Sweepers

by P. T. Deutermann

  Jack stumbled unsteadily over toward the mattress. Karen followed him into the room, watching him carefully. Jack flopped down on the sleeping bag, then reached under it.

  Karen brought the gun up instantly.

  “Don’t,” she warned.

  “Drink,” he said quickly. “Gotta have a drink. Goddamn, lady, you made me piss my pants. Gimme a break here.

  Karen debated with herself. Maybe let him take a hit, steady his nerves.

  If he was a full-blown lush, she might get more out of him if he steadied up. She nodded once. “Use one hand,” she ordered.

  With his left hand in the air, he carefully felt around under the rag bag and there, with exaggerated slowness, extracted a long-necked brown bottle with no label. He undid the screw cap, still watching the gun, and took a long swig. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then swallowed, coughing as whatever elixir of the gods went down. Then he put the bottle down and pulled the sleeping bag over his lap. He had to put both hands down on the bag to keep himself upright. He looked at her expectantly.

  Karen walked over to the stronger-looking of the two boxes and sat down, putting the automatic in her lap but keeping her right hand on it. She was aware that the hammer was still back, but she decided not to lower it. He might regain his courage after that slug of rotgut and make a move.

  One part of her rather wished he would.

  “You move and I’ll empty this thing into your face, understand?”

  He nodded and then took another hit from the bottle.

  “You were there,” she said. “You helped somebody kidnap me and then dump me in that river. Who was it?”

  Jack looked away, a glint of fear showing in his eyes.

  “My old man,” he croaked.

  She couldn’t believe her ears. “You’re telling me that Admiral Sherman was involved in that?”

  He still wouldn’t look at her, just kept staring down at the floor. “W.

  T. Sherman’s nothing to me,” Jack said.

  “I’m talking about my real old man.”

  What the hell was this? “You mean Galantz?”

  “Never heard that name. He’s always been Mr. Smith.

  That’s all, Mr. Smith. Ever since recon training.”

  “Where is he now, this Mr. Smith?”

  Jack glanced out the back window and shivered.

  “Around. I dunno. He comes and gets me when he needs me. He just shows up, man. Always at night. He’s like a goddamned ghost.”

  “So Admiral Sherman’s nothing to you?”

  “Not’since he did what he did. Back there in D.C.,” Jack said, a hint of the old sneer coming back into his voice. The rotgut, she thought. Watch him.

  “You mean when he divorced your mother.”

  Jack didn’t say anything, just stared down at the floor.

  Even so, Karen could sense the enormous resentment festering in this kid.

  “Why do you call Galantz-Mr. Smith-your old man?”

  Jack wiped his lips again and glanced sideways at the bottle. “Because he took care of me, back there in recon school, when I was getting my ass kicked by them other guys, the bigger guys. They were gonna wash me out, but Mr. Smith, he stood up, man. He knew about … about what happened to my mother. Said he was gonna be the old man I never had.

  Said he’d get me through it. And he did, too.

  Them other guys, they were afraid of Mr. Smith. He’s a bad bastard. Not like some a those guys, go around acting tough.

  He is tough, man.”

  “Yeah, real tough guy. Kidnapping women. Blinding them first, then stuffing them in a bag. Then if something goes wrong, quick, Jack, throw her in the river. A real man, that. A real tough guy.”

  Jack’s face went blank as he squirmed around on the sleeping bag. “We was just gonna keep you. Not hurt you.

  That’s what he said.”

  “Why?”

  “I dunno. I don’t ask him questions. He calls, I come. I owe him, that’s all. I owe him big. He told me to get a boat, meet him by the Key Bridge. I did what he told me. I owe him, man.”

  “Why? What do you owe him for?”

  “That’s personal.”

  “Look at me,” she said. He didn’t move. She raised the gup, trying to remember how many rounds were in it. Not that many. “Look at me, Jack.”

  Slowly, he raised his head, his face a study in pain and anger in about equal proportions. “I know what happened to your mother,” she said.

  “That she shot , herself. “

  His eyes blazed. “Because of him, the way he was. I want him dead. You listening to me? I want him dead! All those years, he was always gone.

  Off on those ships, no time to come home, no time for us. Always the big fuckin’ deal.

  Have to work late. On the fast track here, people. Movin’ right up here.

  You got no damn idea, man. My mother, fryin’ her brain with the booze because she was always alone. Going’ to bed drunk, getting’ up drunk, drunk when people came around, drunk when 1-hell, lady, what would you know about any of that shit? You’re one of ‘em, aren’t you? You’re a goddamn officer, just like him.”

  Karen took a deep breath. “So you blame him for what happened to your mother?”

  “Fuckin’-A, I do. She was-she didn’t deserve that shit, man. Neither of us did. Don’t you think we deserved a little bit of his fucking time all those years? So yeah, when Mr. Smith comes knocking, tells me he’s gonna do a number on that prick over some shit went down in Nam, now that he’s a big-deal admiral, and do I wanta help out a little, I said fuckin’-A.

  In a fuckin’ heartbeat.”

  “Were you involved in what happened to Elizabeth Walsh?”

  “Never heard of her. Oh, yeah, she was the new punch, right? My mother’s replacement? Smith told me about her.

  How she had this little fall down the stairs.”Flying lesson,’ he called it. He gave her a damn flying lesson. Told me to go by the funeral, told me where and when. Told me to make sure I rode the bike by so he would see me. Yeah, I was involved.”

  “And the funeral for Admiral Schmidt? He told you to go to that one, too?”

  “Yeah. Said it was important that he saw me there, too.

  Said it was part of the plan. Said old geezers like that, they live too long. Said he was just helping nature along.”

  “But you did not help to kill them?”

  Jack took a deep breath, as if suddenly realizing how much he had told her. His eyes started blinking. “Look at me, man,” he sobbed. “Just fuckin’ look at me. Look where I fucking live. How I live. I’m a fucking drunk, just like my mother. For the same reason my mother was a drunk.

  And he don’t give two shits and never has. So, yeah, I helped Smith with that deal at your place. But that’s ‘ all. Whatever he did to those other two, he did what he did. None of my fuckin’ business. Rest of the time, I’m usually right here, man, boiled out of my fuckin’ gourd, okay, man?” He stopped and took another hit. “And I’ll tell you something else,” he said as he tried to get up. “He comes around again, tonight, tomorrow, whatever, asking? I’m gonna sober right up and say yes, man.

  Whatever the fuck it is, what’ ever the fuck he needs, he’s got it from me, man.”

  “But don’t you understand? You’re involved in murder.”

  Jack, halfway to his hands and knees now, just shook his head. His face was red flushed, his eyes on fire. “Don’t give a fuck. Because he’s gonna do what I always wanted to do, bring that pretty bastard down, man. Far as I’m concerned, that pretty bastard murdered my mother and fucked me up for life. Mr. Smith, man? He’s the fuckin’ Lone Ranger and I’m fuckin’ Tonto, man. Now why don’t you just leave me the hell alone, okay?”

  He flopped down onto the sleeping bag, his face hidden from her, his shoulders shaking. Karen stared at him for a long moment and then backed out of the trailer. She eased the hammer down on the .45 and put it back in her purse as she walked back throu
gh the weeds to the Explorer. She unlocked the car, got in, and started it up, glancing down at the phone when it beeped. Three calls in the system for her.

  Uh-oh, that had to be Train. Sleeping Beauty had awakened and had probably gone hermantile when Hiroshi told him where she had gone. She decided to wait until she got back to fill him in.

  She steered the Explorer carefully down the dirt hillside, keeping the bag close and open in case some of the locals at the other trailer decided to come out to play. The .45 lay right at the top, exuding a comforting whiff of cordite into the area of the 4front seat.

  Train was just getting into his car when he heard the sound of Karen’s Explorer coming up the drive. He took a deep breath and got back out, trying not to slam the door. Control, he said. This is the time for lots and lots of control. He saw Hiroshi standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his face a wooden mask. Train had awakened at eleven and realized he had slept long past eight. Upon going downstairs anding out that Karen had left three hours earlier, he had tually yelled at Hiroshi for not waking him up. Then he banged around the house for a while, worried more than he would have thought possible, trying to decide whether or not to go after her or to wait for word. He had placed three calls to her car phone, to no avail. Anything could be happening out there. Then he had called the maintenance department at Quantico airfield and found out that Jack Sherman had not reported for work-which meant that Karen had probably gone out on her own to Cherry Hill, which was no place for a woman alone, even if she wasn’t the target of some mad bastard. That had settled it, and he was on his way when she returned to the house. He tried to neutralize his face when she got out of the car.

  “I got him to talk,” she said in a rush. “I know you’re mad at me for going off alone, but I got him to talk. Now let’s go inside where we can talk privately.” She smiled up at him’, took his arm, and steered him toward the house.

  Damn the woman, he thought, his anger melting when she grabbed his arm, but he went along, ignoring Kyoko’s efforts to erase the smile that was on her face as they went into the house. Look at Kyoko. Damned women were all in it together.

  Train got up and began to pace around in the study after Karen finished telling him about her encounter with Jack Sherman. She was sitting on the couch with that oversized handbag at her feet.

  “So he admits he was in on what happened to you out in Great Falls?” he asked.

  “Yes. He denies having anything to do with what happened to Elizabeth or Galen Schmidt. But only because Galantz didn’t ask him to. He did appear at the funerals on Galantz’s instructions.”

  Train nodded. “We’re going to have to find out what the historical connection is between Galantz and Sherman’s son.

  You said they first met at recon school?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “That, we can check out. I’m sure Galantz was there as an instructor or something. I wonder if Jack Sherman’s BCD had anything to do with Galantz.”

  “There’s something I haven’t talked about yet,” Karen said in a tone of voice that made Train turn around. She told him about her outburst with the .45.

  Train grinned in spite of himself. “Wahoo,” he said. “I think I’d like to have seen that, Counselor.”

  But Karen wasn’t laughing. “I think I wanted to kill him.

  Hell, I know I wanted to kill him. Train, I’ve never had an impulse like that before.”

  He went over to her and sat down on the couch, he said, reaching for her hand. “If not for some fortuitous accidents the other night, you’d be dead now, and that little piece of crap up_ there on Cherry Hill wouldn’t be giving it a second thought. You’re upset to find yourself getting down to his level, but remember, he’s the one who provoked it.

  Now, where’s the -forty-five?”

  She reached into the bag and produced the Colt, holding it by the slide.

  At that moment, Hiroshi knocked on the study door and opened it to report that lunch was ready.

  When he saw the huge automatic in her hand, he stopped in mid-sentence.

  “It’s okay, Hiroshi,” Train said hurriedly. “Tell Kyoko we’ll be right in.”

  Hiroshi withdrew carefully while Train slipped out the magazine and worked the slide to eject the chambered round. “We need to clean and reload this thing,” he said. “Maybe I shouldn’t be carrying it,” she said. “I don’t have a license or anything.”

  Train laughed at that, kissed her on the cheek, and went over to the shotgun cabinet in the corner of the study and began fishing around in a drawer. “Given what’s been going down, I’d feel better if you did have it with you. A concealed-weapons-violation beats a body bag every time.”

  He did a quick cleaning job on the pistol and then found a box of .45 auto to reload the clip. But when he turned around, Karen had her face in her hands. He finished up ith the weapon and went back to her and held her for a w minutes, telling her it was okay, that nobody got hurt, and next time to take him with her when she went out into the weeds.

  Over lunch, they kicked around her idea about telling Mcnair about Jack Sherman and what he had said. Train was for telling the police what they knew. “Mcnair’s been pretty straight with us,” he said. “We owe it to him to return the favor. At the very least, the cops will want to sweat young Jackie boy, because they’ll think he can lead them to Galantz.”

  Karen wasn’t so sure now. “I don’t think Jack Sherman can lead himself to the bathroom most of the time. The cops aren’t even going to get close to Galantz through him.”

  “But he admitted being part of a kidnap and attempted murder-namely, yours.”

  “I know. But right now, that’s hearsay. If you could have seen him, Train, you’d know that he is nothing but a pawn.

  Galantz has some kind of hold on him, but otherwise he’s a dysfunctional mess. Besides, there’s another problem with telling the cops about Jack.”

  “Which is?”

  “If they pick him up, either they or we have to tell Admiral Carpenter that Sherman’s son is in fact mixed up in the homicides. Right now, they have Sherman sidelined on a selection board just because there’s a whiff of scandal.

  But if this gets out, they’ll force him to resign and take his homicidal relatives with him.”

  Train was silent for a moment. “Yeah, but you’re forgetting that Sherman himself is missing. His goose may already be cooked. Let’s do this: Let’s talk to Mcnair, tell him about the son, and lay out the political ramifications for him. That way, we’re straight with him, but maybe we-can mitigate any collateral damage done to Shehnan senior. I think we can convince Mcnair that his real target is still Galantz and not some whacked-out kid.”

  “And what do we tell Admiral Carpenter?”

  Train shrugged. “That’s a tougher question. The good news is that we’re supposed to be sitting here on the sidelines. I don’t see that we need to talk to Carpenter at All right now. We’re better off talking to Mcnair first-before something happens to that kid.”

  “Happens? Like what?”

  “I don’t know. But if galantz finds out that you and Jack Sherman have had a quiet little chat, Jackie boy might become surplus gear.”

  Karen was folding her napkin, staring pensively across the dining room.

  “What I’d really like to do is find Admiral Sherman,” she said.

  Kyoko came in to clear the table and Train suggested they go for a walk around the grounds before calling Mcnair. As they were stepping out through the front door, the telephone began ringing. Train paused to see who it was. Hiroshi came through the main hallway. “Detective Mcnair,” he announced with a stiff face. Train realized he would have to deal with the problem of injured feelings before the day was over. Karen followed him back to the study.

  “Mcnair,” Train said. “We were talking about calling you.’ “Trouble?”

  Mcnair asked.

  “Not exactly. But we’ve located a new player in the Sherman puzzle-Admiral Sherman�
��s son. We need to talk.”

  “What’s the connection?”

  “He’s been helping Galantz.”

  There was a moment of silence on the line. “You told your Navy people about this?”

  “Not yet. I figured this is first and foremost police business. “

  “Good thinking,” Mcnair said.

  Karen was trying to tell him something. “Hang on a’ sec.

  What?” he asked.

  “Tell him we need to find Admiral Sherman,” she said.

  Train relayed her message.

  “Believe it or not, that’s why I was calling,” Mcnair said. “How do you two feel about making a little drive2”

  “Like where?”

  “Like to a Saint Martha’s Hospice Center, about five miles outside of a little town called Hamey, Maryland, right up on the Pennsylvania border.”

  “A hospice center?” he asked.-Karen was staring at him.

  “What the hell, Mcnair?”

  “I’ve got an all-day court deal today,” Mcnair said.

  “The hospice center is right on the main drag. I think it’s Route 134, just north of Hamey. Meet me there, say, five P.m. Give me the number for your ear phone in case I get delayed. Commander Lawrence is with you, right?”

  “Yup.’ “Good. Keep it that way. I’ll see you there at five.” Train agreed and hung up. He told Karen what Mcnair had said.

  “A hospice center?” she said.

  “That’s what the man said. On the Pennsylvania border.

  Look, it’s almost one. This will take-what, three, three and a half hours? Why don’t we get on the road now, get north of D.C. before all the traffic starts? But first, I need to mend some fences with Hiroshi and tell him where we’re going.”

  They found the St. Martha’s Hospice Center with no difficulty, arriving just after 4:30. The sky had turned overcast and colder during the afternoon, and the air smelled like rain when they parked in front of what appeared to be the main building. St. Martha’s had the look of a private sanatorium. There was a brick wall surrounding nearly five acres of wooded grounds, and all the buildings were covered in old ivy. The main building, which was distinguished from the rest by the fact that it had three stories, had a granite Gothic arch entranceway capped by a plain marble cross set back into the arch. There were several cars in the parking lot but no obvious police cars.