CHAPTER TWELVE

Ninety minutes later, when Major Clifton arrived with two huge Styrofoam cups of hot black coffee from the truck stop, I could have kissed him with gratitude. It was late and we were both exhausted but keyed up, too. The hot shower had reheated my body, but he was still wet and cold. I sat on the bed and he paced the room trying to warm up.

“What’s going on out there now?”

I knew most of the answer. While I’d waited for him, I’d opened the heavy drapes and watched some of the show. I’d seen the arrival and departure of several medical trucks, Highway Patrol and local police vehicles from New Haven and the county. Uniformed officers were now posted at the entrance to The Lucky Bar. Crime scene processing had already begun and the familiar yellow tape was slashed across the doorway.

Through everything, water in various stages of freezing continued to fall. Temperatures must have fallen slightly since I left the scene because the ground was now dusted with white. Snow over ice is among the most treacherous possible driving conditions. Processing tonight’s crime scene and handling the victims would be more complicated and difficult until the weather cleared.

Clifton ran a flat palm across his face, which was showing a day’s growth of beard. He replied in the formal way he might report to a superior officer. “All of the injured civilians have been transported to the hospital. I have MPs on the scene to assist Sheriff Taylor. We located no additional injured Army personnel. The homicides will be processed by civilian law enforcement. Sherriff Taylor is a good cop. He’ll do what needs to be done.”

He stopped pacing a moment and turned to face me. “The case isn’t my jurisdiction, so I have no choice in any event.”

I nodded. “What about the bartender and the bouncer? I assume they were arrested for opening fire on the shooter, just to keep track of them until things get sorted out if nothing else.”

“Taylor sent Junior to the local jail. But Alvin required medical attention, probably surgery to that shoulder, so he was arrested and then transported to the hospital.” He turned his head again to watch events across the road.

“Did you interview them before Taylor got ahold of them?”

“A little bit. I’ve been the XO at Bird for about a year, so I’ve had dealings with both of them before. Alvin is a decent guy who’s had a tough life. The Lucky Bar is all he has to support himself and his family. He’ll reopen as soon as possible.”

In my experience, places like The Lucky Bar operated on a thin line barely inside the law. On any given night, there were plenty of chances for trouble of one kind or another. Judging from the response to that gunman tonight, Alvin and Junior expected trouble and were prepared to handle it.

“Seems like Alvin was pretty lucky to me.”

“How so?”

“Neither he nor his son are dead. The gunshot wound to his shoulder will give him some problems, but it appeared treatable. Lots of folks, including at least four soldiers from your base who were trying to do the right thing, weren’t that lucky tonight.”

Clifton squared his shoulders and leaned his back against the window. “I could have made the place off-limits to enlisted men. I’ve threatened to do it more than once. I could’ve confined them to the base tonight because of the weather, and I thought about it.”

“But you didn’t do any of that.”

“You drove here from Bird. How many five-star restaurants and symphony halls did you see along the way?” He paused and raised his cup again. “The Army’s not an easy gig. We train hard. We expect fewer soldiers to do a lot more. The discipline is tough. People need an outlet and we can’t provide everything on the base, as much as I wish we could.”

I understood his point. Compromises had to be made. Enlisted personnel were entitled to free time. They were going to spend it somewhere.

The Lucky Bar was reasonably close and somewhat manageable for the MPs. Maybe everything in the place wasn’t strictly legal, but there were worse places they could go.

And, until tonight, when four of Bird’s personnel were killed, worse things could have happened when soldiers went farther afield.

I asked, “Do you know anything about the shooter yet? Or the dancer?”

“Shooter had a Tennessee driver’s license in his wallet and a few credit cards. A little bit of cash on him, not much. His name was Jeffrey Mayne. Mean anything to you?”

“No.”

“Alvin doesn’t keep the best records on his employees, so we’re not sure about her yet. She grew up here in New Haven, but she’d been gone for ten years. She told Alvin her name was Gloria Bedazzle, which he simply accepted because he didn’t remember her at first. Said she was looking to escape an abuser. It was probably instinct that brought her back where Alvin could at least try to look out for her. Alvin has always been a sucker for those stories.”

He again rubbed a palm over his face. “Alvin should know better. He’s been in the business long enough. He knew the ex would come looking for her and the outcome would be ugly.”

Meaning that Alvin’s response to the gunman was premeditated, at least. Racine said Alvin didn’t allow guns in The Lucky Bar, but he’d let Jeffrey Mayne bring one inside. And both Alvin and Junior were only too willing to shoot back.

“So you think this was a personal problem between the star-crossed lovers that got out of hand. Straight homicidal mania?”

“Seems like it now. When our guys rushed Mayne, they might have made the situation worse.” Dark circles marked his eyes and deeper lines ran toward his mouth. Gone was the sexy dude I’d first met back at Bird. This guy was grim and exhausted. “It’s hard to say until we have more facts from the witnesses. And from the medical examiner.”

My gut said Tony was probably right. The final report would contain final conclusions, but right now there was no evidence to suggest anything other than a domestic argument gone wrong. Any cop on any beat in any jurisdiction will tell you that there’s nothing more dangerous than responding to a domestic disturbance.

And if this was ruled a domestic disturbance, the case would be handled appropriately and had absolutely nothing to do with me or my assignment. Which meant that none of it—Alvin and Junior and the shoot-out at The Lucky Bar—was my concern.

So I moved on to something that was my business. “Junior told me that Alvin’s bad knee was the result of a fight with Jack Reacher. You know anything about that?”

Clifton’s left eyebrow lifted, but he didn’t respond.

“What about Colonel Summer?” I pressed. “She was there. She’s got to know all about it, doesn’t she?”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you privately. To deliver the rest of the bad news.” He paused a moment, maybe looking for a way to soften harsh words. Finding none, he simply reported the facts. “Fifty minutes before you arrived at Fort Bird this morning, Colonel Summer’s car was crushed between two semi-trucks. A chain reaction collision. On the highway. Mile marker #224, between here and the Fort Bird exit. Experience says Colonel Summer was dead in less than half a second.”

“Experience?” I held my expression steady, but the news jolted my stomach. Of all the things I’d expected him to say, “Summer’s dead” was nowhere on my list. Dead in a vehicle crash less than an hour before she was supposed to spill everything she knew to the FBI? Way too convenient.

Whatever Summer had learned about Reacher back then, whatever she knew about his life after he left the Army, might have died with her. More than a million active and inactive co-workers became instant suspects in her death, but my money was betting on her connection to one particular big, bad MP being at the center.