was a large square room, paneled and carpeted, with shelves of legal books lining two walls, a conference table with leathertrimmed armchairs, an ancient leather couch, and three upholstered chairs arranged to face his desk. Behind his desk, a steel flag stand displayed the American flag and his personal two-star flag denoting a rear admiral of the staff corps.
Carpenter was one star short of having an office out on the prestigious E-ring.
There was a knock on the heavy mahogany door, and Capt. Dan Mccarty, his Pentagon executive assistant, came through the door. Mccarty, with twenty-nine years of service, was tall and thin, and he wore square horned- rimmed glasses that made him look bookish.
“A Fairfax County homicide detective, Admiral? You finally shoot one of those budgeteers?”
“That’s a thought,” Carpenter growled. “There’s some who desperately need it. But to answer your question, I haven’t the foggiest. Let’s get him in here. I have to see the Secretary in thirty minutes.”
The executive assistant opened the door and beckoned to the aide, who escorted the detective into the office. Carpenter was struck by how well dressed he was: expensivelooking three-piece suit, polished shoes, a flash of cuff links.
Mid-thirties, and in good physical shape. His stereotype of the scruffy’-looking, coffee-stained, potbellied, cigarette smoking TV homicide detective took a serious hit. This guy looked like a real pro.
The policeman introduced himself as Detective Mcnair of the . Fairfax County Homicide Section, sat down on the couch, and took out his notebook.
“Admiral,” Mcnair began. “You are the Judge Advocate General of the Navy, is that correct?”
“That’s right. I’m the JAG. I work for the Secretary of the Navy. I run the Navy’s legal corps, and provide military law counsel to the Navy.”
“Yes, sir.” Mcnair nodded. “I’ve come to see you at the recommendation of the Defense Investigative Service.
We’re working a’ situation, and frankly, we’re not sure what to do with it. It involves a Navy admiral. Sort of, I mean.”
Carpenter leaned forward. ““Sort of,’ Detective?”
Mcnair closed his notebook. “I guess I’m not being very clear. Last Friday night, a woman had a fatal accident in a town house out in Reston. At least it looks like an accident at this stage of our investigation. She apparently fell down a flight of stairs-from the main floor going down to the basement. She broke her neck in the fall. A neighbor found her Saturday morning. Her name was Elizabeth Walsh.”
“Sorry to hear it. But you said ‘apparently’?” Carpenter was still in the dark.
“Well, sir, she. definitely broke her neck. What we’re not too sure about is the genesis of the fall.”
“So this is a possible homicide? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Remote possibility, Admiral,” Mcnair replied.
“There’s some, ah, disagreement in the Homicide Section as to what we really have here.”
“Disagreement,” Carpenter said, looking over at his executive assistant.
“And why, specifically, should the Navy care, Detective?” asked Mccarty, getting right to it.
“Yes, sir. I was coming to that,” Mcnair replied. “As I said, we’re not sure that this is anything but an accident.
But on the possibility that it was not an accident, one of the things we checked for was a possible motive. If she was killed, say, pushed down the stairs, and I’ll admit that we have no direct evidence of, that, but if she was, then we have to ask why?”
“Cui bono’?” Mccarty said. “Who benefits from her death?”
“Yes, sir. Exactly. And someone does. Her lawyer told us there was an insurance policy-a big one. Two hundred fifty thousand, to be precise.
The beneficiary was one-“
He consulted his notebook. “One Rear Admiral W. T. Sherman. The Defense Department phone book says he’s assigned here at the Pentagon, on the staff of the Chief of Naval Operations.”
Carpenter drew a blank on the name. He looked over at his executive assistant again, his eyebrows raised in a silent question.
“He’s fresh-caught, Admiral,” Mccarty explained. “Last year’s selection list. He runs the Surface Warfare Requirements Division in OP-03. I think he’s been on board for about a year as a flag officer. Before that, he was the executive assistant to the Chief of Naval Personnel.”
“Oh, right,” Carpenter said. “Got it. I remember him.
Now, this insurance-policy business. This makes Admiral Sherman a suspect of some sort?”
“No, sir. There’s no crime, at least not so far. Like I said, there is no evidence of a homicide. There are some, um, forensic ambiguities.
Which is why I’m here talking to you instead of going directly to interview Admiral Sherman. Basically, I’m hereto ask a favor. Would you arrange a meeting between Admiral Sherman and us? An entirely informal meeting?”
Carpenter was starting to get the picture. “You mean as opposed to a formal police interview? Something we could call a conversation, say? So that we don’t have it getting out that the Fairfax County Police Department is interviewing a Navy admiral in connection with a possible homicide, when all you have are-what was it-‘forensic ambiguities’?”
“Yes, sir.” Mcnair nodded.
Carpenter sat back in his chair. “Let me speculate further,” he said.
“You went to your commonwealth attorney, told him you had a feeling about this case, and said you wanted to talk to Admiral Sherman. The CA told you to be very damn careful about pulling in a flag officer when you didn’t have any sort of case. Said he didn’t want any federal heat about harassment, or to listen to legions of federal lawyers raising hell because something got loose in the press.”
“His very words, sir,” Mcnair said admitingly.
Carpenter nodded. “Detective, we appreciate your discretion, and of course we’ll be happy to cooperate. I’ll speak to Admiral Sherman right away, and I’m sure we can work something out-as long as you can assure both of us when we meet that he is not suspected of any crimes. I will be present for this meeting, and I’ll want the right to shut it off if I think it’s going astray, all right?”
“Yes, sir,” Mcnair said. “I have no problems with that.”
“I’ll have my aide get back to you this afternoon, Detective.,., Mccarty remained behind after the aide shut the door.
“I’m amazed,” Carpenter said. “That they would be so discreet?”
Yes. I mean, admiral or no admiral, we’re all citizens first. If there’s been a homicide out there in civvy street, they’d have every right to go see him, or ask him to come down and see them.”
“Well, he did say that they’re not sure they even have a homicide.”
“I guess I’m glad. Our-friendly hometown newspaper would love a little morsel like this. Okay, Dan, call this guy Sherman and have him come up and see me this afternoon.
And get me his bio.”
“Would you like me to handle this one, Admiral? Or maybe the Deputy?
Keep you at arm’s length and all that?” Carpenter thought about that for a moment. “We might do that eventually. But let me see his bio first, see if -I know this guy Sherman.”
At 5:30 that afternoon, Captain Mccarty brought Carpenter a manila folder. “This is the bio on Admiral Sherman,” he said. “The picture was taken when he was a captain, but he doesn’t look much different.”
“That’ll change,” Carpenter observed as he opened the file.
“He’s waiting out front, Admiral. If you’ll buzz me when you’re ready…”
“Just give me a minute to look at this and then you can bring him in.”
While Mccarty waited, Carpenter looked at the photo for a minute before scanning the career biography. The photo was that of a very young-looking officer with the sharp eyes and the taut-skinned face of an athlete. The face was composed in an expression of watchful authority that bespoke command at sea. He wore five rows of awards and decorations, which indicated he had wartime service in Vietnam.
The insignia worn over the ribbons indicated a surfacewarfare specialist.
He scanned the bio page. Naval Academy, class of ‘66.
