CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Nigella Morrissey was in the same interview room that had held Mary Jennings. I stood with Logan and watched her through the one-way mirror. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit, the kind that jails and prisons all over the country issue to their inmates. She sat with her back straight, arms resting on the table, her wrists cuffed, shackles around her waist secured to a U-bolt cemented into the floor. She didn’t move except for an occasional involuntary blink of the eyes. She seemed unconcerned about her situation.
Jock walked in the door and stood quietly next to the table. Nigella looked up and smiled. “Ah,” she said. “The thug returns. Got your knife? Want to cut my clothes off ?”
“I just want to chat for a bit.”
“Get me my lawyer.”
“You don’t get a lawyer.”
“Bullshit. I’m a lawyer. I know my rights.”
“This is a national security matter.”
“So?”
“So you don’t get a lawyer.”
“That’s not the law.”
“Maybe not, but you still don’t get a lawyer.”
“I’m not saying a thing without one present.”
“That’s exactly what your aunt Maude Lane said.”
Nigella flinched, an almost imperceptible movement. “Maude Lane? Don’t know her.”
“That’s odd,” said Jock. “She’s your dad’s older sister, helped pay your way through college and law school. Works for the Otto Foundation. Juggles the money for you.”
Nigella shook her head, whether in denial or resignation, I couldn’t tell.
“She’s on her way to Egypt,” said Jock.
“Egypt?”
“Surely you’ve read about the whole rendition thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, where the government sends national security risks to other countries that don’t have the legal constraints we do against torture. It helps get the prisoners talking. Been going on since the early years of the Clinton administration.”
“I know about rendition. What have you done with my aunt?”
“So, she is your aunt.”
“Yes, you bastard. What have you done with her?”
“She’s in jail in Macon, Georgia, waiting for a government plane to come get her.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Don’t count on Barry Nitzler to stop it. He’s in custody in Virginia.”
“Bullshit. He’s way up in the food chain.”
“I’m higher.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Do you have a number that you can call and he’ll always answer? In case of emergency?”
“Yes.”
“Have you called it before?”
“Yes.”
“Always able to get hold of Nitzler?”
“Yes.”
Jock handed her his cell phone. “Call him now.”
“Then you’ll have the number.”
“I already have it.”
“Bullshit.”
Jock took the phone back, pushed a couple of buttons and showed Nigella the small screen. “Is that the number?”
She nodded, dialed the number, listened, closed the phone.
Nigella sat back in her chair, a look of defeat replacing the defiance she’d shown before. “No answer,” she said.
“Tell us what we need to know and I’ll guarantee that your aunt won’t be sent out of the country,” Jock said. “She’ll go into the criminal justice system just like any other drug dealer.”
“Can I have a glass of water?”
“Sure. As soon as we’ve finished talking.”
“Okay,” Nigella said, “okay. My dad was a CIA operative in Vietnam at the end of the war. He met and married my mom and they lived in Saigon. I was born there. When I was just a few weeks old, my dad was killed by some American soldiers who were part of a team he was leading.”
“How do you know this?”
“My uncle is Barry Nitzler. He told me.”
“Your uncle?”
“Yes. His wife and my mother are sisters. He and my dad were best friends. They’d met in college and joined the CIA together.”
“When did he tell you this?”
“A couple of years ago. He’d just been promoted to an important position in the CIA. He went into the records and found the names of the men who’d killed my dad.”
“How did you get involved in the drug business?”
“I was practicing with a firm in Tampa. Barry suggested that I set up my own shop and work to launder some drug money. The profits from the drug business would be used by Barry to take revenge on the ones who’d killed my dad.”
“How did he plan to get that revenge?”
“I don’t know. He never said and I never asked.”
“How did the operation work?”
“Barry said that the Otto Foundation would be the perfect front and since Aunt Maude worked there, maybe we could get her to handle that end of things.”
“Did you talk to your aunt?”
“Yes. Barry and I went to see her in Macon early last year. He’d known her for years. He told her that he now had the documents that proved that some American soldiers had killed my dad and another CIA man. He wanted her help in getting even.”
“Did you set up the scheme then?”
“No. She wanted time to think about it. She called me a few days later and discussed the procedures, how it would be done. Barry would provide her with a computer whiz who would help her set things up and hack the bank computers.”
“How did it work?”
“The money would go from the foundation to several dummy companies that Barry set up. Then the funds would be wired from those companies into my trust account. I’d then send money back to an account that Barry controlled.”
“What was the money used for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Murder?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask, didn’t want to know.”
“What did you think Barry was going to do with the money? How was he going to exact his revenge on the soldiers?”
“I supposed he was going use the money to set up whatever he needed to get the job done. To kill them.”
“You weren’t bothered by that?”
Nigella’s voice rose. “These guys killed my dad. I never knew him because those bastards took it on themselves to kill him. They deserved whatever they got.”
“Do you know about Ban Touk?”
“What’s that?”
“A village in Vietnam, near the Laotian border.”
She shook her head. “Never heard of it.”
Jock’s voice became harder, edgier. “How about a massacre of civilians? Women and children. Ever hear of that?”
“My Lai? Everybody’s heard about that.”
“No. Ban Touk. It happened much later. At the same time that your dad was killed.”
“I’ve never heard anything about it.”
“Did you know what your dad was doing in Vietnam?”
“Only what Barry told me. That he led a team of soldiers who killed Viet Cong.”
“Did he tell you why he thought your dad was killed by the soldiers?”
“Just that it was some sort of mutiny. I don’t know if he even knew the details.”
“Are you aware that four of the adult children of men in your dad’s team have been killed in the last three months?”
“No. Why would Barry kill the children of those men? That doesn’t make any sense. I can see him killing the murderers, but not their kids.”
“Who are the Vietnamese men and women involved in what Barry Nitzler is doing?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t know there were any Vietnamese involved.”
“Nigella, we’re going to be doing some more digging. I told you the other night that if you lied to me I’d kill you. I won’t do that, but if what you’ve told me turns out to be untrue or incomplete, you’ll be on that flight to Egypt.”
“What about my aunt?”
“She’s in the Bibb County Jail in Macon with a DEA hold. She’s not going anywhere, and assuming you’ve been truthful with me, she won’t be sent to Egypt.”
“Barry’s not going to let anything happen to her or to me. Even if you’ve got him in custody. He’s got lots of friends in D.C.”
“Barry will be dead by the end of the day. Once he’s been wrung dry of information, he’ll have some sort of fatal accident. The CIA doesn’t take kindly to its people going off the reservation.”
“You’ll never be able to use any of this evidence against me.”
“Don’t need to,” Jock said, as he rose and moved toward the door.
“What do you mean?” Nigella asked, a note of alarm sending her voice up a register.
Jock looked directly at her, was quiet for a beat. Then, “I think you know, Nigella.” He left the room, closing the door softly.