'His name came up. We're not sure why, and it's just a quick check. What can you tell me about him?'
'Hey, Mark, you're on vacation, remember?' Allen pointed out.
'You're telling me I won't be back to work soon? I'm supposed to turn my brain off, Frank? Did I miss the article in the paper that says the crooks are taking a few weeks off?'
Allen had to concede the point. 'All this attention, now I'm starting to think there might be something wrong with the guy. I suppose I have some information on him - yeah, that's right, I forgot. Wait a minute.' Allen walked away from his desk toward the file room, and Charon pretended to read the statements for several minutes until he came back. A thin manila folder landed in his lap. 'Here.'
It was part of Kelly's service record, but not very much, Charon saw as he paged through it. It included his dive-qualification records, his instructor's rating, and a photograph, along with some other gingerbread stuff.
Charon looked up. 'Lives on an island? That's what I heard.'
'Yeah, I asked him about that. Funny story. Anyway, why are you interested?'
'Just a name that came up, probably nothing, but I wanted to check it out. I keep hearing rumbles of a bunch that works out on the water.'
'I really ought to send that down to Em and Tom. I forgot I had it.'
Better yet. 'I'm heading that way. Want me to drop it off?'
'Would you?'
'Sure.' Charon tucked it under his arm. His first stop was a branch of the Pratt Library, where be made photocopies of the documents for ten cents each. Then he hit a photo shop. His badge enabled him to have five blowups of the small ID photo made in less than ten minutes. Those he left in the car when he parked at headquarters, but he only went inside long enough to have an officer run the file up to homicide. He could have just kept the information to himself, but on reflection it seemed the more intelligent choice to act like a normal cop doing a normal task.
'So what happened?' Greer asked behind the closed door of his office.
'Roger says an investigation would have adverse political consequences,' Ritter answered.
'Well, isn't that just too goddamned bad?'
'Then he said to handle it,' Ritter added. Not in so many words, but that's what he meant. There was no sense in confusing the issue.
'Meaning what?'
'What do you think, James?'
'Where did this come from?' Ryan asked when the file landed on his desk..
'Detective handed it to me downstairs, sir,' the young officer answered. 'I don't know the guy, but he said it was for your desk.'
'Okay.' Ryan waved him off and flipped it open, for the first time seeing a photograph of John Terrence Kelly. He'd joined the Navy two weeks after his eighteenth birthday, and stayed in... six years, honorably discharged as a chief petty officer. It was immediately apparent that the file had been heavily edited. That was to be expected, as the Department had mainly been interested in his qualifications as a diver. There was his graduation date from UDT School, and his later qualification as an instructor that the Department had been interested in. The three rating sheets in the folder were all 4.0, the highest Navy grade, and there was a flowery letter of recommendation from a three-star admiral which the Department had taken at face value. The Admiral had thoughtfully tucked in a list of his decorations, the more to impress the Baltimore City Police: Navy Cross, Silver Star, Bronze Star with Combat 'V' and two clusters in lieu of repeat awards of the same decoration. Purple Heart with two clusters in lieu of -
Jesus, this guy's everything I thought, isn't he?
Ryan set the folder down, seeing that it was part of the Gooding Murder file. That meant Frank Allen - again. He called him.
'Thanks for the info on Kelly. What brought it up?'
'Mark Charon was over,' Allen told him. 'I'm doing the follow-up on his shoot, and he brought the name up, says it came up in one of his cases. Sorry, pal, I forgot I had this. He said he'd drop it off. He's not the sort of guy I'd figure for being drugged up, y'know, but...' His voice went on past the point of Ryan's current interest.
This is going too fast now, too damned fast.
Charon.He keeps appearing, doesn't he?
'Frank, I got a tough one for you. When that Sergeant Meyer called in from Pittsburgh, anybody else you mention that to?'
'What do you mean, Em?' Allen asked, annoyance beginning to form in his mind at the suggestion.
'I'm not saying you called the papers, Frank.'
'That was the day Charon popped the dealer wasn't it?' Allen thought back. 'I might have said something to him... only other person I talked with that day, come to think of it.'
'Okay, thanks, Frank.' Ryan looked up the number of Barracks 'V' of the State Police.
'Captain Joy,' said a very weary voice. The barracks commander would have taken a bed in his own jail if he'd had to, but by tradition a State Police barracks was just that, and he'd found a comfortable bed for his four and a half hours of sleep. Joy was already wishing that Somerset County would go back to normal, though he well might make major's rank from this episode.
'Lieutenant Ryan, City Police homicide.'
'You big- city boys sure are interested in us now,' Joy commented wryly. 'What do you want to know?'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean I was on my way to bed last night when another one of your people called down here, Lieutenant Chair - something like that, I didn't write it down. Said he could ID one of the bodies... I did write that down somewhere. Sorry, I'm turning into a zombie.'
'Could you fill me in? I'll take the short version.' It turned out that the short version was plenty. 'The woman is in custody?'
'You bet she is.'
'Captain, you keep her that way until I say different, okay? Excuse me, please keep her that way. She may be a material witness in a multiple homicide.'
'Yeah, I know that, remember?'
'I mean up here, too, sir. Two bad ones. I have nine months invested in this.'
'She isn't going anywhere for a while,' Joy promised. 'We have a lot of talking to do with her ourselves, and her lawyer's playing ball.'
'Nothing more on the shooter?'
'Just what I said: male Caucasian, six foot or so, and he painted himself green, the girl says.' Joy hadn't included that in his initial recounting.
'What?'
'She said his face and hands were green, like camouflage stuff, I suppose. There is one more thing,' Joy added. 'He's a right good shot. The three people he whacked, one shot each, all in the X-ring - like, perfect.'
Ryan flipped the folder back open. At the bottom of Kelly's list of awards: Distinguished Rifleman, Master Pistol.
'I'll be back to you, Captain. Sounds like you've handled this one awfully well for a guy who doesn't get many homicides.'
'I'd just as soon stick to speeders,' Joy confirmed, hanging up.
'You're in early,' Douglas observed, coming in late. 'See the paper?'
'Our friend's back, and he got on the scoreboard again.' Ryan handed the photo across.
'He looks older now,' the sergeant said.
'Three Purple Hearts'll do that.' Ryan filled Douglas in. 'Want to drive down to Somerset and interview this girl?'
'You think...?'
