John Lutz - Night Victims

And for the first time Vine felt afraid of Aaron Mandle.

And felt his resolve waver.

After all, Mandle could simply deny Vine’s story. Might even say he, Vine, killed the girl. Simply reverse their roles. There were no witnesses, only a dead Afghan girl. Dead in a country of death.

Gotta think about this, Vine told himself, and held his silence.

Think about it.

“. . time we shag-ass outta here,” Kray was saying. “We got what we wanted. Looks like it could be a schematic for some kinda biological weapon or some such shit. We get it back to base, no matter what. Understood?”

“Understood, sir!” answered twelve voices almost in unison, heavy on the sir.

Kray motioned with his right arm and led the way out of the cave, toward sunlight and heat.

Vine spat on the cave floor and fell in behind Mandle, knowing he’d turned a corner in his mind, trying to convince himself he hadn’t.

Think about it..

New York, 2004

Ten minutes after Cindy Vine had agreed to talk, Horn and Larkin were in the interrogation room with Millhouse, Twigg, and Cindy.

It was warm in there. Horn could feel the body heat and smell the sweat and fear emanating from Cindy. Getting mixed up with the wrong man was every woman’s potential pitfall, he thought. It worked the other way, too, but not as often and not as severely. Not a lot of wives turned out to be serial killers.

“Joe had a lot of pressure,” Cindy began, with the recorder running. “So did I, so maybe that’s why I didn’t notice how odd he was behaving. He was full of hate, and something else. Then, a couple of months ago, he told me about Aaron Mandle killing those women.”

“The Night Spider murders?” Millhouse asked softly.

“No, the ones that happened while they were in the SSF, when they were on missions in various trouble spots around the world. Mandle was sick, dangerous. In Afghanistan, Joe walked in on him right after he’d killed a girl.”

“Did Joe tell his commanding officer?”

“No, he couldn’t. Their unit was separate from the main force, like usual when they were on a nearly suicidal mission. That’s how Joe described it. So he waited before saying anything. He figured out that the girl Mandle killed wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. Then, after a while, he realized it was too late to speak out. It would have looked bad for him if he’d said something, maybe ended his career in disgrace. He said that until now they never told their wives or anyone else about the murders. Joe thought Mandle was dead, until he was arrested for the Night Spider killings. He watched the news and followed the trial, the conviction. .” Cindy started to sob again but bit her lip. She held in her distress like a great pressure, without breathing for a long time.

Finally she sighed, in control of herself, but seeming to become smaller as she exhaled. “Then came the phone call the night Mandle escaped. We were in bed, but I heard Joe on the phone. I knew he must be talking to Mandle. Joe hung up and started getting dressed in the dark. It surprised him when I asked where he was going. He’d thought I was asleep.”

“What did Joe say?” Millhouse asked casually, isolating and emphasizing the answer for the recorder.

“That he had to go out. An old friend who was in trouble had called. I asked him what old friend, but all he said was not to worry about it. He kissed me good-bye and went.”

“When did he return?”

“I’m not sure. I’d taken pills. We’d both been drinking. The stress of our son. . what was happening in our lives. When I woke up at about nine the next morning, Joe was next to me in bed.” Cindy couldn’t hold back her tears now. She dropped her head onto the table, hid her face in the crook of her arm, and began to sob uncontrollably.

“Enough for now,” Twigg said.

“Joe’s not an evil man!” said Cindy from the shelter of her bent arm. “Joe is not an evil man!”

Horn kept his teeth clenched. Oh, really? Is this the Joe who wants to torture and kill my wife?

But he said nothing, glancing at Vicki Twigg. She nodded slightly, as if to say, I understand. We both know about evil.

Horn was again humbled by the realization that what was profound in life usually lay unspoken.

And what needed to be said was usually spoken too late.

Afghanistan, 2001

The next evening at base camp, Aaron Mandle spoke to his commanding officer in private in the captain’s tent.

Kray listened silently, rubbing his chin.

When Mandle was finished, Kray said, “You’re telling me you and Vine killed this Afghan girl without provocation?”

“Vine was only the accessory, sir. I administered the fatal wounds.”

Kray stared at him in disbelief. “Why the fuck are you telling me this, Aaron?”

“Because I knew you’d understand.”

Kray studied him carefully, the pockmarked face, the creepy dark eyes. It was a face that was impossible to read. Kray often thought Mandle would make a hell of a poker player; he wondered if he might be playing poker now.

“Why might I understand?”

“Because we’re all brothers, here or in hell. You’ve said so yourself, over and over. And we have to look out for each other no matter what. You, me, Vine.”

Kray felt himself tighten inside. “I don’t quite follow.” But he did follow.

“I mean,” Mandle said, “what would it do to your military career, two of your men doing murder under your command? What would it do to our unit and others like ours? Those pussy politicians in Washington get hold of this information and we’ll all go down hard. Nobody’ll be without blame. They’ll go right up the line far as they can, chopping off heads, one right after the other, and not much worrying about whose heads they are.”

“That’s the way it works,” Kray agreed.

“The word gets out,” Mandle said, “it’d ruin a lot of careers, a lot of lives. Have an adverse effect on everybody it touched. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Those things never are.”

“So I figured I’d keep quiet about this, and I thought you’d see it the same way. It’s not really like we have much choice, ‘less we want to be brothers in the brig or gas chamber. We all owe each other, sir. It’s like combat-if we’re gonna survive we have to care for each other. Brothers all the way.”

“You’re saying we’re in the same boat,” Kray said carefully. “But the fact is, your end of the boat has a bigger leak in it.”

“Whole boat sinks, though, sir. Who’s even to say you didn’t know about the murders from the beginning?”

There was the whole boat. “Yes, Aaron, I suppose you have a point.”

“I figure we all three keep quiet, everything’ll be fine, sir.”

“That would be my suggestion, Aaron.”

“Joe Vine, he’s a good man but he needs to understand.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“He waited too long already before saying anything. And hell, it mighta been him killed the girl, if push comes to shove.”

“It won’t come to shove, Aaron. I’ll speak with Trooper Vine. He’ll understand that in time of war-in the world we live in-some things should be left unsaid.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I suppose we should thank each other, Aaron.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mandle about-faced and was gone from the tent. Kray had to fight himself so he wouldn’t go after him and kill him.

Mandle, Vine, and Captain Kray never mentioned the matter again.

Four days later, on the outskirts of an Afghan village they were clearing of Taliban, Kray led Mandle, Vine, and a trooper named Reever into a mud-brick dwelling at the end of a narrow street.