by Doug Beason
Sitting at the edge of the blue block, she wore a brown, heavy coat, a white knit hat, and a scarf wrapped around her neck. She spotted him and shrugged.
Rod had called her the night before and related how the CU staff had gone nuts when they discovered their mascot, Ralphie, had disappeared. When the Academy officials were contacted, the Wing had been threatened with an infinite number of tours unless Ralphie was coughed up, unharmed. Somehow, the hostage mascot mysteriously appeared out of nowhere and was turned over to CU before the football game, but it was still to be seen what shape the animal was in.
Suddenly, a cheer came from the CU side. Bursting through a paper wall held up by the fans, the CU buffalo ran onto the field, secured on either side by ropes held by cheerleaders.
A gaggle of cadets ran behind the buffalo, pumping their fists high in the air. Three of them carried a giant inflatable hamburger bun. More cadets spilled onto the field and carried a giant ketchup bottle and a mustard bottle. The bun opened and closed as it drew close to the buffalo, and a roar went up from the cadets in the stand as they started chanting, “Food, food, food!”
Rod breathed a sigh of relief and glanced over at Julie. She held a thumb up in the air; the buffalo was still alive.
She started waving him over. He gave her a quizzical look.
“Come here!” she mouthed. She pointed to the edge of the cadet’s seating section.
Rod started moving through a sea of cadets, stepping on seats and squeezing past classmates until he reached the side of the cadet section. Officers and civilians crowded next to stands, a mass of blue and silver clothing, clapping and chanting a spirit cheer.
Julie stepped from out of nowhere and threw her arms around his neck. His face grew red at her overt display of affection. He tried to twist away, but she moved her mouth close to his ear.
Her breath was warm and her voice husky. “I’m so lucky to have you!” She gave him a drawn-out sloppy kiss, then melted back in the crowd.
Grinning, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced around; his elation turned to horror as he spotted Captain Whitney moving rapidly toward him from across the stands. Rod felt his stomach grow sour. Whitney would probably throw the book at him for public display of affection, for a seemingly insignificant, but to the officers serious, infraction. Of all people to catch him, and at a football game at that!
Rod drew himself up and stepped away from the bleachers as he prepared to meet his fate.
As Captain Whitney approached Rod saw he wore the Senior Officer of the Day armband, signifying he was directly accountable to the Commandant for today’s assigned duties. Rod briefly wondered if Whitney had been stalking him and waiting for something like this to happen.
He drew to attention as Whitney walked up. “Good afternoon, sir.”
Whitney stopped inches away. “I say, Cadet Simone. I’ve been looking for you since early this morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
Whitney lifted his chin. “I assume you wouldn’t have been so hard to find if you weren’t engaging in that egregious PDA.”
Rod kept silent.
“I’ll pursue that later,” Whitney said. “But for now, I’ve been tasked by the Superintendent to take you to the El Paso County courthouse. Step lively now.” He started to walk away.
“Excuse me, sir?” Rod felt as if he’d been drenched with a bucket of ice water. The courthouse? For PDA?
Whitney turned. He studied Rod for a moment. “Major General McCluney has been arrested for murder. His one phone call was to the Superintendent, and he requested that you come to the courthouse.”
O O O
Rod sat in the back of the blue Air Force staff car, thankful that Captain Whitney had procured a driver and had not accompanied him during the thirty-minute drive down to the El Paso County Courthouse. Whitney had pointed out that he could either wear civilian clothes and drive his own car to Colorado Springs, or leave right away by staying in his uniform and using official government transportation authorized by Major General Briggs, the Superintendent.
As they sped through the brown prairie that butted up against the Rampart Range, the airman driving the car kept silent, allowing Rod to run through myriad questions that raced through in his head; he ignored the mountain views of Pikes Peak, Cheyenne Mountain, and the Manitou incline that opened up before him.
The sourness he’d felt in his stomach when Captain Whitney approached now burned throughout his body, not for PDA, but rather because of the gravity of the accusation against his father. He felt weak and his hands cold, clammy.
Had his father really been arrested for murder? That didn’t make sense. And for murdering whom? His father didn’t have any real enemies, except for Mr. Delante, but all the old man did was rant about him, not make any threats. So who could he have possibly have murdered?
He suddenly shivered. What if it had been his mother?
He pushed the thought out of his mind; that made even less sense. Unless … unless Mary had found out about Hank’s affair in Washington, DC, and when she confronted him things had somehow gotten out of hand. She would stand toe-to-toe against anyone, and perhaps that knowledge had been the catalyst that set off a deadly argument. She wouldn’t have backed down, and perhaps in his anger, Hank may have struck her.
He’d seen how angry the old man could get, like that time they’d fought in the plane, and they had very nearly crashed into the Academy grounds.
But it had been Hank who had calmed the situation, not he. And despite all that, Rod had to admit that his mother and father really loved each other. Which was why Hank’s affair struck Rod as proving that he just couldn’t trust the old man.
And now this.
Did he really know his adoptive father at all?
Rod was pulled out of his thoughts as they slowed before a large stone building in downtown Colorado Springs. Situated at 215 South Tejon Street, the massive courthouse fit architecturally with Victorian houses to the north, as well as the statue of General Palmer, Colorado Springs’ founder. A small crowd of men and women milled around the front stairs, some carrying cameras.
The driver stopped and turned to the back seat. “I don’t know why those people are out there; the Courthouse is usually closed on Saturdays, so you’ll have to use the side entrance. I’ll wait for you in the lot across the street, sir. Take as much time as you need.”
Rod felt his heart race as he opened the door. “Thank you, airman. But you don’t have to call me sir. I’m not an officer.”
“You will be soon.” He put the car into gear. “And good luck, sir.”
Rod stepped out of the car and straightened his hat, feeling short of breath as he didn’t know what to expect: was Hank being held in a cell? Would he be handcuffed? He walked briskly past two men standing at the corner and entered the building through the side entrance, opening wide wooden doors so heavy that it seemed as though they weighed as much as the airman’s staff car.
He stepped inside to a long corridor with white, twelve foot ceilings and a floor decorated with white and black marble squares; voices echoed down the hall. A sign reading “Marriage and Driver’s Licenses, Bottom Floor” pointed to a stairwell on his right.
He scanned a building directory. There was no indication of anything having to do with the police, only court business. But his dad had been arrested and he distinctly remembered Captain Whitney directing him to the El Paso County courthouse; he should have asked why he needed to go to the courthouse and not the police headquarters, or perhaps even a substation.
He debated returning to the staff car, but decided to see if anyone was around who could help. He tried several doors down the hall; they were all locked. He jiggled door after door until he finally found one that swung open. He entered the room. A white-haired woman wearing a blue sweater and wire-rimmed glasses sat behind a desk, pulling long knitting needles through a half-completed wool afghan.
She looked over her glasses and smiled. “We’re
closed on Saturdays, young man. But may I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Cadet First class Simone. I was told that my father was here. He was … taken to the courthouse.” He felt his face grow warm at saying aloud the reality of why he was here.
She put down her needles. “Do you mean General McCluney?”
Rod felt miserable that the lady knew such a high-ranking offer had been arrested. “Yes, ma’am.” Who else knew?
She stood. “My word. He’s the only reason the judge was asked to come in today. Your father’s friend, General Briggs, certainly has a lot of influence. I tell you what: there’s a waiting room next door. Stay there and I’ll tell an escort that you’re here.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Rod left and opened the next door down the hall. Grey plastic chairs with metal legs were pushed against the wall, and in the middle of the room on a coffee table were old copies of National Geographic and Saturday Evening Post; an ashtray was filled with crushed out cigarettes. Closing the door behind him he elected not to sit, but instead paced back and forth in the small waiting room.
Rod twisted his cap in his hands and tried to calm himself, his blood pounding in his ears. His mind couldn’t slow down as he jumped from thought to thought. Where was his mother? And why had Hank called the Superintendent instead of his mother, unless he’d been accused of murdering her? The scenarios almost drove him crazy. No wonder Captain Whitney had seemed to smirk when he’d closed the staff car door and sent Rod on his way—
“Cadet Simone?” A tired looking policeman with grey, thinning hair stood in the doorway.
“Yes, sir?
“Come with me.”
Rod followed the man once more through a maze of corridors; the officer stopped and swung open a door. “Here you go.” He motioned with his head for Rod to enter, then took a seat on a chair facing the door.
Rod stood for a moment, took a deep breath, and stepped inside, dizzy with anticipation—
Hank sat at a long metal table next to his mother. Plastic cups, a pitcher of water, and what looked like the remains of a sandwich were pushed to one end of the table; it looked as though his parents had been in the room for a while.
Mary stood when Rod entered. Her hair was in rollers, and she was wearing bedroom slippers and a long, black raincoat that covered up her green nightgown. “Oh, Rod. They found you.”
Rod gave her a hug then turned to his father. Hank was dressed in his red-and-white checkered pajamas, slippers, and red bathrobe. Rod’s breathing slowed. “Are … you all right? What’s going on?”
Hank remained sitting. His face was flush and it took an effort to speak, as though he was attempting to keep his temper. “We need to get going.” He narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing in uniform?”
“Captain Whitney told me—”
Hank struggled to his feet. “Whitney? The arrogant young officer from Air University? How did he find out about this?”
“It’s a long story, dad. He had a staff car drive me here—”
“What! An official Air Force car? Is it still here?”
“Yes, sir. The driver is waiting in a deserted lot across the street—”
Hank pointed his cane at the door. “Get out there right this minute and release the driver. Tell him we don’t need the car.”
“But, Dad, Captain Whitney said we could take it back—”
“Did you hear me? Right now!” He motioned with his cane for Rod to leave. “And don’t speak to anyone else. Understand?”
Rod glanced at his mother.
She pulled her raincoat tight and nodded. “Aye, quickly son.”
Rod started to retort but clamped his mouth shut and moved out the door. This was all too strange. His father arrested for murder, and now, both his parents in their nightclothes? And if that wasn’t enough, they weren’t anywhere near a police station.
The policeman sitting in the chair outside the room nodded when he left, then turned back to reading a book.
As he walked down the black and white marbled corridor he wondered what had set his father off; maybe it was the stress of being arrested. He thought it was actually quite thoughtful of General Briggs to offer up the staff car, and the driver didn’t seem to mind waiting. So what was the big deal?
He stepped out of the building and pushed past several people who were approaching the courthouse; some carried cameras and others clutched small notebooks. He hurried across the street to the parking lot where the airman leaned against the blue staff car. As Rod approached, the airman flicked a cigarette onto the asphalt.
“Ready, sir?”
“Change of plans,” Rod said. “We don’t need you to wait around. Go ahead and return to the Academy.”
“Are you sure? It’s no problem.”
“Go ahead. Besides, I bet you’re rather be doing something else on a Saturday afternoon.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He ducked into the car and started the engine.
As Rod turned back for the courthouse he noticed that in fact the parking lot was not deserted; it was rapidly filling with cars. A crowd of people had gathered by the side entrance of the courthouse, and Rod saw more than a few Press cards stuck in people’s hats.
As he approached the side entrance, one of the reporters trotted up. The man looked over Rod’s uniform. “Cadet McCluney?”
“No, I’m not. I’m—” Rod stopped speaking, remembering his father’s admonishment. “Excuse, me.” He pushed past and made his way through the crowd at the door. Some held cameras topped with large flash bulbs, and seemed to be jostling for the best position to take photographs of people as they left the courthouse.
Once inside the building he spotted several more men and a few women lined up against the wall with Press cards pinned to their jackets. They spotted him and immediately surged his way.
“Cadet!”
“Why are you here?”
“Wait! Aren’t you General McCluney’s son?”
Drawing in a deep breath Rod lowered his head and bulldozed his way through the gauntlet. He opened a far door down the hall and followed the maze of corridors back to his parents, and only raised his head when he approached the room. The police guard stayed in his chair and waved him on in.
Hank stood in the corner, supported by his cane; Mary looked up as she sat at the table.
Hank lifted his chin. “Well?”
“The staff car’s gone. But reporters are coming out of the woodwork. It’s like they descended all at once.”
“Did you speak to any of them?” Hank said.
Rod shook his head. “No, sir. But what’s going on? Are you really under arrest?” He looked around the bare room. “This doesn’t seem like a very secure place to keep a prisoner.”
Hank glanced at Mary. “I’m not under arrest. At least not after the arraignment.”
“I don’t understand. Was someone really murdered?”
“Yes, there was.” Hank hobbled his way around the table. He lowered himself onto a chair. “Tony Rafelli.”
“Who’s he?”
“A reporter for the Denver Post. They found his body three days ago, when we were in Washington, DC—supposedly on our property, at the bottom of the ravine that runs behind our house. He was killed with a shotgun blast.”
Rod felt his breath quicken. “You don’t mean—” Mom’s shotgun!
“I’m sure that’s what they think,” Hank said, finishing Rod’s unspoken thought. “It’s obvious I’m being set up.”
“But what was Rafelli doing on your property?”
Hank narrowed his eyes. “How should I know? You tell me, lad. We didn’t even return from Washington until late last night.”
A sharp knock at the door startled them. A gaunt man in a brown suit, yellow shirt, and a dark green tie entered the room. He wore a lopsided smile and nodded to Rod’s mother. “Mrs. McCluney, General.” Noticing Rod for the first time he frowned. “Who the hell are you?”
Rod straightened. “Cadet
First class Roderick Simone, sir.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I invited him,” Hank said coldly. “I contacted him with the one phone call you allowed me.”
“You called Major General Briggs, not your son.”
“And General Briggs contacted both the judge who arraigned me as well as my son. Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Moore?”
The man looked Rod up and down. “No, I suppose not.”
Hank swiveled away from the table and placed both hands on his cane. “We’ve been up since five o’clock this morning: roused out of bed, taken to the police substation, interrogated, undergone arraignment, and supposedly released. I’ve reached the end of my patience. You’re the Assistant DA—I demand you tell us what is going on. Or should I ask those reporters waiting outside the building?”
Mr. Moore reddened. “You’re a very lucky man, General. Unusually lucky.” He slapped a sheaf of papers on the desk. “The judge is releasing you without bail under your own recognizance—”
“The judge told my husband that two hours ago!” Mary said.
Moore ignored her and kept on. “You will be informed when a trial date is chosen, and upon signing these papers you are free to go. I can’t imagine why, with the severity of this crime—”
“Because both you and I know I’ve been set up,” Hank said.
“That’s what you say, General. We suspect you exacted revenge on Tony Rafelli for initiating a congressional investigation, all because of some courageous articles he wrote exposing your illegal dealings in the Academy construction project.”
Rod stepped forward as he felt his face grow red. “That’s not true!”
“Shut up, kid,” Moore said.
Hank rose from his chair and pointed his cane at Moore. “Do not speak to my son in that manner.” He spoke to Rod while keeping his eyes fixed on the assistant DA. “Stand down, Rod.” He lowered his cane and said in a quiet voice, “Those accusations are false, Mr. Moore.”
