Page 37 of Holmes, Margaret and Poe

“I don’t,” I said.

Sampson smiled. “I do. Detective I met at a conference a couple of years back. She’s solid. I’ll give her a call, see what she can find out.”

John put in a call to the Las Vegas detective, got her voice mail, and left her a message, while I tried to talk to someone in the juvenile court in Louisville, Kentucky. I was told the officewas swamped now but someone would get back to me as soon as possible.

We arrived at the FBI command center in the big tent on the soccer field in Arlington and heard and saw a jet come in for a landing over the Fourteenth Street Bridge and Gravelly Point Park, following the same flight path as AA 839. Reagan National was open again, although under heavy guard. Gravelly Point Park remained closed. Virginia state troopers were blocking the vehicle entrance and stopping people on the bike paths.

We found Agent Ned Mahoney wolfing down a sandwich at his makeshift desk amid a whirlwind of activity; there were more than fifty agents in the tent. He saw us, gave us a thumbs-up, swallowed hard, and said, “Just the guys I wanted to see.”

Mahoney said that since the shootdown, he had been in close contact with the American Airlines chief of security at the company’s headquarters in Dallas; he’d gotten information on present and past employees, especially those who had been fired and might harbor animosity toward the airline.

“We weren’t getting anywhere until he thought to look at the washouts,” Mahoney said. “People who didn’t make the cut during their probationary periods.”

“What did you find?” Sampson asked.

“Not what — who.”

“Okay,whodid you find among the washouts?”

“Marion ‘Captain’ Davis. Turns out the coach has a few skeletons in his closet.”

CHAPTER 35

BREE CALLED NED MAHONEYas he was driving me and Sampson to Davis’s house in Falls Church. We were hoping Captain Davis would go straight home after he finished coaching.

Ned put her on speaker.

“I’m trying to confirm the identity of one of the victims on the downed jet,” she said. “Maggie Fontaine in seat two A. I’m looking for TSA records of the identification she used to board the plane, in situ photos, anything found in the forward fuselage that shows her picture. That can happen, right?”

Mahoney said, “It can. Who is Maggie Fontaine?”

“She seems to be two people, or someone who’s trying to be two people,” Bree said, and she explained about the disappearance of Leigh Anne Asher.

“We’ll try to help you nail her down,” Mahoney said, and they hung up.

Captain Davis had just pulled his Mercedes into his driveway in Falls Church when we got there. Ned parked our vehicle across the mouth of the drive.

Davis got out of his car in his coaching gear, and he looked angry when he saw John and me. “What is this?” he demanded. “I thought I answered all your questions.”

“You answered their questions,” Mahoney said, showing him his FBI badge. “I’ve got a few of my own.”

The coach looked at his watch. “Can’t this wait?”

“Would you rather do this here or at FBI headquarters?” I asked.

Captain Davis sighed. “Here. But will you move your car so it’s not blocking my driveway? I’ve got a staff meeting in the field house in an hour.”

“I’ll do it,” Sampson said, taking the keys from Ned.

The coach rested his butt against the trunk of his car, crossed his arms, and looked at Mahoney like he wished they were playing full contact. “Ask.”

Mahoney said, “Why didn’t you tell Dr. Cross and Detective Sampson that you were once an American Airlines employee?”

He laughed caustically. “Because there’s nothing to tell. I lasted twelve days. It just wasn’t meant to be. My life as a pilot was done, and it was time to coach.”

“American says you were a brilliant pilot with a troubled past who showed up to training with alcohol on your breath multiple times in those twelve days.”

Captain Davis took a deep breath and let it out. “I have had a problem with booze and drugs. I’m not proud of it. I still struggle with it because of things I saw overseas.”

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