She started to walk back up to the house. Where the hell was Sherman? she wondered. Not that there was anything for him to do at this juncture. The police would have the old man’s body taken to the medical examiner’s lab whether Sherman liked it or not. And what if it turned out that the syringe was indeed an instrument of murder? Then what?
Harry the watchdog was curled up in a black ball by the entrance to the hedge passage, soaking up some sunlight.
He opened one eye as she walked past, the tip of his tail twitching in greeting.
Come on, Harry,” she said. “I need some lunch.” But the old dog didn’t move, apparently preferring to soak up maximum heat from the patch of sunlight. She was surprised: The L word usually took priority over anything else Harry had on his schedule.
“Okay for you, dog,” she said over her shoulder, and then she headed up the path toward the house. She decided to call Train von Rensel.
Train was roughhousing on the front lawn with two of the Dobermans when Hiroshi appeared on the porch with a portable phone.
“Who is it?”
“A Commander Lawrence, Train-sama.”
Train dismissed the dogs, who scampered off across the front lawn, heading toward the river wall. He wiped his face and upper chest with a towel. After an hour of sword drill in the bright April sunlight, he was ready for a shower. He was surprised to be hearing from Karen Lawrence, especially after the chilly tenor of their working relationship at the end of the week.
Counselor,” he said into the phone,’plopping down on the front steps. He wasn’t quite sure how to address her.
First names would have been appropriate after a week in the same office, but they hadn’t really hit it off that well.
On the other hand, he wasn’t going to call her Commander.
“Hi,” she said, neatly stepping around the same problem.
“I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but Mcnair just called.”
“That sounds ominous. Let me guess: The syringe connects to the old man’s death.”
“Definite maybe,” she replied. “Mcnair was being coy.
But they now want to do a partial autopsy. And they want to talk to Admiral Sherman again, but he’s out of town for the weekend. “
“Official trip? Or personal?”
“I don’t know. He told me Friday night he was going to be gone for the weekend.”
“Friday night?”
“Yes. I went by his office late Friday, with the Galantz personnel files. We went over to the Army-Navy Club for a drink and to discuss next steps.” Train didn’t know what to say to that. Drinks at the Army-Navy Club? How cozy.
She must have sensed his disapproval. “It wasn’t a date, for crying out loud,” she said. “It was Friday evening. Nobody in his outer office can leave until he does, so we left.
I don’t know why I’m explaining this to you.”
“You are absolutely right,” he said
“You want to socialize with the admiral, that’s your business.”
“It wasn’t socializing,” she insisted. “We went through Galantz’s record. There’s a picture, an old one, ut at last a picture. The admiral recognized him right away. Oh, and he wants me to go to the funeral for Admiral Schmidt tomorrow. I suggested you also go along, separately. If someone’s watching us, maybe you can spot the watcher.”
The admiral was wasting no time, Train thought. Take the lady to an emotional scene like a funeral, build on that sympathy. Why was he even wasting his time thinking he might-oh, the hell with it.
“That’s probably a good idea,” he replied. “What are the arrangements?”
“I’m not sure yet. The funeral’s tomorrow. I’ll have details in the morning.”
“Okay, thanks for calling. I’ll see you in the office.” He hung up, cutting her off. He went back out into the front yard. Okay, let’s get squared away here. Forget Karen Lawrence, redhead extraordinaire. Focus on this case. The cops wanted to take another look at the old man’s body. So some badness had turned up in the syringe, which logically would imply that Admiral Schmidt had been helped along to the other side. He had to admit that he couldn’t think of a reasonable motive for the boy admiral to kill his girlfriend and his sea daddy. Okay, so let’s assume Galantz is real.
He began some tai chi exercises. If Galantz had indeed survived the Rung Sat experience and made it back to the States, then he was not working at Burger King. He’d made the threatening appearance in Sherman’s house in 1972-over twenty years ago. Where had he been for all those years?
What had he been? Must get to Mchale Johnson, sooner rather than later.
Sherman called Karen later Sunday afternoon. “Oh, good,” she said.
“Have you spoken to Detective Mcnair?”
“Yes, I have,” he said, sounding annoyed. “it seems the police have been very busy. They’ve taken Galen Schmidt’s body in for an autopsy, and I’ve just had a second call from Mcnair.”
“He called me earlier. Looking for you. Did they-” He sighed. “I’m afraid so. The remains had been embalmed, and apparently, that makes a chemical analysis almost impossible. But he confirmed that at least the blood type is a match with the. residue in the syringe.”
“Oh dear. And was there potassium chloride?”
“There’s a problem with that. Apparently when someone dies, the body’s own cells release quite a bit of potassium into the bloodstream, enough to mask the quantity needed to stop a heart. Their toxicology people are going to try. I think they called it some kind of differential analysis, but it
“II take some fairly sophisticated tissue studies. Unofficially, the ME told Mcnair it would be a waste of time.”
W,Karen ‘didn’t know what to say. Now Galen Schmidt’s death was forensically ambiguous, just like Elizabeth Walsh’s. “Does this mean Galen was Uled?” she asked.
Sherman’s voice betrayed his anxiety. “The blood type matches. Now they’ll have to do DNA matching to see if it’s actually his blood. I have to tell you, Karen, this is beginning to get to me.”
She could certainly sympathize. “What about the funeral?” she asked.
“Will they get the remains back to the funeral home in time?”
“Yes. That’s all back on track. But this other business..
Karen felt the urge to fill the sudden silence. “Mcnair wants to meet as soon as possible after the funeral, Admiral,” she said. “May I suggest Monday evening?”
“I suppose,” he said. “Oh, and he asked about NIS. I told them what you said Carpenter said-that NIS was coming in.”
“Yes, sir. I talked to Mr. von Rensel earlier this afternoon. He’ll be there in Annapolis.”
“Good,” he said distractedly. Karen wasn’t sure he had even registered what she had just told him. Poor man. He paused for a moment. “Because if the higher-ups try to squelch this investigation, I’m gonna take it public.”
“Well, yes, I understand that, Admiral. But wouldn’t that do you even more damage, politically, I mean?”
“I suppose it would, Karen,” he said. “But if this guy killed Galen Schmidt-not to mention Elizabeth Walshjust to get at me, then to hell with it, okay? I’m -ready to get this bastard before he does another one. Especially given his probable motive for doing it.”
She was startled by the sudden ferocity in his voice. This was a side of him she had not heard before. “You can’t blame yourself for what’s happened, Admiral,” she said.
“Thanks, Karen,” he said. “Maybe I’ll call Admiral Car penter and reinforce that notion. Maybe first thing tomorrow.
That’s not a good idea, Karen thought quickly. Carpenter was already conscious of the ripples spreading among the flag community in Washington over this matter, starting with the cinder block Vice Admiral Kensington had pitched in the political pond. “Why don’t you let me work that problem, Admiral? I think if you called him you
