LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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