Richard House - The Kills

Parson asked if the civil contractor Stephen Sutler had ever accompanied them on these trips and the men shrugged (although they were not men, but boys aged nineteen and twenty-one). Sutler had attended one or two of these excursions, he came with them to Bahrain, but not Kuwait. Even when he did go he wasn’t much of a participant. Clark supposed he was at the bar. Pakosta said he was too involved to care about what Sutler was doing.

Parson changed direction. ‘What can you tell me about the Massive?’

‘What did we know? We didn’t know anything. He had us digging holes, putting up posts, and putting them back up when they blew over. Before Sutler our job was to manage the burn pits and keep the road open for the oil tankers and the convoys. That was our job. That’s what we were there for.’

‘Then why did you impersonate security?’

‘I said, already. I explained. Howell wanted security for his trips. It was good money. He paid in cash. He provided uniforms. He said there wasn’t any problem with it.’

Parson turned his attention to Clark. ‘What do you know?’

Clark sat upright, hands open in front of him. ‘I know there were plans to build a new facility, and we were helping with that. There were plans for a whole city. It didn’t make much sense, there’s nothing but sand. He was looking at bringing in water, he was blocking out where everything would go.’

Parson returned to his notes. ‘You accompanied Stephen Sutler to Southern-CIPA. You were with him on the flight from Camp Liberty to Amrah City. Did he talk about going somewhere else? Did he ever talk about what he would do when he was done in Iraq? Did he say anything about what he planned to do?’

Pakosta shook his head, and Clark said no.

‘Did he speak with anyone else?’

‘Kiprowski. They spent a lot of time together.’ Both men agreed.

‘He never spoke about home? Did he ever mention his family? Did he ever mention that he was married?’

Clark tucked his hands under his thighs and sat forward. ‘He never spoke about much of anything. Not to me. Maybe to Kiprowski, you’d have to ask him. I don’t remember him talking about anything except the project. That’s all he was interested in.’

Parson read a list of names. The other men at Camp Liberty with Clark and Pakosta: Hernandez, Watts, Samuels, Gunnersen, Chimeno, Kiprowski. ‘That morning at Amrah City, did you see him into the building?’

‘We were outside,’ Pakosta answered for them both. ‘Neither of us went inside.’ Pakosta’s head tipped sideways, slow and with meaning, and Parson asked himself if this intended threat or irritation — if this indicated that he was lying.

‘And Kiprowski? Where did he come from?’

Clark looked to Parson, puzzled by his use of the past tense. ‘He’s from Chicago. He’s from the north side.’

‘I meant that morning. Why did Sutler choose Kiprowski? Was there any reason for this?’

A nervous Clark continued shaking his head. Pakosta paused, then answered. ‘Maybe he just liked Kiprowski more.’

Parson queried the statement. Exactly what did Pakosta mean?

‘He had us digging holes in the sand. The only person who didn’t dig was Kiprowski.’ Pakosta shrugged. ‘Kiprowski ran after him like a dog. When there was real work he always found something else for him. Some other business.’

‘And on other occasions?’

‘You mean visits to CIPA? That was it. There weren’t any other occasions. That was the one time he went to collect money.’

Parson took out a sheet of paper from his notes. ‘Howell gave Sutler five hundred thousand, seven hundred thousand, ten hundred. All in cash. All on different days.’

‘No.’ Clark shook his head vigorously. ‘When?’

‘July twelfth, nineteenth, twenty-fifth…’

‘He didn’t go more than once or twice before that last time, and that was the only time we were with him. You need to check those dates.’

‘There are records of Howell giving him money. On five, six, seven occasions. More.’

Pakosta appeared startled. ‘Then Howell is lying. It didn’t happen. Sutler went to CIPA with his little plans, a roll of maps, maybe — maybe — three times. He kept coming back complaining that Howell was making him jump through hoops, causing delays. He was waiting on money to bring in materials, to start something, but Howell kept stalling. He never had money.’

‘This is what Sutler told you?’

‘We saw him. We saw him take the flight. We saw him come back. He had nothing with him but a roll of drawings. He didn’t even have a flak vest. Like he landed in the desert with nothing.’

Parson asked Clark to confirm.

‘He took a bag, one time. One time only, and that was the last time. The night before he was talking about how big it would need to be. He didn’t know if his bag would be big enough, and he was excited about the money because everything was going to start, just like he wanted.’

‘How was he paid until then?’

Pakosta shrugged. ‘He didn’t take any money, there were no other times. Day to day we all managed on credit and account.’

‘Did he carry much cash?’

‘We were in the desert. Nothing to spend it on. He probably managed the same as us.’

‘But you can’t be certain that Sutler never took money from Howell.’ Parson allowed a short pause, the men appeared confused. ‘You know nothing about the money he collected from Southern-CIPA? You can’t be certain? After the incident, did you see Sutler leave?’

Again, Pakosta answered first. ‘I didn’t see anything once he was inside. I was right at the door. Smoking, right by the door. I came out before everything kicked off. I didn’t see Sutler. I didn’t see Kiprowski.’

Then Clark: ‘I was outside with the duty guard. I felt the blast, and right after I heard live fire from the perimeter. After that I don’t know. I was on the ground. The blast came from the back, but the shots were close. There was smoke. I had my head covered waiting for incoming.’

‘One hit?’

‘Mortar.’

‘You saw it?’

‘Clear as day.’ Pakosta lazily scratched his neck. ‘You’ve seen the result? You get to Amrah?’

‘Where did it come from? What direction?’

‘It came from the factory. From the south.’

‘And you saw this? What about you? You saw this, Clark?’

‘We both saw it,’ Pakosta answered for Clark, ‘clear as day.’

Clark sat forward, his hand hesitated close to his mouth. ‘I heard it coming. Right from the south. There’s a market and some old factories, light industry. Most of those buildings are secured. Most times they drive up and lay down everything they have, but this was just the one. And I guess one was enough.’

‘Stephen Sutler, describe his face. His hair? How long?’ Parson abruptly stood up. ‘Is he taller than me?’

The answer from both came as a shrug. Maybe, said one. Yes, the other. Both unconvinced. Sutler looked British but they couldn’t clarify why.

‘So about the same height? And build?’

Stockier, they agreed. Maybe. Heavier by ten or fifteen pounds, or twenty even, twenty-five. They couldn’t say.

Parson collected his papers and drew out a photocopy of Stephen Sutler’s ID, the image enlarged, his face washed of distinguishing features. ‘There’s nothing more you can tell me about this man? You saw him enter a building surrounded by security forces, from which, it appears, he vanished during an assault. And you had no idea about the money?’

‘I swear.’

Pakosta asked if that was it, and Parson said yes, that was all he wanted. With the interview over Pakosta and Clark stood up.

‘Why all this interest in Sutler?’

‘Because Sutler has disappeared.’