Unless I get some cooperation.”
“Martin Heffernan certainly didn’t take it. He was a mid-level management person. The equivalent of an insurance salesman. He was harmless.”
Justin sensed that she was weakening. She clearly hadn’t liked being bullied by the FBI any more than he had. He’d been hoping to fly under the radar for a while longer, but what the hell, he knew that was a pipe dream, so he shook his head and bit the bullet. “He stole the dead man’s identification,” he told her. “And wiped the plane clean of fingerprints, trying to make sure I wouldn’t find out Cooke’s identity.”
“Oh my God. Are you absolutely certain of that?”
“Everybody starts out harmless, Ms. Peck. But it’s amazing, somehow prisons still manage to fill right up.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “I don’t think for a moment it starts and stops with Heffernan. Mid-level management guys don’t make the kinds of decisions he made. Someone was making them for him. That’s the person I want to find.”
“I wish I still smoked,” she said. “This is a very disturbing conversation. Although it wouldn’t do me any good, would it? This is one of those damn smokeless buildings.” She sighed. “Do you have the tail number of the plane?”
He gave it to her, made sure she wrote it down correctly.
“If something was taken,” she said, “someone might have had a perfectly good reason for taking it.”
“Will you give me the information?” he asked. “I promise to let you know the minute I find any perfectly good reasons.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“Right,” he said, and started to stand. “Should I leave my card or should I just go fuck myself?”
She stared at him silently. And then, miracle of miracles, she smiled. Her lips-not as red as the nails but still a tad too red-parted. A little of the red had managed to scrape onto her teeth but it was a welcome sight because it was indeed a smile. She was human. He smiled back at her.
“You’d think I’d have dealt with a lot more policemen in my job. But I haven’t. Not directly. I’m mostly involved with policy so I spend my day with committees and politicians.”
“So you spend more time with the criminal element.”
She smiled again. And this time she licked the lipstick smudge off her teeth. “Do you really think Heffernan and this missing file are connected to your murder?”
“I know it,” he said.
“Then leave me your card,” she told him. “But if you want to go fuck yourself, too, that’ll be fine with me.”
Justin always thought that he was someone who’d had more opportunities than most to sample the various experiences that life had to offer. He had seen rich and he’d seen poor. He’d experienced the ultimate in pristine lifestyles and he’d been in the midst of unimaginable violence and depravity. He’d been in love, he’d lost love, he’d been loveless. He’d been both wildly undisciplined and fanatically ordered. There was little, he felt, that could surprise him. Or make him feel uncomfortable and out of place. But one thing he had no experience with whatsoever was military life. He’d never come close to combat, he’d known few soldiers, he’d never, in fact, been on any kind of military installation until he was ushered in to the office of Colonel Eugene T. Zanesworth. From the moment he’d driven past the armed guards who manned the gates to Andrews Air Force Base, he realized that this was a separate world. A world about which he knew nothing. And was likely to learn nothing.
For one thing, everyone he passed stood ramrod straight. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on anyone within the entire compound. Even sitting in his rented Grand Am, Justin did his best to sit upright and suck in his gut. It depressed him just a little to realize that there probably wasn’t one person-man or woman-on the entire base that he could take in a fair fight. He cheered up slightly when he realized it didn’t really matter, since he would never fight fair.
The resolute politeness with which everyone dealt with him also made him uncomfortable. It began just outside the main gate at the Visitor Control Center. The soldier at the reception desk in Building 1840 called him “sir” four times as he phoned to verify Justin’s appointment, took his driver’s license and registration card for his rented Grand Am, and issued him a restricted area badge and vehicle sticker. At the gate, he was called “sir” six times as his car was searched and he was patted down. After he parked on the base in his assigned spot, the person who escorted him to the colonel’s office addressed him as “sir” twice. The woman at Zanesworth’s desk- Justin wasn’t sure if a sergeant also was called a secretary-called him “sir” three times. Everyone’s voice was at the same modulated, calm level and delivered in the same brisk manner. Justin realized that he would never have made it as a soldier. Military life was all about restraint and learning to survive by taking and accepting orders. The idea was that at some point-when we were at war-everyone would know what to do and, more importantly, do it, even though the restraints were no longer in place. A well-trained soldier was supposed to equal a soldier who functioned well. Justin thought it was a little bit like taking an electric dog collar off a dog. As long as the collar was there, the dog would stop before leaving the grounds. Take the collar off, he might stop once or twice, still expecting the electric shock, but at some point, he’d realize the fence no longer existed-and he’d be chasing a squirrel with no thought to the dangers that might lie in waiting ahead of him.
At the same time, there was something uniquely moving about being on this military base, Justin thought. Actually, there were many things that were moving. The youth he was surrounded by. The fact that everyone he saw might be called to battle. The fact that everywhere he looked was someone who was
Of course, everyone believed in his own side of a war. That’s why wars were fought. To prove that your country was right or your God was right.
Justin decided he was lucky he had very few beliefs. His wars were private and personal. In the long run, a lot less dangerous than the wars facing these kids. And in the short run. . well, maybe not as inspiring, but in some ways, more satisfying. He didn’t have to take orders. He didn’t have to operate under restraints. He didn’t have to fight fair.
Of course, there was one serious drawback to his position. He was beginning to think that he might not have the opportunity to fight at all. Not after two entire minutes in Colonel Zanesworth’s presence.
“I’m not sure I understand why you’re here,” the colonel said when Justin was ushered into his office.
“I’m not a hundred percent sure either,” Justin said. He didn’t know if he was supposed to call the older man “Colonel” or not. Justin didn’t put much stock in titles. He didn’t call doctors “Doctor.” And he never understood why sportscasters on TV called guys like Bob Knight “Coach,” as if it were some anointed attachment to their names. But in this instance he figured it couldn’t hurt. People were people-they liked to be shown respect. He wasn’t there to make a point, he was there to get information. “To be honest, Colonel, I’m conducting a bit of a fishing expedition.”
“What are you fishing for?”
“Information about someone who was stationed here for several years. Hutchinson Cooke.”
“I understood that much. That’s why I pulled his file. I’m curious as to
“It’s relevant to a murder investigation.”
“Hutch Cooke’s murder?”
“That’s right.”
“According to the reports I’ve seen, Captain Cooke wasn’t murdered. They call it an accidental death.”
“I’d love to get a look at any paperwork you’ve seen, Colonel, but I’m not sure any of that’s accurate. As far as I know, I’m the only person investigating and I haven’t written any reports yet.”
“Anytime a serviceman is”-Zanesworth hesitated, not sure where to go with his phrasing-“involved in anything of this nature, we immediately check things out.” The colonel tried a brief flicker of a smile. “The military is all about reports, as I’m sure you know. They’re standard and, in this instance, inconsequential.”
“I don’t really know, Colonel. But even so, at the very least I’d like to talk to the person who prepared them.”
Zanesworth coughed into his hand. He looked unhappy. “If what you’re saying is true about Captain Cooke, of course we’ll do everything we can to help. But I will be your contact here. I’m afraid it will be too disruptive to just. . how shall I put it. . let you loose on the base.”
