The General's Daughter (41 page)

“Indeed I do. That’s the last time I go through channels.”

“That’s your call. But the Pentagon did say that if you arrest Colonel Moore at this time, they will fly someone down here
with the necessary clearance and authority to assist you in going through the files on a selective basis. But it can’t be
a fishing expedition. You must know what you’re looking for.”

“Right. I’ve been that route before. If I knew what the hell I was looking for, I probably wouldn’t need it.”

“Well, that’s the best I could do. What clearance do you have?”

“Oh, about five foot eleven.” He didn’t laugh, so I said, “Secret clearance.”

“All right, I’ll pass that on. Meantime, the Psy-Ops School is sending people down to Jordan Field to collect the contents
of Captain Campbell’s office and return everything to the school. You and Colonel Kent will not be charged with a crime for
removing the contents, but letters of reprimand have been put in your files.” He added, “You must obey the law like the rest
of us.”

“Well, I usually do when I know what it is.”

“You don’t confiscate classified material without proper authorization.”

“Someone’s trying to sandbag me, Colonel.”

“Not only that, someone’s trying to screw you. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve made inquiries about Captain Campbell’s time at West Point. Correct?”

“That’s correct. Did I ask the wrong question?”

“Apparently.”

I glanced at Cynthia and inquired of Colonel Fowler, “Can you tell me anything about that, Colonel?”

“I know nothing about it, except that they’re asking me why you’re asking.”

“Who are
they
?”

“I can’t say. But you hit a nerve, Mr. Brenner.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to help me, Colonel.”

“Upon consideration, you and Ms. Sunhill may be the best people for this job. But you won’t conclude this case in time, so
I’m advising you to protect yourselves.” He added, “Lay low.”

“Ms. Sunhill and I are not criminals. We are criminal investigators.”

“The letter of reprimand was a warning shot. The next shot is aimed for the heart.”

“Right, but I’m firing it.”

“You’re a damned fool. We need more people like you.” He added, “Be sure your partner understands what she’s getting into.”

“I’m not sure
I
understand.”

“Neither do I, but you definitely asked the wrong question about West Point. Good day.” He hung up.

I looked at Cynthia. “My goodness.”

She said, “We definitely asked the right question about West Point.”

“Apparently.” I called Jordan Field and got Grace Dixon on the line. “Grace, I just got a tip that there are people en route
to your location from the Psy-Ops School to reclaim Captain Campbell’s files, and I’m sure that includes her computer.”

“I know. They’re already here.”

“Damn it!”

“No problem. After I spoke to you, I copied everything onto a floppy disk.” She added, “They’re taking the computer now, but
I don’t think anyone could come up with the passwords to access those files.”

“Nice going, Grace.” I asked, “What are the passwords?”

“There are three: one for the personal letters, one for the list of boyfriends’ names, addresses, and telephone numbers, and
one for the diary.” She continued, “The password for the letters is ‘Naughty Notes,’ for the boyfriends’ names, addresses,
and telephone numbers, she used the words ‘Daddy’s Friends,’ and the password for the diary is ‘Trojan Horse.’ ”

“Okay… hold on to that disk.”

“It’s close to my heart.”

“Good. Sleep with it tonight. Talk to you later.” I hung up, called Falls Church, and got through to Karl. I said to him,
“I’m hearing that my inquiry about West Point got some people angry, upset, or scared.”

“Who told you that?”

“The question is, What did you find?”

“Nothing.”

I said to him, “This is important.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“Tell me what you’ve done.”

“Mister Brenner, I don’t report to you.”

“Right. But I’ve asked you to use your resources to get me a piece of information.”

“I’ll call you when I have something.”

Cynthia pushed a note toward me that read:
Tapped
? I nodded. Karl definitely sounded weird. I asked him, “Did they get to you, Karl?”

After a few seconds, he said, “All the doors slammed in my face. Proceed with the case without this information. I’ve been
assured you don’t need it.”

“All right. Thanks very much for trying.”

“I’ll see you here tomorrow or the next day.”

“Fine. Since you’re not busy with my request, perhaps you can arrange a thirty-day administrative leave for me and Ms. Sunhill,
and a confirmed MAC flight to a place of my choice.”

“The Pentagon would like nothing better.”

“And get that fucking letter of reprimand out of my file.” I hung up.

Cynthia said, “What the hell is going on here?”

“I think we opened a Pandora’s box, took out a can of worms, and threw it at a hornet’s nest.”

“You can say that again.”

But I didn’t. I said, “We’ve been cut loose.” I thought a moment, then added, “But I think we can go it alone.”

“I guess we have no choice. But I still want to know about West Point.”

“Karl has assured us it’s not important to the case.”

Cynthia stayed silent a moment, then said, “Karl disappoints me. I never thought he’d back off from a criminal investigation
like that.”

“Me neither.”

We spoke for a few minutes trying to figure out where to go regarding the West Point inquiry. I looked at my watch. “Well,
let’s get to Bethany Hill.” We got up to leave, but there was a knock on the door, and Specialist Baker came in with a sheet
of paper in her hand. She sat at my desk and glanced at the paper.

I said to her, sarcastically, “Have a seat, Baker.”

She looked up at us and said in an assured tone of voice, “Actually, I’m Warrant Officer Kiefer from the CID. I’ve been here
about two months on undercover assignment for Colonel Hellmann. I’ve been investigating charges of improper conduct in the
traffic enforcement section—petty stuff, nothing to do with Colonel Kent or any of that. Colonel Hellmann told me to get myself
assigned as your clerk-typist.” She looked at us. “So I did.”

Cynthia said, “Are you serious? You’ve been spying on us for Colonel Hellmann?”

“Not spying, just helping. It’s done all the time.”

I replied, “It is, but I’m still pissed-off.”

Specialist Baker, a.k.a. Warrant Officer Kiefer, said, “I don’t blame you, but this case is explosive, and Colonel Hellmann
was concerned.”

I said, “Colonel Hellmann just took a dive on us.”

She didn’t respond to that, but said, “In the two months I’ve been here, I’ve heard those rumors about Colonel Kent and Captain
Campbell that I told you about. That’s all true, but I never wrote him up because I don’t like doing that to people. I couldn’t
see one incident where he compromised his duties, and all I had was office gossip anyway. But now I suppose that’s all relevant.”

Cynthia replied, “Relevant, but maybe not evidence of anything except stupidity.”

Ms. Kiefer shrugged. She handed me a sheet of paper and said, “I got a call from Falls Church a few minutes ago telling me
to identify myself to you, and instructing me to stand by the fax machine. That’s what came across.”

I looked at the fax sheet, which was addressed to me and Sunhill, via Kiefer, eyes only. I read aloud, “ ‘Regarding the West
Point inquiry, as indicated on the phone, all files sealed or nonexistent, all verbal inquiries met with silence. However,
I phoned a retired CID person who was stationed at the Point during the period in question. That person spoke on condition
of anonymity, and briefed me as follows: During the summer between Cadet Campbell’s first and second year at West Point, she
was hospitalized in a private clinic for a few weeks. Officially, she’d had a training accident at Camp Buckner Military Reservation
during night exercises. My source says that General Campbell flew in from Germany the day after the ‘accident.’ Here is the
story as my source pieced it together from rumors: In August, during recondo training, the cadets were engaged in night patrols
in the woods, and by accident or design, Cadet Campbell was separated from a larger group and found herself with five or six
males—either cadets or men from the Eighty-second Airborne Division who were assisting with the training. They wore camouflage
paint, and it was dark and so forth. These male personnel grabbed Cadet Campbell, stripped her, and staked her out with pegs
from their pup tents, then took turns raping her. What happened next is unclear, but presumably the men threatened her if
she reported the rape, then untied her and ran off. She was reported missing until dawn, when she appeared at the bivouac
area, disheveled and hysterical. She was taken first to Keller Army Hospital and treated for minor cuts and bruises, exhaustion,
and so forth. Medical records do not indicate sexual assault. General Campbell arrived, and she was removed to a private clinic.
No one was charged, no action taken, incident hushed for the good of the academy, and Cadet Campbell reported for classes
in September. Rumor was that the general put pressure on his daughter not to pursue the matter—the general was probably pressured
himself from higher-ups. So that’s it. Shred this message and destroy fax activity report. Good luck. (Signed) Hellmann.’
”

I passed the fax to Cynthia, and she said, “It all makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

I nodded.

Kiefer asked us, “You know who killed her?”

I replied, “No, but I think we know now why she was out there on the range.”

Cynthia put Karl’s message through the shredder and said to Kiefer, “So you wanted to be a detective?”

Kiefer looked a little embarrassed but replied, “Specialist Baker wanted to be a detective.”

Cynthia said, “Specialist Baker can stay a clerk-typist for a while. We don’t need another detective.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Kiefer, slipping back into her assumed rank and role. “But I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”

“You do that.”

I said to Baker, “Tell Colonel Kent that Mr. Brenner wants Colonel Moore restricted to post and available until further notice.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cynthia and I left the office, went out the back way, and made it to the parking lot without getting waylaid by reporters.
I said, “My turn to drive.” I found my keys and we got into my Blazer.

As I drove toward Bethany Hill, I said, “Karl is okay for a bastard.”

She smiled. “Even if he did pull a fast one on us. Do you believe that?”

“It comes with the territory, Cynthia.” I added, “I thought she looked familiar. There was something not right about her.”

“Oh, cut the crap, Paul. You were as fooled as I was. God, I have to get out of this job.”

“What about Panama?” I glanced at her, and our eyes met.

Cynthia said, “I put in for a permanent duty station out of the continental United States because I wanted to get away from
my about-to-be ex.”

“Good thinking.” I changed the subject. “So this West Point thing is high explosives.”

“Yes. I can’t believe a father would participate in a coverup… well, if you think about it… I mean, there’s so much tension
at West Point since it went co-ed. It’s unbelievable what’s happening there. Plus, the general had his own career to think
about, and maybe he was thinking of his daughter’s career and reputation as well. But he wasn’t doing her any favors.”

“No, he was not.”

“Women who suppress a sexual assault, or who are made to suppress it, usually pay for it later.”

“Or make other people pay for it,” I pointed out.

“That’s right. Sometimes both.” She added, “What happened on rifle range six was a reenactment of the rape at West Point,
wasn’t it?”

“I’m afraid it was.”

“Except this time someone killed her.”

“Right.”

“Her father?”

“Let’s get the last piece of information we need to reenact the entire crime, from beginning to end.”

She stayed silent a moment, then asked me, “Do you know who killed her?”

“I know who didn’t kill her.”

“Don’t be enigmatic, Paul.”

“Do you have a suspect?”

“I have a few.”

“Build a case against them and we’ll put them on trial tonight in the VOQ.”

“Sounds good. I hope we can hang someone in the morning.”

W
e arrived at the Fowler residence on Bethany Hill and rang the bell.

Mrs. Fowler greeted us, looking only slightly less distressed than she’d looked that morning. She showed us into the living
room and offered us coffee or whatever, but we declined. She sat on a couch, and we sat in club chairs.

Cynthia and I had discussed a line of questioning, and we decided that Cynthia would lead off. She chatted with Mrs. Fowler
about life, the Army, Fort Hadley, and so forth, then, when Mrs. Fowler was relaxed, Cynthia said to her, “Please be assured
that we only want to see justice done. We are not here to ruin reputations. We are here to find a murderer, but we are also
here to make certain that innocent men and women are not falsely accused.”

Mrs. Fowler nodded.

Cynthia continued, “You know that Ann Campbell was sexually involved with many men on this post. I want first to assure you
that in all the evidence that we’ve gathered, your husband’s name has not been linked with Ann Campbell.”

Again she nodded, a little more vigorously, I thought.

Cynthia continued, “We understand Colonel Fowler’s position as General Campbell’s adjutant and, I assume, his friend. We appreciate
your husband’s honesty and his willingness to let us speak to you. I’m sure he’s told you to be as honest with us as he’s
been with us, and as we’ve been with you.”

Tentative nod.

Cynthia went on, circling around any direct question, saying positive things, showing compassion, empathy, and so on. You
have to do this with civilian witnesses who are not under subpoena, and Cynthia was doing a much better job than I could have
done.