Chapter 5

 

 

At around five-thirty, Don and I are sitting in his favorite Chinese restaurant, Dim Sum Heaven, not too far from my office, and we’ve just been served our drink order, a Singapore Sling for Don, yuk, and a Tsing Tao for me.

 

“How can you ruin good gin with all that sweet and sour gunk?”

 

“I love their taste and aroma, they’re a great pick-me-up after the world has been slapping me around all day and they take the taste of the rot gut they call coffee in my office out of my mouth.”

 

“Spoken like a true elbow bender.”

 

“What did you manage to come up with today?”

 

“Where Baker is concerned, more suspicion, but nothing I can hang my hat on yet. A couple of new names showed up which I want to check out and they might shed some light on things.

 

“As for Carlyle, all I’ve dug up so far is that he was a little man with a really big temper. He could be cantankerous and didn’t appear to get along with the other Supreme Court Judges very well. He had a reputation for being opinionated, which I guess isn’t a bad trait for a Supreme Court Justice, but he apparently took it too far down the road to stubbornness and unreasonableness. What did you dig up on Senator Markham?”

 

“The impression I’m getting from the people I talked to today is that she was a tough straight shooter. Things were usually black or white, yes or no with her. She didn’t have much tolerance for gray areas or maybes. She was liked and respected by her colleagues and had a good sense of humor. She took a lot of ribbing because of her tight fistedness with the greenbacks, but she could give as good as she took. We’re going over her voting record in the Senate for the past year to see if there’s anything there that might have turned this Crusader against her. So far we’ve covered the latest three months and nothing stands out.

 

“As for Carlyle, we found the murder scene. When we checked out his residence, the side door to the garage was slightly ajar, so we went in there first and there was blood all over the garage floor. It didn’t look like anything had been disturbed in the garage and when we checked out the house it was immaculate with nothing apparently out of place. The judge isn’t married, but has a housekeeper who works days from seven to four Monday through Friday and she takes care of the house, does the laundry and cooks meals for the judge and leaves them in the fridge when he’s going to be home for dinner. When we talked with her, she had no idea that the judge had been killed. She said she had no reason to go into the garage as there was nothing there that she was responsible for.”

 

“Well, we’re doing all we can do for now. Maybe if we fill our bellies that might push out some brilliant ideas about what else we can do. Let’s check out the menu and order.”

Don’s cell rings and the look on his face as he listens to the caller tells me that looking at the menu is as close as we’re going to get to the evening’s repast. As he hangs up he says, “We have another one and this one has the highest profile yet. An hour ago Lieutenant General Paul Styversant was shot and killed in his office at Fort Bragg. Same MO with the calling card left in his hand this time.”

 

“This guy, for the sake of convenience assuming it’s a he we’re after, is definitely on an adrenaline high and doesn’t need much if any sleep. He just killed the judge less than twenty hours ago and it’s a five hour drive to Fort Bragg from here. If he left here immediately after he killed the judge which the ME estimates was around ten last night, he arrived at Fort Bragg at about three this morning. This gives him fourteen plus hours to locate the general, do the deed and get away without being seen. Are you going to check the scene out personally or rely on the observations of other agents close by Bragg?”

 

“We’re going to check out the scene if you can get away.”

 

“When do you want to leave?”

 

“The sooner the better. The scene will be secured, but the more time that goes by the greater the chance of it inadvertently becoming contaminated.”

 

“Okay, I’ll leave a message for Felicity and we can head out now. We can grab some drive-in delicacies along the way to keep the hunger pangs at bay. Our arteries will scream for mercy, but our taste buds will jump with joy.”

 

While Don picks up the tab for the drinks, I call the office and leave a message for Felicity and then we’re off. About half way to Fort Bragg we run into a thunder storm that’s dropping sheets of rain so heavy the windshield wipers can’t handle it, so we have to pull off to the side of the road and wait until it lightens up enough for the wipers to keep the windshield clear. We’re pulling into Fort Bragg a little before midnight and soon after are quickly escorted to the general’s office by a couple of MPs.

 

When we arrive, there are still a couple of forensics people processing the scene and a few of the general’s staff are being questioned by a man and a woman team I’d bet my last nickel are from some government agency. Judging from their demeanor, I’m sure they won’t be shy in telling us which one.

 

Don approaches the two to introduce himself and me, but before he can open his mouth the woman says, “Whoa. Who are you and why are you here?”

 

Don shows her his credentials, answers her question and finishes with, “And who are you?”

 

“We’re from Homeland Security. We were called in by your local office here because of who the victim was. Your people just left a few minutes ago. From what they told us, this Crusader is a serial killer who appears to be on some kind of mission and has an accelerated agenda to accomplish it.”

The male partner who up to now has kept quiet says, “We’ll be taking over the investigation now. Give us what you have so far and we’ll take it from here.”

 

Don approached to within two feet of the man, looked him straight in the eye and said, “Until I hear that from my boss I’m still on this case with or without your help, Dick Tracy. Now we’re going to take a look around and then we’re going to talk with the general’s people. If you’ve got a problem with that, have your boss call the Director of the FBI.”

 

With a jerk of his head Don indicated he wanted me to follow him and so I did. As we walked around the office I whispered, “I’ll bet you ruined his day.”

 

“I sure hope so. What a pompous ass. Didn’t he ever hear of teamwork?”

 

Walking around the general’s bailiwick, we’re quick to surmise that it could pass a white glove inspection with ease. There’s a place for everything and everything is in its place. The only thing that wouldn’t pass muster is the blood stain on the general’s desk blotter.

 

Shaking his head Don says, “How in hell did the killer get in and out of here without being seen?”

 

“He was shot around five o’clock last a night, quitting time for most of the clerical types. If the killer was disguised in some kind of uniform, he would have blended in with the rest of the crowd in the building and could have split with the troops when they were leaving for the day. Something’s bothering me about how easy this killing was accomplished though. Flag officers have Aide de Camps and Executive Assistants to help them perform their duties and they’re seldom far away from their assigned officers. Where were they when the general was shot?”

 

“Let’s go talk with those people over there and see if they can answer that question.”

 

Another confrontation with the Homeland Security duo is avoided as they are just leaving as we walk over to the small group to ask our questions. Don addresses the ranking officer of the group, a full bird colonel, by saying, “Excuse me, Colonel Henderson, before you and your people go we have a few questions we need some answers to.” After the introductions are out of the way Don asks, “Sir, are you the Aide de camp or the Executive assistant to the general?”

 

“I am or was his Aide de camp and Lieutenant Colonel Landon here was his Executive Assistant”. Pointing to the major and the non-coms he finishes with, “Major Antonelli was his communications officer and Sergeants Rittershoffer and Greerson handle all of the routine clerical functions of the office.”

 

“I know all of you have been subjected to hours of questioning by my colleagues in the local office here in Fayetteville and the Homeland Security folks, so I’ll do my best to get you out of here ASAP. Folks, I did a hitch in the Army after ROTC in college and somehow managed to rise to the rank of Captain even though I realized early on that the United States Army and I weren’t meant for each other. Another thing I learned while in the Army is that generals are treated like they were encrusted with precious metals and jewels. The security surrounding them is extremely tight. Yet, somehow, someone got into this office undetected, shot the general in the forehead and then disappeared with no one being the wiser until someone discovered his body slumped in his desk chair. I’m having trouble digesting this with what I know about the military. Who discovered the body?”

 

Sergeant Rittershoffer raised his hand. “I did sir. I had to go over to a different building to retrieve some information for a report the general was working on and when I returned I found the general slumped in his chair.”

 

“Where were the rest of you?”

 

Each in turn recounted where they were when the general was shot. All but Major Antonelli were on different floors in the building attending meetings or, in Sergeant Greerson’s case, a class on some new computer software. Major Antonelli was in an office down the hall raising Cain with a procurement officer who had fouled up the acquisition of some new state-of-the-art communication gear. In short, no one saw or heard anything.

 

Tired of being a bump on a log I ask, “Where do the security guards normally post themselves when the general is in his office? Obviously, they were nowhere near when the general took a bullet in the head.”

 

Colonel Henderson fields this query with, “They don’t have a normal post. They don’t want to be predictable to anyone meaning harm to the people they’re guarding. Sometimes there’s a security guard at the door to the office and one by the elevator at the end of the hall. Sometimes no one is on this floor, but security would be heavy in the lobby of the building. It varies.”

 

Ace interrogator that I am I follow up with, “Where were the security guards at the time the general was shot?”

 

“One was is the latrine and one was in the kitchen grabbing a cup of coffee.” He said this with a straight face and if I had just taken a sip of coffee I would have choked on it.

 

Don picks up the questioning again with, “Besides you people, who would be familiar with the general’s daily agenda?”

 

“His assigned security guards, driver, perhaps his family would know something of his agenda on any given day and of course the people he had appointments with.”

 

“Okay, folks, that’s all the questions I have for now. Colonel Henderson, may I liaise with you if I have any follow up queries to make?”

 

“I’ll make myself available when you need me.”

 

The group disburses and we head out to our car. “Don, someone’s head in security is going to roll on this one. Both security guards left their posts to attend to the calls of nature, leaving the general exposed to the whims of anyone with a bee up his butt.”

 

“I agree and….. Ah shit.”

 

“What?”

 

“Look who’s walking our way.”

 

It’s the Homeland Security duo and Dick Tracy has a smirk on his face. As he draws near he says, “I hope you took good notes because we’ll be asking for copies of them later today after our bosses talk.”

 

They didn’t stop to chat. They just kept on walking to the entrance to the building next door to the one we just left.

 

Don says, “He’s probably already talked with his boss and his boss has agreed to engage in a turf war.”

 

“Who do you think will surrender?”

 

“I have no idea, but until my boss says otherwise I’m working this case. Let’s get out of here.”

 

As we drive back to D. C., I’m thinking it’s time for me to check in with The Man to see what he has to say about who he wants to run the show. From my point of view and experience with dealing with a lot of the agencies in the Federal Government, this Crusader’s escapades could qualify for the attention of more than a few of them.

 

I think I can make a pretty decent case for the FBI to stay at the helm of the investigation since I’ve been involved from victim one and can vouch for the skills of Agent Ericson. No one’s going to conduct a more thorough investigation than he will and the Bureau is convinced I can make substantial contributions to the investigation because they agreed to my terms of hire. Of course, I’ll have to tell the President that I’m being paid for my services, but I don’t have to overly dwell on that aspect of the relationship. Why muddy the waters if I can avoid it and, yeah, keep the money?