“That reminds me. Did you get my Christmas card? Where are you living these days?”
“Look, Paul, I’m sure your buddies at headquarters have snooped through my file for you and told you everything about me in the past year.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Cynthia. It’s not ethical or professional.”
She glanced at me. “Sorry.” She put the address book in her handbag, went over to the telephone answering machine, and pushed the play button.
A voice said, “Ann, this is Colonel Fowler. You were supposed to stop by the general’s house this morning after you got off duty.” The colonel sounded brusque. He continued, “Mrs. Campbell prepared breakfast for you. Well, you’re probably sleeping now. Please call the general when you get up, or call Mrs. Campbell.” He hung up.
I said, “Maybe she killed herself. I would.”
Cynthia commented, “It certainly couldn’t be easy being a general’s daughter. Who is Colonel Fowler?”
“I think he’s the post adjutant.” I asked Cynthia, “How did that message sound to you?”
“Official. The tone suggested some familiarity, but no particular warmth. As if he was just doing his duty by calling his boss’s forgetful daughter, whom he outranks, but who is nevertheless the boss’s daughter. How did it sound to you?”
I thought a moment and replied, “It sounded made up.”
“Oh… like a cover call?”
I pushed the play button again, and we listened. I said, “Maybe I’m starting to imagine things.”
“Maybe not.”
I picked up the phone and dialed the provost marshal’s office. Colonel Kent was in and I got him on the line. “We are still at the deceased’s house,” I informed him. “Have you spoken to the general yet?”
“No… I haven’t… I’m waiting for the chaplain…”
“Bill, this thing will be all over post in a matter of hours. Inform the deceased’s family. And no form letters or telegrams.”
“Look, Paul, I’m up to my ass in alligators with this thing, and I called the post chaplain and he’s on his way here—”
“Fine. Did you get her office moved?”
“Yes. I put everything in an unused hangar at Jordan Field.”
“Good. Now get a bunch of trucks out here with a platoon of MPs who don’t mind hard work and know how to keep their mouths shut, and empty her house. I mean everything, Colonel—furniture, carpeting, right down to the light bulbs, toilet seats, refrigerator, and food. Take photos here, and put everything in that hangar in some semblance of the order that it’s found. Okay?”
“Are you crazy?”
“Absolutely. And be sure the men wear gloves and get forensic to print everything that they’d normally print.”
“Why do you want to move the whole house?”
“Bill, we have no jurisdiction here, and I’m not trusting the town police to play fair. So when the Midland police get here, the only thing they can impound is the wallpaper. Trust me on this. The scene of the crime was a U.S. military reservation. So this is all perfectly legal.”
“No, it’s not.”
“We do this my way, or I’m out of here, Colonel.”
There was a long pause, followed by a grunt that sounded like “Okay.”
“And send an officer down to Dixie Bell in town and have Ann Campbell’s number forwarded to a number on post. In fact, get it forwarded to a line in that hangar. Plug her answering machine in and put in a new incoming message tape. Hold on to the old tape. It’s got a message on it. Mark it as evidence.”
“Who do you think is going to call after the headlines are splashed all over the state?”
“You never know. Did forensic get there yet?”
“Yes. They’re at the scene. So is the body.”
“And Sergeant St. John and PFC Robbins?”
“They’re still sleeping. I put them in separate cells. Unlocked. Do you want me to read them their rights?”
“No, they’re not suspects. But you can hold them as material witnesses until I get around to them.”
“Soldiers have
“Then make some calls on their behalf. Meantime, they’re incommunicado. How about Captain Campbell’s medical and personnel files?”
“Got them right here.”
“What are we forgetting, Bill?”
“The Constitution.”
“Don’t sweat the small stuff.”
“You know, Paul, I have to work with Chief Yardley. You guys are in and out. Yardley and I get along all right, considering the problems—”
“I said I’ll take the rap.”
“You’d damn well better.” He asked, “Did you find anything interesting there?”
“Not yet. Did you?”
“The grid search hasn’t turned up much beyond a few pieces of litter.”
“Did the dogs find anything?”
“No more victims.” He added, “The handlers let them sniff inside the jeep, and the dogs beelined right to the body. Then the dogs went back to the humvee, across the road, past the bleachers, and right out to the latrines in the trees. Then they lost the scent and doubled back to the humvee.” He continued, “We can’t know if the dogs picked up this guy’s scent or just her scent. But somebody, maybe the victim and the perpetrator together, or one or the other, did go out to the latrines.” He hesitated, then said, “I have the feeling that the murderer had his own vehicle, and since we see no tire marks in the soil anywhere, the guy never left the road. So he was parked there on the road before or after she stopped. They both dismount, he gets the drop on her and takes her out to the range and does it. He then goes back to the road…”
“Carrying her clothes.”
“Yes. And he puts the clothes in his vehicle, then…”
“Goes to the latrine, washes up, combs his hair, then goes back to his vehicle and drives away.”
Kent said, “That’s the way it could have happened. But that’s just a theory.”
“I have a theory that we’re going to need another hangar to hold the theories. Okay, about six trucks should do it. And send a sensitive female officer to supervise. And send someone from community affairs who can cool out the neighbors while the MPs empty the place. See you later.” I hung up.
Cynthia said, “You have a quick and analytical mind, Paul.”
“Thank you.”
“If you had a little compassion and heart, you’d be a better person.”
“I don’t want to be a better person.” I added, “Hey, wasn’t I a good guy in Brussels? Didn’t I buy you Belgian chocolates?”
She didn’t reply immediately, then said, “Yes, you did. Well, should we go upstairs before upstairs winds up at Jordan Field?”
“Good idea.”
CHAPTER
SIX
The master suite, as I indicated, was neat and clean, except for the shattered perfume bottle on the bathroom floor that now stunk up the place. The furniture was functional modern, sort of Scandinavian, I suppose, with no soft touches, nothing to suggest that it was madam’s boudoir. It occurred to me
