demille.thegeneralsdaughter-第63部分

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olved　with　her；　but　I　didn't　want　to　say　that　in　case　it　wasn't　true。　He　has　no　special　homicide　investigators　on　his　team　here　anyway；　and　they'd　have　just　sent　somebody　like　you　two　from　Falls　Church　eventually。　Or　they'd　have　called　the　FBI　right　away。　So　I　was　glad　you　were　here。〃　He　looked　at　me　and　said；　〃We've　worked　together　before；　and　I　knew　you'd　be　right　for　this　case。〃　He　added；　〃You've　only　got　until　noon　tomorrow；　right？　But　you　know　what？　I　think　you're　going　to　wrap　it　up　before　noon。〃
　And　so　we　sat　there　a　minute；　playing　with　cocktail　stirrers　and　napkins；　Cynthia　and　I　wondering　if　there　was　a　murderer　at　the　table；　and　Bill　Kent　contemplating　the　end　of　his　career　at　the　very　least；　and　perhaps　wrestling　with　the　notion　of　telling　us　something　that　would　get　us　out　of　here　by　noon　tomorrow。
　Sometimes　people　need　encouragement；　so　I　said　to　him　in　a　tone　he'd　understand；　〃Bill；　do　you　want　to　take　a　walk？　Or　we　can　go　back　to　your　office。　We　can　talk。〃
　He　shook　his　head。　〃I　have　to　go。〃　He　stood。　〃Well　。。。　I　hope　those　butchers　at　the　morgue　left　enough　of　her　for　an　open　casket。　I'd　like　to　see　her　again　。。。　I　don't　have　a　photo　。。。〃　He　forced　another　smile。　〃There　aren't　too　many　souvenirs　of　an　extramarital　affair。〃
　Actually；　there　had　been　a　room　full　of　them。　Cynthia　and　I　stood　also；　and　I　said；　〃Get　one　of　those　recruiting　posters　before　everyone　else　thinks　the　same　thing。　Collector's　item。〃
　〃Right。〃
　〃Thanks　for　the　drinks；〃　I　said。
　He　turned　and　left。
　We　sat。　Cynthia　watched　him　walking　away；　then　said；　as　if　to　herself；　〃He　could　be　upset　over　the　end　of　his　career；　his　soon…to…be…public　disgrace；　his　troubled　marriage；　and　the　death　of　someone　he　cared　for。　Maybe　that's　what　we're　seeing。　Or　。。。　he　did　it。〃
　I　nodded。　〃Hard　to　evaluate　his　behavior　given　all　he's　going　through。　Yet；　there　is　something　about　a　person's　eyes　。。。　they　speak　their　own　language；　from　the　heart　and　soul。　They　speak　love；　grief；　hate；　innocence；　and　guilt。　They　speak　the　truth　even　as　the　person　is　lying。〃
　Cynthia　nodded。　〃They　sure　do。〃
　We　both　sat　in　silence　awhile；　then　Cynthia　asked；　〃So？〃
　I　looked　at　her；　and　she　looked　back　into　my　eyes；　a　sort　of　experiment；　I　guess；　and　we　both　agreed　without　speaking　that　Bill　Kent　was　our　man。
　
　CHAPTER　THIRTY…ONE
　
　We　skipped　dinner　and　drove　out　on　Rifle　Range　Road　toward　Jordan　Field。　As　Kent　had　indicated　earlier；　there　was　an　MP　checkpoint　on　the　road；　and　we　had　to　stop　and　identify　ourselves。　When　we　got　to　the　MP　booth　at　the　entrance　to　Jordan　Field；　we　went　through　another　identification　procedure；　then　yet　another　at　the　door　of　hangar　three。　The　Army　liked　to　keep　reporters　in　the　press　conference　room；　where　the　Army　thought　they　belonged。　Reporters　liked　to　roam。　These　differences　of　opinion　have　been　going　on　for　a　few　hundred　years。　The　Army　citing　security　considerations；　the　press　invoking　their　traditional　and　lawful　privileges。　The　Army　has　gotten　the　upper　hand　in　recent　decades；　having　learned　at　least　one　lesson　in　Vietnam。
　My　own　experiences　with　the　press　began　in　Vietnam　when　a　reporter　stuck　a　microphone　under　my　nose　while　we　were　both　pinned　down　by　machine…gun　fire。　The　news　camera　rolled；　and　the　reporter　asked　me；　〃What's　happening？〃　I　thought　the　situation　spoke　for　itself；　but　young　idiot　that　I　was；　I　replied；　〃An　enemy　machine　gun's　got　our　range。〃　The　guy　asked；　〃What　are　you　going　to　do　now？〃　I　said　to　him；　〃Leave　you　and　the　camera　guy　here。〃　And　I　made　a　hasty　withdrawal；　hoping　the　enemy　gunner　would　concentrate　his　fire　on　the　gentlemen　of　the　press。　Somewhere；　that　news　footage　was　in　an　archive；　preserved　for　posterity。　I　never　saw　the　two　guys　again。
　The　hangar　was　nearly　deserted；　most　of　the　forensic　people　having　gone　back　to　Fort　Gillem；　or　on　to　other　assignments；　with　their　equipment。　But　about　half　a　dozen　people　had　stayed　behind　to　type　reports　and　plete　a　few　more　tests。
　Ann　Campbell's　home　was　still　there；　as　well　as　the　humvee　and　her　BMW；　but　her　office　was　gone。　Nevertheless；　Grace　Dixon　sat　at　a　camp　desk；　yawning；　in　front　of　an　IBM　personal　puter。
　She　looked　up　at　us　as　we　approached　and　said；　〃I　requisitioned　another　PC。　I'm　sorting　files；　reading　letters　and　diaries；　but　not　printing　out；　as　you　said。　You　got　that　stuff　on　Yardley　that　I　sent　you？〃
　〃Yes；〃　I　replied。　〃Thanks。〃
　Grace　said；　〃This　is　very　hot　stuff　here。　I　love　it。〃
　〃Take　a　cold　shower　tonight；　Grace。〃
　She　laughed　and　wiggled　her　ample　rear　end　in　the　seat。　〃I'm　sticking　to　the　chair。〃
　Cynthia　asked；　〃Where　are　you　staying　tonight？〃
　〃Guest　house　on　post。　I'll　sleep　with　the　disk。　No　men。　Promise。〃　She　added；　〃The　post　chaplain　is　in　this　diary。　Is　nothing　sacred？〃
　I　wanted　to　point　out　that　sleeping　with　a　goddess　was　itself　a　sacrament；　but　I　didn't　think　either　of　the　two　ladies　would　appreciate　it。　I　asked　Grace；　〃Can　you　print　out　all　entries　that　mention　the　name　of　Colonel　William　Kent？〃
　〃Sure。　I've　seen　him　in　here。　I　can　scan　for　that。　What's　his　job　or　title　in　case　it's　under　that？〃
　〃He's　the　provost　marshal。　Known　to　friends　as　Bill。〃
　〃Right。　I　saw　him　in　here。　You　want　printouts　every　time　his　name　appears；　right？〃
　〃Correct。　Also；　the　FBI　may　be　around　tonight　or　early　tomorrow。　The　MPs　outside　will　not　stop　them　from　ing　through　that　door。　But　if　you　see　the　type　walking　across　the　hangar；　you　take　the　disk　out　and　make　believe　you're　typing　a　report。　Okay？〃
　〃Sure。　But　what　if　they　have　a　court　order　or　a　search　warrant　or　something？〃
　It's　easier　to　deal　with　military　types　because　they　follow　orders。　Civilians　want　explanations　and　ask　too　many　questions。　I　replied　to　her；　〃Grace；　you're　just　typing　reports。　Put　the　disk　on　your　person；　and　if　they　want　to　look　under　your　dress；　slap　them。〃
　She　laughed。　〃What　if　they're　cute？〃
　Obviously；　something　had　fired　up　this　woman's　libido。
　Cynthia　said　to　her；　〃It's　really　important；　Grace；　that　no　one　but　us　three　sees　that　stuff。〃
　〃Okay。〃
　I　asked　her；　〃Is　Cal　Seiver　still　here？〃
　〃Yes。　He's　grabbing　some　cot　time　over　there。〃　Grace　was　playing　with　the　keys　again。　I　don't　know　much　about　puters；　and　I　want　to　know　less。　But　people　like　Grace；　who　are　into　them；　are　a　little　weird。　They　can't　seem　to　break　away　from　the　screen；　and　they　sit　there；　talk；　type；　mumble；　curse；　squeal　with　delight；　and　probably　go　without　sex；　sleep；　and　food　for　extended　periods。　Actually；　I　guess　that　goes　for　me；　too。　Cynthia　and　I　left　Grace　without　bothering　her　with　a　farewell。
　I　rolled　a　chalkboard　in　front　of　her　so　that　anyone　ing　in　the　door　wouldn't　see　her；　then　we　found　Cal　Seiver　in　a　deep　sleep　on　a　cot；　and　I　woke　him。　He　stood　unsteadily　and　seemed　confused　by　his　surroundings。
　I　gave　him　a　few　seconds；　then　asked　him；　〃Did　you　find　anything　new　and　interesting？〃
　〃No；　we're　just　putting　it　all　in　order　now。〃
　〃You　have　disqualifying　footprints　and　fingerprints　from　Colonel　Kent？〃
　〃Sure。〃
　〃Did　you　find　any　of　his　prints　out　at　the　scene？　On　the　humvee；　on　her　handbag；　the　latrines？〃
　He　thought　a　moment；　then　said；　〃No。　But　his　bootprints　are　all　over。　I　took　boot　impressions　from　him　to　disqualify　those。〃
　〃Did　you　get　Colonel　Moore's　shoes？〃
　〃Sure　did。　I　pared　them　to　unidentified　plaster　casts。　They　lead　right　to　the　body；　then　back　to　the　road。〃
　〃Do　you　have　a　diagram　yet？〃
　〃Sure。〃　He　walked　over　to　a　rolling　bulletin　board　and　snapped　on　a　portable　light。　Tacked　to　the　board　was　a　four…foot…by…eight…foot　diagram　of　the　murder　scene。　The　scene　took　in　a　stretch　of　road；　the　victim's　parked　humvee；　the　beginning　of　the　bleachers；　and；　on　the　other　side　of　the　road；　a　small　section　of　the　firing　range　that　included　a　few　pop…up　targets　and　a　sketch　of　a　spread…eagled　figure　that　the　artist　had　rendered　sexless。
　Footprints　were　marked　by　colored　pins；　and　there　was　a　legend　at　the　bottom　of　the　board　identifying　the　known　owners　of　the　boot…and　shoeprints；　with　black　pins　indicating　unknown　owners　or　unclear　footprints。　Little　arrows　showed　directions；　and　notes　indicated　whether　the　prints　were　fresh；　old；　rained　on；　and　so　forth。　In　cases　where　a　print　was　superimposed　on　another　print；　the　most　recent　print　had　a　longer　pin。　There　were　other　notes　and　explanations　to　try　to　add　some　clarity　to　the　chaos。　Eventually；　this　whole　board　would　be　fed　into　a　puter；　and　you　would　see　a　more　graphic　display；　including；　if　you　wished；　the　prints　appearing　one　after　another；　as　if　a　ghost　were　walking。　Also；　you　could　eliminate　or　call　up　any　set　of　prints　you　wanted。　But　for　now；　I　had　to　make　do　with　my　own　experience；　and　that　of　Cynthia　and　Cal　Seiver。
　Seiver　said；　〃We　really　haven't　analyzed　this。　That's　sort　of　your　job。〃
　〃Right。　I　remember　that　from　the　manual。〃
　He　added；　〃We've　got　to　spiffy　this　up　a　little　for　the　FBI。　There's　too　many　variables　and　unknowns　here；　including　the　fact　we　don't　have　the　footwear　that　you　wore。〃
　〃That　might　be　in　the　VOQ　now。〃
　〃When　people　hold　off　on　providing　footprints；　I　get　suspicious。〃
　〃Fuck　off；　Cal。〃
　〃Right。〃　He　looked　at　the　legend　and　said；　〃Colonel　Moore　is　yellow。〃
　I　replied；　〃Colonel　Kent　is　who　we　want。〃
　Pause。　〃Kent？〃
　〃Kent。〃　I　looked　at　the　legend。　Kent　was　blue。
　We　all　studied　the　diagram；　and；　in　the　quiet　hangar；　you　could　hear　the　puter　printer　spewing　out　paper。
　I　said　to　Cal　Seiver；　〃Talk　to　me。〃
　〃Right。〃　Seiver　began；　and；　from　what　he　was　saying；　it　appeared　that　Colonel　William　Kent　had　visited　the　body　no　fewer　than　three　times。　Cal　explained；　〃See；　here　he　walks　from　the　road　to　the　body。　Stops　very　near　the　body；　probably　kneels　or　squats　because；　when　he　turns；　his　prints　rotate；　then　he　probably　stands　and　goes　back　to　the　road。　This　was　probably　the　first　time；　when　he　went　out　there　with　his　MP　who　found　the　body　。。。　See；　here's　her　print　。。。　Casey。　She's　green。　Then　the　next　time　may　have　been　here　where　he　acpanied　you　and　Cynthia　with　her　running　shoes。　Cynthia　is　white。〃　He　managed　to　remind　me　again；　〃You're　black。　Lots　of　black。　I'll　give　you　pink　pins　when　I　get　your　boots。　But　for　now；　I　can't　tell　you　from…〃
　〃Okay。　I　get　it。　How　about　the　third　time　he　walke