She pointedly ignored me, but I could see the concern on her face. When I inquired as to the location of Weller’s office, she reluctantly directed me to a room down the opposite hallway. As I left, she was again looking uneasily at General Garber’s door.
No doubt about it; Gibson knew something.
I entered a room with four partitioned cubicles. I followed the nameplates to the desk in the right rear. When I tried the drawers, they were locked, as were the two file cabinets. The only items worth noting were the two framed photographs on her desk. The first was of Weller’s parents—the older couple we’d seen in her wallet—and the second was of Secretary Churchfield pinning her with a medal, General Markel standing in the background, beaming like a proud father.
Markel and Weller.
The odd couple.
I got comfortable behind the desk, opened the file and began to read.
It was all there, as Amanda had promised. Weller’s relationship to Markel, the lies she’d told us, everything. All I had to do was follow the yellow highlights and put the pieces together.
Weller had gone to work for Markel when she’d been a captain and he was a three-star, serving on the European Command staff. Since EuCom was considered a purple assignment—one that included members from all the services—this explained how an air force officer could become the aide to an army general.
When Markel received his fourth star and was given command of SouthCom in Florida—another purple assignment—Weller tagged along, having been promoted early to major. Two years later, Markel was made the vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs and transferred to the Pentagon, again accompanied by his trusty aide, the newly promoted Lieutenant Colonel Weller.
I stared at the date of her most recent assignment in the RIP, the one that showed when Weller had become Garber’s aide.
May 12.
Less than two weeks ago.
Frankly, I didn’t get it. Why would Weller leave Markel, a man she admired and who’d pushed her to two early promotions, to work for Garber, a man she loathed? It made no sense.
Unless, of course, Weller had gone to work for Garber as part of plan to set him up.
But if so, this still didn’t answer the question that had bothered us from the beginning. If Weller was involved in the killing, why try and cultivate suspicion?
I shook my head and flipped past Weller’s OPRs to Andy’s RIP. The entry I was looking for was listed near the top. It had been his third assignment after graduation from West Point.
Twenty-sixth Infantry Battalion of the Third Infantry Division.
I glanced at Markel’s photograph, which I’d placed before me on the desk. Two battalions were inscribed on the plaque, one marine and the second army.
The army battalion matched.
General Markel, General Sessler, General Johnson,and Andy had all fought in a place called Tranh-binh.
But, as far as we knew, not General Garber.
Yet Garber had been afraid of Tranh-binh.
Why? An air force officer wouldn’t normally be found in a ground battle.
I studied the photograph, searching for answers. Possibilities danced through my mind, but nothing jelled. I saw the blackened hillsides in the background, the shadowy outlines of bodies visible through the burned trees. I tried to count the dead, but there were too many. I felt a growing sense of horror.
What the hell happened at Tranh-binh?
33
No one. Gibson says no one tried to get into Garber’s office.”
I set the photo down as Amanda entered the room, her face locked in a scowl. She said loudly, “It was a goddamn waste of time, Marty. If he knows anything, he won’t talk. Bastard.”
She shut the door with a bang, then came over and deposited herself heavily in a chair before the desk.
She gave me a smile.
It took me a second. I said, “Baker?”
“Yeah. She was giving Gibson the evil eye when we left the office. I had to act pissed off to cover for him.”
“So he talked?”
“Oh, yeah. He talked. Two people tried to get into the office after he arrived. The first was our girl Weller.”
I nodded. I wasn’t particularly surprised, since this might explain her sudden departure from the hangar.
“She showed about an hour ago,” Amanda continued. “When Gibson told her the office was secure, Weller got upset and began to argue. Baker joined in on Weller’s side, and the three of them went at it. When Gibson wouldn’t back down, Weller left. Ten minutes later, a man strolls in, has a word with Baker, then walks up to Gibson and hands him a cell phone. On the other end was Gibson’s boss, a Lieutenant Sanchez.
“Sanchez read Gibson the riot act and ordered him to let the guy into the office. Sanchez also told Gibson that he wasn’t to mention anything about him to us. Gibson said the guy didn’t stay long. Not more than a few minutes.”
I asked, “Did he see him leave with a picture?”
“No, but the guy had a briefcase.”
“Gibson know this man’s name?”
Amanda produced her notepad and began turning pages. “Yeah. He read it off his entry badge. Gibson described him as a freak. Face was all burned. Here it is—”
“Stefanski.”
She squinted at her pad, then at me. “How’d you know?”
I pushed the photo to her and began to explain.
It took me almost ten minutes to lay out everything I’d learned from my up-close-and-personal with the generals. Afterward, I gave Amanda my theories on the murder. There were three:
One general, probably Markel, had murdered Garber on his own, and the others were protecting him.
The three generals had conspired together to murder Garber.
Colonel Weller had killed Garber with the assistance of one of the other generals, again probably Markel.
When I finished, Amanda looked up from the notes she’d been making and immediately began tossing out questions, trying to fill in the holes. “Do you think the motive had something to do with what happened at Tranh-binh?”
“We know General Garber expressed a fear of Tranh-binh.”
“But why would an air force officer have been in the battle?”
“He could have been a FAC.” Air force officers often were attached to army units as forward air controllers, with the responsibility for calling in air strikes.
“I thought FACs in ’Nam usually flew, Marty.”
“Most did, but a few were ground FACs. I’m all ears if you’ve got a better explanation.”
She searched her brain, then shook her head. After scanning her notes, she brought up General Sessler’s statement that Garber had urges he couldn’t control. She added, “Sessler’s making it sound like our initial theory was right all along, that Garber was killed trying to rape Weller.”
“I know.”
“You think he was telling the truth?”
I recalled my impressions. “It sounded like it, but there’s no way to be sure. This could be another element in their smoke-and-mirrors campaign.”
She frowned. “You’re telling me Garber could have been killed because of something that happened at Tranh-binh—”
“Perhaps.”
“—andnot the rape?”
I sighed. “Who knows? We don’t even know if a rape attempt occurred.”
“So we’re back to Simon’s theory. The rape charge could be a fabrication, to give Churchfield ammunition to force Senator Garber into dropping the investigation.”
I nodded.
“Same thing with this Tranh-binh connection; it could be pure bullshit. Another attempt by General Sessler to throw us off.”
“Right.”
Her eyes drifted down to General Markel’s photograph. “I’ve got to tell you, I’ve got problems accepting Tranh-binh as a motive. We’re supposed to believe that the other chiefs have hated Garber because of something that happened there. And that hatred is somehow linked to the killing.”
“Reve
nge,” I said, stating the obvious.
She looked up. “That’s what I don’t understand. The plaque says the battle took place in 1970. That’s almost thirty-three years ago. If the generals wanted revenge against Garber, why didn’t they do anything until now?”
I didn’t even try to come up with an answer.
She shook her head. “You know what the problem with this case is, Marty?Everybody hated Garber. We can’t really rule anybody out. Take Andy, for instance. What the hell is his role?”
“He’s part of the conspiracy. If not the murder, the cover-up.”
“Do you think he could have orchestrated the murder on his own?”
“No. If that were the case, I doubt the generals would cover for him. You don’t buy it, huh?” I could see the skepticism on her face.
“Uh-uh. They were all war buddies. That’s a bond that’s hard to break. They’ve obviously been protecting him for years, even though he’s been a fuck-up. Why would they stop now?”
I couldn’t disagree.
She studied her notes. “You realize all your scenarios imply premeditation. Yet, the crime scene clearly suggests—”
“Remember, the scene was staged. I think that was Andy’s role. To stage everything.”
“He didn’t do a very good job.”
“That’s probably because he didn’t plan it in great detail beforehand; he had no reason to. Andy hadn’t anticipated a full-blown investigation. He’d assumed he would be the investigating officer. With Billy Bowman’s help as the ME, Andy figured it’d be a piece of cake to write the death off as an accident. It was only after he found out we were coming on board that he started throwing in the rest of the evidence, like the bottle and shirt buttons. He knew the accident theory wouldn’t hold up, and he knew had to give us somewhere to look.”
Amanda was nodding; she’d considered all this. “To focus us away from the real killers?”
“Sure.”
She thoughtfully tapped a tooth. “I wish to hell we knew Weller’s role. She’s too involved to only be part of the cover-up.”
“Not necessarily. She could just be extremely loyal to Markel.”
“Why’d she leave him to work for Garber, then?”
I shook my head. Another mystery.
“By the way,” Amanda added. “I forgot to mention that Weller also lied to us about the picture of Garber in her purse. I checked with Sergeant Brinker on the admin staff. He confirmed General Garber passed out photos of himself all the time. But he never insisted that anyone carry them around.”
I shrugged. “Weller might have misunderstood. Or maybe she wanted to cover herself in case he did ask.”
“That still doesn’t explain why the photos Garber handed out were different than hers.”
“They were?”
Amanda removed a wallet-sized picture from her jacket pocket and gave it to me. The smiling face of Garber peered back. He had four stars.
“There’s a file full of these in the admin section,” Amanda said. “Brinker told me Garber only passed out pictures showing him as a full general. Knowing the guy’s ego, it fits.” She paused, eyeing me. “So how did Weller get her hands on an old photo? She’s only worked for him for a couple weeks.”
I gave the picture a final glance and passed it back. Another loose end with no logical explanation.
We sat in a pensive silence. Amanda was hunched forward, staring at Garber’s photograph. Her eyes shifted to the Tranh-binh picture, then to the one showing Churchfield pinning a medal on Weller. Without looking up, she said, “It’s all about the past, isn’t it, Marty? If we understood what happened, we’d understand the case.”
“Probably.”
“I keep thinking we’re missing something. Something obvious.”
I had the same feeling.
She sighed, pocketed Garber’s picture, then held me in a level gaze. “You know, I’m still not sure I want to solve this thing.”
“Neither am I.”
Our eyes lingered on each other. Despite her reservations, I knew she was too dedicated a cop to suggest that we tank our investigation.
“So,” she said finally, “what’s our next move? You want to see what I can dig up on Tranh-binh?”
“Please.”
Amanda took the chair behind the desk, booted up the computer, then logged in with the user name and password that Charlie Hinkle had provided. As I stood over her, I kept coming back to her earlier comment.
It’s all about the past.
As I snatched up the desk phone, Amanda said, “You’re thinking there could be a connection to the scandal?”
“Yeah. Simon should have finished talking to that reporter by now.
Simon never answered his cell or car phone. After leaving a messages on both voice mails, I watched over Amanda’s shoulder as she began her computer search. Ten minutes later, we knew something was wrong. From the photo, it was clear Tranh-binh had been a major engagement, and Amanda should have turned up dozens of hits on old news stories with an account of what had occurred.
But there wasn’t a single hit that pertained to a battle. Not in the military databases—either classified or open source—or in general search engines.
Amanda looked up from the screen. “I don’t understand it. There has to be something. You think we’ve got the spelling wrong?”
Like I would know. I said, “Try searching Vietnam battles by date.”
She did, and came up empty. She varied the spelling, dropping first one h, then the second. She brought up a map of Vietnam and tried hunting for the name. She swore.
As she continued clicking away on the mouse, I asked her for the passenger list. She pointed to the file that she’d given me. She’d stuck the list at the very back, behind Andy’s OPRs.
Even though the convenient flu epidemic suggested I would come up empty, I began calling the passengers we had yet to interview.
I gave up after the first half-dozen. None were at work, and no one answered their home numbers. I tried Andy’s home and his cellular. When he didn’t pick up, I rang Martha Jones. She said Andy hadn’t returned to the hangar, confirming he’d taken a powder for good.
I said, “Carter and Gentry there?”
“No, they went to lunch.”
“When?”
“Oh, about thirty minutes ago. They should return soon.”
Like hell.
Thinking back, I realized it had to be this way. They all had to be in on it.
When I asked, Martha told me she’d almost finished dusting the closet interior and hadn’t found a single print.
“We won’t find anything, Marty. The entire closet’s been wiped. There’s not even any prints on the doors.”
An anticipated result. This was a detail Andy would have remembered.
After ending the call, I phoned Simon again, this time with the added purpose of having him notify Senator Garber that we were being stonewalled.
“This is Lieutenant Simon Santos. If you’ll leave a number at the tone—”
I punched off after leaving another message, debated for a few seconds, then called Senator Garber directly. His secretary gave me the usual brush-off, saying the senator was unavailable.
I said, “He’ll take my call, ma’am. If you’ll just let him know—”
“That’s quite impossible, Mr. Collins. Are you a constituent? I can transfer you to Mrs. Ortiz. He handles the senator’s—”
“This matter concerns his son.”
“General Garber? Could you give me some specifics?”
Her brusque manner confirmed she hadn’t been told of the murder. I backed off, explaining it was a private matter. After I gave her my number, I clicked off, thinking I was really starting to dislike secretaries.
“Marty…”
When I glanced over, Amanda was staring at the screen. I said, “You get a hit?”
“I’m not sure.” She had a puzzled expression. “I found a Tranh-binh, but it’s not a place.”
/>
As I swung around for a look, I understood her confusion. I was staring at a Web page with the words Ko Tranh-binh scrawled across the top.
And below it, the face of a man.
34
It was actually a long bio, fully two pages long, found on a Web site that listed prominent North Vietnamese and Vietcong generals. I skipped the part about Ko Tranh-binh’s formative years as a progressive young Communist and focused on his military career.
…a protégé of General Giap, the legendary North Vietnamese commander, General Ko Tranh-binh established his reputation as brilliant military strategist by orchestrating the bombardment against the French at Dien Bien Phu….
I shifted down.
…studied military tactics in the Soviet Union, Ko Tranh-binh returned to Vietnam and was a central figure in planning the campaign against the Americans. He was promoted to general in 1968 and for two years led the North Vietnamese forces that operated out of the Central Highlands….
Paragraphs on his exploits followed. I scanned them. Even accounting for the hyperbole, the guy had been a stud. My eyes finally settled on the last line of the bio: He’d been killed inspecting troop positions in 1970.
By an enemy sniper.
I slowly let out a breath. Another connection.
Amanda said quietly, “The year matches. Markel must have been the one who took him out.”
My eyes dropped to Markel’s photograph. “But why would he put Tranh-binh’s name on this instead of the actual location of the engagement?”
“It could be it was some kind of morbid joke. It’s not like he took out a high-ranking general every day.”
I wondering if that’s all it really was. Just some kind of—
“There’s more, Marty.”
“More?”
She opened up a new window on the screen. Another bio appeared. Only this time it had a pretty blue border and was titled “General Michael J. Garber.”
Noting my blank look, she explained, “This proves General Garber couldn’t have been engaged in a ground battle in ’Nam.” She pointed. “Third paragraph, second line.”
A Long Day for Dying Page 23