I passed the fax to Cynthia, and she said, “It all makes sense now, doesn’t it?”
I nodded.
Kiefer asked us, “You know who killed her?”
I replied, “No, but I think we know now why she was out there on the range.”
Cynthia put Karl’s message through the shredder and said to Kiefer, “So you wanted to be a detective?”
Kiefer looked a little embarrassed but replied, “Specialist Baker wanted to be a detective.”
Cynthia said, “Specialist Baker can stay a clerk-typist for a while. We don’t need another detective.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Kiefer, slipping back into her assumed rank and role. “But I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”
“You do that.”
I said to Baker, “Tell Colonel Kent that Mr. Brenner wants Colonel Moore restricted to post and available until further notice.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cynthia and I left the office, went out the back way, and made it to the parking lot without getting waylaid by reporters. I said, “My turn to drive.” I found my keys and we got into my Blazer.
As I drove toward Bethany Hill, I said, “Karl is okay for a bastard.”
She smiled. “Even if he did pull a fast one on us. Do you believe that?”
“It comes with the territory, Cynthia.” I added, “I thought she looked familiar. There was something not right about her.”
“Oh, cut the crap, Paul. You were as fooled as I was. God, I have to get out of this job.”
“What about Panama?” I glanced at her, and our eyes met.
Cynthia said, “I put in for a permanent duty station out of the continental United States because I wanted to get away from my about-to-be ex.”
“Good thinking.” I changed the subject. “So this West Point thing is high explosives.”
“Yes. I can’t believe a father would participate in a coverup… well, if you think about it… I mean, there’s so much tension at West Point since it went co-ed. It’s unbelievable what’s happening there. Plus, the general had his own career to think about, and maybe he was thinking of his daughter’s career and reputation as well. But he wasn’t doing her any favors.”
“No, he was not.”
“Women who suppress a sexual assault, or who are made to suppress it, usually pay for it later.”
“Or make other people pay for it,” I pointed out.
“That’s right. Sometimes both.” She added, “What happened on rifle range six was a reenactment of the rape at West Point, wasn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it was.”
“Except this time someone killed her.”
“Right.”
“Her father?”
“Let’s get the last piece of information we need to reenact the entire crime, from beginning to end.”
She stayed silent a moment, then asked me, “Do you know who killed her?”
“I know who didn’t kill her.”
“Don’t be enigmatic, Paul.”
“Do you have a suspect?”
“I have a few.”
“Build a case against them and we’ll put them on trial tonight in the VOQ.”
“Sounds good. I hope we can hang someone in the morning.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
We arrived at the Fowler residence on Bethany Hill and rang the bell.
Mrs. Fowler greeted us, looking only slightly less distressed than she’d looked that morning. She showed us into the living room and offered us coffee or whatever, but we declined. She sat on a couch, and we sat in club chairs.
Cynthia and I had discussed a line of questioning, and we decided that Cynthia would lead off. She chatted with Mrs. Fowler about life, the Army, Fort Hadley, and so forth, then, when Mrs. Fowler was relaxed, Cynthia said to her, “Please be assured that we only want to see justice done. We are not here to ruin reputations. We are here to find a murderer, but we are also here to make certain that innocent men and women are not falsely accused.”
Mrs. Fowler nodded.
Cynthia continued, “You know that Ann Campbell was sexually involved with many men on this post. I want first to assure you that in all the evidence that we’ve gathered, your husband’s name has not been linked with Ann Campbell.”
Again she nodded, a little more vigorously, I thought.
Cynthia continued, “We understand Colonel Fowler’s position as General Campbell’s adjutant and, I assume, his friend. We appreciate your husband’s honesty and his willingness to let us speak to you. I’m sure he’s told you to be as honest with us as he’s been with us, and as we’ve been with you.”
Tentative nod.
Cynthia went on, circling around any direct question, saying positive things, showing compassion, empathy, and so on. You have to do this with civilian witnesses who are not under subpoena, and Cynthia was doing a much better job than I could have done.
But the time had come, and Cynthia asked her, “You were home on the evening of the murder?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Your husband came home from the O Club at about ten P.M.”
“That’s right.”
“You retired about eleven P.M.?”
“I believe so.”
“And sometime between 0245 and 0300 hours, three A.M. or so, you were awakened by someone ringing your doorbell.”
No reply.
“Your husband went downstairs and answered the door. He came back to the bedroom and told you it was the general, and that he had to go off on urgent business. Your husband got dressed and asked you to do the same. Correct?”
No reply.
Cynthia said, “And you went with him.” Cynthia added, “You wear a size seven shoe, I believe.”
Mrs. Fowler replied, “Yes, we both got dressed and left.”
No one spoke for a few seconds, then Cynthia said, “You both got dressed and left. And did General Campbell remain in your house?”
“Yes.”
“And was Mrs. Campbell with him?”
“No, she was not.”
“So General Campbell stayed behind, and you accompanied your husband to rifle range six. Correct?”
“Yes. My husband said that the general told him Ann Campbell was naked, and he told me to bring a robe with me. He said that Ann Campbell was tied up, so he took a knife for me to cut the rope.”
“All right. You drove along Rifle Range Road, and for the last mile or so, you drove without headlights.”
“Yes. My husband did not want to attract the attention of the guard. He said there was a guard up the road.”
“Yes. And you stopped at the parked humvee, as General Campbell instructed. It was now what time?”
“It was… about three-thirty.”
“It was about three-thirty. You got out of your car and…”
“And I could see something out on the rifle range, and my husband told me to go out there and cut her loose and make her put the robe on. He said to call him if I needed help.” Mrs. Fowler paused, then added, “He said to slap her around if she didn’t cooperate. He was very angry.”
“Understandably so,” Cynthia agreed. “So you walked out on the range.”
“Yes. My husband decided to follow about halfway. I think he was concerned about how Ann would react. He 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 a, b, and c. He told his wife that if we asked about x, then she should answer about x, and go on about y and z and get it off her chest, and get it finished with.”
“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.”
Good shot, Cynthia.
Mrs. Campbell put her teacup down and replied in the same quiet tone of voice she’d been conversing in, “Yes, it was Mrs. Fowler. I’m so glad she had the opportunity to speak to you. She’s been very upset and feels so much better now.”
“Yes,“ Cynthia replied, “it’s often that way. You know, Mrs. Campbell, I’m assigned mostly to cases of sexual assault, and I can tell you that when I begin questioning people who I know can tell me something, I can almost feel the tension. It’s sort of like everybody is wound up, but once the first person speaks up, it begins to unwind, as it has here.”
This was Cynthia’s way of saying that once the code of silence is broken, everyone falls all over one another to go on the record as a government witness. Beats the hell out of being a suspect.
Cynthia said to Mrs. Campbell, “So from what Mrs. Fowler tells me, and from what Mr. Brenner and I have discovered from other sources, it appears that the general received a call from Ann in the early morning hours, asking him to meet her on the rifle range, presumably to discuss something. Is that correct?”
Another shot in the dark or, to give Cynthia some credit, a very good guess.
Mrs. Campbell replied, “The red telephone beside the bed rang at about one forty-five A.M. The general immediately answered it, and I woke up as well. I watched him as he listened. He never spoke, but hung up and got out of bed and began getting dressed. I never ask him what these calls are about, but he always tells me where he’s going and when he expects to be back.” She smiled and said, “Since we’ve been at Fort Hadley, he doesn’t get many calls in the middle of the night, but in Europe, when the phone rang, he’d fly out of bed, grab a packed bag, and be off to Washington or to the East German border, or who knows where. But he’d always tell me… This time he just said he’d be back in an hour or so. He put on civilian clothes and left. I watched him pull away and noticed that he used my car.”
“What kind of car is that, ma’am?”
“A Buick.”
Cynthia nodded and said, “Then at about four or four-thirty in the morning, the general returned home and told you what had happened.”
She stared off into space, and for the first time I could see the face of a tired and heartsick mother, and I could only imagine what toll these years had taken. Surely, a wife and mother could not have countenanced what a father and husband had done to their daughter in the name of the greater good, in the name of career advancement and positive public images. But on some level, she must have come to terms with it.