what she’d suffered. She went on like that for some time, then she said since I’d given her some choices, she was going to give me some choices.” General Campbell paused a moment, then continued. “She said she had a rope around her neck… and I could strangle her if I wanted to… or I could cover this up like I did once before… I could come and untie her and take her away… take her to Beaumont House… to her mother. She also said I could leave her there, and the MPs or the guards or someone would find her, and she’d tell the MPs everything. Those were my choices.”
Cynthia asked, “And did you go to her and try to untie her, as you told us you did?”
“No… I couldn’t. I didn’t go near her… I didn’t try to untie her… I just stood near the car, then… I completely snapped. My anger and rage at all those years of trying to make things right got the best of me… I shouted back at her that I didn’t give a damn what they’d done to her ten years ago… I told her I was going to leave her there and let the guards or the MPs find her, or the first platoon who came out to fire on the range or whoever, and that the whole world could see her naked for all I cared, and—” He stopped in midsentence and looked down at the floor, then continued. “I told her she couldn’t hurt me anymore, and then she started shouting this Nietzsche junk —‘whatever hurts you makes me stronger, what does not destroy me makes me stronger,’ and so on. I said that the only hold she had over me was my rank and my position, and that I was resigning from the service, and that she had destroyed any feelings I had for her and that she had more than equaled the score.”
The general poured himself some water from a carafe and drank it, then continued, “She said that was fine, that was good… ‘Let someone else find me—you never helped me… ’ Then she started to cry, and she couldn’t stop crying, but I thought I heard her say… she said, ‘Daddy’…” He stood. “Please… I can’t…”
We stood also. I said, “Thank you, General.” We turned and made toward the door before he began crying, but a thought came into my head, and I turned back to him and said, “Another death in the family won’t solve anything. It’s not the manly thing to do. It’s very cowardly.” But his back was toward us, and I don’t know if he even heard me.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
I drove out of the Post Headquarters parking lot, went a few hundred meters, then pulled off to the side of the road. A sort of delayed reaction to the interview came over me, and I actually felt shaky. I said, “Well, we know now why the lab people found dried tears on her cheeks.”
Cynthia said, “I feel sick.”
“I need a drink.”
She took a deep breath. “No. We have to finish this. Where’s Moore?”
“He’d damned well better be someplace on post.” I put the Blazer into gear and headed toward the Psy-Ops School.
On the way, Cynthia said, as if to herself, “But in the end, the general did not abandon his daughter this time the way he did at West Point. He left her on the rifle range in a fit of rage, but somewhere on the road, he realized that this was the last chance for both of them.”
She thought a moment, then continued, “He probably considered turning around, but then he thought about what he would need—a knife if the rope needed to be cut, clothing, a woman’s presence. Those attentions to detail that are drummed into us overcame his shock and confusion, and he drove to Bethany Hill, to the one man on this post that he could trust.” Cynthia paused, then asked, “When the Fowlers got there, I wonder if they thought that the general strangled her?”
I replied, “It may have crossed their minds. But when they got back to the house and told him she was dead… they must have seen the shock and disbelief on his face.”
Cynthia nodded. “Would they… should they have cut her loose and taken the body away?”
“No. Colonel Fowler knew that moving the body would only make matters worse. And I’m sure that Colonel Fowler, with his military experience, could determine that she was definitely dead. And as to any suspicion that he himself killed her, I’m sure he blessed the moment when he, the general, or Mrs. Fowler herself suggested that she go along.”
“Yes, if it were Colonel Fowler alone, he’d be in a bad position.”
I considered a moment, then said, “So we know that, aside from the victim, four other people were out there—Colonel Moore, the general, and Colonel and Mrs. Fowler. And we don’t think any of them was the murderer. So we have to place a fifth person out there during that critical half-hour window of opportunity.” I added, “That person, of course, is the killer.”
Cynthia nodded, “Maybe we should have asked General Campbell if he had any idea who it was who arrived during that half hour.”
“I think he believes it was Colonel Moore. If he thought it was anyone else, he’d have told us. I don’t think it has occurred to him that Moore was the accomplice, not the killer. Bottom line, I just couldn’t push the guy any further.”
“I know. I hate to interview a victim’s family. I get all emotional…”
“You did fine. I did fine. The general did fine.”
I pulled into the Psy-Ops School, but Moore’s car was not in its reserved spot. I drove around, past the school’s dining facility, but we didn’t see the gray Ford. I said, “If that SOB left post, I’ll put his ass in a meat grinder.”
An MP jeep pulled up alongside me, and our old friend, Corporal Stroud, was in the passenger seat. “You looking for Colonel Moore, Chief?”
“None other.”
Stroud smiled. “He went to see the provost marshal to get his restriction lifted.”
“Thanks.” I turned around and headed toward main post. I said to Cynthia, “I’m going to nail his ass to the wall.”
“What happened to the meat grinder?”
“That, too.”
I drove to main post, and, as I approached the provost marshal’s building, I noticed that the news media were still there. I parked on the road directly in front of the main doors, and Cynthia and I got out and climbed the steps. We entered the building and went directly to Kent’s office. His clerk said he was in conference.
“With Colonel Moore?”
“Yes, sir.”
I opened his door, and there in Kent’s office was Colonel Moore, Kent, and another man in uniform, a captain. Kent said to us, “Well, I guess I’m glad you’re here.”
The third man stood, and I saw by his branch insignia that he was a JAG officer—a lawyer. The man, whose name tag said Collins, asked me, “Are you Warrant Officer Brenner?”
“I’ll ask the questions, Captain.”
“I guess you are,” he said. “Colonel Moore has requested that he be represented by counsel, so anything you have to say to him—”
“I’ll say to him.”
Moore was still sitting in front of Kent’s desk and was pointedly not looking up. I said to Moore, “I’m placing you under arrest. Come with me.”
Captain Collins motioned for his client to remain seated and said to me, “What is the charge?”
“Conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman.”
“Oh, really, Mr. Brenner, that’s a silly, catch-all—”
“Plus, Article 134, disorders and neglects, and so forth. Plus, accessory after the fact, conspiracy, and making false statements. Plus, Captain, you are on the verge of Article 98, noncompliance with procedural rules.”
“How dare you?”
I asked Kent, “Do you have two sets of cuffs handy?”
Colonel Kent looked worried now. He said, “Paul, we have some questions of law and fact here. You can’t arrest—well, you can, but I’m in the middle of a conversation with a suspect and his lawyer—”
“Colonel Moore is not a suspect in the murder, so there’s no reason for a conversation, and if there were a
