"But I couldn't bring myself to kill a woman for somethin' stupid that I did."
"Chivalry is not dead."
"Yeah... anyway, I was in Atlanta overnight on business when it happened. Got lots of witnesses."
"Good. I'll talk to them."
"You go right ahead and make a fool out of yourself."
"I'm not the one with a motive for murder." Actually, I didn't think Burt Yardley was the murderer, but people get nervous when you tell them you have to check out their alibis. It's embarrassing and causes all sorts of awkwardness. That's why cops do it to people that are holding back, and who piss them off.
Yardley said, "You can take your motives, put a light coat of oil on them, and shove 'em up your butt. But I might be interested in what you got regardin' me and the deceased."
"Might you? Well, I might have a photo of you when you were sleeping in her bed."
"Then again, you might not."
"Then again, how did I connect your fat ass to that room?"
"Well, that's the question, ain't it, son?" He slid back his chair as though to leave and said, "You're blowin' smoke up my ass. I ain't got no time for this."
There was a knock on the door and it opened. Specialist Baker handed me a sealed transmittal envelope and left. I opened the envelope, which contained about a dozen sheets of typed paper. Without a preamble to cushion the blow, I took a page at random and read aloud, " '22 April-Burt Yardley stopped by about 2100 hours. I was busy with reports, but he wanted to go downstairs. Thank God this guy needs it only about once a month. We went down into the basement, and he ordered me to strip for a search. I think he strip-searches every female he has half a reason to. So I stripped in front of him while he stood there with his hands on his hips and watched, then he ordered me to turn around, bend over, and spread my cheeks, which I did. He put his finger in my anus and told me he was looking for drugs or poison or secret messages. Then he made me lie on the gurney for a vaginal search, and-' "
"Okay, son."
I looked up from the page. "Does that ring a bell, Chief?"
"Uh... not right off." He asked, "Where'd you get that?"
"Her computer."
"Don't sound like admissible evidence to me."
"Well, in test cases, it's been ruled admissible."
"Could be all female craziness. You know, like some dumb make-believe."
"Could be. I'll turn it over to the JAG and to the Georgia attorney general for evaluation by legal and mental health professionals. Maybe you'll be cleared."
"Cleared of what? Even if every goddamn word is true, I didn't break no laws."
"I'm not an expert on Georgia sodomy laws. But I think you may have broken your marriage vows."
"Oh, can that shit, son. You're a man. Act like a goddamn man. Think like a goddamn man. You some kind of queer or what? You married?"
I ignored him and flipped through the pages. "My goodness, Burt... you used your flashlight to look up her... and here you use your nightstick to... and yourpistol? This is really gross. You've got this fetish about long, hard objects, I see. But I don't seem to see where your own object gets long or hard..."
Burt stood. "You keep a close eye on your ass, boy, because it's mine if you stick it anyplace off this post." He went to the door, but I knew he wasn't going anywhere, so I paid no attention. He came back to the table, took the chair beside me, and spun it around, then sat on it and leaned toward me. I'm not sure what the reversed chair symbolizes beyond the obvious fact that it's the opposite of sitting down and relaxing. Maybe it's protective, maybe aggressive, but whatever it is, it's annoying. I stood, and sat on the table. "Okay, Burt, what I want from you is every damned piece of evidence you took out of that room."
"No way."
"Then I'll send copies of these diary pages to everyone in the Midland phone book."
"Then I'll kill you."
We were getting somewhere now, so I said, "We'll swap evidence."
"Hell, no. I got enough stuff to fuck up most of the top boys on this here post. You want that to happen?"
"You've only got masked photos. I have the diary."
"I got goddamned fingerprints all over the place down there. We're gonna run those through the FBI and the Army."
"Are the contents still in the room?"
"My business."
"Okay, how about a bonfire? We'll use these pages of your sexual perversions to start it. Probably won't even need a match."
He thought a minute. "Can I trust you?"
"My word as an officer."
"Yeah?"
"Can I trustyou?"
"No, but I don't want you shooting off your wiseass mouth to my wife and boy."
I stood and looked out the window. The reporters were still there, but a cordon of MPs had now moved them back about fifty meters to the road in front of the building so that people could come and go without being harassed. I thought about what I was about to enter into with Chief Yardley. Destroying evidence could get me a few years in Kansas. On the other hand, destroying lives is not part of my job. I turned and walked toward Yardley. "Done deal."
He stood and we shook. I said, "You throw everything in a dump truck, including the furniture, sheets, carpet, videotapes, photos, whips and chains, and all that stuff, and bring everything to the town incinerator."
"When?"
"After I make an arrest."
"When's that gonna be?"
"Soon."
"Yeah? You want to tell me about that?"
"No."
"You know, dealin' with you is like jerkin' off with sandpaper."
"Thank you." I handed him the computer printouts and said, "When we burn the stuff, I'll have this deleted from the computer. You can watch."
"Yeah. Now you're blowin' sunshine up my ass. Well, I'm gonna trust you, son, 'cause you're an officer and a gentleman. But if you fuck me, I'll kill you as God is my witness."
"I think I understand that. And I make you the same promise. Have your first good night's sleep tonight. It's almost finished."
We walked out into the corridor and back toward the office. On the way, I said to him, "Have my personal luggage delivered to the visiting officers' quarters, okay, Burt?"
"Sure thing, son."
Cynthia and Wes Yardley were sitting at the desks and stopped talking as we entered.
Burt said, "Hey, we interruptin' somethin'?" He laughed.
Cynthia gave Burt a look that seemed to say, "You're a jackass."
Wes stood and ambled to the door. He looked at the papers in his father's hand and asked, "What's that?"
"Uh... just some Army crap I got to read." He looked at Cynthia and touched his hat. "A pleasure as always, ma'am." He said to me, "Keep me informed." He and his son left.
Cynthia asked, "Did Baker find you?"
"Yes."
"Hot stuff?"
"Burt found it a little embarrassing." I told her most of what transpired and said to her, "The incriminating photos and other evidence in Ann Campbell's fun room will be disposed of, but the less you know about it, the better."
"Don't be protective, Paul. I don't like that."
"I'd do the same for any officer. You're going to be questioned under oath someday, and you don't have to lie."
"We'll discuss this another time. Meanwhile, Wes Yardley turns out to be a little less macho than he appears."
"They all are."
"Right. He's quite upset over Ann Campbell's death, and has been turning Midland upside down trying to find who did it."
"Good. Did you get the feeling that he thought Ann Campbell was his personal property?"
"Sort of. I asked him if she was allowed to date other men, and he said he only allowed her to have dinner, drinks, and such, on official occasions on post. He never wanted to escort her to any of those things, so he was good enough to permit her to do what she had to do with the asshole officers. Quote, unquote."
"There's a man after my own heart."
"Right. But people can't be watched all the time, and where there's a will, there's a way."
"Correct. So he had no idea, obviously, that she was furthering her career in nontraditional ways."
"I very much doubt it."
"And if he found out that his father was sharing the honey, he'd be annoyed."
"To say the very least."
"Good. I've never had my hands around so many balls."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Not me. I'm just doing my job."
"Do you want a sandwich?"
"You buying?"
"Sure." She stood. "I need some air. I'll run over to the O Club."
"Cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke."
"Tidy up this place while I'm gone." She left.
I called Baker on the intercom, and she reported. I gave her my handwritten note regarding Dalbert Elkins and asked her to type it.
She said to me, "Would you recommend me for CID School?"
"It's not as much fun as it looks, Baker."
"I really want to be a criminal investigator."
"Why?"
'It's exciting."
"Why don't you talk to Ms. Sunhill about it?"
"I did, when she was here yesterday. She said it was fun and exciting, lots of travel, and you meet interesting people."
"Right, and you arrest them."
"She said she met you in Brussels. That sounds romantic." I didn't reply.
"She said she's got orders for a permanent duty station in Panama when she's finished here."
"Would you get me some fresh coffee?"
"Yes, sir."
"That will be all."
She left.
Panama.