“I think I’m dead meat,” Sherman announced abruptly.
Karen remembered Train’s first reply when she told him that there was a SEAL after Sherman. The admiral’s face was grim. “A guy who doesn’t exist, and who is probably some kind of-what, assassination specialist or something? I might as well paint a target on my jacket and sit out on the front porch.
Train smiled then. “Think on the bright side, Admiral.
Guy like that, he could have done you a hundred times by now. He apparently wants to play with you first. That gives us time to find him.”
“Oh, that’s just wonderful,” Sherman said, but then he smiled himself “Sorry,” he said, “it’s just that I’m getting this boxed-in feeling.”
“Admiral,” Karen said after a moment. “Who was the young man up on the hill? At the cemetery in Annapolis?
Remember, you stood up right as the service was ending?”
Sherman’s smile vanished. He looked first at Train and then back at Karen. Which is when she remembered the kid on the motorcycle at Elizabeth Walsh’s service and realized that was where she had seen him before.
“Okay,” Sherman said, getting up and finishing his drink. “Okay. I think that was my son, Jack.”
Train raised his eyebrows at Karen, who was trying to comprehend what the admiral had just revealed.
“Your son?”
Sherman stuck his hands in his uniform jacket pockets and walked over to the nearest window, keeping his back to both of them. He looked out into the dark yard for a minute before replying. “Yes. My son, Jack, whom I haven’t seen in years, as I think I told you Thursday night.
Except twice in the past week-once at Elizabeth’s memorial service, then again at Galen’s funeral. It’s as if he’s come out of nowhere-to gloat over these two deaths.”
“Are you sure that’s who he is, Admiral?” Train asked.
“I was down there at Annapolis, hanging out in the crowd.
I saw him, but at a distance, and I never did see his face.”
“I’M pretty sure,” Sherman said, sitting back down.
“Very sure about the first time; pretty sure about the second time.
“Have you detected any other surveillance?.” Train asked. “Cars following you, people in the neighborhood who aren’t normally there?
Noises on the phone?”
Sherman laughed. “Since that letter? Hell yes. Everywhere I go. I see bad guys behind every parked car, under every bush.” Sherman’s mouth was compressed into a flat line. “Karen, I told you something about my marriage, and that my only son was … problematical, I guess I can say.”
“Yes, sir,” Karen said, remembering the conversation in the’restaurant.
“You indicated you two were estranged.”
“Yes, basically since the divorce. But I didn’t tell you the whole story. I told you we were divorced back in 1981.
My wife got custody, naturally, because I was in the Navy and perpetually on the move. But I didn’t tell you what happened after that.
The bare bones of it is that Beth hit bottom three years afterward with the drinking. She lost custody of Jack. He ended up in foster care.”
“What finally happened to your ex-wife, Admiral?” Train asked gently. He had moved into a chair closer to Sherman.
The admiral rattled the remaining ice cubes in his glass for a moment.
“She shot herself,” he declared finally.
Karen blinked. “She shot herselp My God, that’s-that’s terrible.
Sherman gave her another bleak look, then looked away.
“Yes. That was terrible. And, of course, Jack never forgave me. As you might imagine, he felt it was all my fault.
Elizabeth told me many times that Jack was being unreasonable and just lashing out at me. Because by divorcing my wife, I had rejected him.” He was silent for a moment.
“I can rationalize a lot of it, but I can’t really blame him for how he feels. Anyway, he wrote me a letter after she shot herself. Told me in no uncertain terms how he felt about the whole thing. Never wanted to see me again. Said that one day he’d find a way to repay me.” Sherman got up again and went back to the window. He stood there for a minute, his back to them, rubbing the sides of his face with his hands.
“Admiral,” Train said. “Was there anything on or in the note YOU got last week that would positively link it to Galantz?”
Sherman turned around and thought for a moment. “He told me-that night back in San Diego-that he’d be back when I had something of value to lose,” he replied. “He said he would give me one warning. The note said Walsh was the first. So I just Assumed Galantz. But to answer your question, no, there was no discreet identifier. Either way.”
“Postmark?”
“I didn’t notice. I read the note, read it again, and then called Galen Schmidt. Went over there. Talked to him about it. Came back, did some paperwork, looked for the note and the envelope, and both were gone.”
“Paper quality? Was it stationery, or a notepad?”
“Cheap stuff-something you’d buy in a Seven-Eleven if you were in a real hurry. Lined. Five by seven.”
Train nodded. “Was there a stamp?”
“A stamp.” Sherman wrinkled his brow. “You know, now that you mention it, I don’t think so. I’ve been trying to conjure up an image of the postmark since you asked, but now I think. there was no postmark, because there was no stamp.” He looked up. “Which means he just put it through the slot.”
“Back to your son, Jack,” Train prompted. “You said you’d had no contact with him for several years. Longer if you discount that last letter. Did you know where he was during that time?”
“Jack’s last letter came from Quantico, you know, South of here. I assumed that’s where he landed when he was thrown out of the Marines, but I have no idea if he stayed there or moved elsewhere.”
“Was his letter addressed here-I mean, to your house in Mclean?”
“No. It came to my office in Bupers, during my second tour there.”
Train nodded again. “My point is that he either knew or found out where you were stationed. He was keeping track of where you were, even if you didn’t know where he was.”
Sherman began pacing around the edges of the counters, nodding to himself. “I guess that’s right,” he said. “I mean, if you don’t suspect you’re a target, and take no precautions, somebody could know just about everything about you.”
He stopped as the implication of that reasoning penetrated.
Karen could see him visibly slump.
She got up and went to him. “Admiral, we’re ranging pretty far afield here. I think where Train’s going with this is that finding Galantz might be next to impossible, especially if he is a professional operative. But maybe we should go find your son instead. Find out what he was doing at those two funerals.”
Sherman stood there, his eyes staring down at nothing.
“He was there to gloat. He was grinning at me down in Annapolis. That’s what made me stand up. He was grinning-there isn’t any other word for it.”
Train stood up.’ “That doesn’t mean he’s a murderer. He may have been secretly keeping track of you constantly for all these years. Sons who’ve become disaffected from their fathers often do that. He may well have taken some pleasure in your loss-“
“Losses.”
“Well, yes, Sir, losses. I think we need to find your son, talk to him.”
“Does ‘we’ have to include the cops?”
Train looked at Karen, who shook her head imperceptibly.
Implicating Sherman’s son would compound the whole mess in the eyes of the Navy hierarchy.
“No, sir, not yet, anyway,” Train replied, taking her lead.
“Let the cops work Galantz. I will, too, and we’ll feed them what we get. Meanwhile, I’ll try to track down
