There was simply an unanswered telephone, a missed appointment, and a voicemail that frightened her attorney enough to contact investigators.
That distinction mattered.
I'd spent too many years around intelligence reports to confuse an alarming possibility with a proven fact.
Nevertheless, I felt uneasy.
Margaret had worked for Martin Vale during the exact period when my original testimony was being questioned.
If anyone knew what he'd done with those documents, it might be her.
Colonel Sloan ended the meeting and instructed everyone to preserve relevant notes and communications.
The investigators would handle locating Margaret.
I was specifically told not to contact her myself.
"She's a potential witness, Rebecca," Sloan explained.
"And any independent contact could complicate the evidentiary record."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
I looked at her.
"I've obeyed orders for more than twenty years, Colonel."
She studied me.
"Then you know that sometimes restraint is harder than action."
I had no answer to that.
Outside the headquarters building, the morning had turned warm.
Soldiers crossed the parking lot carrying folders and coffee cups.
A grounds crew trimmed the grass near a monument.
Somewhere in the distance, a marching formation called cadence.
The ordinary rhythm of military life continued, completely indifferent to the storm gathering around one dead soldier's records.
I walked toward my assigned vehicle.
My phone vibrated.
Evan Carter.
I answered.
"Lance Corporal?"
"Ma'am, I have something to tell you."
His voice sounded strained.
"What happened?"
"I spoke with my sergeant."
"About the airport incident?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"And?"
"I gave him a full statement."
"Good."
"I didn't leave anything out."
"That's what you were supposed to do."
He hesitated.
"Mason and Noah did the same."
I opened the vehicle door.
"Then let your command handle the process."
"Ma'am, that's not why I'm calling."
I paused.
"Go ahead."
"Someone contacted my aunt."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"Who?"
"A man asking about my father's papers."
I looked across the parking lot.
"What did your aunt tell him?"
"Nothing."
"Did he identify himself?"
"He said he worked for a veterans' historical project."
"Did he give a name?"
"Richard Lawson."
I repeated it silently.
Richard Lawson.
The name meant nothing to me.
"Did your aunt give him access to the house?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good."
I lowered my voice.
"Evan, have you reported this to the appropriate authorities?"
"Not yet."
"You need to."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And preserve the call information."
He exhaled.
"Ma'am, is this happening because I sent you those letters?"
"We don't know."
"But it could be."
"Yes."
He was silent.
Then he asked the question I'd been dreading.
"Did my father die because somebody was trying to hide something?"
I closed my eyes.
"I don't know, Evan."
"But you're looking into it."
"The investigators are."
"Are they going to tell me the truth?"
I looked toward the headquarters building.
"They're trying to establish it."
His breathing grew uneven.
"My mother spent years writing letters."
"To whom?"
"The Army."
I leaned against the vehicle.
"About the report?"
"Yes."
"Did she receive replies?"
"Mostly form letters."
He paused.
"But one officer wrote her a personal note."
My pulse quickened.
"Do you remember the name?"
"I have a picture."
"Send it."
A few seconds later, an image appeared.
It showed a faded envelope addressed to Anna Carter.
The return address belonged to a military legal office.
Inside was a short handwritten note.
Mrs. Carter, I reviewed the materials you sent, and I agree that certain questions remain unresolved.
The signature was almost illegible.
I enlarged it.
Then I recognized the name.
Captain Patricia Sloan.
I stared at the photograph.
The colonel who'd just told me to trust the investigative process had corresponded with Anna Carter years earlier.
But she hadn't mentioned it.
Not during our meeting.
Not while discussing the original report.
Not even when I told her that Evan's mother had preserved Bill's letters.
I felt a sharp flicker of suspicion.
Then I stopped myself.
There were legitimate reasons an attorney might not immediately disclose prior involvement in a matter.
But there were also important ethical obligations when personal history could affect an investigation.
I needed to understand which applied.
"Evan, thank you."
"Do you know her?"
"Yes."
His voice rose.
"Can she help?"
"She may already be helping."
After ending the call, I walked back into the building.
Colonel Sloan was still in the conference room, gathering documents.
She looked up when I entered.
"Lieutenant Colonel?"
"Do you have a moment?"
"Of course."
I closed the door.
"Did you know Anna Carter?"
Sloan became very still.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she carefully placed her folder on the table.
"Who told you?"
"Her son found an old letter."
Sloan sighed.
"I wondered when that would surface."
I kept my voice steady.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because the correspondence is part of the review record, and I planned to discuss my prior involvement with the board's ethics counsel before your next interview."
"Have you?"
"Yes."
She sat down.
"I disclosed it when I was appointed."
I studied her.
"Tell me what happened."
Sloan looked toward the window.
"Anna Carter contacted my office when I was a junior legal officer."
"About her husband's death?"
"Yes."
"Did you believe her?"
"I believed she raised questions that deserved answers."
She opened her briefcase and removed a small notebook.
"I couldn't reopen the investigation myself."
"Why not?"
"I didn't have jurisdiction or authority."
"But you wrote to her."
"Because she deserved a human response."
I sat across from her.
"What happened after that?"
"I sent her concerns through the appropriate channels."
"And?"
"The case was reviewed and closed again."
"By whom?"
She looked at me.
"Martin Vale was one of the officials who endorsed the closure."
I exhaled slowly.
Sloan continued.
"I kept an authorized record of my correspondence."
"Did Anna contact you again?"
"Once."
"When?"
"About a year before she died."
My chest tightened.
"What did she say?"
Sloan's voice softened.
"She told me she'd stopped expecting anyone to change the official report."
I lowered my eyes.
"But she wanted someone to promise that if new evidence appeared, her son would be told."
The room grew quiet.
"What did you promise?" I asked.
"That I would follow the law and do everything within my authority to make sure credible evidence wasn't ignored."
I looked at the faded photograph on my phone.
Anna had held on to that promise for years.
And perhaps, in some small way, it had helped her keep going.
Sloan leaned forward.
"Rebecca, there's something else you should understand."
I looked up.
"Margaret Ellis didn't contact us because she suddenly developed a guilty conscience."
"What do you mean?"
"She contacted us because someone else persuaded her to."
"Who?"
Sloan hesitated.
"A former communications specialist."
My heart accelerated.
"Daniel Mercer."
She nodded.
"Yes."
I leaned back.
"Where is he?"
"We don't have his current location."
"Is he cooperating?"
"He provided some information and then stopped responding."
"Why?"
Sloan looked deeply troubled.
"We believe he's frightened."
Before I could answer, her office phone rang.
She checked the caller identification.
Then she answered.
"Sloan."
I watched her expression change.
"Are you certain?"
A pause.
"Where?"
She rose slowly.
"Understood."
When she disconnected, I stood.
"Margaret?"
Sloan nodded.
"She's been located."
I released a breath.
"Is she safe?"
"She appears physically unharmed."
"Where was she?"
"At a roadside motel outside Raleigh."
"Why didn't she attend the interview?"
Sloan looked at me.
"Because someone sent her a photograph of her granddaughter leaving school."
I felt cold.
"They threatened her family?"
"That's what she's reporting."
"Who sent it?"
"Unknown."
Sloan picked up her folder.
"But Margaret has agreed to provide a statement."
I followed her toward the door.
"And Rebecca?"
I stopped.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"She's asking to speak with one person before she signs anything."
"Her attorney?"
May you like
Sloan shook her head.
"She asked for you."
