Rebel in Time

Anderson nodded. 'There's something very wrong going on here. I'm certain of that. Legal or not, buying all that gold must have had some importance, or you and the FBI wouldn't have been looking into it. Let's do some guessing using the facts that we know so far. Marianne had this heavy date with McCulloch on Friday night. They had steaks, lobster, champagne — the works, and the evening was heavenly. Particularly back in his house where they mutually enjoyed some passionate sex. But she found out something, I don't know what — but something she shouldn't have known. So instead of sending her back in a cab the kind colonel drives her home, takes her up to her apartment. And kills her. Fakes it to look like a burglary. Then turns off the lights and waits in the dark to kill her roommate — who might be able to identify him as Marianne's date of the evening. It hangs together, doesn't it? In a particularly nasty way.'

'How much of that is guess work and how much do you really know?'

'I'm only guessing that she found out something here in this house — and I'm also guessing what happened back at the apartment. Everything else is fact, facts that fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. We know they went out to dinner together that evening. Coroner believes that she was not raped, but she did have intercourse. She's on the pill, traces of it were found in her blood. Semen in her vagina, recent bruises on her shoulders and breasts. Doorman states that she has been coming home from late dates in a cab the last few months. He didn't let her in that night. But every tenant in the building has a key to a rear entrance to the parking lot.'

Troy read the note again, then turned away in disgust. 'It's not pleasant to think about,' he said. 'But it does make some kind of perverted sense. If his disappearance had something to do with the gold — and it was planned well ahead — he might very well eliminate anyone who found out about it, who might interfere. He was in the Green Berets. He knows something about killing people. But just where does that leave us now?'

'It leaves me out of it,' Anderson said, folding the note with his pen and pushing it into an envelope. 'As far as my department is concerned this particular lead stops right here. We'll check this note out, dust the house as well, put an APB out for the colonel, do all the routine things. But I have a strong hunch that we've reached the end of our resources. Of course we'll investigate the case further, follow up any other leads, and I'll keep you informed of any developments. But it looks to me like my little case of murder is small potatoes next to your case of national security. You did tell me that McCulloch was involved with classified work?'

'He was. And his disappearing like this is really bad news. I have a feeling that a big flap is coming down. If there is anything I can tell you later, you know that I will.'

'You bet. I won't call you, you'll call me.'

'Sorry. But there's nothing else I can tell you.'

'Don't worry, son. I've worked in the District all my life. When government steps in we step out.'

'Thanks. Can I have that note?'

'We'll hold the original. Send you a photo this afternoon. Will that do you?'

'Great. Can you give me a lift on your way back?'

'Door to door.'

The fine mist that had been falling all day had changed to a steady, hammering rain that reflected Troy's dark mood. He rode in silence, his thoughts turned inward, seeing again the murdered women, the empty safe, the derisory note aimed directly at him, and the even more empty house with McCulloch gone from it. He did not know how or why, but he felt just as the policeman did, that all of these inexplicable acts were somehow tied together. He intended to do everything he could to find out just how.

As soon as he came through the door of the house on Massachusetts Avenue the receptionist waved him over.

'Orders from the admiral. Wants you in his office soonest. Third floor, little green door at the end of the hall.'

'Not the conference room this time?'

'Feel honoured, you're among the chosen few. Just leave your raincoat here and run. I'll let him know that you are on the way.'

The door was half-open when he came to it. He hesitated but the admiral's voice sounded from inside.

'Push in, Troy. And close it behind you.'

Troy had not known what to expect — but certainly not this. There was none of the usual senior-executive furniture here, or even bridge-of-battleship navy. The room was windowless and bare, except for the grey metal cabinets that covered one wall. The admiral sat with his back to the other wall, facing a computer terminal. The only other object in the room was the high-speed printer against the third wall. There was a telephone next to the terminal — and nothing else, not even another chair.