Rebel in Time

'Right. And it gets better. We wanted to talk to him, so we could trace her 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 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. 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?'