On top, a white sheet covered the obvious form of a body.
“Are you ready?” Lars asked Wes.
“Yeah, sure.”
The doctor pulled the sheet back just enough to reveal the body’s head and shoulders. The corpse was so severely damaged by fire it was almost impossible to imagine the person it had once been.
Bile began rising from Wes’s stomach.
“Are you okay?” Dr. Handler asked.
“I’m fine,” Wes said, attempting to sound convincing.
“This is Lieutenant Adair,” the doctor explained. “I understand you think there might be a problem with identification? I can assure you this is the lieutenant. Both DNA test and dental records have proved that.”
Wes gave his nausea a few seconds to settle, then took another look at the face, trying to spot any familiar features. But it was impossible. Anything recognizable had been obliterated by flames.
“If you knew who he was already, why did you run a DNA test?” he asked.
“Dr. Handler did the test because
“Okay. If you say it’s Lieutenant Adair, then I’m sure it is.”
Lars stared at his friend for a moment, then frowned. “Lieutenant Truax, could you please tell Wes why you’re here?”
“Yes, sir,” Truax said. “I was with the search-and-rescue team deployed to the crash site.”
Wes gave Truax a second look, but couldn’t remember him from the accident site. Still, there had been dozens of people running around, so the fact that the lieutenant was unfamiliar didn’t mean much.
“Lieutenant Truax was one of the men who removed the pilot’s body from the plane,” Lars said. “Isn’t that correct, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir. That’s correct.”
Lars nodded at the corpse. “And is this the body of the man you pulled out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you know Lieutenant Adair?” Lars asked.
The lieutenant paused. “Yes, sir. I’ve met him.”
“Did you realize it was Lieutenant Adair when you recovered the body?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Because someone told you who it was?”
“No, sir. I recognized him.”
“But you didn’t get there until after he’d already been burned in the fire,” Wes said. “How the hell could you have recognized him?”
“I didn’t recognize him from his face, sir. It was his scar.”
“Scar?”
Lieutenant Truax nodded. “On his arm.”
“Here,” Dr. Handler said.
He lifted the sheet and pulled an arm out from underneath. He twisted it ninety degrees, and there, in a diagonal slash across the side of the corpse’s arm, was a three-inch scar.
“Told me he got that cutting wood when he was a teenager,” the lieutenant explained. “Said a bow saw slipped.”
Dr. Handler placed the arm back under the sheet.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Lars looked at Wes. “If there’s anything else you want to ask, now is the time.”
Wes shook his head. “No. You’ve been very thorough. Thank you.”
The doctor led everyone back through the building and outside. There he first shook Wes’s hand and then Lars’s.
“I hope this helped,” the doctor said.
Lars and Wes got into the truck. Once they were back on the road, Wes said, “I don’t know. Maybe you were right. Maybe it
Lars let out a low, exasperated laugh and shook his head. “Maybe?”
“I’m saying I could have been wrong … I just … Look, if you say that was the guy who was in the cockpit, then I guess I believe you.” He didn’t know what else to say. Seeing the dead man had kind of knocked him sideways.
Lars said nothing for nearly a minute. “I want to make one more stop.”
35
The house was in the section of the base reserved for high-ranking officers. If Lars hadn’t been living in town, this was probably the area he would have called home.
“So who lives here?” Wes asked once they were both out of the car.
“Follow me,” Lars said.
The home was on a small hill that rose above the street. A set of seven steps led up to a walkway that split the green front lawn into two on its way to the front door.
Lars pushed the doorbell, and it was only a few seconds before a man in his mid-forties answered. He was dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, and looked very familiar to Wes.
“Lieutenant Commander Andersen,” the man said.
“Commander Forman,” Lars replied.
“Hello, Commander,” Wes said.
“How are you doing, Wes?” Forman said with a smile.
“Fine, sir.”
“It’s good to see you again, despite what I assume are the circumstances of your visit.” He glanced at Lars. “I take it there are still questions.”
“I don’t think he’s completely convinced, sir.” Lars’s tone sounded almost like an apology.
Wes looked at his friend, surprised. “I said that I believe-”
“Why don’t you come in?” Forman said, cutting him off. “Can I get either of you gentlemen something to drink?”
“No, thank you, sir,” Wes and Lars replied in unison.
“Please, follow me.” He led them to an office near the kitchen. Door shut, they all sat down-the commander behind the desk, and Wes and Lars on the sofa in front of it.
“Wes, I trust that you recall my task is to find out exactly what caused one of our F-18s to belly flop in the desert and kill its pilot.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve been doing nothing but working at finding those answers since immediately after the incident. I take my job very seriously. Kind of like your old man did when he was stationed here.”
Wes sat up a little, caught off guard by the mention of his father. “I’m sorry, sir?”
“When we first met, you mentioned that your father worked on the base when you were younger, so I looked him up. Dennis Stewart was a good man. Hell of an officer. Died much too young.”
Wes frowned. “I’m not sure what this has to do with why we’re here.”
Forman leaned forward. “Lieutenant Commander Andersen tells me that you claim the man flying the plane was not Lieutenant Adair. I can’t for the life of me figure out why you would say that.”
Wes shot a look at his friend. “I was only raising a question, sir. He’s already-”
Again, Forman stopped him mid-sentence. “Now don’t go getting all upset. Lars came to me asking if there might have been a mistake when we ID’d the pilot. He was very concerned.”
