So I began gathering my teaching materials and cramming them into my legal case. Happily, I was teaching this class in the Post Community Center, so I only had a short walk through the rain, across a parking lot and a grass field to the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters, more commonly called the BOQ, where I had a small, cramped room.
My stay in the BOQ was supposed to be temporary, until the killer was apprehended, and/or the repairs were completed on my apartment. But temporary was now looking to be a very long time. Do you believe the management company that owned my apartment building actually submitted a motion to the claims court to have me evicted? Personally, I thought their grounds were a little specious and shaky, but their lawyers appeared quite confident that an explosion and gunfight justified a forced relocation.
Still, all in all, I was happy to be back in the Army, happy to be back with people who dress and think like me, and really happy to be out of the firm. I would miss Elizabeth; I had a sort of Mrs. Robinson crush on her. The Jaguar truly was a devastating loss. But I at least had a nice wardrobe even Clapper couldn’t take away.
There was a knock on the door, and a soldier stuck his head inside. He asked, “You done here, Major?”
“Yeah. A few more minutes to pack up,” I informed him.
“Hey, sir, if you don’t mind, I’ve got cleanup detail. I’d like to get an early start. Got a hot date tonight.”
“Be my guest.”
I turned around and began removing the slides from the projector and putting them into my case. He began straightening the chairs and desks behind me.
I said, “How long you been in?”
“Too long. Enlistment ends in two months and I’m not reupping. No sir, I’ve had enough.”
“Yeah? Think twice, pal. I have to tell you the private sector’s not all it’s cut out to be, either.”
“No?”
“Nope. Let me tell you-”
I don’t know how long it was before my eyes popped open. But I found myself seated in a chair, dripping wet, and the back of my head ached terribly. So I reached up to massage it, and wouldn’t you know, it turned out my hands were inconveniently tied behind my back.
He was looking down at me, holding an empty jar in his hand. He smiled and said, “Surprise.”
What an asshole. This was not good. It was after five, Friday, the community center was about empty, and surely the door was locked. So I spent a moment studying him. He was dressed in an Army battle dress uniform, in fact, with the rank of buck sergeant on his collar. His nametag said Smith, and obviously that was phony.
Also, the guy was really huge, big-shouldered, thick arms, thick legs, and a linebacker’s neck. No wonder none of his victims managed to fight him off. He was quite good-looking, actually, strong jaw, straight-nosed, and startling blue eyes. He did not look at all like a murderer, which I’m sure helped him get close to his victims. His head was completely shaved, although that’s not uncommon on Army posts. Also, resting by his left foot was a green duffel bag, and I found myself wondering what was inside it.
I said, “Hey, you don’t want to kill me, pal.”
“No?”
“I’m a great lawyer, and you’re the kind of guy who’s going to need one.”
“Is that the best you can do?”
“Well, what can I say? You cheated. You took me from behind.”
“Oh, now, Drummond. I promised you I’d come.”
“I thought you left.”
“Left for where?”
“Whatever shithole you crawled out of.”
He laughed. “That will cost you one finger.”
“Fine. Middle finger, right hand.” I smiled.
“You’ve got a deal.” He smiled, too. We were really getting along well.
I asked, “Incidentally, who are you?”
“I go by many names. Bill, Tom, Jack, call me whatever you like.”
“Asshole?”
“Well… there goes another finger.”
“Right. Middle digit, left hand.”
“Hey, I admire that. It’s hard to keep a sense of humor in a tense situation like this.”
“Tell me about it.”
He bent closer and studied me. He said, “I promised you could hear my life story, but didn’t I also say I’d be slicing off body parts as we spoke?”
“Yeah. But maybe you should rethink that. I mean, I’ll try my best to be an attentive listener, but if you’re cutting and chatting, I might be a bit distracted.”
He dipped his head to acknowledge this obvious wisdom, but pointed out, “Yeah… but time is sort of an issue for me. Tell you what. You get five questions before I begin.”
“Just five?”
“Yup, just five.” He laughed. “Ooops… now four.”
“Shit.”
“Was that another question?”
“Uh… no.” He laughed again, and I really wanted to get my hands around his thick neck. I said, “Why?”
“Why what? Why do I kill? Why did I kill the women? Why can’t Oliver Stone make a halfway decent movie?” He frowned and added, “Specificity, Counselor. Don’t they teach you assholes that in law schools?”
“Fine. Why did you kill the women?”
“Money. It’s how I make my living. Like you, I used to be a soldier. I was trained to kill for ideology and idiotic political decisions. Well, shit… it got old. The empty wallet got old. So I shifted to the private sector, and set up my own shop. Travel, adventure, great kicks, and the money… you wouldn’t believe the money… it’s great. I offer good, speedy service, reliability, and a guarantee on my work. And you know what?”
“Wha- Uh, no. I don’t know what.”
He laughed. “Nice catch. Two points.”
This was almost comical. I mean, I’m stuck with a psychopathic idiot who thinks he’s Jay Leno. But I knew his type. He had to tell me how smart he was, how very fucking superior, how good he was at the game. Because, like any standard psychopath, for him this was a game. He needed to domineer, to win, at murder, and, I guess, at being a wiseass. I couldn’t touch him at the former, but I could bury his ass at the latter. Yet it struck me that I’d better start pulling my punches-as long as he stayed good-humored and chatty, he wasn’t cutting me into pieces. Right.
I said, “Okay. Why did you kill the women that way?”
“Aw, I knew you’d ask that next. Okay, the deal was Merriweather found those e-mails about Morrow sending them packages. So Lisa had to be first because if I killed Julia or Anne before her, she would’ve known. You see that, right?” He paused, then said, “Hey, smartass, you ever figure out how those three knew each other?”
“No. But I don’t want to waste a question on that.”
He smiled. “You’re learning. But here’s a freebie. They were all in some young women’s professional group. You know, where a bunch of stupid feminist bitches get together once a month to complain about glass ceilings, male-dominant environments, and how hard it is to get ahead without spreading your legs. If a bunch of white male assholes got together and did that, they’d call it discriminatory behavior. What a fucking country, huh?”
I wasn’t really interested in this idiot’s sociological opinions, so I said, “You’re getting away from my question.”
“No, I’ve saved the best for last.” He laughed. “Janet’s last. I figured, she’s not an accountant, or an SEC attorney, so even if she understood the spreadsheets, it would take her the longest to figure out what to do with it.”
I said, “Hey, I’ve got good news.”
“Yeah?”
“Her package was a birthday gift Lisa wanted her to give their father.”
“Yeah?”
“No kidding. A complete misunderstanding. So it ends with me.”
When he did not respond to that, I said, “She’s under tight security, you know. And now there’s no reason to kill her.”
He appeared to be swallowing this, so I added, “You don’t have to add the risk. Good deal for her, good deal for you.”
He shook his head. “Nah, she dies.” He studied my face and asked, “Hey, you got a thing for her?”
“Review the deal, jerk-off. I didn’t say I’d answer your questions.”