But why go to so much trouble in the first place? What was so important about Cecil Whitcomb, a part-time petty thief?
Why the killer wanted Miss Ku silenced was pretty clear. She knew who he was. She could identify him. She could testify against him in court. But not anymore.
The print shop owner knew who he was, too, but he was in less danger. From what we knew so far, there was no way Mr. Chong could link him to the murder of Cecil Whitcomb. So Chong was probably safe.
What about me? Was I safe? Was Ernie safe?
This guy knew who Ernie and I were, but we didn’t know who he was. He was following us. If we closed in on him, he’d probably attempt to take us out, too.
Who was he working for? For himself or for someone else? Was he working for the slicky boys?
We hadn’t heard from the slicky boys since the night they kidnapped us. I’d relayed a message that the secret of the location of their headquarters would remain safe with us. Had it worked?
Maybe.
I had no answers. Only questions that kept piling up, one after the other.
I felt for the. 38 beneath my jacket. Still there.
I studied the faces in the snack bar around me. A lot of them were familiar because I’d seen them around compound dozens of times. Nobody out of the ordinary. Nobody who looked as if he’d ruthlessly tortured and murdered a beautiful woman.
That’s another thing that bothered me. He’d tortured her. What information did she have that he didn’t already know? I thought about it for a long time, but came up with nothing.
When I finished the chow, I wandered around the compound. Walking. Thinking.
If God gave me a chance to redo some things in my life, I’d have a long list. Number one would be canceling out the conversation Ernie and I had with Cecil Whitcomb.
With the approach of night the temperature dropped, but still no threat of snow. Somehow, I found myself in front of the PX. Standing at the taxi stand was Strange. He spotted me and stepped out of line.
When he came near he pulled his cigarette holder out of his mouth.
“Had any strange lately?”
I ignored the question. “Have you got anything for me, Harvey?”
He glanced to either side. “Not here.”
“Okay. Where?”
He nodded toward the latrine. “Follow me.”
He waddled through the crowd and back into the PX, toward the hallway that led to the men’s room. I followed and pushed through the big wooden door. One guy stood in front of a urinal. Not Strange.
On the other side of the tiled wall was a row of commodes. Something hissed. I walked down to the last stall near the window and opened the door. Strange sat on the pot, pants up, staring down at a crumpled sheet of notebook paper.
“Four security violations in the last month,” he said.
His cigarette holder waggled from side to side in his mouth.
“You inspected J-two?” I asked. J-2 was the place where Whitcomb had stolen the typewriter.
“Yeah.”
The window above us was open and cold air billowed in like a small gray cloud. I was grateful for the fresh air.
“The violations wouldn’t have been caught at all without surprise inspections,” Strange continued. “They were small things. A safe left open during the workday while everyone was out of the room for a couple of minutes. A Top Secret cover sheet on a Secret document. Things like that. The only other thing I noticed was a couple of documents out of numerical order. Just slightly out of place. As if someone had been in a hurry and shoved it back into the file without checking the numbers. Not something many security clerks do. Finding an out-of-sequence document can be a bear. Take you all day. So you learn to be careful.” He shook his head. “That wouldn’t have bothered me at all if it wasn’t for the rumors I’ve been hearing.”
“What rumors?”
“Not violations, exactly. Just shit being tampered with. A guy down at Camp Market. He swears nobody but him touches his files, but when he comes in one morning, a couple of documents have been moved. He’d placed them in the file a certain way, flush up to the left side of the safe. In the morning, they were in the center.”
“You security guys are a meticulous lot.”
Strange ignored me. His cigarette holder quivered a little faster.
“Another guy at Army Support Command swears somebody came into his office. Dust that he leaves atop the filing cabinets on purpose was moved. Not much. Just like somebody had breathed on it.”
“So why didn’t he report it?”
Strange looked up at me wide-eyed, as if I were mad.
“And have a bunch of outsiders tampering with our files? We in security handle our own properties. Don’t need a bunch of ham-handed MP’s stomping around.” He thought about that for a minute. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
Somebody new entered the latrine. We were quiet until he urinated and left.
“That pig didn’t even wash his hands.” Strange scowled.
“Some people,” I said. “So tell me what happens. You security NCO’s get together sometimes and compare notes. And if you find something suspicious going on you investigate it yourself?”
“Dick Tracy.”
“So what’ve you found out so far?”
“Nada. Zilch. Not a goddamn thing. But we’re keeping our eyes open.”
“If somebody did break into those files, how would they do it?”
“Not from one of us, that’s for sure.”
I waited.
“All of our combinations have to be backed up. In case we’re killed in the line of duty or smothered from muff diving or something. There’s always a security officer.”
The words “security officer” came out as if they were something unclean.
“Usually a young lieutenant assigned to keep an eye on an experienced security noncom. A young dick who doesn’t know shit about security.”
“So the security officer might’ve compromised the combinations?”
“Who else?”
“I don’t know. There’s no other way?”
“Had to be those young shitheads.”
“But compromising each one of them, at all those different compounds…” I shook my head. “Sort of difficult, isn’t it?”
“Only way. It couldn’t have been experienced NCO’s.”
“I see you’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Sure have.”
“Keep your ears open. Watch the security reports. If you hear anything else, especially about Captain Burlingame at J-two, let us know right away.”
Strange nodded.
“Also, can you find out what the subject was of the documents that were tampered with at J-two?”
Strange looked at me from beneath raised eyebrows. “Do you have a need-to-know?”
“I might. In an investigation you’re never quite sure what you need to know.”
He lowered his eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good. Can I buy you a beer?”
“No. No beer.” His cigarette lighter waggled. “Had any strange lately?”
He was persistent, that’s for sure.
“Not much. Only a couple of sisters out in Itaewon.”
“Yeah?”
“Both of them skinny. Listen, I’d tell you all about it but I have to get out there.”
“Pity.”
“I’ll fill you in completely next time we talk.”
“That’ll be soon?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
I left Strange in the latrine. As I walked out, the door to the commode creaked shut.
What with all the running around on the Whitcomb case, Ernie and I had fallen seriously behind on our black market detail paperwork. I wandered back to the CID office. It was dark now and cold, but when I strode down the familiar creaking hallways, there was still warmth left in the old brick building.
I turned on the lamp over Riley’s desk, rummaged around for some typing paper and some carbon, and went to work.
It was quiet here. Relaxing. Sometimes I enjoyed working late. It gave me time to think. Time to review details that I might’ve missed early on.