“By sick, are you suggesting—”
“I’m telling you the man had a sickness. A self-destructive streak. When he drank, he couldn’t control his urges, and it killed him.”
“Are you saying he tried to rape Colonel Weller?”
He gazed at me coolly. “Did I say he did?”
“No, sir.” But he hadn’t denied it either.
He continued contemplating me. “Think about what I said, Collins. No good can come from what you’re doing. You walk away now, you’ll thank me later.”
“Sir, Mrs. Garber was threatened.”
“That was a mistake. Colonel Stefanski got carried away. He tends to be protective where General Markel is concerned.” He nodded to the photos on the wall. “That’s him with Markel. They’ve known each other since Vietnam. After Stefanski recovered from his injuries, Markel was the one who convinced the army to reinstate him to active duty.”
I knew he must be referring to the picture that showed Markel with his arm around the tall soldier with the blond hair. I said, “I noticed they were both sergeants during the war.”
“Yeah. Dave—General Markel—got a battlefield promotion during his second tour. After Stefanski’s burns healed, he went to school, got his degree and a commission.”
I asked Sessler how Colonel Stefanski had received his burns.
A shrug. “It was war. Shit happens. Stefanski was at the wrong place at the wrong time. At least he was one of the lucky ones; he survived. A lot of young boys didn’t.” He shook his head somberly. “Though if you ask Stefanski, he’d probably have preferred dying. Jesus, what the poor bastard went through.”
I said, “So you’re convinced General Markel never asked Stefanski to speak to Mrs. Garber?”
“Of course not.” He focused on me. “Let me tell you something about Dave Markel. He’s the most dedicated, selfless soldier I’ve ever come across, bar none. All that stuff you’ve probably heard about him is crap. He’s not crazy or psychotic or anything else. He likes to project that image to keep people off balance, so they’ll do what he wants. Who in their right mind wants to go up against a guy who’s supposed to be nuts? The Vietcong sure didn’t. You familiar with what Markel did in ’Nam?”
“Somewhat.”
“That should tell you the kind of guy General Markel is. His missions were suicide. No one expected him to survive. Dave sure as hell didn’t. Yet he kept going out into the jungle because he knew it was the best way to save lives. American lives. If it cost him his own, he figured that was okay. A better-than-even trade. You know why he collected ears?”
“No, sir.”
“Intimidation. Dave’s a master at it. It’s what he’s all about. He knew playing the psycho American killer would shake up the enemy, make him more effective. And he was right. When the word got out he was working an area, the VC cleared out.”
Sessler sat back in his chair, shaking his head at me. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Collins. The truth is, Dave felt sorry for Patricia Garber. We all did. It must have been humiliating as hell, being married to someone who couldn’t keep his pecker zipped up. Take my word for it, Dave would never have gone along with any attempt to frighten Patricia. Why the hell would he? She couldn’t know who killed her husband. She wasn’t on the plane.”
“Sir, she might suspect—”
“That’s hardly proof.”
“Sir, in the meeting, you and General Johnson reacted as if you believed—”
“We didn’t know the facts. We asked Dave, and he explained Stefanski got carried away.”
A bullshit answer, but I had to give Sessler his due. He was doing a helluva job singing the party line. Now the question was: Did he believe in what he was saying?
There was a knock on the door, and the navy captain poked his head inside. “General, they’re waiting for you.”
Sessler checked his watch, then stood, looking down on me. “Think about what I said, Collins. Let this go. It’s not worth it.” His glasses stayed on me, anticipating an answer.
I slowly rose, saying, “Sir, I’d like to clear something up.”
“Make it fast.”
“Colonel Stefanski. I’m wondering why he felt the need to visit Mrs. Garber if she didn’t know anything damaging.”
He looked surprised at the question. He stood there for a long moment, trying to come up with a response. Something plausible.
But we both knew there was nothing he could say.
“Leave us, Captain,” he ordered.
As the captain withdrew, Sessler appraised me, disappointment in his eyes. “I guess I wasted my time. Fine, have it your way. The bottom line was, there were three people on the plane who’ve wanted to kill General Garber for years.”
“And they are…”
A flat smile. “You’re the detective. Why the fuck do you think I asked to meet you in here?”
“I assume you mean the photographs, sir.”
But Sessler was already walking from the room.
General Sessler hadn’t wasted his time. Not entirely. He’d made me stop and think. Again.
I stood in the quiet, weighing my options. In the end, it came down to the realization that the outcome was a given. Whether I participated or not, the case would be solved and the killer exposed. Perhaps not by the end of the day or the week or the month even the year. But eventually.
Because Simon had made a promise to a grieving father.
In some respects, that made everything easier. Whatever happened, I wasn’t responsible. It was out of my hands.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
I walked over to the wall and removed the group photo with the faces I’d recognized. After slipping it from its frame, I flipped it over. There were no names on the back. I stepped next door to the admin room and asked the dimpled sergeant for a magnifying glass. She dug through two desks before she produced one that resembled a frog.
After scrutinizing the twenty-three faces, I concluded General Sessler had lied again.
Fourof the people in the pictures had been on the plane with General Garber.
Brigadier General Clay was General Markel’s senior executive officer. When I handed him the receipt and informed him I was taking one of General Markel’s photographs, he didn’t argue or attempt to deter me in any way. I didn’t expect him to.
They wanted me to have the picture.
As I strolled down the hall toward Garber’s office, I made the call to Sergeant Blake. It was admittedly a long shot, but I had to try.
Her voice sounded groggy as if I’d woken her up. No, she’d hadn’t found the paper with the Chinese guy’s name. But she did remember that the name had reminded her of trash. Possibly because she’d been carrying one of those plastic trash bags when she’d talked to General Garber. She couldn’t be sure.
Brother.“Now think. Could the name be Vietnamese? Did the general ever mention Vietnam during your conversation?”
“Not that I recall.”
Glancing at the plague, I read off the location to her. No reply. I started to spell it—
She cut me off, her voice excited. “That’s it. It was ‘trash bin.’”
“Sorry?”
“Don’t you see, sir. Trash bin.Tranh-binh . It’s him. He’s the man General Garber told me about.”
“—apologize, Congressman Maloney, General Garber won’t be able to make your four-o’clock meeting. Yes, sir. He’s been unavoidably detained. I’m sure he’ll reschedule next week. Yes, sir. I’ll tell him.”
As I entered General Garber’s reception area, two things immediately jumped out. First, the two executive officers’ desks were empty, the tops completely clean, as if they’d gone for the day. Second, there was an absence of the usual office sounds coming from the offices at the back.
My eyes settled on the secretary’s desk, where the room’s lone occupant was cradling a phone. A severelooking brunette wearing a red power suit, she made a mark in a big appointment book, then
glanced up at me. “Are you Agent Collins?”
“That’s the name on my ID.”
She appeared more annoyed than amused by my remark. She pointed a manicured nail down a short hallway. “The general’s office is the second door on the left. You’ll see the officer.”
I asked her where the executive officers were.
“They took ill and went home. There’s a flu bug going around.” She said it with a straight face.
“I see. Is Colonel Weller here?”
“She also wasn’t feeling well and left for the day.”
“Isanyone from the staff here?”
“A few of the admin personnel. Sergeant Gerard is filing papers in the back, and Sergeant Brinker went to lunch.”
Two low-ranking Indians and no chiefs to man the fort. They didn’t miss a trick. I read the nameplate on her desk. “Thank you, Mrs. Coughlin.”
She flashed a superior smile. “I’mMs. Baker. I’m only sitting in temporarily. I work for Secretary Churchfield.”
Which explained the dress and the attitude.
As I entered the corridor, the plainclothes cop who was sitting outside Garber’s office, a young black man with a pencil-thin mustache and a nervous flicker of a smile popped to his feet. I was curious to see that his shirt collar was dark with sweat, even though it wasn’t that warm. We shook hands, and he introduced himself as Frank Gibson.
When he started giving me a play-by-play on how he secured the office, I waved him off. “You already briefed Agent Gardner?”
“Why, yes, sir.”
“No one tried to enter the office since you arrived?”
“No, sir. Nobody was even in here except Ms. Baker and the admin personnel.” His tone was earnest, but his nervous smile suggested otherwise.
And on it goes. “Look, Gibson, if someone ordered you not to say anything—”
“But they didn’t, sir. Honest. No one tried to get in. Ask Ms. Baker. She’ll tell you. Oh, Ms. Baker, could you—”
I said, “That’s not necessary.”
Too late. Baker appeared from behind her desk and came over to us. “Is there a problem, Officer Gibson?”
Before Gibson could reply, I said, “There’s no problem. It’s just a little misunderstanding. Everything’s fine.”
“I see.”
We played the stare game for a few moments. I gave her a smile. She attempted one of her own and failed. With a final look at Gibson, she returned to her desk.
The instant she disappeared from view, I turned to Gibson. “If you’re lying to me, I’ll have your ass. You got that?”
He got big-eyed. “Sir, I swear I’m not—”
“Yeah, yeah.” I brushed past him into the office and closed the door. After I’d taken a couple of steps, I stopped dead, my head swiveling around.
What the hell?
32
Amanda was sitting at Garber’s desk, poring over the contents of an open file, a yellow highlighter in her hand. She motioned me over, but I could only stand there with my mouth open.
I’d seen senior officer “I’m-a-stud” walls that were over the top before, but this was ridiculous. You couldn’t look anywhere in the room without seeing photos of General Garber’s beaming face. There were pictures of him sitting in military jets, or receiving an award, or shaking hands with prominent politicians, or just posing heroically in his medaled uniform. There had to be hundreds of photographs—big, small, new or old, it didn’t matter. As long as Garber was the subject, they were there someplace. What really made me gag was the large oil painting towering over the desk, which showed General Garber receiving his first star—the one painted from the photograph we’d found on Colonel Weller.
“Yeah,” Amanda said dryly. “The only thing missing is baby pictures. And if you look real hard, you might even turn up those.”
She was exaggerating, but not by much. The pictures were arranged chronologically and spanned Garber’s entire military career, beginning with his days as an ROTC cadet. One or two even appeared to have been taken at military prep school, when Garber was in his early teens. I said, “This is…sick.”
“But his narcissism could be a break for us.”
At my frown, she said, “I searched the office. Nothing. My guess is that anything that might point us to the killer is long gone. But they made a mistake.” She nodded to the lower corner of the left wall, where a half dozen or so of Garber’s cadet photos were located. “Take a look at the bottom two.”
So I did. In both, Garber was wearing the uniform of an ROTC cadet. The first was obviously a graduation picture and the second showed him standing with a group of classmates, holding up a banner that read “University of Virginia ROTC #1.” I scanned the cluster of young men and women, but none struck me as familiar.
Amanda prompted, “I’m talking about the spacing between the pictures.”
I saw it now. “It’s off. These pictures are much farther apart than the rest. And the edges don’t line up with the others.”
“Now look down.”
I was already doing so. Against the dark blue carpeting, I’d noticed white dust-like specks. More on the molding. I removed the pictures and found three evenly spaced holes where screws had been pulled from the sheetrock. When I matched up the photos with the two outer holes, the frames lined up with those on either side. The conclusion was obvious, and as I replaced the photographs, I said, “Someone rearranged these and removed a photograph that was here.”
“Yeah. You know how often these offices are cleaned?”
“Nightly.”
“So someone rearranged those pictures either late last night or this morning. And we know it couldn’t have been General Garber.” She looked at me.
I nodded thoughtfully. It seemed a stretch to believe that an old ROTC photo of Garber’s could somehow incriminate a killer. Yet someone must have had a reason for removing it.
Amanda said, “Ten bucks says the pictures were changed this morning. They wouldn’t have done this if Garber was still alive.”
“True.”
“So someone in the office must have seen the person who did it.”
“Like it matters. You really think they’d tell us?”
“I was talking about the cop, Gibson. The man is not a happy camper.”
“No.” I told her about my confrontation with him.
“He’s pretty young, Marty. Said he’s been a cop less than a year. I could try and squeeze him a little, see if he’ll talk.”
“Watch out for Baker.”
Amanda winked, rising. “The ice princess. I saw her trying to type a memo. Whatever she does for Churchfield, she’s no secretary. So, how’d it go with the generals?”
“I survived.” As I started to give her a recap, she said, “Tell me later. Gibson supposed to be relieved at one so he can grab lunch.”
I checked my watch: 12:43.
“Here,” Amanda said, thrusting out the file she’d been reading. “Colonel Hinkle gave me the passwords for Andy and Colonel Weller, and I downloaded their RIPs and some of their OPRs.” RIPs were the service member’s assignment histories; OPRs, their annual performance evaluations.
Reacting to the thinness of the file, I said, “I take it Charlie’s still having problems getting the passwords on Churchfield and the generals?”
“They’re stalling him. They keep telling him he’ll get them, but so far nothing. We might have to get Senator Garber to raise a little hell.”
This would be something we’d have to run by Simon. As Amanda went to the door, I headed for the sitting area.
“Uh, Marty, you mind reading that outside while I question Gibson?”
I frowned, looking back. “You want me to leave?”
“How bad do you want answers?”
I understood now. Amanda could become pretty intense during interrogations and didn’t like anyone around to cramp her style. “Go easy, huh. The guy’s only following orders.”
“Relax, Marty. I’ll be a Gir
l Scout. Give me ten minutes?” She smiled sweetly.
I was still worried.
As I joined her at the door, Amanda paused with her hand on the knob. “A couple quick items, Marty. I looked through the information on Andy and Weller. I came up empty on Andy; there’s nothing that indicates who his sponsor is. On the other hand, Weller’s file is enlightening as hell. It’s clear she’s been lying to us about practically everything.”
“Okay.”
“I also highlighted the key portions of her RIP and OPRs. It looks like my first hunch about her was wrong. She’s no innocent victim, this girl. I think it’s possible she might be involved in the killing. Perhaps even set him up. The most telling thing is her relationship to General Markel.”
I said, “By telling, you mean—”
But Amanda had opened the door. Officer Gibson sprang from his chair and eyed us, or rather me, fearfully. Amanda disarmed his concerns with a dazzling smile and turned on the feminine charm that she rarely used. She engaged him in small talk, mostly inquiring about his job as a Pentagon cop, how long he’d worked here, what his duties were, that kind of thing. Initially Gibson seemed confused by her interest, but the longer she spoke, the more he gradually relaxed. At one point, he even puffed up a little at one of her compliments. When she finally tossed him the line about needing his assistance in making a search of the office, Gibson willingly agreed to do so. As I watched her usher him inside, I could only shake my head. The guy didn’t stand a chance.
At the sound of the door closing, Ms. Baker poked her head around the corner. She frowned at me as I walked up. “What’s Officer Gibson doing?”
“Why do you care?”
She said stiffly, “I don’t. I just hope there’s nothing wrong.”
“Such as—”
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