a male general since Ike’s lady friend.”
She smiled and replied, “There are a few. The general’s other aide is a male, Lieutenant Elby.”
“Yes, we’ve met him.” It occurred to me that if Lieutenant Elby was a pawn in the game between father and daughter, then Captain Bollinger was certainly not; she was not seducible by Ann, and she was also homely enough for Mrs. Campbell’s requirements. It really sucks at the top.
Captain Bollinger escorted us into an empty outer office and said, “The general has allocated all the time you want. But please understand that he’s… well, he’s just plain grief-stricken.”
Cynthia replied, “We understand.”
I also understood that this interview was scheduled for after-duty hours so that if it got messy, the troops wouldn’t be around to see or hear it.
Captain Bollinger knocked on a nice oak door, opened it, and announced us as Warrant Officers Brenner and Sunhill. She stepped aside and we entered.
The general was standing and came forward to greet us. We exchanged quick salutes, then shook hands.
General Campbell indicated a grouping of upholstered chairs, and we all sat. Generals, like CEOs, have varying degrees of seating in the office, but generals also have the option of letting you stand at attention or, if they’re being nice, at parade rest or at ease. But Cynthia and I were being shown far more courtesy than our rank required. It must have had something to do with the fact that we’d just heard two confessions of criminal conduct from two wives, to wit: accessory after the fact, and conspiracy. But perhaps he just liked us.
He asked, “Would either of you like a drink?”
“No, thank you, sir.” But in truth, the cannon had sounded and the flag was down, and in the Army that is the equivalent of Pavlov’s starving dogs hearing the dinner bell.
No one spoke for a minute or so, and I looked around the office. The walls were white plaster, and the trim and moldings were natural oak, as were the desks, tables, and so forth. The area rug over the oak floor was a red Oriental, probably picked up overseas. There was not much in the way of war trophies, souvenirs, framed certificates, or any of that, but on a small round table in the corner was a blue cape laid out like a tablecloth on which lay a sheathed saber, an old long-barreled pistol, a blue dress hat, and other odds and ends.
The general saw me looking and said, “Those are my father’s things. He was a colonel in the old horse cavalry back in the 1920s.”
I replied, “I was in the First Battalion of the Eighth Cavalry in Vietnam, minus horses.”
“Really? That was my father’s regiment. Old Indian fighters, though that was before his time.”
So, we had something in common after all. Almost. Cynthia was probably immediately bored by the old boola-boola routine, but a little male bonding is a good thing before you go for the balls.
General Campbell asked me, “So you weren’t always a detective?”
“No, sir. I used to do honest work.”
He smiled. “Awards? Decorations?”
I told him and he nodded. I think he was better able to accept what I had to do to him if I was a combat vet. Even if I hadn’t been, I’d have told him I was. I’m allowed to lie in the pursuit of truth, and an unsworn witness may also lie, while a sworn witness better not, and a suspect can exercise his or her right against self-incrimination anytime. Often, however, the problem is deciding who’s who.
The general looked at Cynthia, not wanting to exclude her, and asked her about her military background, civilian roots, and so forth. She told him, and I learned a few things myself, though she may have been lying. Generals, and sometimes colonels, I’ve noticed, always ask enlisted personnel and lower-ranking officers about their hometowns, civilian schools, military training, and all that. I don’t know if they care, or if it’s some kind of imported Japanese management tool they learned at the War College, or what the hell this is all about, but you have to play the game, even if you’re about to broach the subject of criminal activity.
So, with all the time allotted that we needed, we chewed the fat for about fifteen minutes, then finally the general said, “I understand that you’ve spoken to Mrs. Fowler and Mrs. Campbell, so you know something of what went on that evening.”
I replied, “Yes, sir, but to be perfectly frank, we had figured out a lot of what went on prior to our speaking to Mrs. Fowler and Mrs. Campbell.”
“Had you? That’s very impressive. We do a good job training our CID people.”
“Yes, sir, and we’ve had a lot of on-the-job experience, though this case presented unique problems.”
“I’m sure it did. Do you know who killed my daughter?’
“No, sir.”
He looked at me closely and asked, “It wasn’t Colonel Moore?”
“It may have been.”
“I see you’re not here to answer questions.”
“No, sir, we’re not.”
“Then how would you like to conduct this interview?”
“I think it may be easier on everyone, sir, if you just start by telling us what happened on the evening in question. Beginning with the phone call at 0145 hours. I may interrupt when I need a point clarified.”
He nodded. “Yes, all right. I was sleeping, and the red phone rang on my nightstand. I answered it, but there was no reply to my saying, ‘Campbell here.’ Then there was a sort of click, then… then my daughter’s voice came on the line, and I could tell it was recorded.”
I nodded. There were telephones in the fire control towers on the ranges, but they were secured at night. Ann Campbell and Charles Moore obviously had a mobile phone with them and a tape player.
He continued, “The message—the recorded message said, ‘Dad, this is Ann. I want to discuss something extremely urgent with you. You must meet me at rifle range six no later than 0215 hours.’ ” The general added, “She said if I didn’t come, she’d kill herself.”
Again I nodded. I said to him, “Did she tell you to bring Mrs. Campbell with you?”
He glanced at me and Cynthia, wondering how much we actually knew, thinking perhaps we’d somehow found that tape. He replied, “Yes, she did say that, but I had no intention of doing that.”
“Yes, sir. Did you have any idea of what she wanted to speak to you about that was so urgent that she wanted you to get out of bed and drive out to the rifle range?”
“No… I… Ann, as you may have learned, was emotionally distressed.”
“Yes, sir. I think, though, that someone mentioned to me that you had given her an ultimatum and a deadline. She was to give you her answer at breakfast that morning.”
“That’s correct. Her behavior had become unacceptable, and I told her to shape up or ship out.”
“So when you heard her voice at that hour, you realized that this was not just a random emotional outburst, but was in fact connected to your ultimatum and her response.”
“Well, yes, I suppose I did realize that.”
“Why do you think she communicated with you by recorded message?”
“I suppose so there would be no argument. I was very firm with her, but since I couldn’t reason or argue with a recorded voice, I did what any father would do and went to the designated meeting.”
“Yes, sir. And as it turned out, your daughter was already out on the rifle range, and she called you from there with a mobile phone. She’d actually left Post Headquarters at about 0100 hours. Did you wonder why she picked a remote training area for this meeting? Why didn’t she just show up at breakfast and give you her answer to your ultimatum?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Well, perhaps he didn’t know at first, but when he saw her, he knew. I could see that he was genuinely grieved and was barely holding it together. But he
I said to him, “She mentioned killing herself if you didn’t come. Did you think that she might be contemplating killing
He didn’t reply.
I asked him, “Did you take a weapon with you?”
