Sweepers

by P. T. Deutermann

  She might sneak one past Mccarty, but Carpenter missed nothing.

  She finished off her morning coffee, still feeling a bit nervous about the bureaucratic games she was playing with this case. She also wanted to talk to Train von Rensel some more, but she was a little bit miffed with him over his persisting suspicions about Sherman. And what had he meant by that crack about her readiness to defend Sherman? But five minutes later, Train came through the door, smiled and waved at her, and went to his own cubicle, carrying his gear bag and that big stick under his arm like a toy gun. His suit was obviously’t “or-made, but there was no disguising the fact that he was about the biggest man she had been around in a long time. Despite herself, she smiled back. Then her phone rang.

  “Navy JAG, Commander Lawrence speaking, sir.”

  “Commander. This is Detective Mcnair with the Fairfax Police Department.”

  “Good morning, Detective.” This was fortuitous. She had been about to call him to see if he had been given the syringe. She looked to see if she could get Train on an extension, but he was already on another line.

  “Not very, actually,” Mcnair was saying, which got her immediate attention. She could hear the sound of other voices in the background.

  “I’m at the home of a retired Navy admiral in Mclean. Guy named Galen Schmidt. Name ring a bell?”

  It certainly did. The old gentleman at the memorial service. Sherman’s sea daddy. “Yes, it does. What’s happened?”

  “Sony to inform you, but he’s no longer with us. Looks like a heart attack. Housekeeper found him this morning.

  She says he had a bad heart condition. His doctor’s here, along with a rep from the county medical examiner’s office.

  Like I said, apparent heart attack, although they’re not done yet. “

  “Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that. But-“

  “Why am I calling you? Well, see, we found a pad of paper on his desk with Admiral Sherman’s name on it. And Elizabeth Walsh’s. Something about a memorial service.

  The word SEAL, with a circle around it. And a question: TELL THE CNO?

  Looks like notes, maybe taken during a conversation, or afterward. Any thoughts?”

  Karen thought for a moment. “I believe Admiral Schmidt was Sherman’s professional mentor before Sherman made flag. And he was at the memorial service for Elizabeth Walsh Wednesday night. From what I saw, they were very close. Damn, does Admiral Sherman know about this?”

  “I hope not,”

  Mcnair said pointedly.

  Karen was taken aback by the detective’s inference. “I see,” she said, groping for words. “Okay, I guess I can be the bearer of bad tidings.”

  She hesitated. “Detective, tell me something. Are there any indications, uh…”

  Mcnair picked right up on it. “That this is anything other than a heart attack? No. We’re not doing a crime scene or anything, unless one of the docs comes up with something hinky. Any particular reason for asking?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just this syringe business last night.”

  There was a moment of silence on the phone. “And what syringe business is that, Commander?”

  He didn’t know? “The police were supposed to forward some kind of incident report to you. You haven’t gotten it?”

  “I’m drawing a blank, Commander. I am the police, remember? What’re you talking about?” Karen told him about the events of the previous night, following their meeting at Sherman’s house. Mcnair was silent for a moment.

  “Okay, Commander,” he said at last. “That’s all very interesting. I’ll make sure I retrieve that incident report. Will you see if you can find out when Admiral Sherman was here last? At Schmidt’s house? The housekeeper confirms that they were close friends. But we’d like a precise time.”

  “Yes, I will. I’ll go see him right now. Has the Navy been informed officially?”

  “Not by us. Like I said, right now it’s a heart attack.

  Housekeeper says there’s no immediate family.” He paused for a moment, and she heard pages in his notebook ruffling.

  “Let’s see, wife died of cancer ten years ago. They had one son, who was lost in a submarine accident in the early sixties. It looks like there’s no family, so maybe Admiral Sherman is the next-closest person. I’m assuming Schmidt had a lawyer, so we’ll track him down and find out.”

  “Well, you should probably notify the Bureau of Naval Personnel. Hang on a moment.” She grabbed a DOD phone book and looked up the number of the Casualty Assistance Calls Office and gave it to him. “He was prominent enough that the CNO and other people at that level are going to want to know. Especially if-“

  “If what, Commander?”

  She realized she had made a mistake.

  “Nothing. They should just be informed. I can do it if-, I %

  Mcnair interrupted her. “Especially if what, Commander?”

  She hesitated. “I’m not sure. It’s just that this is the second person tied in some way to Admiral Sherman to die in a week’s time. I’m worried about what’s going on. Things happening out there in the fog.”

  “So are we, Commander,” Mcnair said gently. “But this one does look pretty much like an old geezer with a heart condition fulfilling his destiny to flop and twitch in the night. We’ll hang around until his physician pronounces, and then we’ll be back in the office. Maybe that syringe report’ll be there by then.”

  “Okay, I’ll go inform Admiral Sherman. Thanks for the heads-up, Detective. “

  She hung up and sat back in her chair. “Flop and twitch.”

  These cops! She kicked herself mentally for bringing up Sherman’s name in connection with her suggestion to inform the Navy. Right now, the admiral was supposedly operating in full-cooperation mode with the police. On the other hand, given Train von Rensel’s -lingering suspicions, she was beginning to wonder about what the hell she was dealing with here. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be keeping things from Captain Mccarty and Admiral Carpenter. Then she remembered that she had promised to go tell Sherman about the admiral’s heart attack. She looked at her watch. It was going on 9:30. She put a call into OP-32’s front office and waved to Train, who was off the phone, to come over to her cubicle. He got his coffee mug and ambled over. He smiled at her.

  Almost without thinking, she smiled back.

  “Admiral’s at the athletic club, Commander,” the yeoman said when she got through. Karen thanked him, hung up, and told Train about Admiral Schmidt. Train’s good humor evaporated. “And he said heart attack? No more of those forensic ambiguities?”

  “That “s what he said. Admiral Schmidt’s own doctor is there. I saw the admiral at the service Wednesday night.

  Classic heart-condition appearance.”

  Train nodded thoughtfully. “Want some company on your mission of bad news?”

  “Let me call CHINFO first,” she said. “They’ll alert the the flags here in the building.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they found the admiral coming out of the weight room, which, at midmorning, was not crowded. He must have been really pushing it, she thought.

  His face was taut and shiny with perspiration, and there were red splotches on his cheeks and throat. His gym clothes were also soaked, and he was rubbing his upper chest and face with a towel when he caught sight of them.

  “Gonna be a sweaty workout in those street clothes,” he said with a weary grin. Karen and Train were conspicuous in their office attire.

  “Good morning, Admiral,” she said. “We need to talk for a minute.”

  “Fire away,” he said, wiping himself down again. He took a deep breath and whooshed it out while bending over.

  He had the physique of a man in his mid-thirties and was in prime condition. If Train looked like an oak tree in his Japanese jacket, the admiral looked more like a professional tri athlete.

  “Okay,” he said, straightening up. “Got both lungs back in synch. But now I need to walk that session off. Mr. von Rensel
, good morning.”

  “Yes, sir,” Train said as they fell in with the admiral, who headed down the main hallway of the club. Train was glancing at Karen, as if to say, When are we going to tell him? They reached the back exit door and stepped outside into the.warm-up area. Karen stepped to one side so as not to obstruct the people coming and going from the building.

  Sherman, still needing to walk, frowned, but then he looked at her face.

  “So what’s the matter?” he asked.

  “I got a call from the police this morning,” she began.

  “Ah. That syringe business?”

  “No, sir. It was Detective Mcnair, and he was at Vice Admiral Schmidt’s home in Ntclean.”

  “Galen?” he said, staring hard at her. “Galen Schmidt?

  What’s happened?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid he’s had a heart at tack. He … he didn’t survive it. His housekeeper found him this morning and called nine-one-one.”

  “No!” he exclaimed. “Damn and blast. He was just-I mean, Wednesday night. At the memorial service. He was fine. He’s-are you sure he’s gone? Mrs. Murray couldn’t revive him? She was trained for that. The housekeeper, I mean.” He looked from her face to Train’s, as if hoping one of them would say this wasn’t true.

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I’m guessing it happened after she went home. The reason Detective Mcnair called me was because he found a notepad or piece of paper that had your name on it. And Elizabeth Walsh’s. And something about a SEAL.”

  “Right. Sure,” Sherman said.

  “That’s what I went over to talk to him about. Tuesday night. God, this is like losing my father again. Just a great guy, Karen. Damned heart just gave out. He’d been a heavy smoker.

  Goddamn it! I better get out there. Mrs. Murray will be a wreck.” He had begun walking around in a little circle, his body demanding a cooldown but his mind obviously hurtling elsewhere. For a moment, she thought she saw the makings of tears in his eye.

  “I’m very sorry, Admiral,” she said softly. Train was staring down at the concrete.

  “Yeah. Damn. Not a good week here. First Elizabeth, now Galen Schmidt.

  Not a good week at all. And damn that cop. Making you come tell me.”

  “I volunteered,” Karen said, looking at Train. See, she wanted to say, is this the reaction of a murderer?

  Sherman was staring down at the ground when he thought of something. “So why were the homicide cops there?”

  “Apparently for the same reason they showed up at Elizabeth’s: unexplained death. Standard procedure. But they weren’t doing a crime scene or anything like that.”

  The admiral shook his head wearily. “Goddamn it! I’d better get over there. I’m going to clear my afternoon calendar.” Then he stopped and shook his head. “No. I can’t.

  I’ve got that White House POW/MIA delegation meeting.

  Well, I’ll just have to be late.” He looked at them. “Sorry, I’m all over the place. Thanks for bringing me the word.”

  He turned around to go back into the club, and they followed. “Mcnair hadn’t heard anything about the syringe business last night,” she said to his back. “I told him about it, and he said he’d chase down the report.”

  He nodded over his shoulder. “Okay. I’ve got a couple of hours before my meeting. I’m going to go out to Galen’s house. There’s no surviving family, and I probably ought to take charge, at least for the moment. I know he’s got a cemetery plot down at the Naval Academy. I guess I’d better call his lawyer, Terry Harris, too.”

  He gave them a dismissive wave and went back inside the club. Train indicated they should wait outside for a moment to give him time to get ahead of them. They stepped back outside, making way for the procession of runners entering and leaving the building. There were several thousand military personnel working in the Pentagon, all of whom were required to work out. This made the POAC a crowded place.

  “Pretty good shape for a flag officer,” Train said. “He looks more like a Marine brigadier than a Navy guy.”

  “He looks like he just got hit by a Mack truck,” she replied. Train said nothing.

  “You still think he’s hiding something?” she asked, giving Train a challenging look. “I mean, I don’t think that was acting. Besides, first his exgirlfriend, and now his closest personal friend? Both dead in a week’s time? What’re the chances of that being coincidence?”

  “Slim to none,” Train agreed. “But we’d better wait for the cops to finish with their investigation out there. What was that about a POW/MIA meeting at the White House?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Galantz is supposedly an MIA. Maybe Sherman can get the POW/MIA Task Force records, if he’s in that loop.”

  She nodded. “I’ll ask. But not right now, I think.”

  “You’re probably right. That cop comment on all this coincidence?”

  She turned to walk back into the POAC building. ““That cop’ does not reveal what he’s thinking all that well,” she said. “But I got the impression that he was at least intrigued by the association.”

  Train snorted. ““Intrigued by the association’? You’ve been in the JAG Corps too long, Counselor.”

  She ignored that remark. They walked up the front stairs and out onto the pedestrian overpass. “I’m going to harass the Bureau of Personnel some more,” she said. “We need to get those Galantz files.”

  “How much of this have you passed on to Admiral Carpenter?” he asked.

  Karen hesitated. She was not yet sure enough of Train von Rensel’s relationship with the JAG to reveal why she had held back the Vietnam story from the front office. Once more, she wondered if all this evasion was prudent.

  “None of it, actually. I’ve asked Captain Mccarty, his EA, to confirm that I can count on your help marshaling NIS assets-to find an exenlisted guy who might have something to do with Sherman.”

  “But you held back on the Vietnam river story? And the syringe?”

  “Yes.” She looked straight ahead as they entered the cavelike North Parking entrance and went through security.

  He stopped just inside the main doors, forcing her to look at him. “I assume you have your reasons, okay? But, that said, I recommend you get to Carpenter and tell him everything. And I’ll want a copy of that Galantz file. I’ll run some traps within NIS. And one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “You need to start being careful. Very careful.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “Two people are dead, Karen. One sounds a lot like homicide; the other’s an open question-for now anyway. But both of these people were close to Sherman.”

  And?” But then she knew.

  And, you’re getting close to Sherman. Now’s maybe not such a good time to be close to Sherman, okay?”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh. Let’s get back to the orifice.”

  Karen finally got the call to go see Admiral Carpenter at 3:30. After Train’s warning, she had called the front office again for an appointment. The chief had put her on call for the afternoon.

  Apparently, the JAG was handling a flap about a breaking drug scandal down at the Naval Academy.

  Wonderful, she thought. The CNO will have been foaming at the mouth, which would put the JAG in a really swell mood.

  In the intervening hours, she had mulled over the issue of how much of what she had learned in the meeting with the cops and at dinner she should tell Admiral Carpenter.

  But she had promised Sherman not to reveal what he had told her over dinner, and she still could not see any relevance between his failed marriage and his current situation.

  Admiral Sherman, at least in her mind, deserved some consideration, assuming that he was the target of a stalker. But what if Train was right and Sherman was involved somehow in the death of Elizabeth Walsh?

  What had Train said?

  “Sherman could still be making all this up�
��-that was it.

  Well, I know how that three-star was acting. She thought the word shabby just about described it. She and Train had reviewed the case file again after lunch, but there were too many loose ends for any effective brainstorming. Just about when she had decided to ask if he wanted to go with her to see Carpenter, Train had signed out for the Navy Yard and left the office.

  She entered the JAG’s office three minutes after getting the call. The admiral was sitting in his desk chair, his back to the door. He, too, was talking on the telephone. Karen wondered irreverently if he was talking to the yeoman on the other side of the door. She made a noise to alert him that he was not alone, and he acknowledged her presence with a wave over his shoulder. A minute later, he hung up and turned around.

  “Okay, commander. I can give you ten minutes. Bring me up-to-date on the matter of William Taggart Sherman.”

  Karen took a look at the expression on his face and decided to tell him everything. It took twenty minutes, not ten.

  She detailed the events of the past week, since the first meeting on Tuesday. She told him about the meeting with the police at Sherman’s house, the session with Admiral Kensington, the mysterious threatening letter from the SEAL, the syringe incident, and now the news of Galen Schmidt’s heart attack. The only part that she deliberately left out was the story behind Galantz and the dinner conversation about Sherman’s marriage. She was halfway hoping that Carpenter would be satisfied to absorb the big picture and not worry about details. But of course the Vietnam story was his first question.