Murder in Foggy Bottom by Margaret Truman Read Free Book Online Page B

was flushed with excitement and anxiety, and he spoke rapidly. “I saw it happen. I was out in my boat—”
    “Maybe we should go someplace else to hear what the gentleman has to say,” Lazzara suggested.
    Mullin nodded, and he and Lazzara led Lester up the trail to a small break in the trees.
    “Now, sir,” Mullin said, “tell us what you saw.”
    Lester looked back and forth between the two men and frowned.
    “I’m Peter Mullin, from the National Transportation Safety Board,” Mullin said, realizing that an introduction was needed. “This is FBI Agent Lazzara.”
    Lazzara extended his hand to Lester. “Frank Lazzara, special agent in charge of the White Plains office.” Lester took it, did the same with Mullin’s.
    “I was out in my boat. I fish most every day, bass mostly, sometimes trout—depends on what lure I use, things like that.”
    “I do some fishing myself,” Mullin said. “You saw what happened to the plane?”
    “Yes, I did. Oh, yes, I certainly did.”
    Lazzara and Mullin waited for him to continue.
    “It blew up right where the wing joins with the body. What do you call it, the fuselage?”
    “Yes,” Mullin said.
    “Plane took off right over my boat. It’s a canoe, actually, an old aluminum one. Grumman canoe. They don’t make them anymore.”
    “And?”
    “I watched the plane all the way. I guess I always watch ’em taking off ’cause I don’t like the noise. I watched him all the way until . . . until it blew up.”
    “You say it blew up,” Mullin said. “What side of the plane?”
    Lester maneuvered his body to come up with the proper angle. “It was—let’s see, it was the left side of the plane. He was making a left turn, it looked like to me. Yes, it was the left side.”
    “There was an explosion?” Lazzara asked.
    “Yes, sir, right where the wing fits into the fuselage.”
    “How large an explosion?”
    “Pretty big. Well, not so big, maybe, but pretty big, big enough to knock the wing off.”
    “What color was the explosion?” Mullin asked.
    “Red, yellow. I told the troopers about the missile I saw.”
    Lazzara and Mullin looked at each other.
    “I know,” said Lester, “I probably sound like some nut who doesn’t know what he saw. Well, I don’t see things, and my eyesight is pretty damn good. It was a missile or something like a missile that went up and hit the plane.”
    “Did you see where it came from?” Lazzara asked.
    “Not really; from the woods somewhere.”
    “You’re absolutely positive that you saw a missile come from the woods and hit the plane?” Mullin said.
    “Yes, sir. That’s what I saw.”
    Lazzara said, “Mr. Lester, who else have you told about this?”
    “Nobody, not even my wife. I was going to call her but I saw the troopers after I came up from the water and told them. They brought me right here.”
    “So you told the troopers about the missile?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And no one else.”
    “No, just you two gentlemen.”
    Lazzara glanced at Mullin before saying, “Mr. Lester, I’m going to arrange for you to be taken to a . . . to a command post where we can discuss this further.” To Mullin he said, “Has a command post been established?”
    “The airport, a vacant hangar.”
    “We’ll take you there, Mr. Lester. We can talk better. That okay with you?”
    “I’d better call Nancy.”
    “Your wife?”
    “Yes.”
    “You can do that, but you can’t tell her what you saw this morning.”
    “Why not?”
    “Just procedure, sir. You can tell her tonight after we’ve gotten your official statement.”
    “I suppose I don’t have any choice.”
    Lazzara didn’t reply.
    They escorted Lester to where two of Lazzara’s colleagues stood. Lazzara instructed them to take the witness to the airport and stay with him in the hangar that was being used as a command post. Before they left, he said, “Mr. Lester will want to call his wife. That’s fine, but he knows he’s not to tell her anything about what he