Michael Mcgarrity: Slow Kill

“Perhaps if you came out and told her yourself,” Parker said wistfully, “it would sink in more readily.”

“I’ll have to leave that in your good hands, Ms. Parker,” Kerney said.

Ramona Pino stepped through the open door to his office with a pleased expression on her face. Kerney made his excuses to Parker and hung up.

“I’ve got news, Chief,” Ramona said. “The Canadian Customs and Revenue Agency reports that Edward Ramsey and Richard Chase have both received annual consulting fees of a hundred thousand dollars U.S. each from the High Plains Charitable Trust over the past fifteen years. The deposits were made to a bank in Toronto.”

“That’s a nice sum of money to put in your pocket. Has it been reported as earned foreign income on their tax returns?”

“Not according to the IRS agent I spoke with.”

Kerney smiled, “Good work, Sergeant. Any word on George or Debbie?”

“That’s not going well, Chief. The Calgary PD has stopped talking to me. It seems that the U.S. Army has stepped in and wants to keep the investigation all to themselves.”

“Let them have it,” Kerney said.

“You want me to drop it?”

“It’s a military matter that doesn’t concern us now.”

“Okay, Chief, but I hate to leave loose ends untied,” Ramona said.

“That’s one of the reasons you’re good at what you do,” Kerney replied with a laugh. “Give me a copy of your supplemental report on Ramsey and Chase as soon as it’s done.”

“It’s on your computer, Chief,” Ramona said as she waved from the office door.

Kerney pulled it up on his screen, read through it, and dialed the number of the resident FBI special agent.

“Would you be interested in a bribery case involving an FBI employee and a city police captain?” he asked.

“I always like a good bribery case,” the agent said. “Is the officer from your department?”

“Nope, Santa Barbara, California.”

“What kind of FBI employee?” the agent asked.

“A GS 12 who teaches at Quantico,” Kerney answered, “who also happens to be the retired chief of the Santa Barbara PD.”

“Intriguing. How big a bribe are we talking about here?”

“One point five million each, spread out over fifteen years.”

The agent whistled. “You’ve got proof?”

“I do.” Kerney printed Pino’s supplemental report and stuck it in his case file.

“Can you bring it to me now?”

“I’m on my way.”

He left the building thinking how absolutely grand it would be if the feds busted Ramsey and Chase at work.

Two months after the Army started looking for George Spalding and Debbie Calderwood, Sara called Kerney from her office with an update on the investigation.

“Debbie Calderwood is in custody,” she said as she scanned the CID investigator ’s report.

“That’s good news,” Kerney replied. “Where was she found?”

“At the Toronto airport about to board an international flight to Europe under the name of Caitlin Thomas,” Sara replied. “It’s her legal name. She changed it after gaining Canadian citizenship.”

“What about George?” Kerney asked. “Did he change his name to Dylan Thomas?”

Sara laughed. “That’s unknown, as are his whereabouts.”

“Is Debbie cooperating?”

“Yes, indeed. She divorced George twenty years ago and hasn’t seen him since. But she got a multi-year, multimillion-dollar settlement. The Canadian Customs and Revenue Agency is auditing her income tax records for a paper trail that should eventually lead us to him.”

“You sound very confident about it,” Kerney said.

“I am. No matter where George might be, he’s about to discover that the world is a very small place. We’ll get him.”

“I’ve never understood why George colluded with his father to deceive his mother. Has Debbie shed any light on that?”

“According to Debbie, Alice sexually molested George until he got old enough and strong enough to resist her. He hated his mother.”

“When I first spoke with Alice, she said that she never should have let George go. At the time, I thought she meant she should have talked him out of enlisting in the Army.”

“Apparently, it was far more twisted than that,” Sara said.

“Yeah,” Kerney replied, thinking about Clifford Spalding. When it came to women, the man had picked two real humdingers to marry.

“I’ve got to go,” Sara said.

“I’ll call you at home tonight,” Kerney said.

Sara hung up, put the report aside, and returned to the task of compiling all the data that had been gathered on the active rape cases her team had surveyed.

In six cases, vital evidence had been misplaced or lost. One CID investigator had been ordered by a post commander to destroy evidence, which the officer had refused to do. A victim with ten years’ service had accepted an honorable discharge after being threatened with a letter of admonishment for a trumped-up minor rule infraction that had occurred after the rape.

In another case, an accused rapist, a master sergeant, had been allowed to retire before the paperwork could be forwarded to JAG for action. At JAG, several prosecutions had been dropped when victims had recanted their allegations after receiving spot-promotions and transfers.

Of all the cases surveyed by her team, only two investigations had been conducted without any evidence of interference or inappropriate meddling by higher-ups. The findings made Sara boil.

She entered the last of the information, saved the file to the computer hard drive, and made a backup copy. With the case sampling data now complete, Sara decided it was time to pass the results on to her Teflon-coated, chickenshit boss. In all probability, she would pay a price for submitting hard, disturbing facts the general didn’t want to hear. At the very least, a butt-chewing was likely.

But whatever the outcome, for the first time in weeks, Sara felt good about doing her job.