The Enemy (8 page)

He put all his weight on his back foot and lined up a straight drive aimed for my face. It was going to be a big blow. It would have hurt me if it had landed. But before he let it go I stepped in and smashed my right heel into his right kneecap. The knee is a fragile joint. Ask any athlete.

He had three hundred pounds bearing down on it and he got two hundred thirty driving straight through it. His patella shattered and his leg folded backwards. Exactly like a regular knee joint, but in reverse. He went down forward and the top of his boot came up to meet the front of his thigh. He screamed, real loud. I stepped back and smiled. He shoots, he scores.

I stepped back in and looked at the guy's knee, carefully. It was messed up, but good. Broken bone, ripped ligaments, torn cartilage. I thought about kicking it again, but I really didn't need to. He was in line for a visit to the cane store, as soon as they let him out of the orthopaedic ward. He was going to be choosing a lifetime supply. Wood, aluminum, short, long, his pick.

"I'll come back and do the other one," I said, "if anything happens that I don't want to happen."

I don't think he heard me. He was writhing around in an oily puddle, panting and whimpering, trying to get his knee in a position where it would stop killing him. He was shit out of luck there. He was going to have to wait for surgery.

The farmers were busy choosing up sides. Both of them were pretty dumb. But one of them was dumber than the other. Slower. He was flexing his big red hands. I stepped in and headbutted him full in the face, to help with the decision making process. He went down, head-to-toe with the big guy, and his pal beat a fast retreat behind the nearest pickup truck.

I lifted my jacket off the Plymouth's door mirror and shrugged back into it. Took my watch out of my pocket. Strapped it back on my wrist. The soldiers drank their beer and looked at me, nothing in their faces. They were neither pleased nor disappointed. They had invested nothing in the outcome. Whether it was me or the other guys on the floor was all the same to them.

I saw Lieutenant Summer on the fringe of the crowd. Threaded my way through cars and people towards her. She looked tense. She was breathing hard. I guessed she had been watching. I guessed she had been ready to jump in and help me out.

"What happened?" she said.

"The fat guy hit a woman who was asking questions for me. His pal didn't run away fast enough."

She glanced at them and then back at me. "What did the woman say?"

"She said nobody had a problem last night."

"The kid in the motel still denies there was a hooker with Kramer. He's pretty definite about it."

I heard Sin say: You got me slapped for nothing. Bastard.

"So what made him go looking in the room?"

Summer made a face. "That was my big question, obviously."

"Did he have an answer?"

"Not at first. Then he said it was because he heard a vehicle leaving in a hurry."

"What vehicle?"

"He said it was a big engine, revving hard, taking off fast, like a panic situation."

"Did he see it?"

Summer just shook her head.

"Makes no sense," I said. "A vehicle implies a call girl, and I doubt if they have many call girls here. And why would Kramer need a call girl anyway, with all those other hookers right there in the bar?"

Summer was still shaking her head. "The kid says the vehicle had a very distinctive sound. Very loud. And diesel, not gasoline. He says he heard the exact same sound again a little later on."

"When?"

"When you left in your Humvee."

"What?"

Summer looked right at me. "He says he checked Kramer's room because he heard a military vehicle peeling out of the lot in a panic."

FOUR

We went back across the road to the motel and made the kid tell the story all over again. He was surly and he wasn't talkative, but he made a good witness. Unhelpful people often do. They're not trying to please you. They're not trying to impress you. They're not making all kinds of stuff up, trying to tell you what you want to hear.

He said he was sitting in the office, alone, doing nothing, and at about eleven twenty-five in the evening he heard a vehicle door slam and then a big turbo-diesel start up. He described sounds that must have been a gearbox slamming into reverse and a four-wheel-drive transfer case locking up. Then there was tyre noise and engine noise and gravel noise and something very large and heavy sped away in a big hurry. He said he got off his stool and went outside to look. Didn't see the vehicle. "Why did you check the room?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "I thought maybe it was on fire."

"On fire?"

"People do stuff like that, in a place like this. They set the room on fire. And then high-tail out. For kicks. Or something. I don't know. It was unusual."

"How did you know which room to check?"

He went very quiet at that point. Summer pressed him for an answer. Then I did. We did the good cop, bad cop thing. Eventually he admitted it was the only room rented for the whole night. All the others were renting by the hour, and were being serviced by foot traffic from across the street, not by vehicles. He said that was how he had been so sure there was never a hooker in Kramer's room. It was his responsibility to check them in and out. He took the money and issued the keys. Kept track of the comings and the goings. So he always knew for sure who was where. It was a part of his function. A part he was supposed to keep very quiet about.

"I'll lose my job now," he said.

He got worried to the point of tears and Summer had to calm him down. Then he told us he had found Kramer's body and called the cops and cleared all the hourly renters out for safety's sake. Then Deputy Chief Stockton had shown up within about fifteen minutes.

Then I had shown up, and when I left some time later he recognized the same" vehicle sounds he had heard before. Same engine noise, same drivetrain noises, same tyre whine. He was convincing. He had already admitted that hookers used the place all the time, so he had no more reason to lie. And Humvees were still relatively new. Still relatively rare. And they made a distinctive noise. So I believed him. We left him there on his stool and stepped outside into the cold red glow of the Coke machine.

"No hooker," Summer said. "A woman from the base instead."

"A woman officer," I said. "Maybe fairly senior. Someone with permanent access to her own Humvee. Nobody signs out a pool vehicle for an assignation like that. And she's got his briefcase. She must have."

"She'll be easy to find. She'll be in the gate log, time out, time in."

"I might have even passed her on the road. If she left here at eleven twenty-five she wasn't back at Bird before about twelve fifteen. I was leaving around then."

"If she went straight back to the post."

"Yes," I said. "If."

"Did you see another Humvee?"

"Don't think so," I said.

"Who do you think she is?"

I shrugged. "Like we figured about the phantom hooker. Someone he met somewhere. Irwin, probably, but it could have been anywhere."

I stared across at the gas station. Watched cars go by on the road.

"Vassell and Coomer might know her," Summer said. "You know, if it was a long term thing between her and Kramer."

"Yes, they might."

"Where do you think they are?"

"I don't know," I said. "But I'm sure I'll find them if I need them." I didn't find them. They found me. They were waiting for me in my borrowed office when we got back. Summer dropped me at my door and went to park the car. I walked past the outer desk. The night shift sergeant was back. The mountain woman, with the baby son and the paycheck worries. She gestured at the inner door in a way that told me someone was in there.

Someone that ranked a lot higher than either of us.

"Got coffee?" I said.

"The machine is on," she said.

I took some with me. My coat was still unbuttoned. My hair was a mess. I looked exactly like a guy who had been brawling in a parking lot. I walked straight to the desk. Put my coffee down. There were two guys in upright visitor chairs against the wall, facing me. They were both in woodland BDUs. One of them had a brigadier general's star on his collar and the other had a colonel's eagle. The general had Vassell on his name tape and the colonel had Coomer. Vassell was bald and Coomer wore eyeglasses and they were both pompous enough and old enough and short and soft and pink enough to look vaguely ridiculous in BDUs. They looked like Rotary Club members on their way to a fancy dress ball. First impression, I didn't like them very much.

I sat down in my chair and saw two slips of paper stacked square in the centre of the blotter. The first was a note that said: Your brother called again. Urgent. This time there was a phone number with it. It had a 202 area code. Washington D.C.

"Don't you salute senior officers?" Vassell said, from his chair.

The second note said: Col. Garber called. Green Valley PD calculates Mrs K died approx. 0200. I folded both notes separately and tucked them side by side under the base of my telephone. Adjusted them so I could see exactly half of each one. Looked up in time to see Vassell glaring at me. His naked scalp was going red.

"I'm sorry," I said. "What was the question?"

"Don't you salute senior officers when you enter a room?"

"If they're in my chain of command," I said. "You're not."

"I don't consider that an answer," he said.

"Look it up," I said. "I'm with the 110th Special Unit. We're separate. Structurally we're parallel to the rest of the army. We have to be, if you think about it. We can't police you if we're in your chain of command ourselves."

"I'm not here to be policed, son," he said.

"So why are you here? It's kind of late for a social visit."

"I'm here to ask some questions."

"Ask away," I said. "Then I'll ask some of my own. And you know what the difference will be?"

He said nothing.

"I'll be answering out of courtesy," I said. "You'll be answering because the Uniform Code of Military Justice requires you to."

He said nothing. Just glared at me. Then he glanced at Coomer. Coomer looked back at him, and then at me.

"We're here about General Kramer," he said. "We're his senior staff."

"I know who you are," I said.

"Tell us about the general."

"He's dead," I said.

"We're aware of that. We'd like to know the circumstances."

"He had a heart attack."

"Where?"

"Inside his chest cavity."

Vassell glowered.

"Where did he die?" Coomer said.

"I can't tell you that," I said. "It's germane to an ongoing inquiry."

"In what way?" Vassell said.

"In a confidential way."

"It was around here somewhere," he said. "That much is already common knowledge."

"Well, there you go," I said. "What's the conference at Irwin about?"

"What?"

"The conference at Irwin," l said again. "Where you were all headed."

"What about it?"

"I need to know the agenda."

Vassell looked at Coomer and Coomer opened his mouth to start telling me something when my phone rang. It was my desk sergeant. She had Summer out there with her. She was unsure whether to send her in. I told her to go right ahead. So there was a tap on the door and Summer came in. I introduced her all around and she pulled a spare chair over to my desk and sat down, alongside me, facing them. Two against two.

I pulled the second note out from under the telephone and passed it to her: Green Valley PD calculates Mrs K died approx. 0200. She unfolded it and read it and refolded it and passed it back to me. I put it back under the phone.

Then I asked Vassell and Coomer about the Irwin agenda again, and watched their attitudes change. They didn't get any more helpful. It was more of a sideways move than an improvement. But because there was now a woman in the room they dialled down the overt hostility and replaced it with smug patronizing civility. They came from that kind of a background and that kind of a generation. They hated MPs and I was sure they hated women officers, but all of a sudden they felt they had to be polite.

"It was going to be purely routine," Coomer said. "Just a regular pow-wow. Nothing of any great importance."

"Which explains why you didn't actually go," I said.

"Naturally. It seemed much more appropriate to remain here. You know, in the circumstances."

"How did you find out about Kramer?"

"XII Corps called us."

"From Germany?"

"That's where XII Corps is, son," Vassell said.

"Where did you stay last night?"

"In a hotel," Coomer said.

"Which one?"

"The Jefferson. In D.C."

"Private or on a DoD ticket?"

"That hotel is authorized for senior officers."

"Why didn't General Kramer stay there?"

"Because he made alternative arrangements."

"When?"

"When what?" Coomer said.

"When did he make these alternative arrangements?"

"Some days ago."

"So it wasn't a spur of the moment thing?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Do you know what those arrangements were?"

"Obviously not," Vassell said. "Or we wouldn't be asking you where he died."

"You didn't think he was maybe visiting with his wife?"

"Was he?"

"No," I said. "Why do you need to know where he died?" There was a long pause. Their attitudes changed again. The smugness fell away and they replaced it with a kind of winsome frankness.

"We don't really need to know," Vassell said. He leaned forward and glanced at Summer like he wished she wasn't there. Like he wanted this new intimacy to be purely man-to man with me. "And we have no specific information or direct knowledge at all, but we're worried that General Kramer's private arrangements could lead to the potential for embarrassment, in light of the circumstances."

"How well did you know him?"

"On a professional level, very well indeed. On a personal level, about as well as anyone knows his brother officer. Which is to say, perhaps not well enough."

"But you suspect in general terms what his arrangements might have been."

"Yes," he said. "We have our suspicions."

"So it wasn't a surprise to you that he didn't bunk at the hotel."

"No," he said. "It wasn't."

"And it wasn't a surprise when I told you he wasn't visiting with his wife."

"Not entirely, no."

"So you suspected roughly what he might be doing, but you didn't know where."

Vassell nodded his head. "Roughly."

"Did you know with whom he might have been doing it?" Vassell shook his head.

"We have no specific information," he said.

"OK," I said. "Doesn't really matter. I'm sure you know the army well enough to realize that if we discover a potential for embarrassment, we'll cover it up."

There was a long pause.

"Have all traces been removed?" Coomer asked. "From wherever it was?"

I nodded. "We took his stuff."

"Good."

"I need the Irwin conference agenda," I said. There was another pause.