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“Trong lúc tao hoi mày.”
While I interrogate you, pig.
“Mày thay canh này có quen không, Robert?”
Does that sound familiar, Robert?
Starkey then forced his pistol inside Colonel Bennett’s mouth. “Remember this, Colonel? Remember what happens next?”
Chapter 63
SAMPSON AND I got to West Point a little after five o’clock on Thursday evening. All hell had broken loose there.
I’d received an urgent heads-up from Ron Burns at the FBI. There’d been a murder-suicide at the Point that had immediately aroused suspicions when the news got to Washington. A highly decorated colonel had supposedly killed his wife, then himself.
Sampson and I flew into Stewart Airport in Newburgh; then I drove eighteen miles to West Point. We had to park our rented car and walk the last several blocks to the officers’ housing.
The streets were roped off and closed to through traffic. The press was on hand, but they were being kept away by military police. Even the cadets couldn’t help looking curious and concerned.
“You’re getting chummy with Burns and the FBI,” Sampson said as we walked to the murder scene on Bartlett Loop. “He’s giving a lot of help.”
“He has it in his head that I might want to work with them,” I told Sampson.
“And? Might you?”
I smiled at Sampson, didn’t confirm or deny.
“I thought you were getting out of police work, sugar. Wasn’t that the big 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 yam what I yam” — I shook my head and finally smiled — “said Popeye the sailor man.”
Chapter 64
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 a CID officer named Pat Conte. The army was “cooperating” because of the other cases. They’d also let in a couple of FBI techies 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 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 Colonel Bennett 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. Sometime 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 of these deaths with 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.
