thought she might become violent.”
“And you approached Ann Campbell. Did you say anything?”
“Yes, I called her name, but she didn’t… she didn’t reply. I got right up to her, and… I knelt beside her, and her eyes were open, but… I screamed… and my husband ran to me…” Mrs. Fowler put her hands over her face and began crying. Cynthia seemed prepared for this and sprang out of her seat and sat beside Mrs. Fowler on the couch, putting her arm around her and giving her a handkerchief.
After about a minute, Cynthia said, “Thank you. You don’t have to say any more. We’ll see ourselves out.” And we did.
We got into my Blazer and drove off. I said, “Sometimes a shot in the dark hits its mark.”
Cynthia replied, “But it wasn’t a shot in the dark. I mean, it all makes sense now, it’s all logical, based on what we know of the facts, and what we know of the personalities.”
“Right. You did a nice job.”
“Thank you. But you set it up.”
Which was true, so I said, “Yes, I did.”
“I suppose I don’t like false modesty or humility in a man.”
“Good. You’re in the right car.” I said, “Do you think Colonel Fowler told her to tell the truth, or did she decide on her own?”
Cynthia thought a moment, then replied, “I think Colonel Fowler knows that we know
“Right. And Mrs. Fowler is her husband’s witness that Ann Campbell was dead when they got there, and that Colonel Fowler did not kill her.”
“Correct. And I believe her, and I don’t believe he killed Ann Campbell.”
We drove in silence back toward the main post, both of us deep in thought.
We arrived at Beaumont House a little early, but decided that protocol had to take a backseat to reality for a change, and we went to the front door, where an MP checked our IDs, then rang the bell for us.
As luck would have it, young and handsome Lieutenant Elby opened the door. He said, “You’re ten minutes early.”
Young Elby wore the crossed-rifles insignia of an infantry officer, and though there was no indication on this uniform that he’d seen combat anywhere, I deferred to his infantry status and his rank as a commissioned officer. I said to him, “We can leave and come back, or we can speak to you for a few minutes.”
Lieutenant Elby seemed an amicable sort and showed us in. We went into the waiting room where we’d been before, and, still standing, I said to Cynthia, “Didn’t you want to use the facilities?”
“What? Oh… yes.”
Lieutenant Elby pointed and said, “There’s a powder room to the left of the foyer.”
“Thank you.” She left.
I said to Elby, “Lieutenant, it has come to my attention that you and Captain Campbell dated.”
Elby looked at me closely, then replied, “That’s correct.”
“Did you know she was also dating Wes Yardley?”
He nodded, and I could tell by his expression that this was still a painful memory for him. I could certainly understand this—a clean-cut young officer having to share his boss’s daughter with a less-than-clean-cut townie, a sort of bad-boy cop. I said to Elby, “Did you love her?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“You already have. And were your intentions honorable?”
“Why are you asking me these questions? You’re here to speak to Mrs. Campbell.”
“We’re early. So you knew about Wes Yardley. Did you hear other rumors that Ann Campbell dated married officers on post?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I guess he didn’t hear those rumors. And I guess he didn’t know about the room in the basement, either. I said to him, “Did the general approve of your relationship with his daughter?”
“Yes, he did. Do I have to answer these questions?”
“Well, three days ago you didn’t, and you could have told me to go to hell. And a few days from now, you could probably tell me the same thing. But right now, yes, you have to answer these questions. Next question—did Mrs. Campbell approve?”
“Yes.”
“Did you and Ann Campbell ever discuss marriage?”
“Yes, we did.”
“Talk to me, Lieutenant.”
“Well… I knew she was involved with this Yardley guy, and I was… annoyed… but it wasn’t just that… I mean, she told me that… that she had to be sure her parents approved, and when the general gave his blessings, we would announce our engagement.”
“I see. And you discussed this with the general, man-to-man?”
“Yes, I did, a few weeks ago. He seemed happy, but he told me to take a month to think it over. He said that his daughter was a very headstrong young woman.”
“I see. And then recently you received orders to go to someplace on the other side of the world.”
He looked at me, sort of surprised. “Yes… Guam.”
I almost laughed, but didn’t. Though he was my superior, he was young enough to be my son, and I put my hand on his shoulder. I said to him, “Lieutenant, you could have been the best thing to happen to Ann Campbell, but it wasn’t going to happen. You got caught in a power struggle between General and Captain Campbell, and they moved you up and down the board. Somewhere in the back of your mind you understand this. Get on with your life and your career, Lieutenant, and the next time you think about marriage, take two aspirin, lie down in a dark room, and wait for the feeling to pass.”
Unfortunately, Cynthia returned at that very moment and gave me a nasty look.
Lieutenant Elby seemed confused and irritated, but something was clicking in his brain. He looked at his watch and said, “Mrs. Campbell will see you now.”
We followed Elby into the hallway, and he showed us into a large, sort of Victorian parlor at the front of the house.
Mrs. Campbell rose from her chair and we went to her. She was wearing a simple black dress, and as I got closer I could see the resemblance to her daughter. At about sixty years old, Mrs. Campbell had made that transition from beautiful to attractive, but it would be another ten years at least before people would begin using the neutral and sexless expression “a handsome woman.”
Cynthia took her hand first and went through the condolences. I also took her hand and did the same. She said, “Won’t you be seated?” She indicated a love seat near the front window. We sat, and she took the love seat opposite. Between us was a small round table on which sat a few decanters of cordials and glasses. Mrs. Campbell was drinking tea, but asked us, “Would you like some sherry or port?”
Actually, I wanted the alcohol, but not if I had to drink sherry or port to get at it. I declined, but Cynthia said yes to sherry, and Mrs. Campbell poured one for her.
Mrs. Campbell, I was surprised to discover, had a southern accent, but then I remembered seeing her on television once during the Gulf War, and I recalled thinking what a politically perfect pair they were: a rock-hard general from the Midwest and a cultured lady from the South.
Cynthia made some light chatter, and Mrs. Campbell, for all her grief, kept up her end of the conversation. Mrs. Campbell, it turned out, was from South Carolina, herself the daughter of an Army officer. June Campbell—that was her name—was, I thought, the embodiment of everything that was good about the South. She was polite, charming, and gracious, and I recalled what Colonel Fowler had said about her, and I added loyal and ladylike but tough.
I was aware that the clock was ticking, but Cynthia seemed in no hurry to get to the nasty stuff, and I assumed she had decided it wasn’t appropriate and/or had lost her nerve. I didn’t blame her at all. But then Cynthia said, “I assume Mrs. Fowler, or perhaps Colonel Fowler, called you before we arrived.”
