Chapter 6 - THE SERGEANT'S SECRET|
Colonel Mercer took the photograph from Edward's hand.
For the first time since arriving at the motel, I saw genuine anger in his face.
"Who sent this?"
Edward shook his head.
"I don't know."
"Did you contact the police?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"They advised me to preserve the evidence."
Mercer looked at me.
"Captain, you need protection."
I almost laughed.
For eighty-one years, people had been telling me what I needed.
My mother said I needed a husband who wasn't in the Army.
My husband said I needed fewer stairs.
My doctor said I needed to stop drinking coffee after four.
Now a colonel was telling me I needed protection.
He wasn't wrong.
That was the irritating part.
"Daniel," I said, "I have lived alone for nine years."
"That changes today."
"Does it?"
"Someone has threatened you."
"Then someone is about to discover that I own a very large cast-iron skillet."
Private Parker smiled despite herself.
Mercer did not.
He arranged for local law enforcement to receive copies of the threatening photograph and for the appropriate military investigative authorities to review the historical allegations.
He also insisted that Edward see a doctor.
Edward protested.
I told him to stop being difficult.
He looked at me and laughed.
"You're still the same captain."
"No, Edward."
I took his hand.
"I'm considerably meaner."
By the time we returned to Fort Campbell, the sky had darkened.
Rain streaked the windshield.
I sat beside Parker in the back seat while Mercer made telephone calls.
The private kept glancing at me.
Finally, I turned toward her.
"Something on your mind?"
She hesitated.
"Ma'am, can I ask you a personal question?"
"At my age, all the interesting questions are personal."
She smiled nervously.
"Why did you become a school nurse after the war?"
I looked out at the rain.
"Because children usually survive scraped knees."
Parker's smile faded.
I regretted the answer immediately.
It was too simple.
Too bitter.
"The truth," I said, "is that I wanted to help people without hearing helicopters."
She nodded.
"Did it work?"
"Most days."
"And the other days?"
I thought of the empty classrooms after school.
The smell of disinfectant.
The way a slammed locker sometimes made my heart jump.
"On the other days, I reminded myself that being home was a privilege."
Parker looked down at her hands.
"My grandmother was an Army nurse."
"Was she?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Did she talk about her service?"
"Not much."
"Then ask her."
Parker nodded.
I reached over and squeezed her hand.
"Ask while you still can."
When we reached the installation, Mercer received an urgent call.
His expression changed.
"Where?"
He listened.
Then he turned toward the driver.
"Take us to Battalion Headquarters."
I leaned forward.
"What happened?"
He looked at me.
"Sergeant Reese has requested to speak with investigators."
"About what?"
Mercer hesitated.
"Major Voss."
The headquarters building stood beneath a row of dripping trees.
Inside, a young officer led us into a conference room.
Sergeant Reese sat alone at a long table.
His uniform was immaculate.
His face looked exhausted.
When he saw me, he stood so quickly that his chair scraped the floor.
"Captain Braddock."
I nodded.
"Sergeant."
He looked down.
"Ma'am, I owe you an apology."
"Yes, you do."
He flinched.
I pulled out a chair.
"But I didn't come here for an apology."
He looked confused.
"Then why?"
"Because my friend tells me your grandfather was Peter Reese."
Something changed in his eyes.
He sat down slowly.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I knew him."
He stared at me.
"Really?"
"Your grandfather carried a photograph of your father in his wallet."
Reese swallowed.
"He did?"
"He showed it to anyone who would stand still long enough."
The young sergeant looked away.
For the first time, his hard expression cracked.
"My dad died when I was sixteen."
"I'm sorry."
"He told me Grandpa Peter was a hero."
"He was."
Reese rubbed his face.
"Then why did somebody erase part of his service record?"
Mercer leaned forward.
"What did you find?"
Reese opened a folder.
Inside were photocopies of military documents, old letters, and a handwritten notebook.
"My grandmother kept Grandpa's things in a cedar chest."
He looked at me.
"She died in February."
"I'm sorry."
"After the funeral, I found a notebook hidden inside a false bottom."
He pushed it across the table.
I recognized Peter's handwriting immediately.
Small letters.
Neat numbers.
Careful dates.
The final entry was written in red ink.
BELL KNOWS ABOUT HOLLOWAY.
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME, FIND BRADDOCK.
My throat tightened.
Reese watched my face.
"I thought you were a fraud."
I looked up.
"What?"
"Major Voss told me a woman might come to the dining hall pretending to be Captain Braddock."
Mercer went still.
"He told you that?"
"Yes, sir."
"When?"
"Yesterday."
I remembered the way Reese had approached me.
The rehearsed accusations.
The insistence that my pin was stolen.
The anger when I refused to remove it.
"Did he tell you to confront me?" I asked.
Reese stared at the table.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Why?"
"He said you were trying to steal military records."
Mercer folded his arms.
"And you believed him?"
Reese's jaw worked.
"He's a major, sir."
"That isn't an answer."
Reese looked miserable.
"I trusted him."
I studied the young man.
He wasn't innocent.
He had chosen cruelty.
He had enjoyed making me uncomfortable in front of his friends.
But somebody had also used his pride and his grief to turn him into a weapon.
"Tyler," I said.
His head lifted.
"Your grandfather was a brave man."
His eyes shone.
"But bravery isn't something you inherit."
He swallowed.
"I know, ma'am."
"It's something you practice."
He nodded.
I leaned forward.
"And the first time you practice it may be when somebody with more authority than you tells you to do something wrong."
Reese looked toward Mercer.
Then he reached into his pocket.
He placed a small digital recorder on the table.
"I have something else."
Mercer stared at it.
"What is that?"
"A recording of Major Voss."
"When?"
"Last night."
Reese's hands trembled.
"He didn't know I was recording."
Mercer asked him to stop before playing it.
He explained that investigators would need to handle the recording properly and determine whether and how it could lawfully be used.
Reese nodded.
But then he said something that made every person in the room go silent.
"Sir, I don't think Major Voss was acting alone."
Mercer frowned.
"Why?"
Reese looked directly at me.
"Because he told me Captain Braddock was the only person still alive who could identify the officer behind the original operation."
I felt my heartbeat quicken.
"Richard Bell?" I asked.
Reese shook his head.
"No, ma'am."
He opened the notebook to its final page.
There, beneath Peter Reese's signature, was a name I had not seen in more than half a century.
And I knew immediately why someone had wanted the records destroyed.
May you like
Because the man Peter had identified wasn't a thief.
He was the officer who had ordered us to abandon Samuel Whitaker.
