anymore. Your name came up once or twice.”
“Am
“You shouldn’t. He turned out to be a possessive manipulator, anyway.”
“You didn’t see that?”
“No. The best thing about some long-distance relationships is that they’re long-distance. It’s very romantic. Living together is another matter.”
“I’m sure you bent over backward to please.”
“If that’s sarcasm, you’re wrong. I did bend over backward. But every time I had to go off on assignment, he got very nasty, and every time I came back from assignment, he interrogated me. I don’t like being interrogated.”
“No one does.”
“I never fooled around on him.”
“Well, once.”
“You know what I mean. So anyway, I got to thinking that military life and married life don’t go together. He wanted me to resign. I said no. He got violent, and I had to pull my gun on him.”
“My goodness. You’re lucky he didn’t have that automatic he pulled on me.”
“Well, he did, but I’d taken the firing pin out months before. Look, it’s all so tawdry, and I feel embarrassed even talking about it. But I think I owe you at least that explanation of my life between Brussels and now.”
“Thank you. Does he have the firing pin back in the gun?”
She laughed. “He’s all right. He accepted it gracefully. He’s tired of ripping himself apart with jealousy. He’s back on a good career track, and he has a girlfriend.”
“Where is this happy psychopath stationed?”
“He’s at the Ranger School at Benning.”
“That’s commuting distance to here.”
“He doesn’t even know where I am now. Are you worried?”
“No. I just need to know what I’m dealing with. Basic intelligence gathering.”
“What are you dealing with?”
“The past, the present, and the future. Same old stuff.”
“Can we be friends without being lovers?”
“Of course. I’ll ask Colonel Moore where he got himself neutered.”
“You’re so basic.” She thought a moment, then said, “I don’t want another jealous crazy.”
“Let’s talk about this tomorrow, or next week.”
“Fine.”
After a minute or two, I asked, “Are you seeing anyone else?”
“Is it next week already?”
“I just don’t want to get shot. You know?”
“No, I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to get shot.”
She said, “Paul, shut up or
“Don’t shoot.”
She laughed. “Stop it.”
We rode the last mile in silence, then I said, “Pull over here and kill the lights and the engine.”
The sky was a clear moonlit blue, and the temperature had dropped, but it was still comfortable despite the humidity. It was a nice evening, the kind of night made for romantic trysts out in the countryside. I listened to the nightbirds and the breeze in the pines. I said, “Not only have I thought about you, but I’ve missed you.”
“I know. Me, too.”
I nodded. “So what did we do wrong? Why did we go our own ways?”
She shrugged. “Maybe we just blew it.” She added, “I wanted you to… well, but that’s past.”
“What did you want me to do?”
“I wanted you not to accept my decision to break it off. I wanted you to take me away from him.”
“That’s not my style, Cynthia. You made a decision. I respected it.”
“Oh, God, Paul, you’re such a goddamned sharp detective, aren’t you? You can read a killer’s heart at a hundred yards, and spot a liar in the blink of an eye. But you don’t know how to read yourself, and you damned sure don’t know much about women.”
So I sat there, like the idiot I am, realizing she was right, and at a loss for words, knowing what I felt in my heart, but unable to express it or unwilling actually to commit my feelings to words. I wanted to say, “Cynthia, I love you, I’ve always loved you. I will continue to love you. Run away with me.” But I couldn’t, so I said, slowly and deliberately, “I know what you’re saying, I agree with you, I’m working on it, and we’ll work it out.”
She took my hand and held it awhile, then said, “Poor Paul. Do I make you nervous?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t like that feeling, do you?”
“No.”
She squeezed my hand. “But I see some improvement since last year in Brussels.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re trying my patience.”
“We’re going to be okay.”
“Good.” She leaned over and kissed me lightly, then released my hand. “What now?”
“Well, let’s get to work.” I opened my door.
“This is not rifle range six,” she pointed out.
“No, this is five.”
“Why are we getting out here?”
“Take the flashlight.” I got out of the car and she followed.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
We stood a few feet apart listening for a while, adjusting to the darkness and the nuances of the night, the way we were taught in school.
Finally I said, “I have this nagging thought that the headlights that PFC Robbins saw at 0217 hours were not from Ann Campbell’s humvee. That, indeed, as you suggested, she drove to rifle range six without her headlights. She knew where the guard was posted, of course, and didn’t want to attract attention. She turned off her lights about here and went the rest of the way in the dark, which is no problem with this moonlight. She had come directly here to meet someone after she left Sergeant St. John at headquarters at 0100 hours. That’s why no other guard post saw her. Logical?”
“If you’re assuming that this was a preplanned rendezvous, then, yes, it’s logical so far.”
“Let’s assume that. She could have gotten here as early as 0115 hours.”
“Possible.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to think this out, “the person she was supposed to meet probably got here first.”
“Why?”
“Because she told him to. She knew she could be held up by something at headquarters. She calls this person from Post Headquarters and says, ‘Be there no later than half past midnight. Wait for me.’ ”
“Okay.”
“So this person she was supposed to meet may have had no business or reason to be out here, and he may have been driving a POV. So as not to attract attention from the guard post, which he also knows is up the road, he goes as far as here, range five, and turns off the road to the left.” We walked off the road into a graveled parking area.
I said to Cynthia, “This graveled field also serves ranges four and six. The troop carriers stop here, leave off the men for all three ranges, turn around and leave, and the men walk to their assigned ranges. I remember that
