“I see. What is the charge, if not murder?”
“Conspiracy to conceal a crime, actions unbecoming, being an asshole, and so forth. You don’t want to discuss this on the phone, do you?”
“No. Why don’t you fax me a report?”
“No reports. Maybe Warrant Officer Kiefer can fax you a report.”
“Oh, yes. I hope she’s being helpful.”
“We didn’t know we had a third partner.”
“Now you know. I actually called you because the CID commander there called Falls Church, and he’s rather upset.”
I didn’t reply.
“Major Bowes. You remember him?”
“We’ve never met.”
“Nevertheless, he’s making all sorts of threats.”
“Karl, there are about thirty officers on this post, almost all of them married, who were sexually involved with the deceased. They’re all going to threaten, beg, plead, cajole, and—”
“At least. But who’s counting?”
“
“I think it’s something in the water. I’m not drinking it.”
Cynthia stifled a laugh, but too late, and Karl said, “Ms. Sunhill? Are you there?”
“Yes, sir. Just picked up.”
“How do you know that thirty married officers were sexually involved with the deceased?”
Cynthia answered, “We found a diary, sir. Actually, a computer file. Grace got into the deceased’s computer.” She added, “The officers include most of the general’s personal staff.”
There was no reply, so I said, “I think we can control this if that’s what they want in the Pentagon. I’d suggest transfers to thirty different duty stations, followed by individual resignations at varying intervals. That wouldn’t draw any attention. But it’s not my problem.”
Again, no response.
Cynthia said, “General Campbell intends to resign tomorrow after his daughter’s funeral.”
Karl spoke. “I’m flying down tonight.”
I replied, “Why don’t you wait until tomorrow? There’s an electrical storm here, tornado warnings, wind shear—”
“All right, tomorrow. Anything further?”
“No, sir.”
“We’ll speak tomorrow.”
“Looking forward to it. Enjoy your dinner, sir.”
He hung up and we did the same.
Cynthia commented, “I think he likes you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Well, how about a drink?”
“Not yet.” She pushed the intercom and asked Ms. Kiefer to come in.
Kiefer entered with her own chair, now that we were all equals, and sat down. She inquired, “How’s it going, guys?”
“Fine,” Cynthia replied. “Thanks for sticking around.”
“This is where the action is.”
“Right. I’d like you to go through all your MP patrol reports for the night of the murder. Listen to the tapes of the radio transmissions, check the desk sergeant’s log, see if any traffic or parking tickets were issued that night, and talk to the MPs who had duty that night, but be discreet. You know what we’re looking for.”
Kiefer nodded. “Yes. Cars and people where they’re not supposed to be after about 2400 hours. Good idea.”
“Actually, you gave me the idea when you told us about Randy Six. That’s the sort of thing that could be significant. See you later.”
We left Ms. Kiefer in our office. In the hallway, I said to Cynthia, “You may have something there.”
“I hope so. We don’t have much else.”
“Drink?”
“I think you should go talk to Colonel Kent. You’ve been very rough with him. I’ll wait for you out front. Ask him to join us for a drink. Okay, Paul?”
I looked at Cynthia a moment, and our eyes met. It seemed from her tone of voice and her demeanor that she wanted more from Kent than his goodwill. I nodded. “Okay.” I went toward his office, and Cynthia continued on toward the front lobby.
I walked slowly toward Kent’s office, my mind going faster than my legs.
Position determines perspective. Or, to put it more simply, what you see depends on where you’re standing. I’d been standing in the wrong place. I’d been standing too close to William Kent. I had to step back and see Kent from a different angle.
It had been gnawing at me for the last two days, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it, or even think it. Kent had invited me to take the case, and that had put me in a certain mind-set. Kent was my only on-post ally at Fort Hadley. Everyone else was a suspect, a witness, a compromised officer, or a victim of sorts. Kent had belatedly confessed to being compromised, too, but only because he thought I’d eventually discover something regarding him and Ann Campbell, and he may also have suspected that Cynthia and I had found the room. In fact, if I thought about it, Burt Yardley probably told Kent that the door of the room had been glued shut, and they suspected that it had to be me who did that. The contents of the room appeared to be intact when Yardley came upon the room, but neither he nor Kent could be sure of what I had found there or taken away.
Burt Yardley, cunning bastard that he was, had feigned surprise that I knew about the room, but he knew that Ann Campbell wouldn’t have glued it shut—therefore, he suspected that Brenner did. Burt Yardley took that information to Kent, and Kent decided to confess to sexual misconduct, but hedged his bet and never mentioned the room. Now the contents of the room were in Yardley’s possession, and I didn’t know who had whom by the balls, and what the relationship was of those two men, but if either of them killed her, the other didn’t know about it.
I recalled how Kent resisted my decision to go directly to the victim’s off-post house. That was understandable on the face of it—it was an irregular procedure—but I thought now that Kent had intended to call Yardley early that morning, or may have tried to call him before or after he called me, and intended to say something like, “Chief, Ann Campbell has been murdered on post. You should probably get a court order and go through her house, ASAP. Collect evidence.” And Yardley would know what evidence had to be collected and disposed of, ASAP. But Yardley, according to his own statement, had been inconveniently or conveniently in Atlanta, and Kent found himself in a bind.
Right. So I got there first, and Kent had to make a different kind of call to Yardley in Atlanta, explaining what had happened. Then Kent and Yardley crossed their fingers, hoping that the hidden room would stay that way. Just as Cynthia and I had hoped for the same thing, not knowing that the Midland police chief and the Fort Hadley provost marshal had both been guests in that room.
Kent, too, had dragged his feet about notifying General and Mrs. Campbell. That could be an understandable human reaction, a natural aversion to being the bearer of bad news, though it was uncharacteristically unprofessional of Kent. But if Kent had killed the general’s daughter, then I could see why he couldn’t get up the courage to do his duty.
And Kent would not call Major Bowes, because Kent knew that Bowes knew about the room, the major having been entertained there as well. And Kent did not want Bowes to go there and collect evidence on Kent. And Kent could not get to that room in Ann Campbell’s house himself, because, if he was the one who killed her, the place where he had to be was at home, and damned quick, to wait for the call from the MPs when she was found.
I could almost picture it. . . almost. Kent, for some reason that I still didn’t know, was out there on or near
