“Terminal rank?”
“CWO5,” she said.
Chief Warrant Officer 5 . An expert in a specific specialized field. The sweet spot, where the real work was done.
I asked her, “Why did you leave?”
“Rumblings,” she said. “The Soviets are gone, reductions in force are coming. I figured it would feel better to step up than be thrown out. Plus my daddy died, and I couldn’t let some idiot like Pellegrino take over.”
I asked her, “Where did you serve?”
“All over,” she said. “Uncle Sam was my rich uncle. He showed me the world. Some parts of it were worth seeing, and some parts of it weren’t.”
I said nothing. The waitress came back and took away our empty plates.
“Anyway,” Deveraux said. “I was expecting you. It’s exactly what we would have done, frankly, under the same circumstances. A homicide behind a bar near a base? Some kind of big secrecy or sensitivity on the base? We would have put an investigator on the post, and we would have sent another into town, undercover.”
I said nothing.
She said, “The idea being, of course, that the undercover guy in town would keep his ear to the ground and then step in and stop the locals embarrassing the Corps. If strictly necessary, that is. It was a policy I supported back then, naturally. But now I am the locals, so I can’t really support it anymore.”
I said nothing.
“Don’t feel bad,” she said. “You were doing it better than some of our guys did. I love the shoes, for instance. And the hair. You’re fairly convincing. You ran into a bit of bad luck, that’s all, with me being who I am. Although the timing wasn’t subtle, was it? But then, it never is. I don’t see how it ever could be. And to be honest, you’re not a very fluent liar. You shouldn’t have said the 110th. I know about the 110th, of course. You were nearly as good as we were. But really, Hayder ? Far too uncommon a name. And the khaki socks were a mistake. Obvious PX. You probably bought them yesterday. I wore socks just like them.”
“I didn’t want to lie,” I said. “Didn’t seem right. My father was a Marine. Maybe I sensed it in you.”
“He was a Marine but you joined the army? What was that, mutiny?”
“I don’t know what it was,” I said. “But it felt right at the time.”
“How does it feel now?”
“Right this minute? Not so great.”
“Don’t feel bad,” she said again. “You gave it a good try.”
I said nothing.
She asked, “What rank are you?”
I said, “Major.”
“Should I salute?”
“Only if you want to.”
“Still with the 110th?”
“Temporarily. Home base right now is the 396th MP. The Criminal Investigation Division.”
“How many years in?”
“Thirteen. Plus West Point.”
“I’m honored. Maybe I should salute. Who did they send to Kelham?”
“A guy called Munro. Same rank as me.”
“That’s confusing,” she said.
I said, “Are you making progress?”
She said, “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Giving up was not in the mission statement. You know how it is.”
“OK, I’ll trade,” she said. “One answer for one answer. And then you ship back out. You hit the road at first light. In fact I’ll get Pellegrino to drive you back to where he picked you up. Do we have a deal?”
What choice did I have? I said, “We have a deal.”
“No,” she said. “We’re not making progress. Absolutely none at all.”
“OK,” I said. “Thanks. Your turn.”
“Obviously it would give me an insight to know if you’re the ace, or if the guy they sent to Kelham is the ace. I mean, in terms of the army’s current thinking. About the balance of probabilities here. As in, do they think the problem is inside the gates or outside? So, are you the big dog? Or is the other guy?”
“Honest answer?”
“That’s what I would expect from the son of a fellow Marine.”
“The honest answer is I don’t know,” I said.
Chapter
13
Elizabeth Deveraux paid for her burger and my pie and
Fran Baker
Jess C Scott
Aaron Karo
Mickee Madden
Laura Miller
Kirk Anderson
Bruce Coville
William Campbell Gault
Michelle M. Pillow
Sarah Fine