Cynthia prompted, “Your husband came home about four-thirty A.M.”
“Yes… I was waiting up for him… here in the front room. When he walked in the door, I knew my daughter was dead.” She stood. “And that’s all I know. Now that my husband’s career is ended, all we have left is the hope that you can find who did this. Then we can all go on and make our peace.”
We stood also, and Cynthia said, “We’re doing our best, and we thank you for putting aside your grief to speak to us.”
I said that we could find our way out, and we made our departure.
Outside, on the way to my vehicle, I said, “The general’s career ended ten years ago in Keller Army Hospital at West Point. It just took some time for it to catch up with him.”
“Yes, he not only betrayed his daughter, but he betrayed himself and his wife.”
We got into the Blazer and I pulled away from Beaumont House.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
What did you speak to Lieutenant Elby about?” Cynthia asked as I drove.
“Love and marriage.”
“Yes, I heard that piece of enduring wisdom.”
“Well… you know, he’s too young to settle down. He had proposed marriage to Ann Campbell.”
“Marrying Ann Campbell is not what I’d call settling down.”
“True.” I briefed Cynthia on my short conversation with Elby, and added, “Now the poor bastard is being shipped to Guam. That’s what happens—like in those old Greek plays when a mortal has carnal knowledge of a goddess. They wind up insane, turned into an animal or some inanimate object, or get banished to Guam or its Aegean equivalent.”
“Sexist nonsense.”
“Right. Anyway, I get the feeling that the family dynamics among the Campbells was so pathological that love and happiness could never flourish, and God help anyone who got caught in their misery and pain.”
She nodded. “Do you think they were all right before she was raped at West Point?”
“Well… according to Colonel Moore, yes. I think that’s an accurate picture. And speaking of pictures, I’m thinking back to that photo album we found in Ann’s house… If you think about the pictures as before and after—before and after the rape in the summer between her first and second year at West Point—you can see a difference.”
“Yes. You can almost pinpoint any family tragedy that way if you know what you’re looking for.” She added, “Those men who gang-raped her had a little fun and went on with their lives, and they never thought about the human wreckage they left behind.”
“I know. We both see that if we stay around long enough after an act of violence. But usually we can get some justice. In this case, nobody called the cops.”
“No, not then. But we’re here now.” She asked me, “How do you want to handle General Campbell?”
“I’d like to rough him up. But I think he’s already paid the supreme price for his great mistake. I don’t know… tough call. Play it by ear. He’s a general.”
“Right.”
The Post Headquarters parking lot was nearly empty, but there were a few cars left, including the general’s olive-drab staff car. There was also a humvee, a few of which are usually authorized for Post Headquarters, and I assumed that the one sitting in the hangar at Jordan Field had been replaced.
Cynthia and I stood in the parking lot to the right of the headquarters building, and I said, “She walked out that side door at about 0100 hours, got into one of the humvees, and drove off to confront the ghosts of the past.”
“And the ghosts won.”
We walked around to the front of the headquarters building. The two-story, dark brick structure vaguely resembled a public school built in the 1930s, except that the walk was lined with spent 105mm howitzer shell casings, each one sprouting flowers, which was unintentionally ironic. Also on the lawn were old field artillery pieces from different eras, a graphic display of the progression of the boom factor.
We entered the front doors, and a young PFC at the information desk stood. I told him we had an appointment with General Campbell. He checked his appointment sheet and directed us down a long corridor toward the rear of the building.
Cynthia and I walked down the deserted, echoing corridor with the spit-shined linoleum floor. I said to her, “I’ve never arrested a general before. I’m probably more nervous than he is.”
She glanced at me and replied, “He didn’t do it, Paul.”
“How do you know?”
“I can’t picture it, and if I can’t picture it, it didn’t happen.”
“I don’t remember that in the manual.”
“Well, in any case, I don’t think you’re allowed to arrest a general officer. Check the manual.”
We came to a sort of second lobby, which was deserted, and straight ahead was a closed door with a brass plate that said, “Lt. General Joseph I. Campbell.”
I knocked on the door, and it was opened by a female captain whose nametag read Bollinger. She said, “Good evening. I’m General Campbell’s senior aide.”
We shook hands all around, and she showed us into a small secretarial area. Captain Bollinger was about thirty-five, chunky, but friendly-looking and animated. I said to her, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a female aide to 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 a
ll. 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 would hold it together no matter how hard I pushed, and he’d tell the obvious truths relating to fact and hard evidence. But he would not voluntarily reveal the central truth of why his daughter presented herself to him staked out and naked.
I said to him, “She mentioned killing herself if you didn’t come. Did you think that she might be contemplating killing you if you did come?”
He didn’t reply.
I asked him, “Did you take a weapon with you?”
He nodded, then said, “I had no idea what I was going to find out there at night.”
No, I’ll bet you didn’t. And that’s why you didn’t take Mrs. Campbell along. I said, “So you dressed in civilian clothes, took a weapon, took your wife’s car, and drove out to rifle range six with your headlights on. What time did you reach your destination?”
“Well… about 0215 hours. At the time she designated.”
“Yes. And you put your lights out, and…”
There was a long silence while General Campbell considered my hanging conjunction. Finally, he said, “I got out of the car and went to the humvee, but she wasn’t there. I became concerned and called her name, but there was no reply. I called again, then heard her call to me, and I turned in the direction of the rifle range and saw… I saw her on the ground, or I saw this figure on the ground, and I thought it was her and that she was hurt. I moved quickly toward the figure… she was naked, and I was… I suppose I was shocked, confused… I didn’t know what to make of this, but she was alive, and that’s all I cared about. I called out and asked if she was all right, and she replied that she was… I got up to her… you know, it’s difficult to talk about this.”
“Yes, sir. It’s difficult for us, too. That’s not to try to compare your loss with our feelings, but I think I speak for Ms. Sunhill, too, when I say that during the course of this investigation, we’ve come to… well, to like your daughter.” Well, maybe I wasn’t speaking for Ms. Sunhill. I continued, “Homicide detectives often have feelings for the deceased even though they’ve never met them. This is an unusual case in that we’ve viewed hours of videotapes of your daughter’s lectures, and I felt that your daughter was someone I’d like to have known… but I should let you tell us what happened next.”
General Campbell was starting to lose it again, and we all sat there awkwardly for a minute or so while he took a lot of deep breaths, then he cleared his throat and said, “Well, then I tried to untie her… it was very embarrassing, I mean to her and to me… but I couldn’t get the rope untied, and I couldn’t get the stakes out of the ground… I tried… I mean, whoever did it drove those stakes very deep, and tied those knots… so I said to her I’d be right back… and I went to the car and to the humvee, but I couldn’t find anything to cut the ropes… so I went back to her and told her… I told her… I said that I’d drive up to Bethany Hill and get a knife from Colonel Fowler… Bethany Hill is less than ten minutes from r
ange six… In retrospect, I should have… well, I don’t know what I should have done.”
Again I nodded. I asked him, “And while you were trying to untie the ropes, you spoke, of course.”
“Just a few words.”
“But surely you asked her who had done that to her?”
“No…”
“General, surely you said something like, ‘Ann, who did this?’ ”
“Oh… yes, of course. But she didn’t know.”
“Actually,” I informed him, “she wouldn’t say.”
The general looked me in the eye. “That’s correct. She wouldn’t say. Perhaps you know.”
“So you drove back along Rifle Range Road toward Bethany Hill.”
“That’s right. And I called on Colonel Fowler for assistance.”
“Did you know that there was a guard posted at the ammo shed about another kilometer in the opposite direction?”
“I don’t know the location of every guard post at this fort.” He added, “I doubt I would have gone there anyway. I certainly didn’t need a young man to see my daughter like that.”
“Actually, it was a woman. But that’s irrelevant. What I’m wondering is why you made the U-turn with your headlights off, sir, and why you proceeded for at least a few hundred meters with them off.”
He must have wondered how I knew this, then he probably realized I’d interviewed the guard. Finally, he replied, “To be honest with you, I didn’t want to attract attention at that point.”
“Why not?”
“Well, would you? If you just left your daughter tied naked to the ground, would you want anyone else involved? I had it clear in my mind that I had to go to Colonel and Mrs. Fowler for help. Obviously, I didn’t want this incident to become public.”
“But the incident, sir, was a crime, was it not? I mean, didn’t you think she’d been molested by some madman or several madmen? Why would you wish to keep that private?”
“I suppose I didn’t want to embarrass her.”