by Joseph Flynn
Courtesy of: James J. McGill.
The guy was carrying him, at least part of the time. Not that he was going to complain. He stuck the card in his pocket, sat down, and picked up the phone. He called the Courtyard Inn off Route 50 near Landover, Maryland. An operator told him he wanted to talk with their special-events coordinator, Mary Kay Kinsley. She connected him.
“You recently held a jobs seminar,” Welborn said. “I believe it was called Command Careers after the Military.”
“Yes, we did,” Ms. Kinsley said brightly. “Were you a participant? Did you get a great new job?”
“I’m a lieutenant, ma’am. I don’t command anyone, and I’m still on active duty.”
“Oh. Well, maybe someday.”
“Until then,” Welborn resumed, “perhaps you can help me with some information.”
“Whatever I can.”
Welborn asked if anyone representing American Aviation was in attendance at the seminar. Mary Kay looked to see if that was the case.
“Why, yes, a Mr. Anson Merriman.”
“Are you allowed to divulge the names of military personnel who participated in the event?”
“I’m really not supposed to. Some of them might change their minds and stay in service, you know.”
“And job-hunting wouldn’t look good if their commanding officers found out.” Hence Colonel Linberg in her civvies. The others, too, no doubt.
“Exactly.”
“Thank you very much, Ms. Kinsley.”
She told Welborn to stop by the next time he was in the area. He sounded cute, and she’d like to buy him a drink. Welborn thanked her but said he was all but engaged. He intended that as a polite excuse, but he wondered if there wasn’t a kernel of truth to it.
With an inward sigh, he thought it would serve him right if Kira was out shopping for a ring right now. Turning his thoughts to more unpleasant matters, he now had a much better understanding of what motivated Captain Dexter Cowan. Someone had convinced him that his charm and good looks had carried him as high in the military as he would ever rise. So why not take a plum job with a defense contractor that would pay him ever so much more money? The signing bonus alone would be enough to set him up in high style, e.g. his Viper. All he had to do to earn his new position was fornicate with the lovely Colonel Linberg — and later accuse her of adultery.
Hardly gentlemanly behavior but not exactly tough duty.
Only things had gotten complicated as they so often did. Welborn was sure of that. Otherwise, why had Carina Linberg also attended the Command Career seminar? How could she hold down a fancy civilian job if she was serving a sentence for adultery in Fort Leavenworth?
The explanation, as Welborn saw it, was that Captain Cowan had compromised his mission by falling in love with Colonel Linberg. Welborn had damn near done the same thing, and he was only investigating the woman, not sleeping with her. Cowan would have had to be made of titanium to be Carina’s lover and not melt under the heat.
So the two of them had planned a double cross of General Altman.
Carina’s other lover, as the president saw it.
The general, who’d been on the phone to one of the Merrimans when Welborn had first met him, was also planning for his postmilitary employment. But now that Welborn thought about it, someone of his rank wouldn’t attend a job fair at a roadside hotel. His sinecure would be arranged in a far more elegant and private setting.
“You’re thinking again, aren’t you?”
Welborn looked up and saw Kira in the doorway.
“One of my failings,” he said. “You’ll have to get used to it.”
“I thought we could go to the mess and get some coffee.”
“I have to make a phone call.”
“I’ll bring the coffee back here.”
He wondered if sex would continue to make her solicitous of him. He didn’t want to spoil either the sex or the solicitousness but … “After the call, I have to go out.”
“Oh.”
She frowned and started to leave, but Welborn caught her before she got away. He kissed her, only briefly, but long enough to raise the eyebrows of two women from the clerical pool who were passing by.
“People will talk,” Kira whispered.
“I’m sure they already do.”
That possibility scared Kira. She fled. Welborn kept his laughter to himself so he wouldn’t raise her ire. Any more than he already had.
He returned to his desk and made his phone call to the Metro police. When the president had removed him from the working structure of the OSI, she’d effectively eliminated any chance he could ask for backup from his own agency. He couldn’t pick and choose when he wanted to be one of the guys. But the way things were playing out, he needed have someone in his corner.
“Lieutenant Bullard,” a voice answered his call.
“Lieutenant Welborn Yates calling from the White House.”
“Do tell. I was just about to call you. We found your car.”
“You did?”
“Yes, indeed. It’s being checked by our forensics people right now.”
“I think I know who was behind the wheel,” Welborn told her.
“And you called to share. How nice.”
“I’d like to get together with you, Lieutenant.”
“The feeling’s mutual, Lieutenant.”
By the time Welborn got to Annapolis and entered Ruggers, the place was packed for lunch. Most of the diners were civilians of the yuppie stratum, but many were off-duty naval officers. Their haircuts and erect postures, even while seated, were dead giveaways. So was the fact that they hadn’t peeled the labels off their bottles of Aviator Lager. Scanning the room, Welborn didn’t see Dexter Cowan among their number. Several of the Navy guys and a handful of civilian ladies were looking back at him. Welborn was wearing his Air Force uniform.
A familiar figure waved to him from behind the bar. Carleen. The friendly barmaid who’d warned him of the impending arrival of the TV crew on his last visit. She pointed out an empty seat at the bar to him. He quickly crossed the room before anyone else could claim it.
“How you doin’, honey?” she asked. “Leave that little redhead at home today?”
“She’s darning my socks,” Welborn said.
Carleen laughed. “Not her. I know the type. Suck your toes, yeah. Darn your socks, no.”
Welborn quickly reviewed: no, toes were among the few things that hadn’t been sucked the other night. Not that he would have objected.
Carleen asked, “Get you a beer and a burger? Or you want a menu?”
“I’m working today, came here hoping to find you.”
He was seated between the station where the waitresses picked up their drink orders and a civilian couple who only had eyes for each other. Meanwhile, Carleen was giving him the eye, trying to determine the nature of his interest before she said the wrong thing.
He helped her out. Put a headshot of Captain Cowan on the bar.
“This guy come in here by any chance?”
“Dex? He’s been coming here for years. Anytime he’s nearby and off duty.”
“Life of the party?”
“As often as not.”
“So he has friends who come here, too.”
“Sure.”
“Any of them here now? I’m interested in anyone who’s a close buddy.”
Carleen was getting the idea by now that this could be serious and frowned.
“Is Dex in trouble?” She looked at his picture again.
From her tone of her voice and the way she looked at the photo, Welborn knew that Carleen’s feelings for Cowan were based on his being more than a good tipper. Neither Arlene Cowan nor Carina Linberg was a sweet, simple girl, but Carleen fit the bill perfectly. He put the picture away.
“I’m afraid he is,” Welborn said.
“He’s a good guy,” Carleen asserted.
“In many ways, I’m sure he is,” Welborn agreed.
“Is it re
ally bad?”
“I suspect there are people grieving.” Assuming Mrs. Altman had family.
“Well, shit.” Carleen’s chin quivered. “The guy you want is right over there.”
She nodded in the direction of a booth against the far wall. Three Navy men, two on one side of the table, single guy on the other. All three had their eyes on Welborn.
“The one by himself,” Carleen said. “His name’s Tony Sheridan. Dex’s best friend.”
“Rank?”
“Commander.”
“The other two?”
A pair of lieutenant commanders. Welborn didn’t insult Carleen by leaving money for the information. He simply said he was sorry for her pain and thanked her for her help. Then he crossed the room. Sheridan and friends never took their eyes off of him.
Welborn stopped in front of their booth and showed them his ID. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I’m Lieutenant Welborn Yates, Air Force OSI. I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch.”
“Then make it brief,” one of the Navy subordinates told him crisply.
Welborn ignored the tone. “Commander Sheridan, I need you to come with me, sir.”
“Why is that, Lieutenant?” Sheridan asked.
“For questioning, sir.”
Both of the commander’s companions glared at Welborn.
Other diners were starting to look at them as well.
“Regarding what?”
Sheridan was doing a nice job of keeping his voice down, but the volume of conversation in the restaurant was dropping, too. A drama was being acted out, and people were paying attention. There wasn’t even any clanking of silverware.
“Regarding a homicide, sir, and your possible role in it.”
“Just a goddamn minute, buddy!” The lieutenant commander nearest Welborn started to rise. Welborn shoved him back onto his seat.
Looking at the man, taking control of the situation as he’d been taught at Glynco, he told the Navy officer, “Right now, you’re not involved in this, sir. But please remember, I’m a sworn federal agent. Try to interfere with me again, and I’ll arrest you. Your military career will be over.”
As his table companions glared at Welborn, Sheridan got to his feet.
“Put a hand on me, Lieutenant, I’ll file charges against you. I’ll get my attorney, then report to your office with him. I imagine we’ll have an interesting conversation with your commanding officer. Where do you work, Andrews?”
“No, sir,” Welborn told him. “I work at the White House, but I don’t know that the president will have time to see you.”
Sheridan paled, realizing he was in more trouble than he could have imagined. He muttered an expletive and started for the door. Welborn didn’t chase, he followed. Certain that Sheridan’s demeanor betrayed an awareness of guilt, his own.
Outside Ruggers’ door, Rockelle Bullard was waiting with a pair of Maryland state troopers. They brought Sheridan up short. Welborn took his arm from behind.
“You’re in a world of hurt, Commander,” he said. “Unless, of course, you choose to cooperate with me and with Lieutenant Bullard of Washington Metro Homicide. You think you might like to do that, sir? So I won’t have to arrest you here and now.”
The fight had gone out of the man. He rode back to Washington without saying a word, but he heard Rockelle tell Welborn, “You were right about Captain Cowan. We found his fingerprints in your car. He wiped the steering wheel and the door latches but he forgot the rear view mirror.”
“It was all a joke,” Sheridan said. “That’s what Dex told me.” Having been Mirandized, he was making his statement in front of a videocam in a Metro PD interrogation room.
“The joke was on me?” Welborn asked. “It was my car.”
“Dex didn’t give me a name. He just said it was some Air Force twerp.”
Welborn didn’t bat an eye at the slur.
“That’s why I was keeping an eye on you at Ruggers today,” Sheridan continued. “Your uniform, I thought you might be the guy, and you didn’t look like you thought the joke was funny.”
“Grand theft auto’s a felony,” Rockelle pointed out. “And if you knew Captain Cowan was going to steal a car, didn’t matter whose it was. You’re an accessory.”
The commander’s face tightened. “Look, I didn’t think Dex was going to keep the damn car. It was just a shitty little Honda; he has a Viper, for God’s sake. I thought he’d let the guy sweat it for a few days then tell him where could find his car. That’s a felony?”
“Yes, it is,” Rockelle answered. “Some jokes you don’t get to play on people.”
Welborn asked, “Did Cowan say why he wanted to play this joke?”
Sheridan looked mad at himself. “He said he was out running with you, and you made him look bad. How’s that for stupid?”
“You or him?” Rockelle wanted to know.
“Both.”
“He never mentioned any other reason?” Welborn asked.
“No.”
“You’re aware of Captain Cowan’s role in the investigation of Colonel Carina Linberg for the possible bringing of a charge of adultery?”
Sheridan folded his arms across his chest. “I know Dex was scr … having relations with her.”
“Did he tell the colonel from the outset that he is a married man?” Welborn asked.
“I don’t know,” Sheridan said.
“Was Captain Cowan aware that he was sharing Colonel Linberg with another lover, another military officer?”
That one caught Sheridan by surprise. He laughed.
“Dex Cowan share a woman with another man?”
“His wife was sharing him with another woman, albeit unknowingly. At least initially.”
“Yeah, well, that’d be the only way Dex would share, too. Unknowingly. If he found out different, he’d break it off.”
“Even if he’d come to have feelings for the woman?” Welborn asked.
“Feelings are what you maybe have for your wife not for your … you know.”
“You boys musta had different wedding vows than I did,” Rockelle said dryly.
“Did you know that Captain Cowan was resigning from the Navy?” Welborn asked.
“Yes … he’s going to work for American Aviation. That’s how he got the money for the Viper.”
“Nice car. You must’ve enjoyed driving it. Is that why you helped him?”
“Damn right. I thought we were just having a little fun.”
“Would you have done it if he’d asked you to drive my car?”
“He did. I told him no. I was going to drive his car or forget it.”
“How do you think Captain Cowan got his new civilian job?”
Sheridan smirked. “Same way he gets everything. Somebody did him a favor. Thing is, men are almost as easy as women for Dex. To charm, I mean. People just like the fucker. He’s good-looking, he’s smooth. You could be Don Juan on his leftovers. I know for a fact he’s set up superior officers with some of the best-looking women they ever had. His reputation is servicewide. Hell, I’d be surprised if the Boy Scouts didn’t know about him.”
“He’s helped you find companionship, too?”
The commander’s smile grew smugger. “Yeah, he has.”
Welborn looked over at Rockelle and she popped the $64,000 question.
“So why would he want to kill Cheryl Altman with Lieutenant Yates’s car?”
Sheridan’s smile vanished, and his face got tight again. “I don’t know anything about that. You think I’m going to help somebody commit murder just so I can drive his car?”
“And eat his leftovers,” Rockelle said. “Maybe Captain Cowan promised you something else, too. Like your own fancy civilian job.”
Sheridan denied it. But while the homicide detective and the commander matched stares, Welborn thought maybe a big-money job was exactly the promise Cowan had made to Carina Linberg. Sure would explain why she was at that Command Careers seminar.
In the same room with Anso
n Merriman.
Welborn left Commander Sheridan in Rockelle Bullard’s safekeeping for the time being and returned to his office at the White House. He tried to reach Cowan at his Pentagon office and at his home in Virginia. He didn’t pick up at either place. Next, Welborn tapped out Carina Linberg’s home phone number. He half expected that she wouldn’t answer either, and he’d have to make the drive out to —
She answered on the sixth ring. “Hello.”
“Colonel Linberg, this is Lieutenant Yates calling from the White House.”
“Always a pleasure, Lieutenant,” she responded dryly, “wherever you’re calling from.”
“Yes, ma’am. Have you seen Captain Dexter Cowan recently?”
“No.”
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“No.”
“And you do remember, ma’am, that it’s a crime to lie to a federal officer?”
“Oh, yes. I’m very clear on that.”
Welborn frowned, trying to decide to what extent Carina Linberg had been working with Dexter Cowan. To what extent, if any, he should trust her.
“Ma’am, I must advise you to call me promptly should you hear from Captain Cowan or should he approach you. Failure to do so would only add to your troubles.”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want that, would I?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Would you care to tell me your interest in finding the captain?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Will that be all, Lieutenant?”
“One more thing, ma’am. Please remember you’re under orders not to leave the area.”
She hung up on him.
Chapter 31
Kenny McGill was seriously aggrieved that his younger sister was going to get a ride in a Marine helicopter to Washington, and he wasn’t. For her part, Abbie McGill told her father that she would feel less comfortable with his leaving her behind at Camp David even though she knew she would continue to be safe from those who wished to do her harm.
McGill had told his two older children a lie.
“Caitie has a toothache.”
