Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (150 page)

Green paused, the knife suspended in mid-air. “She got an
ID
on Daniel Oliver’s killer?”

“No, she hasn’t got a match on that guy yet. But she got an
ID
on the man the killer was talking to just before the assault. The man who gave the fake name? It was Richard Hamm.”

Green sucked in his breath. “Hamm was the drinking buddy?”

“Without a doubt. She recognized him herself, then got independent corroboration from the bartender. I thought you should know, in case you had any last minute instructions before Leblanc and I go after the guy.”

Green glanced at Tony, who was perched on his bumper seat, watching the bagel preparations eagerly. Tony had Sharon’s dark curls and huge chocolate eyes, but his intensity and single-mindedness were all Green’s. Green hesitated, loathe to disappoint him and to miss this lazy Sunday morning family time, but his own single-mindedness gave him little choice. If he stayed home, he would chafe with impatience all morning and drive the whole family crazy anyway.

“Give me an hour. I’ll get some things out of the way here and be right with you,” he said. He gave Tony his bagel and brewed up the coffee. Then, remembering the warmth of Sharon’s arms around him the night before, he slipped a bagel into the toaster for her and headed out into the backyard. A pale morning sun warmed the small flower garden tucked into the corner against the brick wall, and already Sharon’s massive fall bulb planting spree was paying dividends. Vivid yellow daffodils crowded the space. He pinched off one, hoping it would cheer her up after the long, ice-bound winter. Hoping too that it would make amends.

A smile lit her face when he walked into the room bearing the breakfast tray, but it faded slightly at the sight of the flower on the tray. She had heard the phone ring, and she was not fooled. He left her snuggling her son next to her as she picked up her coffee for her first sip. With her free hand, she waved him away.

“Go. The sun’s shining, and we’re all here today. Your loss, Green.”

Steeped in guilt, he slunk out of the house. On the drive downtown, he forced his mind to refocus on McGrath’s latest discovery about Hamm. It threw his theory about Oliver’s killer and the war crimes cover-up out of whack. Hamm had fit the scenario to a
T
. He had been one of the few men in MacDonald’s unit with the knowledge and capability to suppress a war crime. He had the strength and military training to kill Oliver with his bare hands, and he was also one of the few people interviewed by Peters before she was attacked.

This latest discovery did not exonerate him completely from the actual murders that had been committed; indeed ten years ago, he had lied to the police about his identity and very likely about his relationship to Oliver’s killer. But he had not been the one to throw the punch. Which meant they had someone else to find.

Sullivan’s prediction proved to be uncannily close to the mark, except that Hamm had not only put in an hour-long pre-dawn jog, but he had swum a few dozen laps at the hotel pool afterwards. He was now sitting in the hotel restaurant, his wet hair glistening and his cheeks ruddy with exertion, enjoying the full spread of the breakfast buffet. Our tax dollars at work, thought Green as he eyed the sausage, omelette, waffles, grilled tomatoes and fresh fruit that overflowed the man’s plate. Hamm didn’t look surprised to see them, only slightly nonplussed at having his routine disrupted.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said cheerfully, signalling the waiter to bring them all coffee. “I’ve been expecting a visit from some more senior men. My sincere sympathies about your detective. Terrible to think such a thing could happen in Petawawa, but I guess rapists know no bounds. It’s one of the things I worry about with the women under my command. It’s an added vulnerability that men don’t have, and in some parts of the world, it makes them fair game. What better way to strike at the enemy.”

Green inclined his head to accept the sympathies, then waited for the performance to end. Once the man had established his importance in the pecking order, he shook his head as if to chide himself.

“But I won’t keep you longer than necessary, because I know you’ve got your hands full. What can I do for you?”

“Tell us about your relationship with Ian MacDonald.”

Hamm frowned as if searching his memory. “Ah. Still barking up that tree, I see.”

Green waited.

“Ian MacDonald was a corporal in my platoon overseas in Croatia, as I’m sure you already know. I never saw him before,nor since.”

“He killed himself in 1995.”

Hamm cut his sausage into meticulous quarters. “I did know that. At least, I assumed it was intentional. He knew how to handle that rifle.”

“Why do you think he did it?”

Hamm chewed thoughtfully. “Some soldiers have trouble with what they see overseas, and it colours their trust in people. Yugoslavia was a brutal and dangerous place.”

“You did not seem very supportive of his medal for bravery. Why was that?”

“What the devil gave you that idea?”

“Mrs. MacDonald’s impressions, and the sympathy card you sent her.”

“It seems to me,” said Hamm, laying down his fork impatiently, “that this is all ancient history, the details of which have no relevance to your current investigation. MacDonald was a nice boy, but he was not a soldier. He entered a firefight to save local civilians, all of whom were trying to kill each other, and in the process risked his own life and the rest of his section. That is the reason I was less than supportive. Historically, medals have been awarded to honour acts of bravery or heroism on the battle front. This medal was all about optics, inspector. The army had just been dragged through the mud over the Somalia affair, so let’s pin a medal on the brave boy who risked his own life to save the locals.”

Green had seen enough political games in his twenty-five year career to know the colonel’s assessment was probably dead on. “Still,” he said, “that doesn’t sound like a soldier so disillusioned and tormented that he’d later take his own life. What exactly happened to change him?”

“I have no idea. I don’t make it a policy to psychoanalyze my men. I need to know that they have the strength, training and equipment to do the job I ask. Beyond that...” He shrugged. “Sometimes the stress reaction is delayed, when they have some downtime to think about it. That’s why I always kept them busy.”

Green paused to take a casual sip of coffee. Tried to make his voice neutral. “Daniel Oliver was a good friend of Ian MacDonald.”

A contingent of businessmen had just invaded the buffet table,chattering with an animation Green had not thought possible at this hour. So great was Hamm’s focus that he didn’t seem to notice. He was watching Green carefully, but didn’t reply.

“He seemed to think MacDonald’s superior officer was to blame,” Green added.

“Then you know his thoughts better than I.”

“But you were there at the Lighthouse Tavern the night he accused his killer.”

Hamm frowned. “The night Daniel Oliver died? In Halifax? I most certainly wasn’t.”

Green set his cup down. “Before you say anything to dig yourself in deeper, Colonel, I should tell you that I have two independent witnesses who’ve identified you as the man talking to Oliver’s killer just before the altercation took place.So denial is not a wise choice.”

In the silence, the laughter of the businessmen and the clatter of dishes filled the room. Sullivan had said nothing, but now he looked up from his notebook with interest.

A faint flush crept up Hamm’s neck, but his expression was unconcerned. “It may not be a wise choice, but it’s the truth. How can anyone possibly have identified me if I wasn’t there?”

“Exactly.”

“Who are these witnesses anyway? Soldiers so drunk they could barely prop up their chins? Whores with eyes for every part of a man’s body but his face? Come on, Inspector, you can’t be serious.”

Green leaned forward across the table. “At the time, you gave a false
ID
to the investigating officers. Luckily, they have excellent memories for faces. The question is, why did you do that? Just to save yourself the embarrassment of being caught up in a sleazy barroom brawl? Or to protect the man you were talking to.”

Hamm stared at him, his blue eyes icy. His lips pursed in a taut line. “This is absurd. I don’t have to dignify this with a response. First you accuse me of being in a bar brawl, then of providing false
ID
to the authorities. I’ve been in every filthy, rotten corner of the world, Inspector. I’d hardly lie about the Lighthouse Tavern.”

“You would if you knew the killer, and your identity could point us to him.”

Hamm thrust his chair back. “We’re done here, gentlemen. Obviously nothing I say will change your minds. You’d rather take the word of a couple of police officers who pick my picture out of God knows what, ten years after the fact. There were at least a dozen drunken soldiers in the bar that night—”

“How do you know?”

Hamm’s eyes snapped wide. “I guessed, you fool. You said it was a brawl—”

Green smiled and stood up to go. “Nice try, Colonel Hamm. We’ll be in touch.”

“I want a crack at him!” Kate McGrath announced the moment Green phoned to fill her in. He and Sullivan had just arrived at the station. and Sullivan was sifting through reports on the hunt for Twiggy.

“I think it’s premature, Kate,” Green replied. “The man had the ego of a colossus. He’s not going to crack without a good deal more strong-arming, along with some evidence he can’t dispute.”

“With all due respect, Daniel Oliver is not your case. I’ve already cleared it with Norrich. and I’m booked on the two thirty flight. I’ll be there by five.” She paused and her voice softened. “So you’ve got the day to get your additional evidence.”

He hesitated. She was right; he had no right to stop her. And perhaps, just perhaps, her knowledge of the players in the old murder case would be useful in helping him put the pieces together. “Okay, I’ll pick you up,” he said, and he hung up. The smile was still lingering on his face when Sullivan walked into his office and gave him a knowing look.

Even though it was Sunday, Green could see several offduty police officers milling around in the squad room outside. Everyone wanted to work the case on Peters’ behalf.

“No sightings of Twiggy yet,” Sullivan said, “but I phoned the hospital, and Peters continues to improve. She’s been upgraded from critical to stable.”

Green felt his mood lift even further. “That’s good news. Has she regained consciousness?”

“No, but she’s beginning to show signs, they said. The cop on guard said the doctors were actually smiling this morning.”

Good news all around, thought Green. “We should tell Gibbs. And Weiss.”

“I’ve already tried. Neither answered their phone.”

“Bob’s probably pounding the pavement again, trying to find someone who saw—” Green broke off as the elevator door opened and Gibbs himself appeared. The balding, bespectacled man who followed him out had a distinctively military stride, despite the extra two hundred pounds he carried on his massive frame. At the sight of Green and Sullivan, Gibbs’s face lit with a mixture of triumph and anticipation.

“This is Corporal Neil Thompson, sir. The Queens University student you asked me to locate.” Gibbs introduced the two detectives. Thompson dwarfed even Sullivan in size, but the handshake he extended was flaccid and moist.

“Not a corporal any more, strictly speaking,” he corrected with a diffident laugh. “The reserve unit and I have just parted company.”

Green didn’t ask why, but suspected the poundage might have played a role. “Thank you for getting here so quickly.”

“I drove down and picked him up,” Gibbs said.

“But I’m glad to come. Glad to help anyway I can. Ian and Danny were my friends.”

Green invited them all to pick up coffees and go down to a conference room where they could talk in comfort. He wanted to keep this initial interview conversational rather than formal, so he chose an executive meeting room that had recently been renovated in plush broadloom and leather. During the week, this room was reserved for intimate gatherings of the senior brass, but on Sunday, it was vacant. When they were settled around the table with hot cups of coffee, Green invited Thompson to tell them about Ian MacDonald’s experience in Croatia. The man needed no prompting to launch into his tale.

“It was a pivotal point in our lives that changed most of us forever. Do I regret going there? Not for a moment. Would I go again? Not on your life. It’s the reason I’m studying history now, because I realized the truth of the old saying. ‘Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.’ No one knew what they were doing over there. Not the
UN
Security Council, not the Europeans or the Americans or anyone else who stuck their noses in there. Not the military commanders and certainly not us lowly grunts patrolling our
APC
s up and down the road. But at the time we thought we were doing some good. We were keeping enemies apart, trying to make them compromise and negotiate their conflicts, trying to save innocent villagers who were caught up in the middle. And there were plenty of them.”

He picked up his coffee in his sausage fingers and took a noisy slurp. “By the end we thought, well, they’re not making a hell of a lot of headway on the diplomatic front in Zagreb, but at least on our little stretch of mountainside, we’re trying to show them a better way. Being over there sure made me appreciate Canada. I’m telling you all this to give you a sense of what we were thinking while we were over there, alternatively bored, hot, homesick, terrified and exhilarated. We had a lot of laughs and experiences of a lifetime too. Ian was no different than the rest of us in that respect. Like me, he was a bit more intellectual than some of the guys; he was planning to go to vet school, he was quieter, liked time to think and write in his diary...”

Green suppressed a jolt of excitement. No one had mentioned a diary. A diary might tell them everything! With an effort, he kept his expression neutral as he nodded for Thompson to continue, but mentally he was already composing his phone call to MacDonald’s mother.