Cynthia said, “Specialist Baker can stay a clerk-typist for a while. We don’t need another detective.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Kiefer, slipping back into her assumed rank and role. “But I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”
“You do that.”
I said to Baker, “Tell Colonel Kent that Mr. Brenner wants Colonel Moore restricted to post and available until further notice.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cynthia and I left the office, went out the back way, and made it to the parking lot without getting waylaid by reporters. I said, “My turn to drive.” I found my keys and we got into my Blazer.
As I drove toward Bethany Hill, I said, “Karl is okay for a bastard.”
She smiled. “Even if he did pull a fast one on us. Do you believe that?”
“It comes with the territory, Cynthia.” I added, “I thought she looked familiar. There was something not right about her.”
“Oh, cut the crap, Paul. You were as fooled as I was. God, I have to get out of this job.”
“What about Panama?” I glanced at her, and our eyes met.
Cynthia said, “I put in for a permanent duty station out of the continental United States because I wanted to get away from my about-to-be ex.”
“Good thinking.” I changed the subject. “So this West Point thing is high explosives.”
“Yes. I can’t believe a father would participate in a coverup… well, if you think about it… I mean, there’s so much tension at West Point since it went co-ed. It’s unbelievable what’s happening there. Plus, the general had his own career to think about, and maybe he was thinking of his daughter’s career and reputation as well. But he wasn’t doing her any favors.”
“No, he was not.”
“Women who suppress a sexual assault, or who are made to suppress it, usually pay for it later.”
“Or make other people pay for it,” I pointed out.
“That’s right. Sometimes both.” She added, “What happened on rifle range six was a reenactment of the rape at West Point, wasn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it was.”
“Except this time someone killed her.”
“Right.”
“Her father?”
“Let’s get the last piece of information we need to reenact the entire crime, from beginning to end.”
She stayed silent a moment, then asked me, “Do you know who killed her?”
“I know who didn’t kill her.”
“Don’t be enigmatic, Paul.”
“Do you have a suspect?”
“I have a few.”
“Build a case against them and we’ll put them on trial tonight in the VOQ.”
“Sounds good. I hope we can hang someone in the morning.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
We arrived at the Fowler residence on Bethany Hill and rang the bell.
Mrs. Fowler greeted us, looking only slightly less distressed than she’d looked that morning. She showed us into the living room and offered us coffee or whatever, but we declined. She sat on a couch, and we sat in club chairs.
Cynthia and I had discussed a line of questioning, and we decided that Cynthia would lead off. She chatted with Mrs. Fowler about life, the Army, Fort Hadley, and so forth, then, when Mrs. Fowler was relaxed, Cynthia said to her, “Please be assured that we only want to see justice done. We are not here to ruin reputations. We are here to find a murderer, but we are also here to make certain that innocent men and women are not falsely accused.”
Mrs. Fowler nodded.
Cynthia continued, “You know that Ann Campbell was sexually involved with many men on this post. I want first to assure you that in all the evidence that we’ve gathered, your husband’s name has not been linked with Ann Campbell.”
Again she nodded, a little more vigorously, I thought.
Cynthia continued, “We understand Colonel Fowler’s position as General Campbell’s adjutant and, I assume, his friend. We appreciate your husband’s honesty and his willingness to let us speak to you. I’m sure he’s told you to be as honest with us as he’s been with us, and as we’ve been with you.”
Tentative nod.
Cynthia went on, circling around any direct question, saying positive things, showing compassion, empathy, and so on. You have to do this with civilian witnesses who are not under subpoena, and Cynthia was doing a much better job than I could have done.
But the time had come, and Cynthia asked her, “You were home on the evening of the murder?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Your husband came home from the O Club at about ten P.M.”
“That’s right.”
“You retired about eleven P.M.?”
“I believe so.”
“And sometime between 0245 and 0300 hours, three A.M. or so, you were awakened by someone ringing your doorbell.”
No reply.
“Your husband went downstairs and answered the door. He came back to the bedroom and told you it was the general, and that he had to go off on urgent business. Your husband got dressed and asked you to do the same. Correct?”
No reply.
Cynthia said, “And you went with him.” Cynthia added, “You wear a size seven shoe, I believe.”
Mrs. Fowler replied, “Yes, we both got dressed and left.”
No one spoke for a few seconds, then Cynthia said, “You both got dressed and left. And did General Campbell remain in your house?”
“Yes.”
“And was Mrs. Campbell with him?”
“No, she was not.”
“So General Campbell stayed behind, and you accompanied your husband to rifle range six. Correct?”
“Yes. My husband said that the general told him Ann Campbell was naked, and he told me to bring a robe with me. He said that Ann Campbell was tied up, so he took a knife for me to cut the rope.”
“All right. You drove along Rifle Range Road, and for the last mile or so, you drove without headlights.”
“Yes. My husband did not want to attract the attention of the guard. He said there was a guard up the road.”
“Yes. And you stopped at the parked humvee, as General Campbell instructed. It was now what time?”
“It was… about three-thirty.”
“It was about three-thirty. You got out of your car and…”
“And I could see something out on the rifle range, and my husband told me to go out there and cut her loose and make her put the robe on. He said to call him if I needed help.” Mrs. Fowler paused, then added, “He said to slap her around if she didn’t cooperate. He was very angry.”
“Understandably so,” Cynthia agreed. “So you walked out on the range.”
“Yes. My husband decided to follow about halfway. I think he was concerned about how Ann would react. He
