Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [95]
“No, we didn’t talk for very long.”
“Was she with her husband?”
“She didn’t say, and I didn’t see anyone with her. She did mention that it was her first trip back to New Mexico since she’d moved to Canada many years ago. From the way she was dressed and the jewelry she wore, she’s been living very well up there.”
“Does the name George Spalding ring a bell?”
“He was her high school boyfriend. In the Army at the time. She didn’t really talk about him much, especially after she got involved in the free speech movement.”
“Did you exchange addresses?”
Randell shook her head. “No. It was a rather awkward encounter. Even though we were college room-mates for a time, we weren’t that close, and Debbie didn’t seem interested in chatting.”
“Would you be willing to work with a police sketch artist so we can create a likeness of Debbie?”
“If it’s important,” Randell said.
Kerney handed Randell his business card. “It is. Call my office in the morning and I’ll set up an appointment for you.”
Randell slipped the card into a pocket of her slacks. “Why are you trying to find Debbie?”
“In order to find someone else,” Kerney replied.
A knock at the front door ended the conversation, but Kerney had learned far more than he’d hoped for. He thanked the women for their time, made his way past their arriving guests, and drove home, eager to call Sara and learn what she might have gleaned from George Spalding’s military records.
In the living room with the dim light of a single table lamp turned down low, in a house almost always much too empty and quiet, Kerney phoned Sara.
“I was hoping you’d call,” she said.
“I wanted to apologize again,” Kerney said, “for being so pushy.”
“There’s no need. What happened yesterday is over and done with, and I’ve got other things on my mind.”
“Like what?
“I’ve just been handed a major project, an important one, and it’s a mess.”
“Can you talk about it?”
“If members of Congress can, I guess I can too. A number of female soldiers from the enlisted and officer ranks have come forward with charges of sexual assaults that have gone unpunished or not yet been brought to courts-martial. They’re claiming shoddy, flawed investigations, unacceptable leniency for offenders, and inadequate victim services.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Worse,” Sara snapped angrily. “Many of them didn’t receive rape kit examinations or treatment for their wounds, evidence wasn’t gathered and collected, and their requests for base transfers to get away from their attackers have been routinely turned down by post commanders. Besides that, instead of receiving appropriate sexual trauma counseling, they’ve been ordered to take polygraph tests, and routinely sent back to work while still suffering from psychological and physical problems.”
Kerney sat in the leather easy chair Sara had picked out for him at a local furniture store and put his feet on the ottoman. “How many victims are you talking about?”
“Over ninety that we know about, but probably a hell of a lot more, worldwide. The post commanders are laying the blame on inadequately trained investigators and medical personnel. Pardon my French, but that’s bullshit. Some of these attacks were brutal, Kerney, and the victims frequently weren’t believed. You should read the case files; they’re gut-wrenching.”
Kerney pulled off his boots and dropped them on the floor. “What is it you have to do?”
“Let me quote. I’m to ‘Prepare a report on readiness to adequately and fully respond to sexual assault complaints, including an analysis of training needs, recommendations for changes to current investigative protocols and procedures, improvement in the coordination of services with Medical Corps personnel, and an estimate of staffing requirements needed to ensure the sufficiency of trained personnel, system-wide.’ ”
“That’s a military mouthful,” Kerney said.
“Don’t make me use my French again,” Sara said. “Instead of writing a report, we should be mounting a full-scale, widespread Internal Affairs operation into each and every one of these cases.”
“You don’t sound too happy