ONCE IN, NEVER OUT
Chapter 7

     
     
     
To avoid allegations of theft by police personnel, the rules clearly state that a relative or neighbor should be present whenever an absent resident's premises are searched. Since McKenna intended to get deep into Meaghan's life, he didn't want to air her laundry in front of her brother the priest. Whether she was dead or alive, things that Meaghan wanted kept hidden wouldn't be revealed by McKenna unless absolutely necessary. Besides, he already had somebody trustworthy who fit right into the rules.
     Chipmunk had gotten off work at eight o'clock and met McKenna in front of his and Meaghan's building on East 76th Street. A minute later they were in Meaghan's small studio apartment on the third floor. There was a small kitchen and a bathroom on opposite sides of the entry hallway that led to a combination bedroom/dining room/living room. Crowded into the room was a sofa with an end table on each side and a coffee table in front, a dresser with a TV and a stereo perched on top, a small table with seating for two, a hope chest, and a built-in closet containing a fold-down Murphy bed. The two windows were adorned with bright, cheery curtains and the floor was partially covered by a throw rug that matched the colors of the curtains.
     McKenna's first thought was that Walsh had understated the condition of the apartment. It wasn't just neat and clean. Except for the two-week layer of dust that had accumulated in her absence, Meaghan's apartment was spotless. His second was that the apartment had that one feature so rare and precious in Manhattan--closet space, and plenty of it. There were two closets in the main room and another long one with sliding doors in the hallway.
     Meaghan's feminine touch was evident everywhere. Plants hung from the ceiling in planters at three corners of the room, a line of ceramic kittens marched across the dresser in front of the TV and stereo, a frilly linen doily was under each of the matching lamps on both end tables, a matching tablecloth of the same material covered the dining table, and two photo albums with embroidered covers were on the coffee table. On the wall over the sofa was a painting that depicted an Irish country landscape seen through the window of an old-fashioned kitchen. On the opposite wall, over the TV, were two photos in pastel-blue ceramic frames. One was a shot of Meaghan as a teenager standing between a middle-aged couple in front of an Irish country cottage. The other was a photo of a smiling priest in a Roman collar.
     "Some lucky guy should have married this girl already," Chipmunk commented as he looked around.
     "I'm sure that thought's already crossed the minds of quite a few not-so-lucky guys," McKenna said. "I think she's sick of hearing from them."
     "Why you say that?"
     McKenna pointed to the phone on one of the night tables. "Because she has to be the only single girl in Manhattan without an answering machine. I would have liked to listen to who's been calling her."
     "Yeah, that would have been nice," Chipmunk said. "Maybe she's got call answering with NYNEX."
     "She doesn't."
     "So where do we start?"
     "Could you do the hope chest while I look around?"
     "Sure. What are we looking for?"
     "Her cancelled checks, love letters, and a photo of Owen."
     "The checks should be easy, but if there's letters or Owen-photos, they should be pretty well hidden," Chipmunk said. "O'Malley spent a lot of time here, so she wouldn't have left them anyplace he'd be likely to come across them."
     "That's too bad, because we're here until we find them."
     McKenna took off his jacket and tie and went into the kitchen. He was going through the cabinets when he heard Chipmunk yell, "Got the checks."
     "That's a start. Keep going," McKenna yelled back.
     The cabinets contained only four cans of ready-to-drink Slimfast, tea bags, sugar, a dinner service for four, six glasses, four coffee cups, a tea kettle, a blender, and a box of Wheaties. In the single drawer was silverware for six and a dozen take-out menus from the local restaurants.
     The garbage can was empty. The stove looked new and the oven was so clean that McKenna was convinced that it had never been used.
     So Meaghan's become a real Manhattan woman, McKenna surmised. Like most of the busy women in town, she didn't cook. When he checked the refrigerator, he knew he was right. It was off and empty except for a jar of peanut butter and a can of coffee. The freezer was also empty.
     McKenna went on to the bathroom. It was scrubbed clean and he found nothing he considered important except for an unopened box of birth control bills. It was what he didn't find that interested him--there was no toothbrush.
     The hallway closet was crammed with summer clothes and shoes, a vacuum cleaner, and suitcases. On shelves on one side of the closet were her sweaters, all neatly folded.
     McKenna took the vacuum cleaner out and hefted it. It wasn't light and he smiled when he noticed that the heavy plastic cover was cracked. Chris O'Malley took quite a shot while learning his lesson, McKenna concluded. Then he took out the suitcases.
     Like Walsh had said, there were four of them, two old ones and two new gray ones. The old suitcases had Montreal International Airport baggage tags attached to the handles, but it was the two new ones that interested McKenna. They were part of a matched set. One was a small overnight bag and the other was a large suitcase. He figured there were one or two smaller suitcases missing from the set. He searched the luggage, found nothing, and started on the closet.
     It took a while to check the shelves, unfold and refold all the sweaters, go through all the pockets of all the clothes, and check the insides of all the shoes. It was an unrewarding task that yielded nothing about Owen, but provided another small mystery. One of the sweaters was homemade and the design on the front and back featured a Union Jack crossed with an Irish flag. Underneath the words PEACE IN OUR TIME were embroidered. Considering the politics of most of the Irish immigrants in town, McKenna thought it was a very unusual sweater for Meaghan to own.
     When McKenna returned to the main room, he found Chipmunk kneeling on the floor carefully folding a wedding dress. The contents of the hope chest were neatly arranged around him in a way that reminded McKenna of a Marine Corps footlocker inspection. There were more photo albums, an old teddy bear, two jewelry boxes, and many unopened packages of newborn baby clothes in both pink and blue. The top tray of the hope chest was where Meaghan kept her bills, cancelled checks, and receipts, all neatly arranged, and a photo framed in black of a young man wearing a British Army uniform.
     Chipmunk finished folding the wedding dress and placed it in the bottom of the hope chest.
     "Find anything interesting?" McKenna asked.
     "Interesting? I found that our Meaghan is a girl who really thinks ahead. She's got her wedding dress ready to go, but I don't think she plans on marrying anyone soon. Better yet, she's already bought clothes for the babies she's not even close to having."
     "Anything else?"
     "No sign of Owen, but there is this." Chipmunk reached into the tray and handed McKenna a folded credit card receipt. "Looks like Walsh was wrong," he said. "Meaghan's got herself a Visa card."
     She sure does, McKenna thought as he examined the receipt. It was in her name and Meaghan had used the card at Travel Plans Unlimited to charge eight hundred and seventy dollars the previous August. The card expired in the following October, so McKenna knew that she had had it for some time. How could Walsh be so wrong on something important like this? he wondered. That's not like him.
     Walsh wasn't wrong, he concluded. "The card's in her name, but I'll bet it's not her account. Somebody who loves her gave her a credit card to use."
     "Well, it's not O'Malley," Chipmunk said. "He's illegal and would have a hell of a time getting a Visa card. So that leaves her brother, her folks, or Owen."
     "Hate to do this, but we gotta find out."
     "Hate to do what?"
     "Call Ireland. It's two in the morning there now." McKenna picked up Meaghan's phone and dialed. It rang for a while, but he didn't have to announce himself this time. "Detective McKenna?" Mrs. Maher asked.
     "Yes, Mrs. Maher. Sorry to bother you again, and it's nothing else for you to worry about. There are a few things I need to know right now."
     "No bother at all, but could you please do me a favor?"
     "Sure. What is it?"
     "Stop calling me Mrs. Maher. I'm probably not much older than you and my name's Peggy."
     It was a shock to McKenna, but she was probably right. He had married late, but if he had started his family earlier in life he could have a daughter about Meaghan's age. Suddenly he felt uncomfortably old. "Okay, Peggy. It's a deal, but only if you call me Brian."
     "Thank you. What do you need to know, Brian?"
     "Did you give Meaghan a credit card?"
     "No, she never asked for one. We're not rich and she knows we had a hard enough time getting one for ourselves."
     "Did Meaghan ever come home for a visit?"
     "Just once, last August for three days. She didn't have vacation, but she added two days to her weekend and popped in. It was such a wonderful surprise for us."
     "Do you know what airport she left here from?"
     Mrs. Maher didn't answer, and McKenna thought he knew the reason why. "Peggy, I know Meaghan is an illegal immigrant here, but that's a secret I'll keep. Besides, her legal status isn't important to me. Now tell me, did she fly out of Montreal?"
     "Yes, she left from Montreal and returned the same way."
     "Does she have an Irish passport or a British one?"
     "What makes you think she would have a British passport?"
     "Just a hunch. She knits, right?"
     "She used to," Mrs. Maher said, sounding puzzled. Then she got it. "You've seen her sweater with the flags?"
     "Yes, and I'm also looking at a photo of a young man in a British army uniform."
     "That's my son James. He was on the Sheffield in the Falkland War."
     The HMS Sheffield ? That was the British ship that was hit by an Argentine Exocet missile, McKenna thought. There were horrible casualties among the British soldiers and sailors on board. He didn't want to ask the next question, but it was the logical one. "Was he killed in action?"
     "Yes. It was quite a blow to us and I don't think Meaghan ever got over it. James was eleven years older than her, but he doted on her and she simply adored him. She still has a special place in her heart for soldiers, no matter where they're from."
     Explains a lot, McKenna thought. Also tells me that the Maher family isn't unfamiliar with tragedy. Sure hope I'm wrong about this one shaping up, but now's not the time to dwell on it. "Well, which is it, Peg? The British or the Irish passport?"
     "Both. She was born in Belfast in the North. We moved south to Dublin when she was ten, but we still have family there."
     "Thank you. Now, this is important, but it's a tough one. Do you remember the luggage she had when she visited?"
     "Of course I do. She had two suitcases, the same battered old suitcases she had when she first left Ireland. It was such a shame, her being so pretty and proper and carrying those old suitcases, so we bought her a nice new set of luggage.
     "The gray luggage?"
     "Why, yes. How do you know?"
     "Because I'm in her apartment right now looking at it. How many pieces in the set?"
     "Four, all different sizes."
     "One more question. Does Meaghan usually take milk in her coffee and tea?"
     "She wouldn't have it any other way. Very light, usually half a cup of milk whenever she had either."
     "Then I have a little piece of good news for you. Meaghan wasn't kidnapped. She planned a trip. She cleaned out her refrigerator, turned it off, and threw out any open container of milk she might have had. Then she packed up two of her new suitcases and left of her own accord. I don't know where she went yet, but I'm getting some ideas."
     "Can you tell me what they are?"
     "Not now, Peggy. Maybe tomorrow when I know a little more. I don't want to build up any false hopes for you."
     "Fair enough. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"
     Mrs. Maher's few minutes turned into a half hour. She had so many questions about Meaghan's life in New York and answers to many of the questions McKenna had about the subject of his investigation. He learned that the US had always fascinated Meaghan, and even as a little girl, she had always known she was coming here. She was determined to be an American. When she grew up, she had found Ireland too boring and constrained by tradition. That had hardened her resolve and she was off on her adventure.
     According to Mrs. Maher, Meaghan had always been a determined and meticulous planner. She had done well enough in school, but her obstinacy and determination showed up there as well. She absolutely refused to learn a word of the required Gaelic. The ancient language fit nowhere in her plans, so she took the F and concentrated on the many elective speech courses she took. She wanted to lose her brogue and be able to speak like an American, and she succeeded. Her mother said she could perfectly mimic every American accent from Brooklyn to Alabama.
     It all made sense to McKenna and accounted for Meaghan's choice of Montreal as her departure and entry point. She had planned well and knew the system, and McKenna had the scenario: Fly out of New York and there would be all those embarrassing inquiries from those very nosy US Immigration agents when she returned. Cross the loosely guarded and fairly lax border into Canada, fly out of Montreal, and then it's a different story when she returns there. With her Irish passport, she's okay. With her British passport, she's even better and no problem for Canadian Immigration. A fellow Citizen of the Empire dropping in for another visit, eh? So good to see you and welcome back.
     Two hours later and Meaghan is on a bus at the US border. Since she had a phony green card, McKenna was sure Meaghan had a phony driver's license as well. Show the license to the bored US Immigration agent, answer a few perfunctory questions with her New York accent, and she's on her way home, back to the place she loves.
     By the time McKenna finally hung up, Chipmunk had finished repacking the hope chest, had emptied the first of the closets in the main room, and was going through her clothes. "You mind doing that, Chip?"
     "What's to mind? It's mindless. What do you want to do?"
     "Go through her photo albums. I know her already, but I want to get right inside her head."
     So while Chipmunk went through the two closets and then Meaghan's dresser, McKenna went through her life in pictures. He watched her grow up as he followed her, a tough, cute tomboy in a shantytown in Belfast, to Dublin in her teens, and finally to America.
     It was in America that Meaghan bloomed. Cute became pretty and she knew it. There were photos of Meaghan at the Empire State Building, on the Staten Island ferry, at the Bronx Zoo, and at Yankee Stadium. In those shots she was enjoying herself as a spectator, but she hadn't left her tomboy heritage completely behind. There were plenty of action shots: Meaghan skiing, Meaghan in a softball uniform playing shortstop on a ladies' team in Central Park, Meaghan horseback riding, Meaghan water-skiing, Meaghan snorkeling in a blue lagoon somewhere, and Meaghan in a fencing costume, gracefully striding forward as she applied la touché to her opponent with her foil.
     As McKenna closed the last album, he knew that there were two things Meaghan had never lacked in New York. One was clothes and the other was a photographer always ready to step forward and shoot her as the center of attention in any group or scene.
     Chipmunk had finished checking the dresser and had moved the dining set aside so he could pull down the Murphy bed. As McKenna would have expected, the bed was neatly made with a homemade embroidered wool bedspread on top. Just like Walsh had said, there was a nightgown under the pillow. While Chipmunk took the bed apart and peeled off the mattress cover, McKenna browsed through Meaghan's cancelled checks.
     Meaghan paid by check only when she had to, so it didn't take long to go through them. They were mostly rent and utility checks, with an occasional payment to her Victoria's Secret credit card, always marked by Meaghan PAID IN FULL on the memo line on the front of the check. There were two checks to the East Side Medical Group and five to Dr. Stanley Kramer, DDS. McKenna put one of the Kramer checks in his pocket, then replaced the photo albums and checks in the hope chest and closed it.
     Chipmunk had been working hard and not complaining, but McKenna still felt guilty because he was on overtime while Chip was doing the heavy work for free. "Chip, why don't you take a break and I'll finish with the bed?" he suggested.
     "Nonsense, but glad you're done snooping. Getting this mattress cover back on is going to be a two-man job."
     It was, and there were a few more two-man jobs after that. Not a sign of Owen's existence had been found, but McKenna was still sure it had to be there, somewhere. So they moved all the furniture away from the walls and checked the bottom of the sofa, the table, and the dresser. Nothing, so they removed all the covers from the sofa cushions. Owen wasn't there. In the kitchen, they pulled the refrigerator and the stove out and checked behind and underneath. Still nothing.
     It was eleven o'clock when they decided to take a break and think things out. Chipmunk used one of Meaghan's menus to order in Chinese food. The delivery boy was at the door in minutes. McKenna paid, and they sat at the table, each man silently thinking while they ate.
     Then a thought struck McKenna. "Meaghan doesn't cook," he said.
     "Yeah, so?"
     "Chris O'Malley has to know that. Stove looks brand-new, and I don't think the oven's ever been used."
     "We checked the stove, remember?"
     "I know, but that's where it has to be. She keeps no food in the apartment, so she knows O'Malley never has any reason to go there."
     "So let's check again," Chipmunk suggested.
     Owen was there, hiding out underneath the broiler pan in the bottom of the stove. McKenna took out the album of photos and gave it to Chipmunk without opening it.
     Chipmunk did. "That's him," he said and gave the album back to McKenna.
     Owen wasn't just a soldier, he was First Lt. Owen Stafford of the United States Army. The first photo was a posed five-by-seven portrait of him in full uniform with the US flag in the background. Above his left breast pocket were two rows of decorations and above his right was his nametag. He was trying to look dispassionate as he stared at the camera for his official photo, but Owen couldn't pull it off. He was just too used to smiling.
     "Impressive-looking guy, isn't he," Chip commented. "He's got the Silver Star, a Purple Heart, the Desert Storm Campaign Ribbon, the Panama Campaign Ribbon, and a Presidential Unit Citation."
     Only one person in a thousand would recognize those medals, McKenna thought, and I've got him standing next to me. Lucky. But Chipmunk's right, McKenna thought. Owen is impressive and a good-looking man to boot. But there's something else about him shining through this photo. "Looks like a nice guy, doesn't he?"
     "Must be," Chipmunk agreed. "A first lieutenant, and he called me sir ? Makes him a wonderful guy in my book."
     The next few pages of photos were wallet-sized shots showing Owen and Meaghan seeing the sights in Washington, DC, but there was only one photo in which the two of them appeared together. That one was taken on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Owen had his arm around her waist and was staring at the camera, but for the first time in all the photos McKenna had seen of her, Meaghan wasn't. She was staring at Owen with the same loving look on her face that O'Malley wore in the shots he shared with her.
     "Looks like she's got a real case for him," McKenna said.
     "Of course she does," Chipmunk said. "I knew that from the first time I saw them together."
     McKenna took out the first photo of Owen, then replaced the album in its hiding spot in the broiler pan.
     "We done here?" Chipmunk asked.
     "No, there's just one more thing I want to do to get an idea of where she went. I want to see what clothes are missing."
     "How we gonna know that?"
     "Her photos. There's enough of them, so if she's wearing something in them that's not here, we can assume she took it with her."
     "That's gonna take us some time to do."
     "I know, but we're here and we might as well do a good job of it."
     Chipmunk was right. It took another two hours of matching clothes to photos before McKenna was sure that Meaghan hadn't headed for fun in the sun. Her bathing suits and summer clothes were still there, but missing were her ski jacket, an overcoat, three sweaters, two long-sleeved suits, her cowboy boots, her brown leather gloves, and two scarfs. By the time they were done, Meaghan's clothes were strewn all over the apartment.
     "Doesn't make sense," Chipmunk said. "She wanted to go to Florida."
     "But she didn't. Something made her change her plans and she headed for someplace cold."
     "Maybe Canada?"
     "Maybe, but I'm hoping you'll find out for me."
     "You want me to have Timmy JFK check for her at the Montreal airport?"
     "That's the next step, but I need something else. Could you ask him to call the Defense Department to get Owen's date of birth and social security number for me?"
     "You'd have trouble getting it?" Chipmunk asked.
     "I'd get it, but it would take me a while. Timmy could get it much quicker."
     "Okay, I'll ask him. What else?"
     "Nothing, for now. Let's put these clothes back and try to leave this place like we found it."
     That took another half hour. McKenna was tired and ready to leave, but Chipmunk wasn't satisfied. "Why don't we dust and water the plants before we go?" he asked.
     "Just in case she's coming back?"
     "Yeah, just in case."

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