The General's Daughter (38 page)

W
e spent the next hour going through the paperwork on the desk, returning and making phone calls, including trying to pin down
Colonel Fowler regarding the appointments with his wife, Mrs. Campbell, and General Campbell.

I called Grace Dixon, our computer expert, who had flown in from Falls Church and was at Jordan Field trying to get Ann Campbell’s
PC to give up its files. “How’s it going, Grace?”

“Going fine now. Some of the computer files were encrypted. We finally found a list of passwords in her home study—inside
a cookbook—and I’m pulling up all sorts of things.”

I motioned to Cynthia to pick up the other receiver and said to Grace, “What kinds of things?”

“Some personal letters, a list of people and phone numbers, but the major entry is a diary. Pretty steamy stuff, Paul. Names,
dates, places, sexual practices and preferences. I guess that’s what you’re looking for.”

“I guess so. Give me some names, Grace.”

“Okay… hold on… Lieutenant Peter Elby… Colonel William Kent… Major Ted Bowes…” And on she went, reading off about two dozen
names, some of which I knew, such as Colonel Michael Weems, the staff judge advocate, Captain Frank Swick, the medical officer,
and Major Arnold Eames, the head chaplain, of all people, and some of whom I didn’t know, but they were all military and probably
all in some way in the general’s immediate or extended retinue. But then Grace read, “Wes Yardley, Burt Yardley—”

“Burt?”

“Yes. I guess she liked the family.”

Cynthia and I glanced at each other. I said to Grace, “Right… and you didn’t come across the name of Fowler?”

“Not yet.”

“Charles Moore?”

“Yes… but he appears only as someone she has sessions with. I guess he’s a shrink. This diary goes back about two years and
begins, ‘Report for duty at Daddy’s fort. Operation Trojan Horse begins.’ ” She added, “This is really crazy stuff, Paul.”

“Give me an example of crazy.”

“Well, I’ll read this… It’s the last entry… Okay, I’m reading from the monitor. It says, ‘14 August—invited Daddy’s new operations
officer, Colonel Sam Davis, to stop by my house for a get-acquainted drink. Sam is about fifty, a little heavy but not too
bad-looking, married with grown children, one of whom still lives with him on Bethany Hill. He seems to be a devoted family
man, and his wife, Sarah, whom I met at the new officer reception, is quite attractive. Sam got to my house at 1900 hours,
we had a few stiff drinks in my living room, then I put on some slow music and asked him to help me practice a new dance step.
He was nervous, but he’d had enough drinks to give him courage. He was wearing summer greens, but I’d put on a white cotton
shift, sans bra, and I was barefoot, and, within a few minutes, we were nuzzling, and the guy had… the guy had…’ ”

“Grace?”

“ ‘Had an erection…’ ”

“Ah-ha, one of those.” Grace Dixon is a middle-aged, matronly woman, a civilian employee with a happy home life, and most
of her work is done for the CID’s Contracts Fraud Unit, so it’s usually numbers and double entries that she’s after. This
was a real treat for her. But maybe not. “Go on.”

“Okay… where was I?”

“Erection.”

“Yes… ‘and I made sure I brushed it with my fingers, then he finally took the initiative and slipped my shoulder straps off,
and I wiggled out of the shift and we danced, with me in my panties. Sam was somewhere between ecstasy and fainting out of
fear, but I took him by the hand and led him into the basement. Drinks included, the whole seduction took less than twenty
minutes. I showed him into my room in the basement and slipped off my panties…’ ”

“You still there, Grace?”

“Yes… my goodness… is this real or fantasy?”

I replied, “For Sam Davis, it started as adventureland and went right to fantasyland.”

“She takes all these men into the basement. She has some sort of room down there with sexual devices…”

“Really? Go on.”

“Oh… let’s see…” She continued reading from the monitor, “ ‘I put on some music in the room, then knelt down and unzipped
his fly. The guy was hard as a rock, and I was afraid he was going to come if I just touched it. I told him he could do anything
he wanted to me and told him to look around the room to see what interested him. He was so hot he was just trying to pull
his pants off, but I told him I wanted him to stay dressed, to make me his slave, to order me around, to use the strap on
me or whatever, but it was his first time and he wasn’t very cooperative about my needs. Finally, he just bent me over the
bed, and, with his pants down, he entered me vaginally from behind and came in about two seconds.’ ” Grace said, “Do I hear
heavy breathing on the line?”

“That’s Cynthia,” I assured her. “Is that the end of the entry?”

“No, she goes on to say, ‘I took his clothes off, and we showered together. He was anxious to get going and kept apologizing
for coming so fast. I made him lie down on the bed naked and put a silly pig mask on his face, then took two shots with a
Polaroid and gave one to him, and we joked about it, and he was too polite to ask for the other photo, but you could tell
he was nervous about the whole thing. I told him I’d like to see him again and assured him that this was our little secret.
He got dressed, and I showed him upstairs to the front door. I was still naked. He looked panicky, like he was afraid to even
go outside and be seen leaving my place, and he definitely wasn’t going straight home with his heart still pounding and his
knees shaking. Finally, he said that he didn’t want to see me again, and would I mind getting that photo, so I went into my
crying routine, and he hugged and kissed me, and I had to wipe lipstick off his face. He left and I watched him from the window,
racing to his car and glancing over his shoulder. The next time, I’ll ask him to bring me a case of wine and see how fast
he can run up the walk with that in his hands.’ ”

Grace said, “This has got to be made up.”

“Grace, you will not breathe a word of this to anyone, you will not print out a word of anything, and you will guard those
computer passwords with your life. Understand?”

“Understand.”

I thought a moment, then said, “Correction. Print out a few Burt Yardley meetings, put them in a sealed envelope, and have
them sent to me here, ASAP.”

“Understood.” She said, “There are over thirty different men mentioned here over a two-year period. Do single women sleep
with thirty different men in twenty-four months?”

“How would I know?”

“And the way she describes these encounters… my Lord, she’s got a problem—had a problem—with men. I mean, she makes them abuse
her, but she’s controlling them and thinking they’re complete fools.”

“She was right about that.” I said to her, “Pull up recent entries for Colonel Weems and Major Bowes and tell me if it’s hot
stuff.”

“Okay… hold on…” She said, “Here’s Weems, 31 July, this year… Yes, very steamy stuff. You want me to read it?”

“No, I can’t handle much more. How about Bowes?”

“Right… 4 August, this year… wow! This guy is weird. Who is this?”

“Our local CID man.”

“Oh… no!”

“Yes. Mum’s the word. Speak to you later, Grace.” I hung up.

Cynthia and I sat silently for a moment, then I said, “Well… if I was a married colonel, the general’s new operations officer,
and the general’s beautiful daughter invited me over for a drink…”

“Yes?”

“I’d run.”

“Which way?”

I smiled, then said, “Couldn’t he have held out for more than twenty minutes?”

Cynthia commented, “You know, Paul, I understand from my experience in rape cases that some men have difficulty controlling
their urges. But you guys should try to think with the big head, not the little head.”

“A rising cock has no conscience, Cynthia.” I added, “In the case of Sam Davis, don’t blame the victim.”

“You’re right. But I think she was a victim, too. This is not about sex.”

“No, it’s not. It’s about Operation Trojan Horse.” I thought a moment, then said, “Well, we can assume that Burt Yardley knows
where the basement playroom is.”

“Probably,” Cynthia agreed. “But I doubt that she brought Wes Yardley down there.”

“That’s true. He was the boyfriend. He had no real power, on or off post, and he isn’t married, so he couldn’t be compromised
or blackmailed. But I wonder if Wes knew about his old papa dipping into the same honeypot.”

“You have a way with words, Paul.”

Specialist Baker came in and informed us, “Police Chief Yardley and Police Officer Yardley are here to see you.”

I replied, “I’ll let you know when I want to see them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Someone from the CID detachment at Jordan Field will be here shortly with an envelope. Bring it in as soon as it arrives.”

“Yes, sir.” She left.

I said to Cynthia, “We’re going to have to separate Burt and Wes at some point.”

“Right.”

I stood. “I have to go see a buddy of mine in the lockup.” I left the office and followed a maze of intersecting corridors
to the holding cells. I found Dalbert Elkins in the same corner cell where I’d put him. He was lying on the cot, reading a
hunting and fishing magazine. They hadn’t given him a uniform, and he was still in his shorts, T-shirt, and sandals. I said,
“Hello, Dalbert.”

He looked up, then sat up, then stood up. “Oh… hi…”

“They treating you okay, buddy?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean, yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you write a good confession?”

He nodded. He looked less frightened now, and more sulky. It is my policy, shared by most CID criminal investigators, to visit
the people you’ve locked up in jail. You make sure the MPs or the stockade guards are not abusing them, which unfortunately
happens in military confinement from time to time. You make sure their families are okay, they have some money for sundries,
have writing materials and stamps, and you give them a friendly ear. I asked Elkins about all these things, and he assured
me he was not being mistreated, and he had everything he needed. I asked him, “You want to stay here, or do you want to go
to the stockade?”

“Here.”

“You can play baseball in the stockade.”

“Here.”

“Are you being cooperative with the CID guys?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you want a lawyer?”

“Well…”

“You have a right to be represented by counsel. You may have a JAG lawyer at no expense to you, or you may hire a civilian
attorney.”

“Well… what do you think?”

“I think if you get a lawyer, you’ll make me very angry.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you feel like the dumbest, sorriest son-of-a-bitch who ever lived?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re going to make it right.”

“Yes, sir.”

“My name is Warrant Officer Brenner, by the way. I was just kidding about that Sergeant White stuff. If you need anything,
or your family wants to contact anyone, you ask for Brenner. If anyone messes you around, you tell them you’re being watched
over by Brenner. Okay?”

“Yes, sir… thanks.”

“I won’t be around too much longer, but I’ll get you another CID guy to watch after you. I’ll try to get you out of jail and
confined to barracks, but I’m going to tell you, Dalbert, if you run away, I’ll come and find you, and kill you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. If you get me out of here, I’ll stay put. Promise.”

“And if you don’t, I’ll kill you. Promise.”

“Yes, sir.”

I went back to my office, where Cynthia was reading Ann Campbell’s personnel file. I called the local CID and got hold of
a Captain Anders. We discussed Dalbert Elkins awhile, and I recommended confinement to barracks. Anders seemed hesitant, but
agreed if I would sign a recommendation for release. I said I would and asked to speak to Major Bowes. While I waited, I wondered,
Why do I stick my neck out for people I put in jail?
I have to find a new line of work, something not so exciting.

As I scribbled out a recommendation for release from confinement, Major Bowes came on the line. “Bowes here.”

“Good morning, Major.”

“What is it, Brenner?”

I’d never worked with or met this guy, and I didn’t know anything about him except that he was commander of the Fort Hadley
CID detachment, and that he was a steamy entry in Ann Campbell’s diary.

“Brenner?”

“Yes, sir. I just wanted to touch base with you.”

“This is not a baseball game. What can I do for you?”

“I assume you’re annoyed because I’ve asked that you be kept off this case.”

“You assume right, Mister.”

“Yes, sir. Actually, it was Colonel Kent who decided to use an outside investigator.” And he was probably sorry he’d asked.

“Colonel Kent does not make those kinds of decisions. And you should have paid a courtesy call on me.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve been busy. The phone works both ways.”

“Watch yourself, Chief.”

“How is Mrs. Bowes?”

What?”

“Are you married, Major?”

Silence, then, “What kind of question is that?”

“That is an official question, pertaining to the murder investigation. That’s what kind of question it is. Please answer

it.” Silence again, then, “Yes, I’m married.”

“Does Mrs. Bowes know about Captain Campbell?”

“What the hell—?”

Cynthia looked up from what she was doing.

I said to Bowes, “Major, I have proof of your sexual involvement with Ann Campbell, proof that you visited her at her home
and had sexual relations with her of an illicit nature in the basement bedroom of her home, and that you engaged in and performed
sexual acts that are a violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, as well as being against the law in the state of
Georgia.” Actually, I didn’t know what was against the law in Georgia, and I didn’t know yet what Bowes and Ann Campbell engaged
in, but who cares? Throw enough bullshit and some of it’s going to stick.

Cynthia picked up the phone and listened, but Bowes was not talking.

I waited through the silence, then Bowes said, “I think we should meet.”