Second Honeymoon Part 59

He was no longer wondering what the h.e.l.l to do with me.

Chapter 93

SARAH AND I hopped the next Delta shuttle to New York, hailed a cab from LaGuardia to the Ninth Precinct on the Lower East Side, and climbed the stairs two at a time to the second floor to meet Detective Harris. I was still shaking the guy's hand when I cut to the chase.

"Where is she?" I asked.

"Down the hall," he said.

"Was she okay with waiting?" asked Sarah.

"No, but it's not like she had much of a choice," said Harris. "Once she told me what she told me..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence; it was simply understood. A given. When a potentially huge break in a case comes walking through the door, you basically lock that door behind her. G.o.d forbid she changes her mind.

We followed Harris, a compact man with a shuffling gait, down the hall to a small lounge area furnished with a couple of beat-up couches, a half-empty vending machine, and some old People magazines. Make that really old. The cover of one announced Lost as the new hit television series.

In contrast, Martha Cole, the woman sitting on one of the couches, looked even younger than her twenty-two years of age. Mousy hair, a lean figure, a few freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. It would be a while before she ever ordered a drink without being carded.

At that moment, though, it seemed as if she could really use one. Maybe even two. After Harris introduced us I went to shake her hand, only to see that it was already shaking on its own. The rest of her was, too.

Sarah sat down next to her. "It's okay, Martha," she said soothingly. "I know how hard this must be for you, so we'll try to make it as easy as possible. We just need to ask you some questions."

Fact was, all we knew at that point was what Harris had told Driesen over the phone. A young woman had walked in off the street clutching a copy of the Times. She asked to speak to a detective, any detective. When asked why, she said she thought she could identify the Honeymoon Murderer.

His name was Robert Macintyre, and he was a former staff sergeant in the U.S. Army. Robbie, she called him.

"I used to be engaged to him," she explained.

Chapter 94

MARTHA COLE DREW a deep breath, exhaling slowly. She was calming down. I chalked that up to Sarah and gave her a quick, approving nod. Run with it. She's all yours.

I took a seat on the other couch next to Detective Harris and crossed my legs. Then I crossed my fingers. We were overdue for some good luck.

As promised, Sarah kept it simple. "Martha, when was the last time you saw or spoke to Robert?" she asked.

"About a month ago."

"And when did the two of you end your engagement?"

Martha hesitated. Her eyes welled up, the emotions kicking in. She was doing her best to fight it.

Finally, she answered. "It wasn't a mutual decision. I'm the one who broke it off."

Detective Harris reached into his pocket, then handed Martha a folded handkerchief. Nice to think some guys still carried those around. Very old school.

"Thank you," said Martha, wiping her eyes. As raw and torn as she was, I couldn't help but notice her determination. She continued: "When Robbie came back from the war-Afghanistan-it was like he was going through withdrawal. He missed the action, the constant adrenaline."

Sarah nodded. "Let me guess-you couldn't compete, right?"

"Exactly. Everything was boring to him, including me," she said. "I thought I was doing him a favor."

"You mean by breaking things off?"

She couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Her guilt was too strong. Her anger even stronger.

"That d.a.m.n war!" she nearly shouted. "It wasn't Robbie's fault, do you hear me? He wasn't the same person. The guy who came back wasn't the guy I'd fallen in love with!"

Sarah put her hand on Martha's shoulder, rubbing gently. "We understand, we really do," she said.

"But Robbie didn't," said Martha. "I tried to explain it to him, but it's like he wouldn't even listen."

"How long ago was this?" asked Sarah.

"The end of last year, right after Thanksgiving. We were supposed to get married on Christmas Eve," she said. "When I broke it off he just went ballistic."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No. But I was scared." She paused, her voice dropping. "He owns guns."

"Do you know what kind? Handguns? Rifles?"

"All of the above. His favorite was what he carried in the war. I forget the name, but it was one of those semiautomatic rifles."

Sarah and I exchanged a quick glance. Bingo.

"So what kind of missions was Robert involved with in Afghanistan?" asked Sarah. "Did he ever say anything to you?"

Martha worked the handkerchief on her eyes again as she thought for a moment. "There was this one time," she said. "He'd been drinking and, well, I don't know how we got on the subject, but he started to tell me things."

"What kinds of things?"

"It was sort of like he was bragging," she said. "There was this group he got recruited for, some kind of special weapons unit. He called it the James Bond crew because they trained with all these new gadgets and stuff like that. Poisons, too."

"Poisons?"