Tularosa

'Recent. One involves a civilian employee and the other is a Navy seaman.'

'Can you arrange for me to speak to Sammy's supervisor?' Kerney asked.

'I'll set it up and call you at the BOQ in the morning. His name is Sergeant Steiner.' She turned to leave.

'Captain Brannon.' Sara looked over her shoulder.

'What is it?'

'Bobby Jaeger. Sammy's roommate.'

'What about him?'

'When is he due back on base?'

'Check with his first sergeant. Good night, Lieutenant.'

'Good night.' He watched her walk through the door to the club, thinking that Sara Brannon was one sharp lady. *** A visit to the NCO club, a more crowded, louder, and livelier establishment than the officers' club, with a honky-tonk atmosphere, yielded no information on Bull McVay. Kerney hung around asking questions until he ran out of people to quiz. He spent the next hour in the empty dayroom at the enlisted barracks waiting for PFC Alonzo Tony to get off duty. It was after midnight when, half asleep, he heard the barracks door open and footsteps on the tile floor. He called out PFC Tony's name, and a young man detached himself from a small group of soldiers who were quietly scattering down the hallway to their rooms.

Kerney introduced himself and asked Tony to talk to him in the dayroom. Tony eyed Kerney uneasily and only agreed to join him after Kerney explained his purpose.

'I don't believe Sammy went A.W.O.L.,' Tony said, fishing out a cigarette. 'No way, man.' Tony had a full upper lip, prominent cheekbones, and a symmetrical nose. He was about five feet eight with a long trunk and no waist; just a straight line from chest to hips.

'Not his style?'

'You got that right,' Tony agreed, lighting his smoke.

'Do you think something bad happened to Sammy?' Kerney inquired.

'That's the only thing that makes any sense. Sammy is just about my best friend. I know him pretty well. He's not the kind to go off half-cocked.'

'Do you have any ideas about what happened to him?' Tony shook his head.

'Nope.'

'I understand he was spending some time in town after he stopped dating Carla.'

'He was, but I don't know if he was seeing anybody. We didn't talk about girls all that much. He'd bail out of here for Las Cruces, just like the rest of us, but I didn't get the feeling he was chasing some skirt.'

'Did you go with him?'

'Sometimes. We'd hang together now and then, like if we had the same day off. He has wheels and I don't.'

'Did you hang at any particular place?'

'Not really. We'd take in a movie or cruise-things like that.'

'Did he buy a new car?'

'He was going to. The Chevy died on him. He's been saving money for a down payment. He doesn't like riding the shuttle bus to town. Can't say that I blame him; it's embarrassing.'

'Did he keep anything personal in his car?'

'His art stuff. He likes to draw.'

'Did Sammy say anything about buying a Toyota?'

'Nope.'

'Where does he work?'

'Uprange. He's got a wacky schedule: pulls four days on and three off.

He was trying to work a deal to change his duty so he could take some art courses at the university.' Kerney cut off his questioning.

'Thanks. I may want to talk to you again.'

'That's cool.' Back in his room at the BOQ, Kerney checked the zipper on his carryall bag. He'd left it open a fraction of an inch and now it was completely closed. He undressed and got into bed, exhausted from the twenty- hour day. He reread Sammy's letters to Maria. She was absolutely right about his attitude. The letters were upbeat and filled with plans for the future. Kerney mulled over the information he'd gathered since his arrival. It was both inconclusive and unpromising.

He was almost asleep when he started thinking about Sara Brannon and the muddle he'd made with her. He groaned at the memory, stuffed a pillow over his head, and went to sleep. *** PFC Bobby Jaeger drove his Camaro up the back road from Fort Bliss toward the missile range. He was a little drunk from all the beers that guy had bought him in a Juarez nightclub. What was his name? Greg, or something like that. Jesus, what a build! He looked like he could bench-press three hundred pounds easy, maybe more. A real nice guy. The Camaro started to weave. Bobby brought it to the center line and concentrated on the white stripe. He could ride the middle of the two-lane road straight to Orogrande. There weren't any other cars on the road. He gave the Camaro a nudge up to eighty- five and listened to the sound of the pipes. Sweet. Greg-that was his name. He knew Sammy.

Couldn't believe Sammy went A.W.O.L.. Shit! Who could believe it? Asked a lot of questions about Sammy. Bobby's eyes started to close. He snapped his head up and shook off the cobwebs. No problem, he thought, blinking rapidly to get things in focus. He was still in the middle of the road. Pick up the pace a little bit, he counseled himself. Need to get home and get some rack time.

PFC Bobby Jaeger was fast asleep as the Camaro sped toward the ninety-degree turn at the Orogrande curve. When the right tires left the pavement, Bobby woke up. He turned the wheel and stood on the brakes, and the Camaro slowed to a hundred miles an hour before crashing through the barrier. It flipped on the hood and ground a deep furrow through the desert. The phone rang at two-thirty in the morning, waking Kerney from a deep sleep.

'Get dressed and meet me outside,' Sara Brannon ordered when Kerney answered. Kerney grunted, got up, and dressed. Outside Captain Brannon waited in a marked patrol car.

'What's up?' Kerney asked, as he climbed into the front seat. Sara hit the overhead emergency lights and pulled away from the curb before Kerney had the door closed.

'PFC Jaeger is dead.' Kerney was wide awake.

'What happened?'

'He rolled his car and put his face through the windshield.' They drove through the main post to the Orogrande turnoff, where Sara floored the unit. In the distance Kerney could see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. There were four military police and a medical team at the scene when Sara and Kerney arrived. Two units blocked the road and two more were positioned to spotlight a length of the highway. The sergeant in charge approached at a run as Sara jumped out of the unit and slammed the door.

'What have you got, Sergeant?' she demanded.

'Skid marks and yaw marks, ma'am,' the sergeant replied. He was an Asian-American about thirty, with the frame of a distance runner.

'He went off the pavement with the right tires, tried to adjust, and hit the brakes. Looks like he fell asleep at the wheel. Probably alcohol-induced.'

'Walk me through it.' Kerney watched Sara put the sergeant through his paces as he reviewed the skid marks and physical evidence on the roadway. She asked all the right questions. Then, with Kerney in tow, they walked to the Camaro, which was upside down a good hundred feet from the pavement. A portable generator and light illuminated the overturned vehicle. Bobby Jaeger's face, his expression frozen in surprise, features mangled and bloody, protruded halfway through the shattered glass.

'No seat belt,' the sergeant noted. Sara nodded.

'I want a forensic team out here on the double. Nobody touches the body or the car until they're finished. I want to know the mechanical condition of that car before Jaeger rolled it. Arrange for an immediate autopsy when forensics releases the body. Understood?'

'Yes, ma'am,' the sergeant answered.

'Also get me full background information on Jaeger before you go off duty. Everything you can dig up about him-drug-screening results, rap sheet, his personnel jacket. You know the drill.' The sergeant nodded glumly. That meant a good three hours of extra work.