The Summer House(43)

A glance over at Connie. She looks as shocked as I feel.

York says, “Is there anything else you know about the killings over there?”

“No,” he says.

“Does Colonel Marcello know?” I ask.

“I can’t see how he doesn’t.”

I ask, “Were they facing disciplinary action? Was the incident investigated?”

O’Connell says, “To answer both of your questions, I don’t know. Look, whatever happened took place half a world away. I wasn’t there. Officially, the Army says the squad wasn’t under their control. They belonged to the CIA. And if you think the Company is going to come forward and reveal all without a busload of subpoenas, you’re crazy. Nothing is going to happen from Langley’s end.”

“And their fellow Rangers in Alpha Company and Fourth Battalion?” I ask. “Do you think they know what the men did in that village?”

O’Connell’s hand gently taps on his clean desk. “It’s certainly possible.”

Something comes to me. “Wait. A few minutes ago you said the rest of the battalion was going to be deployed when you had gone through your discharge. But their deployment date got moved ahead. Right?”

“Correct,” he says.

“But why? Why was the battalion ordered to deploy earlier than scheduled?”

“I don’t know.”

The pains in my leg decide to come back for their usual visit. “But don’t you think it’s an incredible coincidence…that these same Rangers are accused of killing a houseful of civilians in an Afghan village, and then of doing the same thing some weeks later in a Georgia town? And just when we arrive to conduct an investigation, any witnesses we could talk to are out of reach because the battalion’s deployment schedule is suddenly changed?”

“Yes,” O’Connell says. “One hell of a coincidence.”

“I don’t like coincidences,” I say.

“Me neither,” the captain says.



As we’re leaving Hunter, a white MP police cruiser with flashing blue lights comes up behind us, and I say, “Connie, do pull over. I don’t think this poor rental can take any more.”

She does just that, and the cruiser stops. The woman who steps out of the driver’s side is someone I recognize.

It’s Colonel Brenda Tringali, head of this base’s Third MP Group. She comes to my side of the car, I roll the window down, and she leans in, putting both hands on the open window frame. One hand has a small bandage on it.

She says, “How’s your day going, Major?”

“Fine, ma’am,” I say. “Our investigation is continuing.”

Her skin is a light brown, and she has ink-black hair and sharp dark-brown eyes. “Good to know. I’d appreciate a briefing at some point as to how your work is progressing.”

“If I have something to share, ma’am, I’ll certainly consider that,” I say.

She has a slight smile, but there’s no warmth or humor in it. “That wasn’t really a request, Major Cook.”

I say, “Since you’re not in my chain of command, ma’am, that’s how I’m taking it.”

Her eyes lock onto mine and then she slaps the open window frame and steps away. “Speed limit on post is thirty miles an hour,” she says. “Is that clear?”

“Very,” I say, and she heads back to her cruiser. I tell Connie, “All right, let’s go.”

She eases our way out into traffic, and I say, “Speed it up, Agent York. I don’t want to be late to the county coroner’s.”

“With pleasure, Major,” she replies as we quickly get up to forty miles an hour.





Chapter 35



I’M ON THE PHONE with Colonel Phillips, our superior officer, as Connie speeds us west on Interstate 16, back to Sullivan County and Briggs Brothers Funeral Home. The engine of our Ford grinds here and there, and the battered front hood vibrates hard against its latch, threatening to break free.

“Colonel, I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t make that out.”

There’s a hiss of static, and his voice seems distant and quiet. He says, “…do what I can, but that’s one hell of a bit of news. Ranger squad accused of killing civilians overseas and then here…Damn, it’d be like if those My Lai soldiers came back from Vietnam in 1968 and shot up a 7-Eleven…”

He coughs and coughs.

“Colonel,” I say. “We’re going to need information about what happened in that Afghan village. What connection there might be between here and Hunter. There’s got to be something.”

More coughing. “…see what I can do.” The colonel disconnects the call.

I look at Connie, whose hands are firmly gripping the steering wheel.

“Sir, I’m getting some thoughts here, and I hate to bring them up.”

“Speak, Connie. Don’t hold back.”

“You’ve got a Ranger squad that raises hell in the States. Other platoon members and Rangers in their company don’t like them. They think this squad gets away with everything. Even their CO won’t back them up…That’s what he said, right, when we met him?”

“You’re right, Connie,” I say. “Go on.”