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“I suspect it’s one of my people.”
“Why?”
“Because it was done with such finesse. In this room we have all of the best intelligence officers—except Colonel Cohen—in Europe. And none of us have any idea based on the evidence we have who did this. And since the only evidence we have is that pistol, that points to one of my people—the Russians and Odessa would have left us something else to work with.”
Cronley stood up.
“Where is Mrs. Moriarty now?”
“In her quarters. The chaplain, Lieutenant and Mrs. Winters, and Colonel and Mrs. Bristol are with her.”
“I’m going to offer my condolences.”
“You heard what I said about keeping this from your lady friend?” Wallace said.
“I heard you, Colonel. But I’ll make up my mind about that later, when I’ve had time to think things over.”
He walked to the door.
“Just a minute, Captain Cronley,” Wallace snapped.
Cronley went through the door, pulling it closed after him.
Dunwiddie stood up.
“Colonel, I think I better go with him.”
“You tell that arrogant sonofabitch what I said about that goddamn reporter is an order!” Wallace fumed.
Dunwiddie hurried through the door in pursuit of Cronley.
[FIVE]
Officers’ Quarters #5
The South German Industrial Development Organization Compound
Pullach, Bavaria
American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1805 21 February 1946
Lieutenant Colonel Jack Bristol opened the door to Cronley and Dunwiddie.
“She’s in the kitchen,” he said.
“How’s she doing?” Cronley asked.
Bristol shrugged, and waved them toward the kitchen of the cottage.
Ginger Moriarty was sitting at the kitchen table nursing Bruce T. Moriarty Jr. Mrs. Jack Bristol and Mrs. Thomas Winters sat with her, watching. Lieutenant Thomas Winters stood by the refrigerator, carefully averting his eyes.
“Ginger,” Cronley said, “I’m really sorry.”
She looked away from her baby and at him.
“You goddamn well should be, you sonofabitch! This is all your fault. Get the hell out of my house!”
