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movements early that night.
But she never mentioned his name or his rank, nothing at work. But the day of
the killing she left early because, as she told the other girls, this was
going to be a big date. At The Jockey Club where she had never been before.
She said that she had to be there by seven. So we checked. There was only one
officer who had reserved a table for two at that time, a man name of Colonel
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McCulloch.'
Troy's hands slammed down on the desk as he half rose to his feet. 'Colonel
McCulloch? Do you mean
Colonel Wesley McCulloch?'
'The same one. Now you know why you are here. We of course wanted to interview
the colonel but for some reason he couldn't be found. Not at home or at work.
He's gone. As you can imagine our investigation lit some fires. The FBI was on
to us ten minutes after we called him at the lab where he is stationed. After
we told them what was happening they told us to contact you. They didn't say
why, just that you were the man we should talk to. Can you tell me why?'
'I don't know if I am permitted to. Let me make a call first.'
Anderson pushed over the phone and busied himself with his paper work while
Troy called Admiral
Colonne and described this latest development. Then listened to his orders. He
replaced the receiver and
Lieutenant Anderson looked up from the papers he was working on, raising a
quizzical eyebrow. Troy counted off the items on his fingers.
'One. The colonel is involved in high security work. So if I don't give you
some of the details please don't ask what they are. Two I am permitted to tell
you everything that the FBI knows about the colonel, which frankly is just
about all I know. If you can whistle up a car, just like they do on TV, I'll
tell you about it on the way to McCulloch's house.'
'On the way. But we don't have any TV chauffeurs here. Just a five year old
Ford that needs a ring job.
And I drive it myself. Let's go.'
At least the Ford had a siren and some flashing lights which got them through
the traffic to Alexandria.
The messenger from QCIC was waiting in front of the house; on his motorcycle
he had managed to reach there ahead of them. He handed Troy the envelope, then
roared away. Troy tore it open and took out the ring of keys.
'Is this legal?' he asked as he unlocked the front door of McCulloch's house.
'This is a murder investigation. I'd have the thing broken down if you weren't
here. Just unlock it and step aside.' Anderson opened his jacket and drew his
police .38. Troy smiled at the middle-aged policeman.
'I think that after Nam I've been through more doors than you have,
lieutenant. So just stay close behind me and keep that thing ready.'
They went in fast, though it turned out to be an unnecessary precaution. The
house was empty. Nothing appeared to have changed since Troy had been there on
his first illicit visit. In the bedroom he kicked the rug aside, opened the
panel and pointed to the safe concealed beneath it.
'What if I opened that? Does a murder investigation cover this kind of thing
as well?'
Anderson shrugged. 'Depends on what we find. I imagine you can close it just
as easily as you can open it. You saw the photographs. I saw the girls. So
crack the damned thing and we'll worry about legality later.'
Troy still had the little printed slip in his wallet that the locksmith had
given him. He bent and spun the knob in slow, careful sequence. At the last
number the door pressed up against his hand in eager welcome. He opened it
wide.
The safe was empty. The gold was gone.
No, not completely empty. There was a folded piece of paper in the bottom.
They bent together to look in at it.
'Got your name on it,' Anderson said.
'Do I get to read it?'
'Why not? Too small for a booby trap. Just hold it by the edge when you take
it out. Push it open with a pen. There could be some fingerprints.'
Troy caught it between his fingernails and drew it carefully out, then laid
the folded slip on the dresser.
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Anderson held it secure with the end of his own pen while Troy poked it open.
The lettering inside was bold and clear, printed with a large red felt-tip
pen.
Keep looking for me, jig.
But you're not going to find me!
Chapter 9
'Are you the jig that he's talking about?' Lieutenant Anderson asked.
Troy nodded slowly, his face locked in an expression of cold anger. 'I'm the
one, all right. He got his back up the one and only time that we ever met.
Angry when he first talked to me and got angrier all the time.'
'He's got kind of a dirty mouth for an Army officer. Thought you had an
integrated Army?'
'It was, last time I looked. Doesn't mean there aren't any rotten apples in
it. Do you think this particular rotten apple is the kind who is so stupid
that he can't even spell something simple like ofey
?'
Anderson nodded. 'There's something very wrong going on here. I'm certain of
that. Legal or not, buying all that gold must have had some importance, or you
and the FBI wouldn't have been looking into it. Let's do some guessing using
the facts that we know so far. Marianne had this heavy date with McCulloch on
Friday night. They had steaks, lobster, champagne the works, and the evening
was heavenly.
Particularly back in his house where they mutually enjoyed some passionate
sex. But she found out something, I don't know what but something she
shouldn't have known. So instead of sending her back in a cab the kind colonel
drives her home, takes her up to her apartment. And kills her. Fakes it to
look like a burglary. Then turns off the lights and waits in the dark to kill
her roommate who might be able to identify him as Marianne's date of the
evening. It hangs together, doesn't it? In a particularly nasty way.'
'How much of that is guess work and how much do you really know?'
'I'm only guessing that she found out something here in this house and I'm
also guessing what happened back at the apartment. Everything else is fact,
facts that fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. We know they went out
to dinner together that evening. Coroner believes that she was not raped, but
she did have intercourse. She's on the pill, traces of it were found in her
blood. Semen in her vagina, recent bruises on her shoulders and breasts.
Doorman states that she has been coming home from late dates in a cab the last
few months. He didn't let her in that night. But every tenant in the building
has a key to a rear entrance to the parking lot.'
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