style="font-size:15px;"> As soon as she was gone, Meredith said, “It looks like we’ve got a new serial case in Southern California. Someone has murdered three drill sergeants at Fort Nash Mowat. They were shot at long range by a skilled marksman. The most recent victim was killed early this morning.”
Riley was intrigued, but also a little surprised.
“Isn’t this more of a case for the Army Criminal Investigation Command?” she asked, noting the other name for the Army’s Criminal Investigation Division. She knew the CID typically investigated felony crimes that were committed within the US Army.
Meredith nodded.
“The CID is already working on it,” he said. “There’s a CID office in Fort Mowat, so they’re up and running. But as you know, Provost Marshal General Boyle is in charge of the CID. He called me a little while ago to ask the FBI to pitch in. This is looking to be an especially nasty case, with all kinds of negative PR repercussions. There’s going to be a lot of bad press and political pressure. The sooner it gets solved, the better for everybody.”
Riley wondered if this was a good idea. She’d never heard of the FBI and CID working together on a case. She worried that they might wind up stepping on each other’s toes, doing more harm than good.
But she didn’t raise any objection. It wasn’t up to her.
“So when do we head out?” Bill asked.
“ASAP,” Meredith said. “Do you have your go-bags here?”
“No,” Riley said. “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting this so soon.”
“Then as soon as you can pack your things.”
Riley felt a sudden burst of alarm.
Jilly’s play is tonight! she thought.
If Riley left right now, she’d miss it.
“Chief Meredith – ” she began.
“Yes, Agent Paige?”
Riley stopped short. After all, the FBI had just given her an award and a raise. How could she back out of this now?
Orders are orders, she told herself firmly.
There was nothing she could do.
“Nothing,” she said.
“OK, then,” Meredith said, rising to his feet. “The three of you get moving. And solve this thing fast. Other cases are waiting.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Colonel Dutch Adams stood staring out his office window. He had a good view of Fort Nash Mowat from here. He could even see the field where Sergeant Worthing had been killed only this morning.
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered under his breath.
Less than two weeks ago Sergeant Rolsky had been killed in exactly the same way.
Then a week ago it was Sergeant Fraser.
And now it was Worthing.
Three good drill sergeants.
Such a stupid waste, he thought.
And so far, the agents from the Criminal Investigation Command hadn’t been able to crack the case.
Adams stood wondering …
How the hell did I wind up in charge of this place?
He’d had a good career overall. He wore his medals proudly – the Legion of Merit, three Bronze Stars, Meritorious Service Medals, a Meritorious Unit Commendation, and a hefty batch of others.
He looked back over his life as he stared out the window.
What were his best memories?
Surely his wartime service in Iraq, both in Operation Desert Storm and Operation Enduring Freedom.
What were his worst memories?
Possibly the academic grind of piling up enough degrees to get a commission.
Or maybe standing in front of classrooms giving lectures.
But even those weren’t as bad as running this place.
Driving a desk and filing reports and presiding over meetings – all that was the worst of it as far as he was concerned.
Still, at least he’d had the good times.
His career had come at a personal cost, though – three divorces and seven grown children who scarcely spoke to him anymore. He wasn’t even sure how many grandchildren he might have.
That was just how it had to be.
The Army had always been his true family.
But now, after all those years, he was feeling estranged even from the Army.
So how was his parting from military service going to feel in the end – like a happy retirement, or just another ugly divorce?
He breathed a bitter sigh.
If he achieved his final ambition, he’d retire as a brigadier general. Even so, he’d be all alone after he retired. But maybe it was just as well.
Maybe he could just quietly disappear – “fade away” like one of Douglas MacArthur’s proverbial “old soldiers.”
Or like some wild animal, he thought.
He’d been a hunter all his life, but couldn’t remember ever having run across the carcass of a bear or a deer or any other wild animal that had died of natural causes. Other hunters had told him the same thing.
What a mystery that had always been! Where did those wild creatures go to die and rot away?
He wished he knew, so he could go where they did when his time came.
Meanwhile, he had a hankering for a cigarette. It was a hell of a thing, not being able to smoke in his own office.
Just then his desk phone buzzed. It was his secretary in the outer office.
The woman said, “Colonel, I’ve got the provost marshal general on the line. He wants to talk to you.”
Colonel Adams felt a jolt of surprise.
He knew that the provost marshal general was Brigadier General Malcolm Boyle. Adams had never talked to him as far as he could remember.
“What’s it about?” Adams asked.
“The murders, I believe,” the secretary said.
Adams growled under his breath.
Of course, he thought.
The provost marshal general in Washington was in charge of all Army criminal investigations. Doubtless he’d gotten word that the investigation here was lagging.
“OK,
