"This is the communications center," Lasner said, "sir." He looked offended that anyone would doubt he was well informed.
"When was Major Thornton told?"
"I told him myself last night, as soon as the message came in from Ballykinler about the ambulance going for his body."
"What did he say?"
"I don't recall exactly, Lieutenant. Something about it being horrible. Why?"
"Did he ask about me?"
"Not a word. What exactly is this about?"
"Nothing, Sarge, nothing at all. Listen, can you show me the files Heck was looking through, the ones you told me about?"
"No, I can't."
"Why?"
"They're gone. I had them all boxed up too. It took one of the clerks all day to sort things out after Heck pulled papers from every file cabinet we have. It was a mess. But we straightened it out and put everything back in the right order. Then Major Thornton came by asking what Heck had been looking for. I showed him the box and he took it."
"Why?" I asked. It seemed to be the only question I could come up with.
"Because he's a major, and I'm a noncom."
There was nothing to say to that.
I walked to the main building, heading for Thornton's office. GIs in fatigues and packs stood around outside, waiting for someone to order them to march somewhere for no discernible reason. Clerks clutching files and flimsies scuttled in and out, moving the paperwork that kept a division in red tape. So much paper, so many forms and orders, it was paperwork that kept the wheels turning, and if you knew how to work it, you could get just about anything you wanted, especially if it could be painted green.
But you could get other things too, and if you were part of a unit bivouacked in one place temporarily, then you could count on paperwork getting lost or tossed as nonessential, when your next destination was an invasion beach. I was taking a gamble, but I was ready to give odds that Thornton and Brennan, along with Jenkins, were tangled up in something that had nothing to do with BARs or the IRA. I'd been righter than I thought when I goaded Heck about not having a single lead. He didn't; he wasn't even trying to find who took the BARs. He probably knew he was out of his depth there. But his interest in bills of lading and the like told me he was onto something, something that was more in his line.
I was steamed at being sidetracked but that didn't mean I couldn't make time to deal with the source of my anger. I was nearing Thornton's office, my mind racing with ideas on how best to take this major down, when out strolled Sergeant Pete Brennan, whistling a tune, his hands in his pockets as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"Hi, Lieutenant, how are you doing?"
"What do you mean, how am I doing? Aren't you going to be court-martialed?"
"No, no," Brennan said, waving his hand back and forth. "That was all a little misunderstanding. The major and I are copacetic. I gotta get back now."
"Wait a minute," I said, grabbing him by the arm. "I know what's going on here. Between you, Thornton, and Jenkins." I wasn't as sure as I sounded, but sounding sure was a good technique for rattling suspects. "Tell me, Pete, what do you have on Thornton?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice lowered to a whisper. "Now let me go."
"You're playing a dangerous game," I said. "Not with Thornton but with Jenkins. If he's involved, you could be in big trouble."
"What do you mean if, Lieutenant? A second ago you said you knew what was going on. Leave me alone, please." With that, he pulled his arm from my grip and walked out the main door, glancing left and right as he headed for a jeep. I took a deep breath, shaking my head at Brennan's foolishness. Hoping I was wrong for his sake, I walked into Thornton's office and pushed the door hard, so it slammed against the wall.
"What the-I'll call you back, I have to go," said Thornton, slamming down the receiver. "Boyle, are you drunk?"
"I was last night, Major. You know what would have tasted really good for breakfast? Ham and eggs. Not powdered eggs and Spam, but the real thing. Know what I mean?" I sat myself down on the corner of his desk and stared at him.
"Any problem, Major?" A corporal leaned into the office from the hallway, glanced at me and back to Thornton.
"No, nothing wrong," Thornton said. "Wind took the door. Shut it, will you?"
The door clicked shut and we were alone. Thornton didn't say anything. He didn't ask me why I was blabbing on about ham and eggs, like any innocent guy would've. Instead, he gulped as sweat broke out on his forehead.
"I have a few questions," I said.
"Have you found the BARs yet?" Thornton was putting a brave face on things, trying to put me on the defensive. It might have worked with some lieutenants but not this one.
"Gee, Major, no. You see, things have been kind of confusing, trying to figure out who's involved in a dangerous arms theft and who's involved in penny-ante bribery and skimming of army funds."
"What are you talking about?" He tried to put some indignation into it, but it came out as desperation.
"First, where did the whiskey come from?"
"Huh?" I knew I was right. Any honest senior officer would have called the MPs by now. Instead, Thornton sat looking up at me, his mouth hanging open.
"That's one of my questions. Where did the whiskey come from?" I pointed to the corner of the room, where three cases of Irish whiskey had been the last time I was there. This morning, only one remained.
"You know how it is, Boyle…"
"OK, let's try this one. How did Brennan find out?"
"Find out what?" The last word had a long, drawn-out sound, as if he were about to start crying.
"That's OK, Major, I have more. Like what did you do with the paperwork you took from the communications center?"
"It's around here somewhere, I may have misplaced it. I wanted to look into it myself, I thought maybe I, I… I don't know," Thornton said, exhausting himself with lies.
"What's in that drawer?"
"Which drawer?" Thornton asked, his eyes darting for a second to a desk drawer.
"That one," I said, pointing to the middle drawer on his right. "The one you stuffed some papers into when I was here. It's locked I bet. Right?"
"No, look, it's empty," he said with pathetic eagerness. He pulled the drawer open, revealing a paper clip and dust.
"Your other drawers empty too?"
"No, they aren't. Why?"
"Because, you stupid oaf, why should that drawer be empty unless you got rid of everything in it?"
"Boyle, you can't talk to me like that, really."
"OK, call your CO. Tell him. Tell him there's a second louie in your office saying real bad things about you."
"Hold on, hold on. We can work this out."
"Maybe," I said. "Let's start by me telling you a few things, and you tell me if I've gotten anything wrong." I raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to answer.
"Huh? Oh, OK, sure." He shook a cigarette from a pack and lit up. He didn't offer me one.
"You and Jenkins cooked up some sort of scheme. My guess is that he started with a few personal gifts to you. Whiskey to start, then some nice cuts of meat, pork, and lamb, just for you. You liked it, and then one day he suggested an arrangement. Basically he bills the army for more than he delivers and gives you a kickback. Who's to know? It's all food to be consumed, and you're in charge of the paperwork. Once you leave, it will all disappear anyway. Why not make some dough while you can? Hell, you know the division is headed for trouble, might as well make some hay while the sun shines, right?"
"He's a very nasty man."
"I'm sure he forced the arrangement on you. But then Brennan comes along, assigned to kitchen detail. I don't know how, but he sees that things don't add up. Maybe he compares a bill of lading from a delivery with the invoice or the receipt, it really doesn't matter. I bet he went straight to you."