Daylight (Atlee Pine, #3)(15)

“Did Evie have her husband declared dead at some point?” asked Blum. “I think they have to wait a certain amount of time, seven years or so.”

“Not that I know of, but I would’ve moved on long before then.”

“Anything else you can tell us? Focusing on when he came back?” asked Pine. She leaned forward and her voice grew tense. “Did he seem nervous or upset, or troubled in any way?”

Castor scratched his head. “Not that I recall specifically. But again, it was a long time ago. He brought me back a bottle of wine from Italy. And some chocolates. Never had nothing like that before.”

“So he just seemed the same?” asked Pine, clearly disappointed.

Castor thought some more. “Well, I don’t know if it means anything, but I do remember him telling me something not that long after he got back.”

“What?” said Pine sharply.

“He said you never know what you’re capable of until you have to do it. It was such a weird thing to say that it stuck with me.”

Pine glanced at Blum.

“Did he elaborate?” asked Blum.

“Well, I asked him did he have to do something in Italy that surprised him.”

“And what was his answer?”

“He said he hadn’t done something that surprised him. He’d done something that shocked him. But he never would say what that was.”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” muttered Pine. She handed Castor her card. “You’ve been a big help. If anything else occurs to you, give me a call or shoot me an email.”





CHAPTER





9





JOHN PULLER WAS NOT a man easily intimidated. A many-times-decorated soldier and two-time Purple Heart recipient, he carried physical scars from being in a war that were harsh to look at, but he nonetheless carried them with pride. The internal trauma he endured from humans trying to kill other humans in often the most barbaric ways possible was difficult to confront. So he often chose not to. Whether that would come back to haunt him at some point, as it had others, he didn’t know. But right now he had a job to do. And right now that job was causing Puller considerable stress, or at least the man sitting across from him was.

Barney Moss was taller than Puller but flabby, his skin a sickly white. His drab brown suit was ill fitted, either because he’d lost weight or because he didn’t give a crap about his clothes. His hairdo was a stringy, greasy comb-over. He looked like the villain in every bad 1970s-era movie ever made. His necktie was undone, and his open collar showed off his neck wattle. He was the government suit repping Fort Dix so, technically, he was a fellow fed. Yet from the moment Puller stepped into the office, Moss’s manner had Puller fantasizing about pulling his gun.

“So just to be clear, you are not to ever approach Theodore Vincenzo again for any reason,” said Moss, for the third time now. He apparently thought repetition equated with substance. “If you do, there will be hell to pay and you’ll be the one footing the bill, buddy.”

He stared straight across the width of the scarred and cheap wooden desk, like it was a stretch of battlefield and Puller was the enemy firmly engaged.

Puller cleared his throat, inclined his neck slightly to the right, and was rewarded with a satisfying pop and release of vertebral pressure.

“Well, now let me be as clear as I can be, Mr. Moss. I’m investigating a case and I talk to the people I need to talk to, and Teddy Vincenzo is one of those people.” Puller kept direct eye contact with the man, searing every detail of his countenance into the part of his memory that he reserved for “special people.”

Puller continued, “And, despite your calling me and ordering me to come here, I still don’t have a clue as to why you’re even involved in this, since you don’t happen to be in my chain of command. That also means that legally, technically, and every other way in which the United States Army does business, I have no obligation to follow any order you attempt to give me. So I’m just here as a courtesy. You might or might not be familiar with the concept.” He added, “Just so we’re clear.”

Moss sighed and rested his palms on his paunch. “So that’s how it’s going to be, is it?”

“From my perspective, it’s the only way it can be.”

“What, you need to hear from your buddies playing soldier in the sandbox?” he said with a sneer. “Will that make you feel better if it comes from a guy with pretty ribbons on his chest?”

Puller’s features remained inscrutable even as he inwardly seethed at this inane insult. “I need to hear from my chain of command. It goes up to the commanding general at the U.S. Army’s Criminal Investigation Command and then tops out at the Army’s Provost Marshal General. Just like you have a chain of command.” Puller cocked his head and eyed the man more closely. “So can you tell me who ordered you to do this?”

“To do what?”

“Feed me a bunch of bullshit.”

“Sorry, but you’re not cleared for anything else.”

“On the contrary, I’m cleared for everything up to TS/SCI with polygraph. How about you? What are you cleared for?”

Puller eyed the wall behind the man where photos and mementos were hung. They looked to be of local politicians, business leaders, a few national pols whom Puller recognized, shaking hands and grinning and doing what elected officials are often compelled to do. He didn’t even know if this was Moss’s office. There had been no name on the door.