Sweepers (17 page)

Moving ever faster, Train flicked it around his shoulders, along his forearms, behind his head, the thick staff making a wicked hissing sound in the still air, his massive hands a blur as he spun it, stopped it, balanced it, and then chopped it into a different motion or direction with almost casual flat-handed strikes. This exercise went on for almost sixty seconds, to the utter fascination of the crowd, and then ended abruptly with the stick held once again motionless, vertically in front of him. He raised his right leg and stomped the ground like a pile driver and shouted out a single word. Then he bowed to his imaginary opponent, put the stick down on a rectangular piece of canvas on the ground, and, still ignoring the people watching, reached for his towel as if he had been doing nothing more unusual than a few casual jumping jacks on the lawn.

Karen sensed that the people around her didn’t know whether to applaud or simply to exhale. As people drifted away, Karen pushed her way forward.

“Morning, Counselor,” he said through his towel.

“Didn’t know you worked out so early.”

“Every day,” she said. “And what, pray tell, was all that?”

“Just a stick drill,” he replied. “I use it to unwind after working the weights.”

“That’s some stick. May I see it?”

“‘Help yourself,” he said, reaching down and picking it up. He offered it to her butt-first. She. was surprised to feel how heavy it was. “It’s heavier than it looks,” she said.

“Why the sword shape? I thought kendo used a plain staff?”

He grinned as he began to gather up his gear. “That’s not kendo. Kendo is stick drill. This is just my version of kenjutsu, which is sword drill. Nothing mystical-just exercise. And the stick is shaped like a sword because of this.”

He took the heavy stick back from her hands, held one end, twisted it slightly, and withdrew a glistening full-sized Japanese fighting sword.

She blinked in surprise. A Marine standing nearby exclaimed when he saw the sword.

“Would you hold this, please?” he said, handing it to her. She grasped the handle with both hands. The sword was beautifully balanced, and the steel surface of the blade appeared to be marbled in various colors.

Train fished an oily rag out of his gear bag, took the sword from her hands, and proceeded to wipe down the entire weapon.

“How’d you finish it up with Sherman?” he asked. “He reveal any more about this Galantz problem?”

“We went down to a local restaurant and had dinner. He told me some of his personal background. Look, I’m going to cramp up if we just stand here. And-“

“Right,” he said, understanding. There were too many people around, some still gawking at his unusual athletic getup. H gathered his gear and the sword, then indicated they should walk toward the small tidal channel on the other side of North Parking.

Karen told him about the syringe. That got his attention.

“In your car? In your locked car? And then the patrol car just shows up as you’re standing there?”

“I know,” she said. “It means we were being watched.”

“And tracked. From his house down to the restaurant.

Damn, Karen, this changes everything, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, technically speaking, Sherman could still be making this all up.

I mean, the logical explanation of how that thing got in your car without a breakin was that somebody with recent access put it there-namely, him. Was there some interval of time during which he could have called in that patrol car? Some time between the end of dinner and going out to the car?”

“No,” she said. Then she hesitated. “Wait. Yes.

He said he was going to use the bathroom. I waited out by the front door. But-“

“But what, Karen? That’s as plausible an explanation as some mysterious stalker.”

She shook her head in exasperation. “Why are you so anxious to pin this stuff on him?” she demanded.

“Why are you so ready to believe everything he says?”

Train retorted. “Just because he’s an admiral?”

“No, damn it!” she said, glaring at him. But then she frowned. “Oh, I don’t know. I just wish you could have heard him tell the story of what happened to his marriage.

I just can’t find any motivation on his part to make all this up, or to do something to Elizabeth Walsh. I’m beginning to think he’s being set up somehow.”

Train didn’t answer, just turned around, steering them back toward the POAC building. He stopped when they were about to go through the door, stepping aside to let people go by.

“I’m going to pull the string on this Galantz guy with some contacts at the FBI. And elsewhere,” he said. “I have a bad feeling about a guy who’s supposedly an MIA but who isn’t missing. That syringe was a nasty touch. I’ll see you up in the office.”

He left before she had time to answer. He seemed either angry or concerned, and she couldn’t tell which.

Train fumed at himself as he tied his tie for the second time in front of the foggy mirror of the locker room. He should not have said that out there, that bit where he asked her why she was so anxious to defend this guy. Besides, he knew the answer. She was Navy, he was an admiral, and a Studly Dudley one at that. Plus, she was not a trained investigator.

He was willing to bet that she was simply failing under this charmer’s spell. As o posed to your charming personality? -P It has nothing to do with that. Not at all. Hahi It didn’t help that she looked positively ravishing in that damp tank top.

But after this syringe business, the SEAL story had some more legs, and he had not been kidding about a bad feeling.

He gathered up his gear bag and the sword case, closed the temporary locker, and headed downstairs. Suppose what Sherman was saying was the truth, that some badass had come back from the grave to get revenge. Was the syringe a warning? Or the next step? Have to talk to Mchale Johnson at the FBI, he reminded himself as he crossed the wide pedestrian overpass between North Parking and the Pentagon building.

As soon as Karen got back to her desk, she called the front office to get an appointment with Admiral Carpenter.

Twenty minutes, later, Captain Mccarty called back and asked why she s, she asked only that the front office confirm that she could call on Mr. von Rensel and the NIS regarding the Sherman case. Mccarty was obviously perplexed, and he asked why she was asking. As he remembered it, the JAG had already assigned the new guy from NIS to the Sherman case. Mentally holding her breath, she explained only that the police might need help in tracking down an exenlisted man in connection with the Sherman matter. She was careful not to allude to Navy Special Forces or to Vietnam. She left it at that, hoping that the EA would be sufficiently distracted by the press of business not to probe further. She knew she was taking something of a chance, but if and when the business with Galantz got out, she wanted to be able to say that she had asked about involving the NIS, especially if her bosses raised hell about not being informed right away. Mccarty said impatiently that he would look into it and get back to her. She hung up, hoping that it would stop with the EA.

She might sneak one past Mccarty, but Carpenter missed nothing.

She finished off her morning coffee, still feeling a bit nervous about the bureaucratic games she was playing with this case. She also wanted to talk to Train von Rensel some more, but she was a little bit miffed with him over his persisting suspicions about Sherman. And what had he meant by that crack about her readiness to defend Sherman? But five minutes later, Train came through the door, smiled and waved at her, and went to his own cubicle, carrying his gear bag and that big stick under his arm like a toy gun. His suit was obviously’t “or-made, but there was no disguising the fact that he was about the biggest man she had been around in a long time. Despite herself, she smiled back. Then her phone rang.

“Navy JAG, Commander Lawrence speaking, sir.”

“Commander. This is Detective Mcnair with the Fairfax Police Department.”

“Good morning, Detective.” This was fortuitous. She had been about to call him to see if he had been given the syringe. She looked to see if she could get Train on an extension, but he was already on another line.

“Not very, actually,” Mcnair was saying, which got her immediate attention. She could hear the sound of other voices in the background.

“I’m at the home of a retired Navy admiral in Mclean. Guy named Galen Schmidt. Name ring a bell?”

It certainly did. The old gentleman at the memorial service. Sherman’s sea daddy. “Yes, it does. What’s happened?”

“Sony to inform you, but he’s no longer with us. Looks like a heart attack. Housekeeper found him this morning.

She says he had a bad heart condition. His doctor’s here, along with a rep from the county medical examiner’s office.

Like I said, apparent heart attack, although they’re not done yet. “

“Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that. But-“

“Why am I calling you? Well, see, we found a pad of paper on his desk with Admiral Sherman’s name on it. And Elizabeth Walsh’s. Something about a memorial service.

The word SEAL, with a circle around it. And a question: TELL THE CNO?

Looks like notes, maybe taken during a conversation, or afterward. Any thoughts?”

Karen thought for a moment. “I believe Admiral Schmidt was Sherman’s professional mentor before Sherman made flag. And he was at the memorial service for Elizabeth Walsh Wednesday night. From what I saw, they were very close. Damn, does Admiral Sherman know about this?”

“I hope not,”

Mcnair said pointedly.

Karen was taken aback by the detective’s inference. “I see,” she said, groping for words. “Okay, I guess I can be the bearer of bad tidings.”

She hesitated. “Detective, tell me something. Are there any indications, uh…”

Mcnair picked right up on it. “That this is anything other than a heart attack? No. We’re not doing a crime scene or anything, unless one of the docs comes up with something hinky. Any particular reason for asking?”

“I don’t know. It’s just this syringe business last night.”

There was a moment of silence on the phone. “And what syringe business is that, Commander?”

He didn’t know? “The police were supposed to forward some kind of incident report to you. You haven’t gotten it?”

“I’m drawing a blank, Commander. I am the police, remember? What’re you talking about?” Karen told him about the events of the previous night, following their meeting at Sherman’s house. Mcnair was silent for a moment.

“Okay, Commander,” he said at last. “That’s all very interesting. I’ll make sure I retrieve that incident report. Will you see if you can find out when Admiral Sherman was here last? At Schmidt’s house? The housekeeper confirms that they were close friends. But we’d like a precise time.”

“Yes, I will. I’ll go see him right now. Has the Navy been informed officially?”

“Not by us. Like I said, right now it’s a heart attack.

Housekeeper says there’s no immediate family.” He paused for a moment, and she heard pages in his notebook ruffling.

“Let’s see, wife died of cancer ten years ago. They had one son, who was lost in a submarine accident in the early sixties. It looks like there’s no family, so maybe Admiral Sherman is the next-closest person. I’m assuming Schmidt had a lawyer, so we’ll track him down and find out.”

“Well, you should probably notify the Bureau of Naval Personnel. Hang on a moment.” She grabbed a DOD phone book and looked up the number of the Casualty Assistance Calls Office and gave it to him. “He was prominent enough that the CNO and other people at that level are going to want to know. Especially if-“

“If what, Commander?”

She realized she had made a mistake.

“Nothing. They should just be informed. I can do it if-, I %

Mcnair interrupted her. “Especially if what, Commander?”

She hesitated. “I’m not sure. It’s just that this is the second person tied in some way to Admiral Sherman to die in a week’s time. I’m worried about what’s going on. Things happening out there in the fog.”

“So are we, Commander,” Mcnair said gently. “But this one does look pretty much like an old geezer with a heart condition fulfilling his destiny to flop and twitch in the night. We’ll hang around until his physician pronounces, and then we’ll be back in the office. Maybe that syringe report’ll be there by then.”

“Okay, I’ll go inform Admiral Sherman. Thanks for the heads-up, Detective. “

She hung up and sat back in her chair. “Flop and twitch.”

These cops! She kicked herself mentally for bringing up Sherman’s name in connection with her suggestion to inform the Navy. Right now, the admiral was supposedly operating in full-cooperation mode with the police. On the other hand, given Train von Rensel’s -lingering suspicions, she was beginning to wonder about what the hell she was dealing with here. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be keeping things from Captain Mccarty and Admiral Carpenter. Then she remembered that she had promised to go tell Sherman about the admiral’s heart attack. She looked at her watch. It was going on 9:30. She put a call into OP-32’s front office and waved to Train, who was off the phone, to come over to her cubicle. He got his coffee mug and ambled over. He smiled at her.

Almost without thinking, she smiled back.

“Admiral’s at the athletic club, Commander,” the yeoman said when she got through. Karen thanked him, hung up, and told Train about Admiral Schmidt. Train’s good humor evaporated. “And he said heart attack? No more of those forensic ambiguities?”

“That “s what he said. Admiral Schmidt’s own doctor is there. I saw the admiral at the service Wednesday night.

Classic heart-condition appearance.”

Train nodded thoughtfully. “Want some company on your mission of bad news?”

“Let me call CHINFO first,” she said. “They’ll alert the the flags here in the building.”

Fifteen minutes later, they found the admiral coming out of the weight room, which, at midmorning, was not crowded. He must have been really pushing it, she thought.

His face was taut and shiny with perspiration, and there were red splotches on his cheeks and throat. His gym clothes were also soaked, and he was rubbing his upper chest and face with a towel when he caught sight of them.