I kept thinking about Nana, and how tough she was and how much I would have missed her if something had gone wrong that morning. The terrible, guilt-ridden fantasy kept running through my head that I was going to get a call from Kayla Coles and she would say, I’m sorry, Nana passed away. We don’t know what went wrong. I’m so sorry.
The call didn’t come, and I threw myself into the work. Nana would be home tomorrow. I needed to stop worrying about her and put my mind to better use.
The army records were interesting but also about as depressing as an IRS audit. Obviously, there had been rogue activity in Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. The army, at least officially, seemed to turn a blind eye and not look too closely at what had happened. There weren’t civilian review boards, of course, like the police departments had to investigate misconduct. The press had no way to judge what was going on either. They rarely interviewed victims’ families in the small villages. Few of the American reporters spoke much Vietnamese. The good and the bad of it was that the army had sometimes fought fire with fire. Maybe it was the only way to effectively fight a guerilla war. But I still didn’t know what had happened over there to inspire the murders stateside during the past few years.
I spent several
grueling hours looking through more records of Colonel Thomas Starkey, Captain Brownley Harris, and Sergeant Warren Griffin. I saw that their army careers were exemplary, at least in written form. I went back as far as Vietnam, and the pattern continued. Starkey was a highly decorated officer; Harris and Griffin were good soldiers. There was nothing in the records about assassinations in Vietnam committed by the trio. Not a single word.
I wanted to know when they had met and where they had served together. I kept leafing through records, hoping, but not finding the connect point. I knew they’d fought together in Vietnam and Cambodia. I went through every page a second time.
But there was nothing in any of the records to indicate they’d worked together in Southeast Asia. Not a goddamn word.
I sat back and stared out onto Fifth Street, letting my eyes glaze over. There was only one conclusion I could come up with, and I didn’t like it.
The army records had been doctored.
But why? And by whom?
Chapter 104
IT WASN’T OVER yet.
I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, and I hated the queasy feeling, the uncertainty, the lack of closure. Or maybe I just couldn’t let go. All those unsolved murders. Who was the real killer? Who was behind the strange murders?
A week after the shooting in Georgia, I sat in Ronald Burns’s office on the fifth floor of FBI headquarters in Washington. Burns’s assistant, a crew-cut male in his mid-twenties, had just brought us coffee in beautiful china cups. There were also fresh mini-pastries on a silver tray.
“Pulling out all the stops?” I asked the director. “Hot coffee and Danish.”
“You got it,” he said, “shameless manipulation. Go with it.”
I’d known him for years, but it was only during the past few months that I’d worked closely with Burns. What I’d seen so far, I liked, but I’d been fooled before.
“How’s Kyle Craig doing?” I asked him.
“We’re trying to make it as uncomfortable as possible for him out in Colorado,” Burns said. He allowed himself a smile. Craig was a former senior agent I’d helped put away. I still didn’t know exactly how many murders he had committed, but it was at least eleven, probably many more. Burns and I had believed Kyle was our friend. It was the worst betrayal in my lifetime, but not the only one.
“We have to keep him in solitary most of the day. For his own protection, of course. He hates being by himself. Drives him crazier. No one to show off for.”
“No psychiatrists in there trying to figure Kyle out?”
Burns shook his head. “No, no. Not a good idea. That would be too dangerous for them.”
“Besides, Kyle would like the attention. He craves it. He’s a junkie for it.”
“Exactly.”
We smiled at the image of Kyle locked away in seclusion, hopefully for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, I knew he had made contact with others in the max security unit — particularly Tran Van Luu.
“You don’t think Kyle had anything to do with these killings?” Burns finally asked.
“I checked that out as much as I could. There’s no evidence he knew Luu before he was assigned to Florence.”
“I know he visited out there, Alex, when he was still with the Bureau. He was definitely on the max security unit as well as death row. He could have met Luu. It’s possible. I’m afraid you never know with Kyle.”
I almost didn’t want to think about the unlikely possibility that Kyle might be behind the diabolical murder scheme somehow. But it was possible. Still, it seemed so unlikely that I didn’t give it much credence.
“You had any time to think about my offer?” Burns asked.