The General's Daughter - The General's Daughter Part 41
Library

The General's Daughter Part 41

"You already have. And were your intentions honorable?"

"Why are you asking me these questions? You're here to speak to Mrs. Campbell."

"We're early. So you knew about Wes Yardley. Did you hear other rumors that Ann Campbell dated married officers on post?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

I guess he didn't hear those rumors. And I guess he didn't know about the room in the basement, either. I said to him, "Did the general approve of your relationship with his daughter?"

"Yes, he did. Do I have to answer these questions?"

"Well, three days ago you didn't, and you could have told me to go to hell. And a few days from now, you could probably tell me the same thing. But right now, yes, you have to answer these questions. Next question-did Mrs. Campbell approve?"

"Yes."

"Did you and Ann Campbell ever discuss marriage?"

"Yes, we did."

"Talk to me, Lieutenant."

"Well... I knew she was involved with this Yardley guy, and I was... annoyed... but it wasn't just that... I mean, she told me that... that she had to be sure her parents approved, and when the general gave his blessings, we would announce our engagement."

"I see. And you discussed this with the general, man-to-man?"

"Yes, I did, a few weeks ago. He seemed happy, but he told me to take a month to think it over. He said that his daughter was a very headstrong young woman."

"I see. And then recently you received orders to go to someplace on the other side of the world."

He looked at me, sort of surprised. "Yes... Guam."

I almost laughed, but didn't. Though he was my superior, he was young enough to be my son, and I put my hand on his shoulder. I said to him, "Lieutenant, you could have been the best thing to happen to Ann Campbell, but it wasn't going to happen. You got caught in a power struggle between General and Captain Campbell, and they moved you up and down the board. Somewhere in the back of your mind you understand this. Get on with your life and your career, Lieutenant, and the next time you think about marriage, take two aspirin, lie down in a dark room, and wait for the feeling to pass."

Unfortunately, Cynthia returned at that very moment and gave me a nasty look.

Lieutenant Elby seemed confused and irritated, but something was clicking in his brain. He looked at his watch and said, "Mrs. Campbell will see you now."

We followed Elby into the hallway, and he showed us into a large, sort of Victorian parlor at the front of the house.

Mrs. Campbell rose from her chair and we went to her. She was wearing a simple black dress, and as I got closer I could see the resemblance to her daughter. At about sixty years old, Mrs. Campbell had made that transition from beautiful to attractive, but it would be another ten years at least before people would begin using the neutral and sexless expression "a handsome woman."

Cynthia took her hand first and went through the condolences. I also took her hand and did the same. She said, "Won't you be seated?" She indicated a love seat near the front window. We sat, and she took the love seat opposite. Between us was a small round table on which sat a few decanters of cordials and glasses. Mrs. Campbell was drinking tea, but asked us, "Would you like some sherry or port?"

Actually, I wanted the alcohol, but not if I had to drink sherry or port to get at it. I declined, but Cynthia said yes to sherry, and Mrs. Campbell poured one for her.

Mrs. Campbell, I was surprised to discover, had a southern accent, but then I remembered seeing her on television once during the Gulf War, and I recalled thinking what a politically perfect pair they were: a rock-hard general from the Midwest and a cultured lady from the South.

Cynthia made some light chatter, and Mrs. Campbell, for all her grief, kept up her end of the conversation. Mrs. Campbell, it turned out, was from South Carolina, herself the daughter of an Army officer. June Campbell-that was her name-was, I thought, the embodiment of everything that was good about the South. She was polite, charming, and gracious, and I recalled what Colonel Fowler had said about her, and I added loyal and ladylike but tough.

I was aware that the clock was ticking, but Cynthia seemed in no hurry to get to the nasty stuff, and I assumed she had decided it wasn't appropriate and/or had lost her nerve. I didn't blame her at all. But then Cynthia said, "I assume Mrs. Fowler, or perhaps Colonel Fowler, called you before we arrived."

Good shot, Cynthia.

Mrs. Campbell put her teacup down and replied in the same quiet tone of voice she'd been conversing in, "Yes, it was Mrs. Fowler. I'm so glad she had the opportunity to speak to you. She's been very upset and feels so much better now."

"Yes," Cynthia replied, "it's often that way. You know, Mrs. Campbell, I'm assigned mostly to cases of sexual assault, and I can tell you that when I begin questioning people who I know can tell me something, I can almost feel the tension. It's sort of like everybody is wound up, but once the first person speaks up, it begins to unwind, as it has here."

This was Cynthia's way of saying that once the code of silence is broken, everyone falls all over one another to go on the record as a government witness. Beats the hell out of being a suspect.

Cynthia said to Mrs. Campbell, "So from what Mrs. Fowler tells me, and from what Mr. Brenner and I have discovered from other sources, it appears that the general received a call from Ann in the early morning hours, asking him to meet her on the rifle range, presumably to discuss something. Is that correct?"

Another shot in the dark or, to give Cynthia some credit, a very good guess.

Mrs. Campbell replied, "The red telephone beside the bed rang at about one forty-five A.M. The general immediately answered it, and I woke up as well. I watched him as he listened. He never spoke, but hung up and got out of bed and began getting dressed. I never ask him what these calls are about, but he always tells me where he's going and when he expects to be back." She smiled and said, "Since we've been at Fort Hadley, he doesn't get many calls in the middle of the night, but in Europe, when the phone rang, he'd fly out of bed, grab a packed bag, and be off to Washington or to the East German border, or who knows where. But he'd always tell me... This time he just said he'd be back in an hour or so. He put on civilian clothes and left. I watched him pull away and noticed that he used my car."

"What kind of car is that, ma'am?"

"A Buick."

Cynthia nodded and said, "Then at about four or four-thirty in the morning, the general returned home and told you what had happened."

She stared off into space, and for the first time I could see the face of a tired and heartsick mother, and I could only imagine what toll these years had taken. Surely, a wife and mother could not have countenanced what a father and husband had done to their daughter in the name of the greater good, in the name of career advancement and positive public images. But on some level, she must have come to terms with it.

Cynthia prompted, "Your husband came home about four-thirty A.M."

"Yes... I was waiting up for him... here in the front room. When he walked in the door, I knew my daughter was dead." She stood. "And that's all I know. Now that my husband's career is ended, all we have left is the hope that you can find who did this. Then we can all go on and make our peace."

We stood also, and Cynthia said, "We're doing our best, and we thank you for putting aside your grief to speak to us."

I said that we could find our way out, and we made our departure.

Outside, on the way to my vehicle, I said, "The general's career ended ten years ago in Keller Army Hospital at West Point. It just took some time for it to catch up with him."

"Yes, he not only betrayed his daughter, but he betrayed himself and his wife."

We got into the Blazer and I pulled away from Beaumont House.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

What did you speak to Lieutenant Elby about?" Cynthia asked as I drove.

"Love and marriage."

"Yes, I heard that piece of enduring wisdom."

"Well... you know, he's too young to settle down. He had proposed marriage to Ann Campbell."

"Marrying Ann Campbell is not what I'd call settling down."

"True." I briefed Cynthia on my short conversation with Elby, and added, "Now the poor bastard is being shipped to Guam. That's what happens-like in those old Greek plays when a mortal has carnal knowledge of a goddess. They wind up insane, turned into an animal or some inanimate object, or get banished to Guam or its Aegean equivalent."

"Sexist nonsense."

"Right. Anyway, I get the feeling that the family dynamics among the Campbells was so pathological that love and happiness could never flourish, and God help anyone who got caught in their misery and pain."

She nodded. "Do you think they were all right before she was raped at West Point?"

"Well... according to Colonel Moore, yes. I think that's an accurate picture. And speaking of pictures, I'm thinking back to that photo album we found in Ann's house... If you think about the pictures as before and after-before and after the rape in the summer between her first and second year at West Point-you can see a difference."

"Yes. You can almost pinpoint any family tragedy that way if you know what you're looking for." She added, "Those men who gang-raped her had a little fun and went on with their lives, and they never thought about the human wreckage they left behind."

"I know. We both see that if we stay around long enough after an act of violence. But usually we can get some justice. In this case, nobody called the cops."

"No, not then. But we're here now." She asked me, "How do you want to handle General Campbell?"

"I'd like to rough him up. But I think he's already paid the supreme price for his great mistake. I don't know... tough call. Play it by ear. He's a general."

"Right."

The Post Headquarters parking lot was nearly empty, but there were a few cars left, including the general's olive-drab staff car. There was also a humvee, a few of which are usually authorized for Post Headquarters, and I assumed that the one sitting in the hangar at Jordan Field had been replaced.

Cynthia and I stood in the parking lot to the right of the headquarters building, and I said, "She walked out that side door at about 0100 hours, got into one of the humvees, and drove off to confront the ghosts of the past."

"And the ghosts won."

We walked around to the front of the headquarters building. The two-story, dark brick structure vaguely resembled a public school built in the 1930s, except that the walk was lined with spent 105mm howitzer shell casings, each one sprouting flowers, which was unintentionally ironic. Also on the lawn were old field artillery pieces from different eras, a graphic display of the progression of the boom factor.

We entered the front doors, and a young PFC at the information desk stood. I told him we had an appointment with General Campbell. He checked his appointment sheet and directed us down a long corridor toward the rear of the building.

Cynthia and I walked down the deserted, echoing corridor with the spit-shined linoleum floor. I said to her, "I've never arrested a general before. I'm probably more nervous than he is."

She glanced at me and replied, "He didn't do it, Paul."

"How do you know?"

"I can't picture it, and if I can't picture it, it didn't happen."

"I don't remember that in the manual."

"Well, in any case, I don't think you're allowed to arrest a general officer. Check the manual."

We came to a sort of second lobby, which was deserted, and straight ahead was a closed door with a brass plate that said, "Lt. General Joseph I. Campbell."

I knocked on the door, and it was opened by a female captain whose nametag read Bollinger. She said, "Good evening. I'm General Campbell's senior aide."

We shook hands all around, and she showed us into a small secretarial area. Captain Bollinger was about thirty-five, chunky, but friendly-looking and animated. I said to her, "I don't think I've ever heard of a female aide to a male general since Ike's lady friend."

She smiled and replied, "There are a few. The general's other aide is a male, Lieutenant Elby."

"Yes, we've met him." It occurred to me that if Lieutenant Elby was a pawn in the game between father and daughter, then Captain Bollinger was certainly not; she was not seducible by Ann, and she was also homely enough for Mrs. Campbell's requirements. It really sucks at the top.

Captain Bollinger escorted us into an empty outer office and said, "The general has allocated all the time you want. But please understand that he's... well, he's just plain grief-stricken."

Cynthia replied, "We understand."

I also understood that this interview was scheduled for after-duty hours so that if it got messy, the troops wouldn't be around to see or hear it.

Captain Bollinger knocked on a nice oak door, opened it, and announced us as Warrant Officers Brenner and Sunhill. She stepped aside and we entered.

The general was standing and came forward to greet us. We exchanged quick salutes, then shook hands.

General Campbell indicated a grouping of upholstered chairs, and we all sat. Generals, like CEOs, have varying degrees of seating in the office, but generals also have the option of letting you stand at attention or, if they're being nice, at parade rest or at ease. But Cynthia and I were being shown far more courtesy than our rank required. It must have had something to do with the fact that we'd just heard two confessions of criminal conduct from two wives, to wit: accessory after the fact, and conspiracy. But perhaps he just liked us.

He asked, "Would either of you like a drink?"

"No, thank you, sir." But in truth, the cannon had sounded and the flag was down, and in the Army that is the equivalent of Pavlov's starving dogs hearing the dinner bell.

No one spoke for a minute or so, and I looked around the office. The walls were white plaster, and the trim and moldings were natural oak, as were the desks, tables, and so forth. The area rug over the oak floor was a red Oriental, probably picked up overseas. There was not much in the way of war trophies, souvenirs, framed certificates, or any of that, but on a small round table in the corner was a blue cape laid out like a tablecloth on which lay a sheathed saber, an old long-barreled pistol, a blue dress hat, and other odds and ends.

The general saw me looking and said, "Those are my father's things. He was a colonel in the old horse cavalry back in the 1920s."

I replied, "I was in the First Battalion of the Eighth Cavalry in Vietnam, minus horses."

"Really? That was my father's regiment. Old Indian fighters, though that was before his time."

So, we had something in common after all. Almost. Cynthia was probably immediately bored by the old boola-boola routine, but a little male bonding is a good thing before you go for the balls.

General Campbell asked me, "So you weren't always a detective?"

"No, sir. I used to do honest work."

He smiled. "Awards? Decorations?"

I told him and he nodded. I think he was better able to accept what I had to do to him if I was a combat vet. Even if I hadn't been, I'd have told him I was. I'm allowed to lie in the pursuit of truth, and an unsworn witness may also lie, while a sworn witness better not, and a suspect can exercise his or her right against self-incrimination anytime. Often, however, the problem is deciding who's who.

The general looked at Cynthia, not wanting to exclude her, and asked her about her military background, civilian roots, and so forth. She told him, and I learned a few things myself, though she may have been lying. Generals, and sometimes colonels, I've noticed, always ask enlisted personnel and lower-ranking officers about their hometowns, civilian schools, military training, and all that. I don't know if they care, or if it's some kind of imported Japanese management tool they learned at the War College, or what the hell this is all about, but you have to play the game, even if you're about to broach the subject of criminal activity.

So, with all the time allotted that we needed, we chewed the fat for about fifteen minutes, then finally the general said, "I understand that you've spoken to Mrs. Fowler and Mrs. Campbell, so you know something of what went on that evening."

I replied, "Yes, sir, but to be perfectly frank, we had figured out a lot of what went on prior to our speaking to Mrs. Fowler and Mrs. Campbell."

"Had you? That's very impressive. We do a good job training our CID people."