Four Blind Mice (Alex Cross 8)

The court and its administrative offices were located in a bland-looking commercial building in Arlington. It was considerably nicer inside the building, kind of like a dignified and reserved corporate legal office. Other than the fact that most of the men and women wore uniforms, the normal touches of military culture weren’t much in evidence.

Samp

son and I went there to see Lieutenant General Shelly Borislow, and we were brought to her office by an aide. It was a lengthy walk — lots of long hallways, which is typical of government buildings all over the Washington area.

General Borislow was waiting for us when we finally arrived. She stood ramrod straight and was obviously physically fit. A handsome woman, probably in her late forties.

“Thanks for seeing us,” Sampson said, and shook General Borislow’s hand. I had the feeling that he wanted to handle the meeting, maybe because he had more experience with the army than I did, but possibly because Ellis Cooper’s time was running out.

“I read the transcript of the trial last night,” General Borislow said as we sat around a glass-topped coffee table. “I also went through the CID notes from Captain Jacobs. And Sergeant Cooper’s records. I’m pretty much up to speed. Now, what can I do for you, gentlemen?” I was pleased that the general was the one to bring up gender.

“I have some questions. If you don’t mind, General?” Sampson said. He leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his thighs. His eyes were steady on General Borislow’s, who was just as focused on Sampson’s.

“Ask any questions you wish. I don’t have another meeting until ten. That gives us about twenty minutes to talk, but you can have more time if you need it. The army has nothing to hide in this matter. I can tell you that much.”

Sampson still held Borislow’s eyes. “Detective Cross and I have worked hundreds of homicide scenes, General. Some things about this one bother us a lot.”

“What, specifically?”

Sampson hesitated, then went on. “Before I get into what bothered us, I was wondering if anything about the trial or the investigation bothered you?”

General Shelly Borislow stayed in perfect control. “A few things, actually. I suppose it could be construed as a little too pat that Sergeant Cooper held on to the murder weapon. It was a valuable souvenir, though, from his years in Vietnam. And a souvenir from the murders themselves.”

“You’re aware that Sergeant Cooper’s apartment was broken into a day or two before the murders? We saw signs of the break-in, and Cooper confirmed it. The knife could have been taken then,” Sampson said.

Borislow nodded. “That’s certainly possible, Detective. But isn’t it also possible that the sergeant created the impression that there had been a break-in at his apartment? That’s what CID concluded.”

“A boy from the neighborhood saw three men in Tanya Jackson’s yard about the time of the murders.”

“The boy could have seen men in the yard. That’s true. He also may have seen shadows from trees. It was a dark night, and windy. The boy is ten years old. He gave conflicting accounts of the night to police officers. As I said, Detective, I have studied the case thoroughly.”

“Blood that didn’t match the murdered women’s, or Sergeant Cooper’s, was found at the homicide scene.”

General Borislow’s demeanor didn’t change. “The judge in the case made the call not to allow that into evidence. If I had been the judge, I would have permitted the jury to hear about the blood. We’ll never know about it now.”

“Sergeant Cooper’s military record before the murders was nearly perfect,” said Sampson.

“He had an excellent record. The army is well aware of that. It’s one of the things that makes this such a tragedy.”

Sampson sighed. He sensed he wasn’t getting anywhere. I did too. “General, one more question, and then we’ll leave. We won’t even take our allotted time.”

Borislow didn’t blink. “Go ahead with your question.”

“It puzzles me that the army made no real effort to come to Sergeant Cooper’s defense. Not before or during the trial. Obviously, the army isn’t going to try and help him now. Why is that?”

General Borislow nodded at the question, and pursed her lips before she answered it. “Detective Sampson, we appreciate the fact that Ellis Cooper is your friend and that you’ve remained loyal to him. We admire that, actually. But your question is easy to answer. The army, from top to bottom, believes that Sergeant Cooper is guilty of three horrific, cold-blooded murders. We have no intention of helping a murderer go free. I’m afraid that I’m convinced Cooper is a murderer too. I won’t be supporting an appeal. I’m sorry that I don’t have better news for you.”

After our meeting, Sampson and I were escorted back through the labyrinth of hallways by General Borislow’s aide. We were both silent as we made the long walk to the main lobby.

Once we had left the building and gone outside, he turned to me. “What do you think?”

“I think the army is hiding something,” I said. “And we don’t have much time to find out what it is.”

Chapter 29

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Thomas Starkey got a clear picture of just how far things had gone for him. The clarifying incident took place less than two miles from his house in North Carolina.

He had stopped at the local strip mall for copies of USA Today and the Rocky Mount Telegram plus some raisin cinnamon bagels from the New York–style deli. It was raining hard that morning, and he stood with the newspapers and warm bagels under the overhang at the mall, waiting for the downpour to slow.