Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [108]
She touched the glass jar of seashells she’d collected from the beaches in Ireland. A memento from their honeymoon, it brought back happy memories of early morning walks with Kerney along the wild, misty western coast, whitecaps breaking in ink-black water against the shore.
She turned her attention back to Spalding’s 201 file. The CID investigator, Chief Warrant Officer Noah Schmidt, who’d cleared Spalding of any involvement in the decades-old stolen property case, might very well be an important source of information for Kerney.
She put in a request to personnel to see if Schmidt was a lifer still on active duty or retired military now working as a civilian for DOD or a branch of the armed services. Then she called the Defense Finance and Accounting Services in Kentucky, which handled military retirement pay, and the Armed Forces Record Center in St. Louis, and asked for a fast check on the man. Hopefully, she’d know something by the end of the day.
Down the hall, Master Sergeant Wilma Lipinski, who worked for Sara, was at her desk. With twenty-eight years of active duty service, Lipinski had recently rotated into the Pentagon from a first sergeant posting with a military police company. Only exceptional noncoms were authorized to stay in the ranks for thirty years, and Lipinski was one of them.
“Ma’am?” Lipinski asked as Sara stepped into her cubicle.
“Have you read my briefing summary on our new assignment?” Sara asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Lipinski replied cautiously. A sturdily built, middle-aged woman, the daughter of a retired Chicago fireman, she’d won the Bronze Star for valor while serving in Bosnia.
“What do you think about it?” Sara asked.
“On or off the record, Colonel?”
“Off the record, Sergeant.”
“It sucks, ma’am.”
“Exactly,” Sara said, taking a seat. “How many of the sexual assault cases are still carried as active?”
Lipinski consulted a binder. “Thirty-eight at JAG awaiting disposition, and twenty-six are still being investigated by CID.”
“The general doesn’t want us to touch the closed cases in our report,” Sara said. “But he failed to say anything about those that are still active.”
Lipinski blinked. “I think it’s pretty clear that we’re not to do any investigating, Colonel.”
“I’m thinking more along the lines of research, Sergeant, that gets to the core issues of what we’re charged to address in our report.”
“Field research?” Lipinski asked.
“Yes, with information we can append to the report.”
“Aren’t you splitting hairs, ma’am?”
“Definitely.”
Lipinski smiled. “Your orders, ma’am.”
Sara’s team of six noncoms and officers had been drawn from military police corps personnel assigned to area bases. “We’ll field survey one-third of the active cases: nine that are still under investigation, and twelve at JAG. Pick cases that are within a reasonable striking distance and divide the work as equally as you can among the team.”
Lipinski scribbled a note. “I could take on some of the cases, ma’am.”
“Don’t jump into deep water too fast, Sergeant.”
Lipinski smiled broadly. “I know how to swim, Colonel.”
“Okay, you’re on the team. Find an off-site facility where we can meet and go over the details. Did you read Spalding’s 201 file?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Get me what you can on that sergeant Spalding worked for in Vietnam who was busted for theft.”
“I’ve already put in a priority request through channels, Colonel.”
“You have a degree in criminal justice and twenty-eight years of service, Sergeant. Care to tell me why you never pursued a commission?”
“A long time ago, I decided it was better to be part of the backbone of the Army rather than part of its head. I’ve observed that when heads roll, it’s frequently the wrong heads.”
At lunch, Kerney made it a point to sit next to Ed Ramsey, who talked amiably while packing away a meal of meatloaf and soggy mashed potatoes smothered in gravy.
In his fifties, Ramsey looked fit in his brown suit. He had a full head of hair,