Oddly, though, Sandra had drawn a heavily shaded cloud over its clock tower, more like a mass of writhing black serpents than a cloud.
"Interesting picture," he remarked, as Eunice came back into the living room.
"Yes. For some reason she calls it the Fun House."
"The Fun House, huh? What's that cloud hanging over it?" "I'm not sure. I remember her drawing it and the weather
was perfect."
"Strange, isn't it? Very, very good. But definitely strange."
127
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next morning Decker drove the ninety miles southeastward to Fort Monroe, headquarters of the U.S. Army Training and Doctrine Command, where Major Drewry had served in the military history section. It was a sunny day, but a fine warm rain was falling, so that the Mercury's windshield glittered and its tires sizzled on the highway.
Fort Monroe was situated on a spit of land in Chesapeake Bay. When Decker opened his car window to show his badge to the sentry at the gate, he could smell the ocean, like freshly opened oysters.
"I have a twelve o'clock meeting with Captain Tony Morello. Want to tell me where I can find him?"
"That's Toni with an i, sir. She's over in archives, right across there."
Decker parked his car in the visitors' space and walked across the parade ground. A squad of pink-faced cadets in full dress uniform were practicing formation marching, their shiny boots splashing in the puddles. Decker climbed
128
the steps, pushed his way through the double swing doors and followed the signs that said OFFICE OF THE COMMAND
HISTORIAN.
He found Captain Morello in the library, leaning over a desk with a computer in front of her. She was almost as tall as he was, with short black hair that was slashed straight back from her forehead. When she turned around, Decker saw that she was also strikingly attractive, in a 1960s Italian-actress way, with a heart-shaped face and vixenish eyes. Her immaculately pressed uniform only emphasized her very full breasts, and even in a midlength skirt her legs looked unnervingly long.
"Lieutenant Martin," Decker said, showing his badge. "But, you know, don't let's stand on ceremony. All my friends call me Decker."
"Captain Morello," Toni Morello said, with a tight little smile. "All my friends call me sir."
Decker looked around at the floor-to-ceiling shelving. Each shelf was filled with hundreds of gray-backed files, and each file was identified by a neat white label—Armored Maneuvers in Italy, Spring 1945; Airborne Assault Forces in Cambodia, 1971; Logistical Operations in Bosnia-Herzegovina, 1994. The library was more than 150 feet long, with a yellow-tinted clerestory window to filter the sunlight.
"Hell of a library," Decker remarked, although he was really thinking, Hell of a librarian.
"I won't keep you a moment, Lieutenant." Toni Morello tapped out a few more lines on her computer and then switched it off. "I understand you wanted to talk to me about Major Drewry. We were all deeply distressed about that."
"Well, yes. It was a pretty goddamned horrible way to go. I'm going to be talking to Mrs. Drewry again, but I don't want to upset her more than I have to and I was wondering if you could help me at all."
129
"I'll do my best."
"What I need to know is, were any of Major Drewry's ancestors connected with the army?"
"Oh yes. George was very proud of his family history. His great-great-grandfather fought with Robert E. Lee, and his grandfather was out in the Philippines with Teddy Roosevelt. He was always bitterly sorry that he never saw active service himself."
"Would you have any information here about his great-great-grandfather?"
"Of course. George used our archives to research his family tree, and he managed to find a whole lot more original material besides. Diaries, letters, that kind of thing. I don't think he'd even gotten around to cataloguing everything. Do you want to take a look?"
Decker followed her along the lines of shelving. She had a fluid way of walking that reminded him of a wildlife documentary that he had been watching on television that morning, nyala gazelles loping across the African bush. They reached a section at the far end of the library marked ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, 1861-1865, and Toni Morello took out a box file with a label that said Battle of the Wilderness, May 5–May 7, 1864: Maj. Gen. Maitland's brigade.
She carried the file over to a reading table and opened it. Inside it was packed with original letters, dispatches, maps, and photographs. "Here," she said. "This is a picture of Major General Maitland's brigade at dawn on the morning of May sixth, just before they were sent up the Orange Plank Road to attack the advancing Federal army."
The photograph was remarkably similar to the one that Decker had taken from 4140 Davis Street. About a dozen bearded men in slouch hats and képis, some of them in tunics and others in nothing more than dirty shirts and mud‑
130
died pants. A typed caption underneath identified the third mounted officer on the left as Lieutenant Colonel Henry Drewry.
Toni Morello was about to tuck the photograph back in the file when Decker said, "Wait up a moment. Let me look at that again."
He took off his glasses and studied the group as closely as he could. At the back of the group stood three men, well apart from the rest, and although they were deep in shadow, Decker could see that at least two of them were wearing greatcoats. All three of them had slouch hats, and their hats were all decorated with black ragged plumes.
"Have you ever heard of the Devil's Brigade?" he asked.
"I've heard it mentioned, of course. It was a myth, as far as I know. Propaganda, put out by the Federal generals to excuse themselves for being driven back by an army that had forty thousand fewer men than they did—not to mention being much more tired and hungry and very short on ammunition."
"Do you have any records about it?"
"I don't know offhand, but I could check for you." Decker put his glasses back on. "I'd really appreciate it. Meanwhile—what time do you break for lunch?"
As he drove back toward Richmond with the steering wheel in one hand and a double cheeseburger in the other, his cell phone rang.
"Lieutenant? Hicks here. It looks like we've got ourselves another one."
131
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
He turned into Sixth Street and was waved through the crowds of sightseers. The entire front window of Jimmy the Rib's Soul Food Restaurant had been smashed and the sidewalk was strewn with sun-glittering glass. Seven squad cars were parked higgledy-piggledy across the street with flashing lights, as well as an ambulance and two khaki station wagons from the coroner's department.
As he pushed his way past the crowd, Decker saw somebody he recognized—a lanky young man with a straight-nosed profile like a pharaoh from one of the pyramids. He wore a jazzy red and white shirt and huge hoop earrings and a sharks' tooth necklace, as well as a floppy red crochet beret that was decorated with feathers and antique keys and fishing flies.
"Hi, Jonah. What's happening?"
"Deck-ah! How should I know, man? I only just got here." "Junior Abraham's been wasted, that's what I hear."
"Had it coming, man. Junior Abraham was a liar and a
132
blowhard and if anybody needs financial reimbursement for the bullet they bought to give him a premature funeral, then all they have to do is pass the hat around and I'll be the first to contribute."
"You have any idea who did it?"
"Uh-huh."
"Come on, Jonah, give me a clue. You know this termites' nest better than anybody."