“Please, I need a fresh coffee. Have a seat. What would you like?”
“Okay, a small Diet Coke, thanks.”
When Gannon returned with the drinks, it became clear to him by the warm casual way Lisa carried herself, without pretense, that this was her McDonald’s, and he was a guest on her turf.
“Thanks for coming out to Queens,” she said.
“Thanks for agreeing to talk to me.”
“This is off the record, not for print, or whatever you guys say.”
“Yes,” he said. “So can you tell me a bit about yourself?”
Lisa glanced out the window then at her hands.
“My husband was killed two years ago. He was a mechanic. He stopped to help a stranger fix their car on the Grand Central Parkway when he was hit by a truck.”
This added a new dimension.
“I’m so sorry.”
Lisa’s eyes shone. “It’s been hard, but we take things day by day.”
“I understand,” Gannon said. “My parents died together in a car accident several years ago in Buffalo, where I grew up.”
“That’s sad,” Lisa said.
“I take it you live in Queens?”
“Yes.”
“Where do you work?”
“I’m a supermarket cashier.”
Gannon smiled.
“My mother was a waitress much of her life.”
As they talked he found a lot to like about Lisa, she was blue collar, working-class, just like him. They quickly grew comfortable with each other as Lisa told him how she’d grown up poor in Queens, forgoing college to work, getting married, having two kids and then facing her husband’s sudden death. To Gannon, she was getting on with her life as a single parent with a kind of heroic dignity. After some twenty minutes, Gannon figured it was time to get down to business.
“So you witnessed the agent’s murder?”
“Hold on. It’s just like we agreed, you can’t take notes and you can’t report anything until I agree to an interview later. That’s our deal.”
“All right, that’s our deal.”
“Give me your word.”
“I give you my word.”
“The FBI would go nuts if they knew I was talking to you. But I’m a witness, not a criminal. I’m free to find out what I need to know.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“Tell me about this case. You seem to have good sources. You seem to know everything.”
“Not as much as the FBI. Wouldn’t they keep you informed?”
“They’re guarded. After I helped them on this case, after they got what they needed, they seemed to have forgotten about me.”
“But they have victim witness programs.”
“They’ve got a process for keeping witnesses and victims informed after an arrest has been made. They’ll keep you updated on the status of a prosecution. But it’s different with a live investigation.”
Gannon nodded.
“They want it sealed so they can make arrests,” he said.
“Is this guy they got in Nebraska, this Rytter, is he the one who killed the FBI agent?”
“Why is that important?”
“I was on the floor next to the agent when it happened. Some of his blood splattered on me.”
“What?”
“Then the killer put his gun to my head. I begged for my life, he hesitated and one of the others pulled him away.”
Images swirled before Gannon. He was on the brink of a powerful story.
“And you helped ID the killer for the FBI?”
“I’m their key witness.”
“How? What did you see that identified him?”
Lisa shook her head.
“I don’t think I should say.”
She glanced at her watch, then toward the play area, as if she was here with someone else. Gannon sensed his time was running out.
“Didn’t they put you in any kind of witness protection?” he asked.
“They offered, but their thinking was that since the killers did not know my identity, they wouldn’t look for me, or any of the victims. The killers took all our cell phones and burned them. The FBI said they would flee the area, and what happened in Nebraska convinces me that they were right about that.”
“So what happened immediately after the murders?”
“The FBI took me to a hotel and got a psychiatrist to help me with the trauma and to remember details of the agent’s death.”
“Did the psychiatrist hypnotize you or something?”
“Something like that. Then we had an FBI agent live with us in our home for a while, but we really didn’t like it. Before all this we were preparing to move across the country, to get on with our lives after my husband’s death. I had debts. I had to sell our cabin, our only asset. It’s been complicated and stressful.”
“I see.”
“So it would give me peace of mind to know that the bastard who killed the agent and almost killed me is dead. Can you help me with that?”
Gannon looked at Lisa.
“I’ll work on it. But I need you to promise me exclusivity. I want to tell your story.”
“You give me your word that you will keep me informed on everything. Then, once we know the FBI has this thing under control, I’ll give you your interview. I’ll tell you everything.”
“Deal. How can I keep in touch with you?”
“I’ll give you my new cell-phone number, but it might not work all the time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Before this happened, I had just sold our cabin upstate. We’re going up for one last visit to close it. The cell-phone service is not reliable up there and we don’t have a landline.”
Lisa’s attention shifted beyond Gannon to another part of the restaurant. She nodded to someone. Gannon turned to see a woman and two children coming to their table.
“Can we go now, Mom?” Ethan asked.
Smiling at Gannon, Lisa said, “This is my posse, Ethan and Taylor. And this is my friend Rita.”
Gannon shook hands with everyone.
“I have a niece and I’m guessing she’s about your age, Ethan.”
“Cool. What school does she go to?” he asked.
“I’m not sure, she lives in Arizona.”
“It doesn’t snow there,” Ethan said.
“Not too much.”
“Does Santa still go if there’s no snow?” Taylor asked.
“I’m pretty sure he does,” Gannon said, noticing Ethan’s pearl-handled penknife clipped to a small chain on his belt loop.
“I like your knife.”
“My dad gave it to me as a present before he died.”
“Oh, I see.”
“My brother lives in Buffalo.” Rita changed the subject for the kids. “I work with Lisa. Sorry, I looked you up on the internet, Jack. You used to write for the Buffalo Sentinel.”
“That’s right,” Gannon said and smiled at Taylor. “We get a lot of snow in Buffalo.”
“Do you have any kids, Jack?” Rita asked.
“No, no kids. I’m not married. Got a sister in Arizona and a niece.”
“Time to go, Mom?” Taylor asked.
“Time to go,” Lisa stood.
“Wait.” Gannon fished out a business card with all of his contact information and gave it to Lisa. “This is how you can reach me, or get word to me. There’s a toll-free number on there.”
“Could I have one? I collect cards,” Ethan asked.
“You collect sports cards.” Rita laughed.
“Sure, buddy.” Gannon stood and gave him one. “It might be worth something someday.”
Gannon sat down.
Watching Lisa leave with her children and her friend, he shook his head at what had just transpired, recalling when he first saw her at the Ramapo truck stop office, with her head on the desk, reenacting the shooting.
Now, seeing her walk across the McDonald’s parking lot, he was in awe of this young widow from Queens, who had just promised him an unbelievable story.