[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
master plan?"
"I don't know anything for sure right now. Here I am though, headed to another
completely fucked-up murder scene with you. Same shit, different day."
"So you're still hooked, Alex. Bad as ever, right?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm not hooked on the case, John. I'm helping you out.
Remember how this started? Payback for Ellis Cooper?"
"Yeah, and you're also hooked. You can't figure out this puzzle. That makes
you angry. And curious as hell. That's who you are, Alex. You're a hunter."
"I am what I am," I shook my head and finally smiled, 'said Popeye the sailor
man. The killers were here, John. The three of them were here."
Chapter Sixty-Four
Page 81
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The Bennett house was roped off and secured. Sampson and I identified
ourselves to a nervous-looking MP at the perimeter of the crime scene. I could
tell that he'd never seen anything like this before. Unfortunately, I had.
After we put on disposable paper boots, we were permitted to climb three stone
steps that led into the house. Then we went looking for aCID officer named Pat
Conte. The Army was 'cooperating' because of the other cases. They'd also let
in a couple of FBI techs to show their good faith.
I found Captain Conte in the narrow hallway leading from the living room. The
murders had apparently taken place in the kitchen. Techies were dusting for
fingerprints and photographing the scene from every angle.
Conte shook hands and then he told us what he knew, or thought that he knew at
this point.
"All I can give you so far is the obvious. From the looks of things, Colonel
Bennett and his wife were engaged in an argument that seems to have turned
violent. For a while, she must have given as good as she got. Then Bennett
retrieved his service revolver. He shot her in the temple, then shot himself.
Friends say that he and his wife were close, but that they fought a lot,
sometimes violently. As you can see, the shooting took place in the kitchen.
Some time last night."
"That's what you think happened?" I asked Conte.
"At this point, that's my statement."
I shook my head and felt my anger rising. "I was told that because of the
possible connection between these deaths and the others that we could expect
cooperation here."
Captain Conte nodded. "That's what you just got, my full cooperation. Excuse
me, I have work here. "He walked away.
Sampson shrugged as we watched the CID officer shuffle off. "Can't say that I
blame him too much. I wouldn't want you and me messing around at my crime
scene either."
"So, let's go mess around."
I went over to see if I could get anything from the FBI people, the Evidence
Response Team, also known as ERTs. They were being their usual thorough selves
in the kitchen, where the murders had taken place. Given the normal level of
dislike for the FBI, it's remarkable how much respect is given to ERTs. The
reason is, they're very, very good.
Two members of the ERTs were taking Polaroid shots in the kitchen. Another,
wearing a white coverall called a 'bunny suit', was looking for fibers and
hairs using an alternative light source. Everybody had on rubber gloves and
paper booties over their shoes. The head man was named Michael Fescoe, and I
had already met him down on the Appalachian Trail, where he had supervised the
crime scene investigation in the woods.
"CID giving you their full cooperation too?" I asked.
He scratched his light brown crew cut," I can tell you my version, and it's a
little different from Captain Conte's."
"Please," I said.
Page 82
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Fescoe began, "The killers, whoever they were, did a thorough job with both
the setup and the cleanup. They've done this before. They're professionals
through and through. Just like the killers in Virginia."
"How many of them?" I asked.
Fescoe held up three fingers. Three men. They surprised the Bennetts at
dinner. And then they murdered them. These men, they bring force to bear
without conscience. You can quote me on that."
Chapter Sixty-Five
It was time to celebrate! The war was over. Starkey, Harris and Griffin
ordered obscenely large, very rare Porterhouse steaks topped with jumbo shrimp
at Spark's restaurant on West Forty-sixth Street in Manhattan. For anyone with
wads of the green stuff, there was no better place to get happy in a hurry
than in New York City.
"Three years, but it's finally over," said Harris, and raised a glass of
cognac, his fourth after-dinner drink of the evening.
"Unless our mysterious benefactor changes his mind," cautioned Starkey. "It
could happen. One more hit. Or maybe a complication that we didn't plan on.
Which doesn't mean we shouldn't party tonight."
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]