Stillwatch (30 page)

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Authors: Mary Higgins Clark

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)

that picture.
” She didn’t mean the one of her and Francey.He put his arms around her, clumsily patted her back and realizedwith the dullness of a long-accepted pain that he was nothing more toher than a railing to grab when your feet gave way underneath you.“If anyone really studies the pictures! Toby, look at
that
one.”“Nobody’s going to bother.”“Toby, that girl—that Pat Traymore. How did she happen to leasethat house? It can’t be a coincidence.”“The house has been rented to twelve different tenants in the pasttwenty-four years. She’s just another one of them.” Toby tried to makehis voice hearty. He didn’t believe that; but on the other hand, Phil stillhadn’t been able to uncover the details of the rental. “Senator, yougotta hang in there. Whoever made those threats to Pat Traymore . . .”

 

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“Toby,
how do we know there were threats?
How do we know thisisn’t a calculated attempt to embarrass me?”He was so startled he stepped back. In a reflex action she pulledaway from him, and they stared at each other. “God Almighty, Abby,do you think she
engineered
this?”The ring of the telephone made them both jump. He looked at her.“You want me . . .”“Yes.” She held her hands up to her face. “I don’t give a goddamnwho’s calling. I’m not here.”“Senator Jennings’ residence.” Toby put on his butler’s voice. “MayI take a message for the Senator? She’s not available at the moment.”He winked at Abby and was rewarded by the trace of a smile. “ThePresident. . . . Oh, just a minute, sir.” He held his hand over themouthpiece. “Abby, the President is calling you. . . .”“Toby, don’t you dare . . .”“Abby, for chrissake, it’s the
President!
”She clasped her hands to her lips, then came over and took thephone from him. “If this is your idea of a joke . . .” She got on.“Abigail Jennings.”Toby watched as her expression changed. “Mr. President. I’m sosorry. . . . I’m sorry . . . Some reading . . . That’s why I left word. . . .I’m sorry. . . . Yes, sir, of course. Yes, I can be at the White Housetomorrow evening . . . eight-thirty, of course. Yes, we’ve been quitebusy with this program. Frankly, I’m not comfortable being the subjectof this sort of thing. . . . Why, how kind of you. . . . Sir, you mean . .. I simply don’t know what to say. . . . Of course, I understand. . . .Thank you, sir.”She hung up. Dazed, she looked at Toby. “I’m not to tell a soul.He’s announcing his appointment of me tomorrow night after theprogram. He said it isn’t a bad idea the whole country gets to knowme a little better. He laughed about the
Mirror
cover. He said hismother was a big gal too, but that I’m much prettier now than when Iwas seventeen. Toby, I’m going to be Vice President of the UnitedStates!” She laughed hysterically and flung herself at him.“Abby, you
did
it!” He lifted her off her feet.An instant later her face twisted with tension. “Toby, nothing canhappen . . . Nothing must stop this. . . .”

 

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He put her down and covered both her hands in his. “Abby, I
swear
nothing will keep this from you.”She started to laugh and then began to cry. “Toby, I’m on a rollercoaster. You and that damn Scotch. You know I can’t drink. Toby—
Vice President!
”He had to ease her down. His voice soothing, he said, “Later on we’lltake a ride over and just kind of cruise past your new house, Abby. You’refinally getting a mansion. Next stop Massachusetts Avenue.”“Toby, shut up. Just make me a cup of tea. I’m going to take ashower and try to collect myself. Vice President! My God, my God!”He put the kettle on and then, not bothering with a coat, walked tothe roadside mailbox and flipped it open. The usual collection of junk—coupons, contests, “You may have won two million dollars”. . . . Ninety-nine percent of Abby’s personal mail went through the office.Then he saw it. The blue envelope with the handwritten address.A personal note to Abby. He looked at the upper left-hand corner andfelt the blood drain from his face.The note was from Catherine Graney.

 

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Sam drove across town on n 7th Street, already a little late for hisnoon appointment with Larry Saggiotes of the National TransportationSafety Board.After he left Pat, he’d gone home and lain awake most of the night,his emotions shifting from anger to a sober examination of Pat’s charges.“Can I help you, sir?”“What? Oh, sorry.” Sheepishly Sam realized he’d been so deep inthought, he had arrived in the lobby of the FAA building withoutrealizing he had come through the revolving door. The security guardwas looking at him curiously.He went up to the eighth floor and gave his name to the receptionist.“It will be just a few minutes,” she said.Sam settled into a chair. Had Abigail and Willard Jennings beenhaving a violent argument that last day? he wondered. But that didn’thave to mean anything. He remembered there were times when he’dthreatened to quit Congress, to get a job that would provide some ofthe luxuries that Janice deserved. She’d argued with him and stormedat him, and anyone who heard them would have thought they couldn’tstand each other. Maybe the pilot’s widow did hear Abigail arguingwith Willard Jennings that day. Maybe Willard was disgusted aboutsomething and ready to give up politics and she didn’t want himburning his bridges. Sam had called his FBI friend Jack Carlson totrace the report of the crash.“Twenty-seven years ago? That could be a tough one,” Jack hadsaid. “The National Transportation Safety Board handlesinvestigations into crashes now, but that many years ago the CivilAeronautics Administration was in charge. Let me call you back.”At nine-thirty Jack had phoned back. “You’re in luck,” he’d saidlaconically. “Most records are shredded after ten years, but when

 

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prominent people are involved, the investigation reports are stored inthe Safety Board warehouse. They’ve got the data on accidentsinvolving everyone from Amelia Earhart and Carole Lombard to DagHammarskjöld and Hale Boggs. My contact at the board is LarrySaggiotes. He’ll get the report sent to his office, look it over. Hesuggests you come by about noon. He’ll review it with you.”“Excuse me, sir. Mr. Saggiotes will see you now.”Sam looked up. He had a feeling the receptionist had been tryingto get his attention. I’d better get with it, he thought. He followed herdown the corridor.Larry Saggiotes was a big man whose features and coloring reflectedhis Greek heritage. They exchanged greetings. Sam gave a carefullyedited explanation of why he’d wanted to investigate the crash.Larry settled back in his chair, frowning. “Nice day here, isn’t it?”he commented. “But it’s foggy in New York, icy in Minneapolis,pouring in Dallas. Yet in the next twenty-four hours one hundredtwenty thousand commercial, military and private planes will takeoff and land in this country. And the odds against any of them crashingare astronomical. That’s why when a plane that’s been checked outby an expert mechanic and flown by a master pilot on a day withgood visibility suddenly crashes into a mountain and is scattered overtwo square miles of rocky landscape, we’re not happy.”“The Jennings plane!”“The Jennings plane,” Larry confirmed. “I’ve just read the report.What happened? We don’t know. The last contact with George Graneywas when he left traffic control in Richmond. There was no suggestionof trouble. It was a routine two-hour flight. And then he was overdue.”“And the verdict was pilot error?” Sam asked.“
Probable
cause, pilot error. It always ends up like that when wecan’t come up with other answers. It was a fairly new Cessna twin-engine, so their engineers were around to prove the plane was in greatshape. Willard Jennings’ widow cried her eyes out about how she’dhad a horror of small charter planes, that her husband had complainedabout rough landings with Graney.”“Did the possibility of foul play ever come up?”“Congressman, the possibility of foul play is
always
investigatedin a case like this. First we look for how it might have been done.Well, there are plenty of ways that are pretty hard to trace. For example,

 

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with all the magnetic tape being used today, a strong magnet hiddenin the cockpit could screw up all the instruments. Twenty-seven yearsago that wouldn’t have happened. But if anybody had fooled with thegenerator of Graney’s plane, maybe, frayed or cut a wire, Graneywould have had a complete loss of power right as he’s flying over amountain. The chances of recovering usable evidence would havebeen negligible.“The fuel switch would be another possibility. That plane had twotanks. The pilot switched to the second tank when the first tank’sneedle indicated it was empty. Suppose the switch wasn’t working?He wouldn’t have had a chance to use the second tank. Then, of course,we have corrosive acid. Somebody who doesn’t want a plane to makeit safely could have put a leaky container of the stuff on board. Itcould be in the luggage area, under a seat—wouldn’t matter. Thatwould eat through the cables within half an hour and there’d be nocontrolling the plane. But that would be easier to discover.”“Did any of this come up at the hearing?” Sam asked.“There weren’t enough pieces of that plane recovered to play PickUp Sticks. So the next thing we do is look for motive. And foundabsolutely none. Graney’s charter line was doing well; he hadn’t takenout any recent insurance. The Congressman was so poorly insured itwas amazing, but when you have family dough, you don’t needinsurance, I guess. Incidentally, this is the second request I’ve had fora copy of the report. Mrs. George Graney came in for one last week.”“Larry, if it’s at all possible, I’m trying to keep Senator Jenningsfrom being embarrassed by having this rehashed—and of course I’llstudy the report myself, but let me get this straight: was there anysuggestion that George Graney was an inexperienced or careless pilot?”“Absolutely none. He had an impeccable record, Congressman. Hehad been in air combat through the Korean War, then worked for Unitedfor a couple of years. This kind of flying was child’s play to him.”“How about his equipment?”“Always in top shape. His mechanics were good.”“So the pilot’s widow has a valid reason to be upset that the blamefor the crash got laid at George Graney’s doorstep.”Larry blew a smoke ring the size of a cruller. “You bet she does—
more
than valid.”

 

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