SILENT GUNS (42 page)

“
No!” Burns paled.

“
Did Kindler make a deal with
you?”

Burns didn’t answer. He sat down and slowly swirled
the gin around in his glass. He faltered; the words wouldn’t come.
He had the look of a deer caught in the headlights.

“
And if you don’t decide to play
ball…” Simons sliced into him.

“
What happens if I don’t?” He
asked quietly.

“
You can only get in
deeper.”

“
Yes. I had to lie: I had no
choice.”

“
We all have choices; yours was a
poor one. What happened between you and Trent?”

Burns sagged back into his chair. “I hated Trent. He
was well liked and on his way up, but I got even, I ruined his
career. It was his word against mine and the court believed me. I
always had to fight for everything. Do you know what it’s like, to
make good then have it snatched away by the likes of Trent?” Burns,
obviously buying time, had deliberately parried the question.

“
Why did you meet with Kindler
twice this past week? The last, just minutes before he committed
suicide.”

Burns, caught off guard, was unable to look Simons
in the eye. The corner of his mouth trembled slightly as he said,
“Kindler feared Trent as I fear him.”

“
Why should Kindler fear Trent?”
Simons snapped. He bit down hard on his cigar. Burns countered,
“Proust told me Farr wrote Trent a letter.”

“
About what? What was between
Proust and Kindler?”

“
If Trent has Farr’s letter, you
must know. Damn it. You don’t know, do you? Or, Trent would have
told you.” Burns slammed his fist on the desk. He bounced back:
Simons was ‘aced’. Trent had not revealed the contents of a
letter.

“
The letter does exist.” Simons
faced Burns down. “What were you and Kindler arguing about just
before he killed himself?”

“
What!!!” His eyes narrowed to
angry slits.

“
Wingate was there, he saw the
whole thing.”

Burns shook violently; his body trembled, his
forehead broke out in a cold sweat. “Yes. I know everything,”
Simons hammered in the last nail into Burns’ coffin. “Now, I ask
again for the last time,”…

“
Proust had Kindler in a death
grip,” Burns spilled out. “But I never found out what he had on
him. I lied for Proust, sure, but he protected me and after he
died, I got worried. Kindler quickly turned a cold shoulder to my
career. I went to see him about my future. He merely laughed at me,
short, snarling vicious laughs that scared me.” Almost as calmly
Burns reflected, “This crummy graveyard is my
graveyard.”

“
Kindler’s retired.”

“
The
Missouri
was to have
been mine: Kindler promised.”

“
Proust and Kindler were
schoolmates in Maryland.”

“
So what?” Burns
stiffened.

Simons eased back in his chair and said, “Well, let
me tell you a story. It seems a young girl fell out of a fraternity
window and was killed. The inquiry made a splash in the local
newspaper; as it was a small town, and the local college involved,
the story was quickly buried. An old picture put us on to it. The
window was in a room shared by Kindler and Proust. The young girl
had been raped and violently beaten. Proust and Kindler claimed
they were together and that neither was present in the room at the
time. No witnesses came forward. The finger of suspicion pointed to
Kindler; however, as long as Proust stuck to his story placing them
both elsewhere, there was no proof. Her death is still an open
file. Kindler transferred to the Naval Academy at the end of the
quarter, courtesy of his father, who exercised influence with a
certain U.S. Senator. One year later, Proust followed Kindler, an
appointment of that same Senator. From then on, Kindler and Proust
were linked like Siamese twins. Proust was always one step away.
Your relationship with Kindler since the trial is remarkably
similar.”

“
What?” Burns sprung to life.
“What are you saying?”

“
I am saying Kindler committed
murder. Proust blackmailed him; but it resulted in driving Kindler
to succeed. He pulled Proust along as dead weight. And, Kindler
sacrificed Trent to save Proust’s career.”

Burns struggled upright in his chair and stared at
Simons, the words locked in his throat poured out. “Did Farr say
Proust was blackmailing Kindler?”

Simons took a final drag on his cigar and stubbed it
out. “Evidently, not,” he answered. “In his letter, Farr intimated
justice had been deliberately blinded. He meant to purge his own
feelings of guilt and duplicity in Trent’s court-martial. We spoke
with him in San Diego. He did fill in some of the blanks. But,
somehow, I think you learned the truth.”

Burns suddenly turned white, and grinned.

Simons felt only rage. “I think I have the whole
sordid story. It’s all a cruel game to you, isn’t it, Burns? You
write your own rules and move the pieces when you think no one’s
looking. If someone gets hurt or dies, well, it’s just too bad. You
make a mistake and you get promoted. People like me get a bullet in
the back. That Trent is still threatening the City, I suspect,
barely touches your conscience. Do you always handle the deaths of
innocents so easily?”

Satisfaction flashed in Burns’ eyes. “You have
nothing on me, not a single shred of evidence. All you have said is
pure conjecture. It should make interesting reading in your police
files.”

“
Proust, Kindler, Scarese. All
dead. Only Trent lives.”

“
Scarese’s murder and wanton
destruction of the City is on Trent’s head, not mine or the Navy’s.
Trent will be crucified,” Burns laughed as he re-filled his glass.
“I’ll be glad to call Vice-Admiral Ambler, if you like. Nothing
remains to be lost by granting Trent his wish for a
re-trial.”

“
The city has already directly
contacted the Pentagon.”

Burns’ smile faded, “You had no right…”

Simons stared at Burns. That Burns saw things only
through his own perverse, twisted keyhole angered him. That would
not change. Conquering his revulsion, he got up and left before he
threw up. On second thought - maybe, he should have.

* * *

It was Sam Simons’ first ride in a helicopter. The
Mayor had insisted and he did not object. He could only imagine
Trent demanding a helicopter to escape the
Missouri
. The
flight afforded him a first-hand experience. He swore he would
never do it again. On shaky legs as he entered the Public Safety
building, his anxiety heightened and frightened him. He prided
himself on never reacting emotionally and remaining unflappable
under press. Burns badly mauled that core belief, left him ill and
sick at heart at the terror of another shell falling on the City.
0500, tomorrow, would come quickly; his watch read 1530. As he
stepped into an empty elevator, he caught sight of Frances and
Gleese halfway down the lobby, fanning out as they hurried to
intercept him. He held the elevators doors open as they rushed in
and then let the doors close.

Gleese spoke up,” How was your helicopter ride?
Charlie said had to push you on to get you to go.”

“
Nonsense, it was a joyful
experience.”

Frances blurted out a milli-second later, “Trent
radioed. He wants to talk to you. Frank says he refuses to talk to
anyone else.”

“
Does the Mayor know he
called?”

“
No. Frank said to find you first.
“

“
Good. Say nothing.”

Gleese rushed on, “Vice-Admiral Farr called and said
he’d talk to Trent, if it would help.”

“
Put a hold on that,” Simons
ordered.

“
Admiral Burns called about an
hour ago. There’s a telephone note on your desk. He wants you to
call,” Frances reported. “By the way, Vice-Admiral Ambler called
the Mayor. The Mayor’s office says the Pentagon agreed to the
re-trial and a PR release. Ambler said to work it through Admiral
Burns. I suspect that’s what his call is about.”

“
The Mayor, Chitterman and
Mitchell are pacing up in the Mayor’s office. They had Murial
looking all over for you, they’re nervous as hen’s teeth. Murial
was just glad to be away,” Gleese advised. The elevator stopped and
the doors snapped open.

“
I’m not here!” Simons stepped
away and left the two officers standing. The red light blinked off
as the elevator doors closed and whirred in descent. Opening the
door to his office, Simons flipped on the lights and groaned at the
accumulation of unread letters and memos littering his desktop.
Under his breath, he cursed the Egyptians for inventing paper. He
vigorously searched until he spotted the clipped, pink telephone
message. He read it, seized the phone and dialed.

“
Admiral Burns, please. Chief
Simons here.”

He eased onto his credenza and slid back against the
wall. Jamming his feet up against the desk, he braced himself. The
Admiral’s voice came on. “Simons. Burns, here. The Pentagon has
O.K.’d the re-trial, but they insist on a complete investigation,
first. Until then, it’s hands-off the
Missouri
. Trent will
get his chance; you have me to thank. You can tell him.” Simons
clenched his fist. “Our PR people will arrange the announcement for
1800. That should make the bastard happy. God knows why! He’s your
headache, now. Good luck!”

Simons restrained a surge of annoyance. He kept his
voice cool as he said, “We’ll do what we can. Can I still count on
the Navy’s help?”

“
The sooner you get him off my
ship, the better. Work it through Conover,” Burns replied, and hung
up. A small voice in the back of his mind told him to hurry to the
Mayor’s office, that Trent was waiting, then to…?

* * *

It was a short walk to City Hall from the Public
Safety Building. Sam Simons pulled down the brim of his fedora,
gave a disgusted snort and shoved his way past a milling crowd.
Deftly slipping behind a cordon of police officers, he entered a
cold blue and gray building and ducked into an empty elevator. He
rode up pondering his next move. No longer concerned with the money
as Bud Mitchell assured the city it was ready. That he had
confronted Burns pleased him; but he was also a realist. Burns had
laughed in his face. With two key witnesses dead, Burns knew his
lies would go unchallenged. Sure, Trent would get his re-trial, but
without Proust and Kindler to take the stand, grounds to overturn
would be lacking, the outcome grim. Denton, Johnson, Loomis…just
bystanders, minor players, could offer only hearsay. Even Farr.
Would Trent see the futility in another trial? Would he remain
aboard the
Missouri
? Leave with his men, possibly? Or,
surrender himself?

He shook his head and resigned himself to the
unknown. Only time would tell. The elevator jarred to a stop.
Murial waiting, rushed him into the Mayor’s office where Chitterman
and Mitchell were arguing.

“
No way,” Mitchell screamed,
edging forward in his chair. “You agreed to guarantee the moneys
safe return. No guarantee - no money. As far as I’m concerned, it
can stay in SeaFirst’s vault.”

“
Quit it, you two,” Grille
interrupted. “It’s about time you showed up, Simons. Where the hell
have you been?”

Simons offered, “Admiral Burns advised me of the
Pentagon’s decision. I think Trent will be mollified by the
announcement; but, make no mistake, he still expects a payoff.”

Mitchell tensed, glanced over his shoulder at
Chitterman. Grille glared at both and said, “The Navy scheduled the
announcement for 1800…the media will make a TV production out of
it, Hiram.” The Mayor pronounced TV as if it were a four-letter
word. He turned and said, “Murial, get Linda on the phone.”

Linda Darden, a pert, pretty little brunette, was
the City’s public affairs representative and had been responsible
for media contacts for the past ten years.

“
What do you want of Linda?”
Chitterman exclaimed.

“
Murial, get her!” the Mayor
shouted with irritation. “It has been five minutes.”

“
She’s on,” Murial hollered. “Push
the button.”

Grille pushed the button; Linda’s voice filled the
room.

“
Glad you called, Mayor,” Linda
said. “Are you alone?”

“
No. But you can speak freely.
What’s the latest?”

“
The media people are testy. This
thing is a PR nightmare, Mayor. I have my hands full of irate and
scared citizens and they aren’t blaming the Navy. They think the
City is dragging its feet. They need to know we’re in
control.”

Grille asked, “Have you checked with the Navy
Base?”

Linda went on, “Yes, but I can’t get anything out of
them. Base PR claims Admiral Burns intends to make the
announcement. They insist they don’t know what he is going to say;
but that’s bullshit. I’d bet a bundle they’re setting the Navy up
to look like a bunch of heroes, like they won the war by
themselves. That could leave the City looking bad. We better
follow-up pronto with a media conference of our own.”

“
Right-on, Linda,” the Mayor said,
briefing her with details. She said, “I’ll get you on TV right
after the Admiral. The public will want to hear from the City. I
will draft up a statement.”

“
Mayor, shouldn’t we be more
concerned with Trent,” Simons interrupted. “He called. Wants to
talk with me. Maybe, it’s best I talk with him, first. The war is
not over.”