witness in the arms sale case has become a fugitive.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you recall your line of reasoning in releasing him?”
“Not at the moment, no, sir.”
“One wonders why a man who has been offered immunity would decide to commit yet another felony and flee.”
“One does wonder.”
“Did you explain to him that he had immunity?”
“Yes, sir, but apparently not very well.”
“It’s a problem, you know, Paul, dealing with stupid people. You project your own intelligence and rationality onto a person who is a complete idiot, and he lets you down. He’s ignorant and frightened, and he is a slave to his instincts. The jail door opens, and he runs. Quite understandable.”
I cleared my throat. “I thought I had reassured him and won his trust and confidence.”
“Of course you did. That’s what he wanted you to think when he was on the other side of the bars. They’re cunning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Perhaps you’ll consult me the next time, before you release a prisoner in a major felony case.”
“He was actually a witness, sir.”
Karl leaned toward me and said, “He had not one fucking iota of understanding regarding the difference. You put him in jail, you let him out, he ran.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Article 96 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice deals with the improper releasing of a prisoner through neglect or design. You’re in trouble.”
“Yes, sir.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Now, tell me, what are the most recent developments here?”
Well, to begin with, I never got the chance to sleep with Cynthia, she lied to me about her husband, I’m crushed and pissed, I still can’t get Ann Campbell out of my mind, the provost marshal down the hall is probably a murderer, dopey Dalbert beat feet, and I’m not having a good day.
Hellmann turned to Cynthia. “Perhaps you’ll speak to me.”
“Yes, sir.” Cynthia began by discussing forensic evidence, Grace Dixon’s computer discoveries, the Yardley boys, and the unfortunate involvements of Major Bowes, Colonel Weems, and other staff officers.
Karl listened.
Cynthia then reported an edited version of our conversations with General Campbell, Mrs. Campbell, Colonel Fowler, Mrs. Fowler, and Colonel Moore. I was barely listening, but I did note that she did not mention Colonel and Mrs. Fowler’s precise role in the case, or Ann Campbell’s basement room, and neither did she mention Bill Kent at all. This is exactly the way I would have handled it, and I was impressed with how much she’d learned in the last two days. Cynthia said to Karl, “So you see, it all had to do with revenge, retribution, a perverted experiment in psychological operations, and what happened at West Point a decade ago.”
Karl nodded.
As an afterthought, Cynthia did mention Friedrich Nietzsche, in the context of Ann Campbell’s personal philosophy. Karl seemed interested in that, and I realized that Cynthia was playing to her audience.
Karl sat back and pondered, his fingers pressed together like some great sage about to provide the answer to Life. Cynthia concluded, “Paul has done an outstanding job, and it’s been an education working with him.”
Karl sat motionless for a full minute, and it occurred to me that the great sage didn’t have a fucking clue. Cynthia was trying to catch my eye, but I refused to look at her.
Finally, Colonel Hellmann spoke. “Nietzsche. Yes. In revenge and in love, woman is more barbarous than man.”
I asked, “Is that Nietzsche, sir, or your personal opinion?”
He looked at me in a way that suggested the ice under me was getting thinner. He said to Cynthia, “Very good. You’ve exposed motives, massive corruption, and great secrets here.”
“Thank you.”
He looked at me, then at his watch. “Should we be going to the chapel?”
“Yes, sir.”
He stood and we stood. We took our hats and headed out.
We all got into my Blazer, with Karl in the honorary position in the rear. As I drove toward the post chapel, Karl finally asked, “Do you know who did it?”
I replied, “I think so.”
“Would you care to share that with me?”
Karl recovered and asked, “Are you both prepared to make a formal charge?”
Thank you for the ace, Karl. I replied, “No. I’m turning over our evidence to the FBI.”
“Why?”
“It needs some research and development.”
“Tell me what you know.”
I pulled into the parking field of the post chapel, a big Georgian brick structure, suitable for military weddings, funerals, Sunday worship, and solitary prayer before shipping out to a combat zone. We got out of the Blazer and stood in the hot sun. The lot was nearly full, and people were parking on the road and on the grass.
Cynthia took a piece of paper out of her handbag and handed it to Karl. She said, “That was in Ann Campbell’s computer. It’s a letter to Mrs. Kent.”
Karl read the letter, nodded, and handed it back to Cynthia. “Yes, I can understand Colonel Kent’s anger and humiliation at having his wife receive such a letter. But would that make him kill?” Just then, Colonel William Kent himself walked by with a wave of the hand. Cynthia informed Karl, “That is Colonel Kent.”
Karl watched him walk to the chapel. Karl observed, “He doesn’t look haunted.”
“He vacillates,” Cynthia replied. “I think he’s on the verge of convincing himself that what he did was right, then telling us the same thing.”
Karl nodded. “Yes, that’s the great secret of this job—not confronting a criminal with the moral question of right or wrong, but giving him the opportunity to explain his reasons.” He asked Cynthia, “What other evidence do you have?”
Cynthia gave him a quick rundown of the diary entries, the critical bootprint, the Jeep in the pine brush, and our conversations with the suspect. She concluded, “He had motive, opportunity, and probably the will to act, at least at that moment. He’s not a killer, but he’s a cop, and therefore no stranger to homicide. He also had good cover, being on the inside of the investigation, and was able to manipulate it and control the evidence—he let the crime scene become polluted, for instance—but his alibi for the time of the murder is weak or nonexistent, as is often the case with crimes of opportunity.”
Hellmann nodded as Cynthia spoke. Then the great one delivered his opinion. “If you’re right, and you can prove it, then you’ve ended this case before it engulfs everyone. If you’re wrong, this case will eat you both, and destroy many more lives while the investigation continues.”
Cynthia replied, “Yes, sir, that’s why we worked day and night. But it’s really out of our hands now.” She looked at me, then continued, “Paul is correct in that we don’t want to recommend formal charges. There’s nothing in that for us, for you, for the CID, or the Army.”
Karl contemplated the chess board in his head, then turned to me. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”
“I have nothing to say, Colonel,” I replied, using his rank to remind him that the buck stopped at his silver eagle.
“Are you upset over your prisoner fleeing?”
“He was a witness, and, no, I’m not.”
