"And never thought to post Robbins at the scene of the crime?"
"No, sir. I was really shook."
"What made you go out and look for Captain Campbell in the first place?"
"She was gone a long time, and I didn't know where she was at."
She was supposed to be behind the preposition, but I let that slide and asked, "Do you make it a habit to check up on superior officers?"
"No, sir. But I had the feeling something was wrong."
Ah-ha. "Why?"
"Well... she was... kind of... like jumpy all night..."
Cynthia's turn. "Will you describe her behavior for me?"
"Yeah... well, like I said-jumpy. Kind of like out of it. Worried, maybe."
"Did you know her prior to that night?"
"Yeah... not real well. But like everybody knew her. General's daughter. She did that recruiting commercial on TV."
I asked him, "Did you ever speak to her before that night?"
"No, sir."
"Did you ever see her on post?"
"Yes, sir."
"Off post?"
"No, sir."
"So you really can't compare her normal behavior with the behavior of that evening?"
"No, sir, but I know what worried looks like." He added, in probably a rare moment of insight, "I could tell she was a cool customer, like the way she did her job that night, real cool and efficient, but every once in a while, she'd get quiet and I could see she had something on her mind."
"Did you comment to her about that?"
"Hell, no. She woulda snapped my fucking head off." He smiled sheepishly at Cynthia, revealing two decades of victimization by Army dentists. "Sorry, ma'am."
"Speak freely," said Ms. Sunhill with a winning smile that indicated good dental hygiene and civilian dentists.
And, actually, Cynthia was right. Half these old Army types couldn't express themselves without swearing, jargon, foreign words from some duty station or another, and a little regional southern dialect, even if they weren't from around here.
Cynthia asked him, "Did she make or receive any phone calls during the night?"
Good question, but I already knew the answer before St. John said, "She never made one while I was in the room. But maybe the times I was out. She got a call, though, and asked me to leave the room."
"What time was that?"
"Oh, about... about ten minutes before she left to check the guard."
I asked, "Did you eavesdrop?"
He shook his head emphatically. "No, sir!"
"Okay, tell me, Sergeant, how close did you get to the body?"
"Well... a few feet."
"I don't understand how you could determine she was dead."
"Well... I just figured she was dead... Her eyes were open... I called out to her..."
"Were you armed?"
"No, sir."
"Aren't you supposed to be armed for duty?"
"I guess I forgot to bring it along."
"So you saw the body, figured she was dead, and hightailed it."
"Yes, sir... I guess I shoulda checked closer."
"Sergeant, a naked woman is lying at your feet, a superior officer at that, someone you knew, and you didn't even bend over to see if she was alive or dead."
Cynthia gave me a tap under the table.
Having become the bad cop, it was time for me to leave the witness with the good cop. I stood and said, "You two continue. I may be back." I left the room and went to the holding cells, where PFC Robbins was lying on a cot, dressed in BDUs, barefoot. She was reading the post newspaper, a weekly effort of the Public Information Office, dealing mostly with manufacturing good news. I wondered how they were going to sanitize the rape and murder of the post commander's daughter: Unidentified Woman Not Communicating on Rifle Range. Unidentified Woman Not Communicating on Rifle Range.
I opened the unlocked cell and entered. PFC Robbins eyed me a moment, then put the newspaper down and sat up against the wall.
I said, "Good morning. My name is Mr. Brenner from the CID. I'd like to ask you some questions about last night."
She looked me over and informed me, "Your name tag says White."
"My aunt's uniform." I sat on a plastic chair. "You are not a suspect in this case," I began, and went through my rap. She seemed unimpressed.
I began my inconsequential chatter, and I received one-word replies. I took stock of PFC Robbins. She was about twenty, short blond hair, neat appearance, and alert eyes considering her long night and day, and all in all not badlooking. Her accent was Deep South, not very far from here, I guessed, and her socioeconomic status prior to taking the oath was way down there. Now she was equal to every PFC in the Army, superior to the new recruits, and probably on the way up.
I asked the first question of consequence. "Did you see Captain Campbell that evening?"
"She came around the guardhouse about 2200 hours. Spoke to the officer of the guard."
"You recognized her as Captain Campbell?"
"Everyone knows Captain Campbell."
"Did you see her at any time after that?"
"No."
"She never came to your post?"
"No."
"What time were you posted at the ammunition shed?"
"At 0100 hours. To be relieved at 0530 hours."
"And between the time you were posted and the time the MPs came for you, did anyone else pass your post?"
"No."
"Did you hear anything unusual?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"Screech owl. Not many around these parts."
"I see." Yo, Cynthia. Switch. Yo, Cynthia. Switch. "Did you see anything unusual?" "Did you see anything unusual?"
"Saw the headlights."
"What headlights?"
"Probably the humvee she came up in."
"What time?"
"At 0217 hours."
"Describe what you saw."
"Saw the headlights. They stopped about a klick away, went out."
"Did they go out right after they stopped, or later?"
"Right after. Saw the headlights bouncing, stop, out."
"What did you think about that?"
"Thought somebody was headin' my way."
"But they stopped."
"Yup. Didn't know what to think then."
"Did you think to report it?"
"Sure did. Picked up the phone and called it in."
"Who did you call?"
"Sergeant Hayes. Sergeant of the guard."
"What did he say?"
"He said there's nothing to steal way out there except where I was at the ammo shed. Said to remain at my post."
"And you replied?"
"Told him it didn't look right."
"And he said?"
"Said there was a latrine about there. Somebody might be using it. Said it could be an officer snooping around and to keep alert." She hesitated, then added, "He said people go out there to fuck on nice summer nights. That's his words."
"Goes without saying."
"I don't like cussin'."
"Me neither." I regarded this young woman a moment. She was artless and ingenuous, to say the least: the best type of witness when coupled with some powers of observation, which she obviously had, by training or by nature. But apparently, I did not fit into her narrow frame of reference, so she wasn't offering anything free. I said, "Look, Private, you know what happened to Captain Campbell?"
She nodded.
"I have been assigned to find the murderer."
"Heard she got raped, too."
"Possibly. So I need you to talk to me, to tell me things I'm not asking. Tell me your... your feelings, your impressions."
Her face showed a little emotion, she bit her lower lip, and a tear ran from her right eye. She said, "I should've gone to see what was going on. I could've stopped it. That stupid Sergeant Hayes..." She cried quietly for a minute or two, during which time I sat looking at my boots. Finally, I said, "Your standing orders were to remain at your post until properly relieved. You obeyed your orders."
She got control of herself and said, "Yeah, but anybody with a lick of common sense and a rifle would've gone over to see what was going on. And then, when the headlights never came on again, I just stood there like a fool, and I was afraid to call in again. Then when I saw the other headlights comin' and they stopped, and then they turned around real quick and whoever it was goes barrelin' back up the road like a shot, then I knew somethin' bad happened."
"What time was that?"
"At 0425 hours."
Which would tally with the time St. John said he found the body. I asked her, "And you saw no headlights between the ones at 0217 and 0425?"