“Maybe. But I think every suspect will wind up on government land at some point. If not, we’ll kidnap them.”
Kent shook his head, which seemed to stir his brain, and he asked, “Hey, did you see the general yet?”
“No. Am I supposed to?”
“He wants to see you, ASAP. He’s home.”
“All right.” The bereaved have many things on their minds, but talking to the investigating officer is not usually one of them. But a general, I suppose, is another species of human being, and General Campbell, perhaps, had a need to make things happen, to show he was still in command. I said to Kent, “I just saw Cal Seiver, the forensic OIC. You met him?”
“Yes,” replied Kent. “He seems to have things under control. Has he come up with anything?”
“Not yet.”
“Have you?”
“I have a preliminary list of possible suspects.”
Kent looked almost startled. “Already? Who?”
“Well, you, for one.”
“What? What the hell are you talking about, Brenner?”
“My suspects are everyone who had contact with the crime scene and/or the victim’s town house. Forensic will pick up traces, footprints, and fingerprints of those people, and I have no way of knowing if those traces were left before, during, or after the crime.” I added, “The preliminary suspects, then, are Sergeant St. John, PFC Casey, who responded to the call, you, any other MPs who were at the scene, Cynthia, and me. These are not likely suspects, but I have to deal with the forensic evidence.”
Kent said, “Then you’d better start getting alibis.”
“Okay. What’s yours?”
“All right… I was home in bed when I got a call from my duty sergeant.”
“You live on post, correct?”
“Correct.”
“What time did you get home?”
“At about midnight. I had dinner in town, then went to the office, worked late, then went home.”
“Your wife can verify that?”
“Well… no, she’s visiting her parents in Ohio.”
“Ah.”
“Oh, fuck off, Paul. Just fuck off.”
“Hey, take it easy, Colonel.”
“You know, you think you’re funny, but you’re not. There’s nothing funny about making a joke about murder and murder suspects.”
I looked at him and saw he was truly agitated.
He continued, “There’s going to be enough of that crap as it is. Enough rumors, whispering, finger-pointing, and suspicion. We don’t need you here making it worse.”
“All right,” I said, “I apologize. But I assumed that three law officers could speak their minds. Nothing we say is leaving this hangar, Bill, and if we speculate, or even make a few idiotic remarks, we understand that it’s between us. Okay?”
But he didn’t look mollified, and he snapped at me, “Where were you last night?”
I said, “Home alone in my trailer until about 0430 hours. Got to the post armory around 0500 hours. No witnesses.”
“A likely story,” snorted Kent, who seemed inordinately happy that I had no alibi. He turned to Cynthia, “And you?”
“I got to the VOQ about 1900 hours and wrote my report on the Neely case until about midnight, then went to bed, alone, and was awakened by an MP knocking on my door at about 0530 hours.”
I commented, “I’ve never heard three weaker alibis in my life. But, okay, we’ll let them stand for now. The point is, this post is like a small town, and the deceased’s circle of friends, family, and acquaintances includes the top echelons of this community.” I said to Kent, “You wanted somebody on this case who was an outsider. Correct?”
“That’s right. But don’t push it, Paul.”
“Why did you have an MP summon Ms. Sunhill?”
“Same reason I called you. Out-of-town talent.”
It occurred to me that out-of-town talent was another way of saying, “We want two investigators who don’t have a clue about the dirt that everyone here knows about.” I asked Kent, “How well did you know Ann Campbell?”
He hesitated a moment, then chose the words “Fairly well.”
“Would you expound?”
Clearly, Colonel Kent, who outranked me and was himself a cop, was not pleased. But he was a professional and therefore knew what was required of him. He forced a smile and said, “Should we read each other our rights?”
I smiled in return. This was awkward, but necessary.
He cleared his throat and said, “Captain Campbell was stationed here about two years ago. I was here at the time and so were General and Mrs. Campbell. The Campbells invited me to their home with a few other officers to meet their daughter. Our work areas were not related in the usual sense, but as a psychologist she was interested in criminal behavior, and I was interested in the criminal mind. It’s not unusual for a law enforcement officer and a psychologist to have common interests.”
“So you became friends?”
“Sort of.”
“Lunch?”
“Sometimes.”
“Dinner? Drinks?”
“Once in a while.”
“Alone?”
“Once or twice.”
“But you didn’t seem to know where she lived.”
“I knew she lived off post. But I’ve never been to her house.”
“Has she been to yours?”
“Yes. A number of times. For social functions.”
“Does your wife like her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You figure it out, Brenner.”
“Okay. I figured it out.” Cynthia had the good sense to not join in my interrogation of a high-ranking officer, so I turned to her. “Any questions for Colonel Kent?”
Cynthia replied, “Just the obvious one.” She looked at Kent.
He said, “I was never intimate with her. If I had been, I would have told you from minute one.”
“One hopes so,” I said. I asked him, “Did she have a steady boyfriend?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did she have any known enemies?”
He thought about that, then replied, “Some women didn’t like her. I think they felt threatened. Some men didn’t like her. They felt…”
“Inadequate?” Cynthia prompted.
“Yes. Something like that. Or maybe she was a little cool with some of the younger, unmarried officers who had the hots for her. But as for real enemies, I don’t know of any.” He hesitated, then added, “Considering how she died, I think it was a lust murder. I mean, there are women who you might have healthy sexual or romantic fantasies about, but Ann Campbell, I think, provoked rape fantasies in some men. I think somebody just went for it. After the rape, the guy knew he was in a world of serious trouble. Maybe Ann taunted him, for all we know. I wouldn’t put it past her. The guy thought about life in Leavenworth and strangled her.” Kent looked at me and Cynthia. “A lot of guys are pulled around by the one-eyed, heat-seeking monster, and it leads them right to hell. I’ve seen too much of that on this job. So have you.”
True enough. But in this case, I was focusing more on the thing that the monster was seeking. I asked Kent, “Well, do you know if she dated? Was she sexually active?”
“I don’t know if she was sexually active. I only know one unmarried officer who dated her—Lieutenant Elby, one of the general’s aides—but she never discussed her private life with me, and her behavior never came to my attention professionally. On the other hand, you have to wonder what she did for fun.”
“What do you think she did for fun?”
“What I would do in her situation. Keep my professional life here separate from my social life in the civilian community.”
“What kind of files does Yardley have on her?”
“Well… I guess he means when she was arrested in Midland about a year ago. Before she was even booked, Yardley called me and I went downtown and picked her up.”
&nb
sp; “So she did come to your attention professionally.”
“Sort of. This was unofficial. Yardley said there would be no file, no record of the arrest.”
“Obviously he lied. What was she arrested for?”
“Yardley said it was for disturbing the peace.”
“In what way did Ann Campbell disturb the peace of Midland?”
“She had an altercation with some guy on the street.”
“Any details?”
“No. Yardley wouldn’t say. Just said to get her home.”
“So you took her home.”
“No, I told you I don’t know where she lives, Brenner. Don’t try that shit with me. In fact, I took her back to post. That was at about 2300 hours. She was cold sober, by the way. So I took her for a drink at the O Club. She never told me what happened, and I didn’t ask. I called her a taxi and she left about midnight.”
“You don’t know the name of the man involved, or the arresting officer?”
“No. But I’m sure Yardley does. Ask him”—Kent smiled—“now that you have his full cooperation. Any other questions?”
Cynthia said to him, “How did you feel when you were informed that she was dead?”
“Stunned.”
“Sad?”
“Of course. And sad for General and Mrs. Campbell. And damned angry, and a little upset knowing it happened on my beat. I liked her, but we weren’t so close that I took it very badly. I’m more upset professionally.”
I commented, “I appreciate your honesty.”
“You’re going to appreciate it more when you start hearing the bullshit.”
“No doubt.” I asked him, “Any questions for me?”
He smiled. “What did you say the traveling time was between post and Whispering Pines?”
“Half an hour. Less in the early morning hours.”
He nodded, then surveyed the furniture and household goods in the hangar. “Look all right to you?”
“It’s okay. Good job. But get some portable partitions up, hang the pictures, and hang the clothes on poles where the closets were.” I asked him, “Did they get the stuff out of the basement?” I glanced at Cynthia.
Kent replied, “Yes. Over there, still in boxes. We’ll get some tables and shelves to simulate the basement area.” He thought a moment, then commented, “I would have thought there would be… something more here. Did you happen to notice, for instance, that there were no… personal items?”
“You mean like birth control items? Letters from men, photos of boyfriends, sexual aids and erotica?”
“Well, I don’t know if single women keep sexual aids… and I didn’t look closely for letters and such… I guess I meant birth control pills or devices.”
“Did you touch anything, Bill?”
“No.” He pulled a pair of surgical gloves out of his trouser pockets. “But I may have touched something bare-handed when I was supervising the unloading. Yardley touched a few things, too, by accident.”
“Or on purpose.”
Kent nodded. “Or on purpose. Add another suspect to the list.”
“I already have.” I walked over to where Ann Campbell’s office furniture had been placed. It was the sort of spartan stuff that the Army likes to buy on the one hand, while they lobby Congress for three-million-dollar tanks on the other.
The office consisted of a steel desk, a swivel chair, two folding chairs, a bookshelf, two upright file cabinets, and a computer station. The books on the shelves were all standard texts on psychology, plus military publications on the same subject, as well as on psychological operations, POW studies, and other related subjects.
I opened a file drawer and read the folder tabs, which seemed to refer to lecture notes. The next drawer was marked “Confidential,” so I opened it and saw that the folders were not named, but numbered. I drew out one of the folders and scanned the papers inside. The pages appeared to be a transcribed interview with a person identified only by the initials “R.J.” The interviewer was identified as “Q,” for question or questioner. It looked like a typical format for a psychological interview or session, but the person being interviewed, according to page one, was a convicted sex offender. The questions were things like “How did you pick your victim?” and “What did she say to you when you told her she had to perform oral sex on you?” I closed the file. This was pretty standard stuff in a police or prison psychologist’s office, but I didn’t see how it related to psychological warfare. Obviously, this was a private interest of Ann Campbell’s.
I closed the drawer and went to her computer station. I don’t even know how to turn these things on, but I said to Kent, “There is a woman in Falls Church, Grace Dixon, who squeezes the brains of personal computers. I’ll get her down here, and I don’t want anyone else messing with this thing.”
Cynthia had gone into the transplanted study and was looking at the answering machine. “There’s a call here.”
Kent nodded. “Came in about noon, a few minutes after the phone company got the call-forwarding in place.”
Cynthia pushed the play button and a male voice said, “Ann, this is Charles. I tried you earlier, but your phone was out of order. I knew you wouldn’t be at work this morning, but I want you to know that a group of MPs were here and they’ve removed your entire office. They wouldn’t tell me anything about it. Please call me, or meet me at the O Club for lunch or something. This is very strange. I’d call the police, but they are the police.” He chuckled, but it was forced. He continued, “I hope this is nothing serious. Call me.”
I asked Kent, “Who is that?”
“Colonel Charles Moore. Ann’s boss at the school.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Well, he’s a shrink, too, of course. Ph.D. type. An odd duck. Sort of on the fringes. That whole school is on the fringe. Sometimes I think they should put a fence around it, with guard towers.”
Cynthia asked Kent, “Were they friends?”
Kent nodded. “They seemed to be close. He was sort of her mentor, which doesn’t say a lot for her judgment. Excuse me.”
I said to him, “We don’t have to speak only well of the dead in a homicide investigation.”
“Yes, but that was out of line.” Kent rubbed his eyes. “I’m just a little… tired.”
Cynthia observed, “It’s been a stressful day for you. I don’t suppose it was pleasant informing the Campbells of their daughter’s death.”
“No. I called their home and got Mrs. Campbell. I asked her to call the general and requested that they meet me at their home.” He added, “She knew something had happened. I showed up with the head chaplain, Major Eames, and a medical officer, Captain Swick. When they saw us… I mean, how many times have we seen or been part of a notification detail? But when it’s a combat death, you can say the right things. When it’s murder, then… there’s not much to say.”
Cynthia asked, “How did they take it?”
“Bravely. That’s what you’d expect of a professional soldier and his wife. I only had to stay a few minutes, then I left them with the chaplain.”
I asked, “Were you at all explicit?”
“No. I just told them that Ann had been found on the rifle range, dead, apparently murdered.”
“And he said?”
“He said… ‘She died while doing her duty.’ ” Kent paused, then added, “I suppose that is comforting.”
“You didn’t go into details about her condition, the possible rape?”
“No… He did ask how she died, and I said she was apparently strangled.”
“And he said?”
“Nothing.”
“And you gave him my name and phone number?”
“Yes. Well, he asked if the CID was doing everything possible. I told him I’d taken advantage of your presence here, and Ms. Sunhill’s presence, and that I’d requested that you take the case.”
“And he said?”
“He said he wanted Major Bowes, the CID commander
here, to take the case, and that you and Ms. Sunhill were relieved of your responsibility.”
“And you said?”
“I didn’t want to get into it with him, but he understands that this is one thing that he has no control of on this post.”
“Indeed not.”
Cynthia asked, “And how did Mrs. Campbell take it?”
Kent replied, “She was stoic, but about to fall apart. Appearances are important with general officers and their ladies, and they’re both from the old school.”
“All right, Bill. Forensic will be here after dark, and they’ll stay through the night. Tell your people here that no one else is allowed in, except us.”
“Right.” He added, “Don’t forget—the general would like to see you at his home, soonest.”
“Why?”
“Probably to get the details of his daughter’s death, and to ask you to brief Major Bowes, and to ask you to step aside.”
“Sounds good to me. I can do that over the phone.”
“Actually, I got a call from the Pentagon. The judge advocate general agrees with your boss that you and Ms. Sunhill, as outside parties and being more experienced than the local CID people at Hadley, are best equipped to handle this. That’s the final word. You can pass that on to General Campbell when you see him. And I suggest you do so now.”
“I’d rather speak to Charles Moore now.”
“Make an exception, Paul. Do the politics first.”
I looked at Cynthia and she nodded. I shrugged. “Okay. General and Mrs. Campbell.”
Kent walked with us across the hangar. He said, “You know, it’s ironic… Ann had a favorite expression, a sort of personal motto that she got from… some philosopher… Nietzsche.The expression was, ‘What does not destroy us, makes us stronger.’ ” He added, “Now she’s destroyed.”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
We headed toward the general’s quarters on main post. Cynthia said, “I’m starting to see a picture of a tortured, unhappy young woman.”
“Adjust your rearview mirror.”
“Cut it out, Paul.”
“Sorry.”
I must have drifted off because the next thing I remember is Cynthia poking me. “Did you hear what I said?”