“Captain Cooke was a member of the 89th Airlift Wing and, as such, he was part of SAM FOX.” When Justin shook his head blankly, Zanesworth went on. His words were in even more of a monotone than seemed usual, as if he’d offered this explanation thousands of times, which Justin realized he probably had. “SAM FOX was originally used as an aircraft tail number; it formed a radio call sign to identify Air Force aircraft that were transporting high-ranking VIPs, usually on a foreign flight. SAM is Special Air Mission, FOX for Foreign.”
“That’s what Cooke was doing? Piloting VIPs?”
“Captain Cooke. And yes. That’s our primary mission at Andrews. We transport the president of the United States and worldwide airlift for the vice president, the president’s cabinet, members of Congress, military leaders, and other dignitaries of the appropriate stature.”
“Do you keep flight logs for all your pilots?”
“Of course.”
“Could I see his? Captain Cooke’s?”
“I’m afraid not. You don’t have the clearance to see that kind of information.”
“And I suppose there’s nothing I could do to get that kind of clearance?”
Zanesworth didn’t bother to respond to that one. He just let his lips spread into the thinnest of smiles.
“Did you know him, Colonel? Captain Cooke?”
Zanesworth waited an appropriate length of time-two or three seconds-before nodding his head and saying, slowly, “Of course I knew him. There’s no one I don’t meet under my command. But I didn’t know him well, unfortunately. We had very little interpersonal contact.”
The man was lying. It was a strange lie to tell and there was no real reason for it. But Zanesworth stumbled over the words and his eyes shifted just slightly when he spoke. Up until now he’d been difficult and obviously resisting any kind of probe. But now he was definitely lying. Of that Justin was certain. He just had to try to figure out why.
“Funny. I’d think you’d make it a point of knowing the people who fly heads of state.”
“Captain Cooke wasn’t flying heads of state. At least our head of state. And there are twenty thousand people living and working at Andrews. I wish I knew them all, but I don’t.”
“So he never flew Air Force One?”
“No.”
“You know that without checking?”
“I know who flies the president. I know everyone who flies the president.”
“Did he ever fly the vice president?”
“It’s possible. I’d have to look at his flight records over the years.”
“Would you mind doing that?”
“Yes, I would. I don’t see the relevance.”
“There probably isn’t any. It’s just that, you know how it is, once you start snooping it’s hard to stop.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know how that is, Mr. Westwood. But unless you can show me the relevance, I won’t be revisiting the records.”
“Okay. Then let’s try this one: When did you hear about Captain Cooke’s death? What day was it?”
“I assume it was the day he died. Possibly the morning after.”
“Really? That soon? Because somebody went to a lot of trouble to hide his identity. I didn’t know who he was the day he died. Or the morning after.”
“It was probably the day after that, now that I think about it. Or at least I assumed it was that close to his death. I certainly could be off by a few days.”
“Who called to tell you?”
“I. . um. . I’m not sure. One of my aides. The police must have called and he took the call.”
“The thing is, Colonel, I’m the police. For some reason, that doesn’t seem to be getting through. But I’m the only one who could have called that soon. And I didn’t.”
“Then maybe it wasn’t the police who called. Maybe it was Captain Cooke’s family. I’ll talk to my aide and see what he says. He’ll have all that information.”
“How about if I ask him?”
“He’s not on base today. I’ll talk to him when he’s back and let you know his response.”
“Can I have his name?”
“I’ll get back to you with all the information.”
Justin cleared his throat and twisted his neck to the right. It was stiff as a board. That was because since he’d set foot on Andrews Air Force Base he felt as if he were carrying around a thousand-pound weight on his shoulders. “How long have you been on the base, Colonel?” he asked.
“What relevance does that have?”
Justin exhaled a deep breath. It wasn’t a happy exhale and he made no attempt to hide his dismay. “Have you ever conducted an investigation, sir?”
“On a small scale.”
“I’m not talking about stealing a quart of strawberries here. I mean something on the level of a multiple-murder investigation.”
“No, of course not.”
“Then let me give you a little lesson, just in case you ever find yourself in my position. You know. . investigating. The first thing you have to keep in mind is that my questions don’t necessarily have any implicit belief or disbelief to them. I’m just trying to get to the particular information I need to solve my problem. So, for instance, if you didn’t know Hutchinson Cooke well, my question doesn’t necessarily mean that I think you’re lying. It could mean that I’m trying to find out if there’s someone else I should be talking to. Your predecessor, for instance, who might have known him better. And had some interpersonal contact.”
“I’ve been base commander here for eleven years.”
“And Captain Cooke was here for. .?”
“Eight years.”
“Huh. Out of those twenty thousand who live and work here, how many are officers who serve under you?”
“We’re here to talk about Captain Cooke, Mr. Westwood. I’m not going to discuss anything about other men and women.”
“Chief.”
“What?”
“Chief Westwood. As long as we’re doing the whole title thing. I’m the chief of police, actually. Of the town where Captain Cooke was murdered.”
“Are there any other questions, Chief Westwood?”
“What was Hutchinson Cooke doing in East End Harbor when his plane crashed? Why was he there?”
“He was on official leave. He had a few days off. I can’t tell you what he did during his private time.”
“Was it his plane?”
“Again, private information. I don’t have any idea whether or not he had his own plane.”
“Not curious?”
“The man’s dead. It doesn’t strike me as relevant whether he was flying his own plane or borrowing someone else’s. The man was a pilot. He preferred being in the air to walking on the ground. As most of us do.”
“Any idea where he was coming from? Or flying to?”
“No.”
“Is there anyone who might, Colonel?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Justin made no attempt to hide his exasperation. “What was he, a hermit? Eight years on this base and he didn’t have any friends he might have talked to?”
“I’ve asked anyone here I thought might be helpful, in anticipation of your arrival. No one had answers to any of the questions you’ve asked.”
“So you already anticipated all my questions?”
“It doesn’t exactly take Sherlock Holmes to come up with this list.”
“Would you mind if I asked them myself? To the people who didn’t have any answers when you asked?”
“Yes, I would mind. I’m afraid that won’t be allowed.” Colonel Zanesworth stood. A not very subtle sign that the interview was over. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Justin nodded slowly. “Here’s one question I can’t quite figure out the answer to,” he said. “And you probably didn’t anticipate this one because it wasn’t on my list.” The colonel’s expression didn’t change. There was only the slightest flicker in his eyes to reveal his anger. He was better at covering up anger than he was at lying. “One of your men died in a plane crash. An expert pilot, so I was told. And someone who worked for you. . well, that’s not the right term, but you know what I mean. . for eight years. Suddenly, someone comes into your office and tells you this officer didn’t die accidentally, that he might have been murdered. . ”