“There is equal justice for all, but some people get more of it.”
I said, “I realize you have nothing to do with this decision, Colonel, but you ought to discuss this with General Campbell and see if he can get this decision reversed or at least modified.”
“I did. That’s how we got the compromise. As of about 2300 hours last night, you and Ms. Sunhill were relieved. General Campbell and Colonel Hellmann bought you some time. They thought you were very close to an arrest. So perhaps if you have good evidence and strong suspicions regarding Colonel Moore, you’ll make that arrest. You have our permission to do so if you feel you need that.”
I thought a moment. Colonel Moore seemed to be the most popular candidate for scapegoat. And why not? Evidence aside, he was a loony who did weird work in secret, and his uniform was sloppy, and General Campbell disliked his relationship with Ann Campbell according to Kent, and he had no significant awards or medals, and he was not a popular officer. Even an MP corporal couldn’t wait to rat him out. This guy was walking into a noose with his face buried in a book of Nietzsche nuttiness. I said to Colonel Fowler, “Well, if I have about thirty hours, I’ll take it.”
Fowler seemed a little disappointed. He inquired, “What’s keeping you from acting on the evidence you have?”
“There’s not enough of it, Colonel.”
“There seems to be.”
“Did Colonel Kent tell you that?”
“Yes… and you indicated that the forensic evidence put Colonel Moore at the scene of the crime.”
“Right. But it’s a matter of times, motive, and ultimately the nature of the act itself. I have probable cause to believe Colonel Moore was somehow involved with what happened out there, but I can’t say he acted alone, or even with malice, or indeed that he can be charged with murder in the first degree. I feel that I have to perfect a case against him, rather than just arrest him and throw the case onto the court.”
“I see. Do you think he would confess?”
“You never know until you ask.”
“When will you ask?”
“I usually ask when the suspect and I are both ready for that kind of conversation. In this case, I may wait until the clock runs out.”
“All right. Do you need the assistance of the post CID?”
“I’ve been informed that Major Bowes was also a lover of the deceased.”
“That’s hearsay.”
“That’s right. But if I—no, Colonel, if
“I’m sensitive to that, Mr. Brenner, but a vague accusation—even a confession of sexual involvement with the victim—does not automatically disqualify Major Bowes from the investigation.”
“I think it does. And I think it puts him on the B or C list of suspects until I hear his alibi or lack of same. And on that subject, Colonel, if you’re finished, may I begin my interview with you?”
Colonel Fowler poured himself another cup of coffee with a rock-steady hand. The sun was higher now and the screened porch was a little darker. My stomach was gurgling with coffee and not much else, and my mind was not as alert as it should have been. I glanced at Cynthia and thought she looked better than I felt, but this high- noon deadline meant having to choose between sleep, sex, food, and work. Plan B.
Colonel Fowler asked, “Can I offer you breakfast?”
“No, thank you, Colonel.”
He looked at me and said, “Fire away.”
I opened fire. “Were you sexually involved with Ann Campbell?”
“No.”
“Do you know anyone who was?”
“Colonel Kent has told you he was. I won’t mention any other names since to do so seems to put them on your suspect list.”
“Okay, let’s go right to the list—do you know of anyone who might have had a motive for killing her?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Did you know that General Campbell’s junior aide, Lieutenant Elby, was infatuated with her?”
“Yes, I did. That’s not uncommon, nor was it unwise of him to pay attention to his commanding officer’s daughter. They were both single, attractive, and officers. Marriages actually evolve from these situations.” Colonel Fowler added, “I give the young man credit for balls.”
“Amen. But did she return his attentions?”
Colonel Fowler thought a moment, then replied, “She never returned any man’s attentions. She initiated all the attention, and ended it when it pleased her.”
“That’s a rather startling statement from you, Colonel.”
“Oh, please, Mr. Brenner, you know all of this by now. I’m not trying to protect her reputation from you two. The woman was a… God, I wish I could come up with the right word… more than a seductress, not a tease—she delivered—not a common slut…” He looked at Cynthia. “Give me a word.”
Cynthia replied, “I don’t think we have a word for what she was, except perhaps avenger.”
“Avenger?”
Cynthia said, “She wasn’t the victim of rumor, as you first tried to suggest, and she wasn’t promiscuous in the conventional sense, and neither was she clinically a nymphomaniac. She was, in fact, using her charms and her body to exact a revenge, Colonel, and you know it.”
Colonel Fowler did not seem pleased with this evaluation. I suspected that Colonel Kent had given him only an edited briefing of what he’d told us and failed to include the fact that Ann Campbell’s sexual behavior had a specific purpose, and that the purpose was to make Daddy look like a horse’s ass. Colonel Fowler said to Cynthia, “She did hate the Army.”
Cynthia replied, “She hated her father.”
Fowler seemed, for the first time, uncomfortable. The man was a cool customer, and his armor was tried and tested, and so was his sword, but Cynthia just informed him that his rear was exposed. Fowler said, “The general truly loved his daughter. Please believe that. But she had developed an obsessive and unreasonable hate for him. In fact, I spoke to an outside psychologist about it, and though he couldn’t analyze the dynamics from afar, he did suggest that the daughter might be suffering from a borderline personality disorder.”
Cynthia commented, “From what I’ve heard so far, it doesn’t sound so borderline.”
“Well, who the hell knows what these people mean? I couldn’t follow all he was saying, but it comes down to the fact that the children of powerful men who try to follow in the father’s footsteps become frustrated, then go through a period of questioning their own worth, then eventually to preserve their ego they find something they can do well, something very different from their father’s world, where they will not be in direct competition with him, but something that society considers important. Thus, according to this psychologist, many of them wind up in social work, or as teachers, even nurses or some other nurturing profession.” Colonel Fowler added, “Including psychology.”
I remarked, “Psychological warfare is not exactly a nurturing profession.”
“No, which is where this analysis diverts from the norm. This psychologist told me that when the son or daughter remains in the father’s world, it’s often because they want to harm the father. They can’t compete, they won’t or can’t go off on their own, so they stay close to the source of their anger and engage in what amounts to guerrilla warfare, ranging from petty annoyances to major sabotage.”
He thought a moment, then added, “They do this because it is the only way they can avenge—yes, as you said, Ms. Sunhill—avenge themselves over these imagined injustices or whatever. In Captain Campbell’s case, she was in a unique position to do this. Her father couldn’t fire her, and she had developed a power base of her own. Many sons and daughters who have these feelings against their father, according to this psychologist, engage in promiscuous behavior, drunkenness, gambling, and other antisocial acts that they know will embarrass the authority figure in his world. Captain Campbell, perhaps as a result of her knowledge in the field of psychology, took it a step further, and apparently sought to seduce the men around her father.”
Colonel Fowler leaned across the table and said to us, “I hope you understand that Ann’s behavior was
