„Maybe Prado was shooting at you. He’s a logical choice,“ said Mallory. „Wasn’t his old stage routine built around trick shots? But he probably wouldn’t have missed what he was aiming at. I think you’re the one who fired that bullet into the balloon. Before the shot went wild, you were targeting the man who killed Oliver. Was it someone on the float? Or did you see Nick Prado in the crowd?“
„Oliver would’ve adored you – his very own champion, his paladin.“
„Maybe you blew the shot because you stroked out with the gun in your hand. Or maybe you just don’t have what it takes to kill. What did you do in the war – after Louisa died? Was it a desk job like Oliver’s? Whose army were you in?“
„I started my basic training with the British. Then, before I was finished, they transferred me to an American unit.“
„Where you did what?“
„Mass murder.“ His hand was steady as he sipped his wine. His voice was even, almost mechanical. „I tore human beings to shreds with explosives. And then I did my usual meticulous body count. I walked among the dismembered corpses – and the living too. But survivors never lingered very long. I always tallied them up with the dead, even when I could hear them screaming. I counted the broken bloody heads. That was the easiest way to figure out how many people there would’ve been – if all the parts of them had been all together.“
Chapter 12
This facility was highly rated by the state of Connecticut – and Mallory. The doors of every room stood open for her inspection, and cold white interior walls carried on the institutional theme of the corridor. There was no personal clutter of family photographs, no stale odor of sedentary patients, no hint of cologne or perfume. Every sign of the residents had been erased. A strong scent of disinfectant further killed any idea of a human habitat; only a fanatical cleaning woman or Detective Mallory could comfortably breathe in this atmosphere. She also approved of the tall nurse who walked beside her. The fragrance of laundry starch hung about his crisp white uniform.
The nurse was all too familiar with Mr. Roland. „The old man turned eighty-seven last month. Outlived his wife and son. The grandchildren could hardly wait to dump him here. Keep your distance, and forget everything you’ve heard about officers and gentlemen. He spits when he talks, and sometimes he aims it.“
„He’s gone senile?“
„Well, he does ramble some. But just between you and me, I think General Roland was always – “ One of his fingers made a spinning motion beside his head, as an illustration for toys in the attic.
„He told you he was a general?“
„Yes, ma’am, a five-star general. You’d think the war was still on, the way he barks orders to the staff.“
But according to Mr. Roland’s service record, obtained by midnight requisition from a military computer, the old man had never been promoted past the rank of lieutenant, and he had been dishonorably discharged before the end of World War II.
Mallory and the nurse walked down a hallway of tall windows. The glass sparkled with a recent cleaning and gave them a clear view of the dead garden. This long gallery was lined with chairs of wicker and chairs on wheels, each one only marginally occupied by an elderly person in a green robe and paper slippers. Their faces were devoid of expression, not enjoying the vista of bare trees and brown grass, their only activity, for they seemed to have been parked here and abandoned.
And now Mallory better understood the old man she had yet to meet. „You humor Mr. Roland, don’t you?“
„Oh, yeah, everybody does,“ said the nurse. „My grandfather was in World War II. He’d flay me alive if I didn’t show the old man some respect. So I call him ‘General,’ and sometimes I even salute. He likes that.“
Perhaps Mr. Roland was not deluded, but merely cagey. She turned back to look at the chair-bound people in a holding pattern at the windows, disengaged from life and unattended. Yes, Mr. Roland had been wise to elevate his rank in the world.
„You’ll be two minutes late for your appointment, ma’am. My fault – sorry. He might make you pay for that.“ The nurse stopped by a door at the end of the corridor and opened it for her. „He’s all yours.“
When she entered the private room, she found a withered little man with stray wisps of white hair sprouting in soft horns on either side of his balding head. He seemed lost in the network of technology. A plastic bag hung on the arm of a metal pole and dripped liquid into his veins. She could see the bruises on his arms from many other needles. A cable from his bedside monitor wove between the buttons of his red pajamas and stood out in a bold line to his heart. More tubes carried oxygen from the wall unit to the plastic device under his nostrils.
„So you’re Detective Mallory.“ Mr. Roland’s voice was the last remnant of strength, and it carried the authority of his falsely escalated rank. He looked her up and down, as if he were indeed a general reviewing his troops. His eyes came to rest on a bulge in the line of her blazer. He pointed to it with one gnarly finger. „Is that a gun? Now who’d give a gun to a little girl like you? Show me your identification.“ This was an order.
Mallory reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out her shield and ID. She held it up to him, and he squinted to read her name and rank.
„Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,“ she said, stepping back out of range from any spittle that might come her way.
„The police are all children now.“ The old man shook his head. „But girls with guns. If that ain’t the limit.“
Mallory settled into a chair beside the bed. „I need information about a man under your command in World War II.“
„Oh, the real war. Now that was a time and a half. I was career army, you know. In my first command – mostly sabotage details – damn few came back alive, and that’s a fact. That’s how much action my battalion saw.“
By Mallory’s count, it was hardly a battalion, and only two men out of twenty had come back alive. The U.S. Army had been less than satisfied with Roland’s explanation for this carelessness. „You could save me some time, sir. You know how long it takes to get anything out of the military.“
Actually, it had taken very little time. Hacking into the Pentagon computer was a rite of passage for the high-technology generation. A child could do it, and many children did. The military system suffered thousands of hits every year. But her time inside the files was limited by the bells and whistles of electronic watchdogs. „The soldier was Private Malakhai. Do you – “
„Do I remember him? Hell yes, I do. I did my level best to kill that son of a bitch.“ He paused to gauge the effect on her, and he was clearly disappointed that she was neither shocked nor impressed. „On his last mission, I made him jump from a plane in a daylight run. Damn fluke. The German gunners on the ground must’ve been napping when the boy’s parachute opened.“
„You wanted him dead – one of your own men.“
„Oh, yeah.“ He seemed more pleased with himself now that she had recognized his godhood. „The corporal – Edwards was his name. Damn kid, younger than you are. Well, that pissant tried to keep Malakhai in the plane. I had to pistol-whip the little bastard to keep him from blocking the door. Then I ordered Malakhai out of the plane. I should’ve pushed Edwards out too. But he wasn’t wearing a chute. I like to give a man a sporting chance.“
Mallory nodded. Edwards was the one who had chased down the lost medals belonging to his unit. Among the decorations he had secured for Private Malakhai, there were too many Purple Hearts, each one standing for a wound. She could not get them out of her mind.
„Oh, yeah,“ said the old man. „I saw it as my responsibility to make sure Malakhai never went home from the war. That boy wasn’t something you could turn loose on a peacetime population – not in good conscience.“