The Summer House(7)

“And the shootings took place Wednesday evening?”

“That’s right,” she says. “The local paper says a visitor came to the house Thursday morning, found it full of dead civilians.”

“And less than forty-eight hours later they’ve made arrests for multiple homicides.”

“Tells you the sheriff’s department there is either very good, very lax, or very lucky. Or a combination thereof.”

“What else?” I ask.

She says, “It’s a typical small Southern town, boss. I showed the clerk my ID when I registered the group at the motel, and I’m sure everyone around here will know tonight that the Army’s coming in.”

“And when do we expect the rest of our crew?”

Connie looks at a watch encircling her tanned wrist with a thin gold band. I think I can make out delicate blond hairs there. “Captain Pierce will be here in about an hour. Dr. Huang and Agent Sanchez…they’re both coming in from the West Coast, Huang from San Francisco, Sanchez from LA. Barring any flight delays, they should be in Savannah around midnight.”

“All right,” I say.

“You need me to pick any of them up?”

“No, we’re going to need at least three sets of wheels for our work. I’m sure you told them where we’re staying. What do you know about the county sheriff?”

“Emma Williams,” she says. “Has been sheriff for a number of years. It’s an elected position in Sullivan County, and most of the county is rural. Which means she and her deputies do the bulk of the law enforcement.”

I take out my iPhone, work a few buttons and tabs, pull up a map, and say, “The Rangers live either at or near Hunter Army Airfield, south of Savannah. And they’re arrested at a roadhouse nearly an hour’s drive away. What, they don’t have good drinking establishments near their post?”

“It’s a puzzle,” she says, and maneuvers us onto an exit ramp, and now we’re on Interstate 16, heading west. The land is still flat and mostly covered with trees. Not too long to get rural from the grandly named international airport.

“Along with why they traveled to Sullivan to shoot up a houseful of civilians. Must be one hell of a motive.”

“Or accident,” she says. “Maybe they planned to hit a certain house and hit the wrong one.”

“They’re Rangers,” I say. “They plan in their sleep. They don’t hit the wrong house.”

A few seconds pass and I feel an urge to ask her about the date I interrupted earlier with my phone call, but I decide to drop it. Connie’s gone twice to the marital altar with fellow Army personnel and then to divorce court, and I get the feeling she’s not interested in any particular male at the moment, including me.

I still have the iPhone in my hand, and after doing a bit of heavy and complicated research with the Great God Google, I find the number I’m looking for and dial it, then activate the speakerphone so Connie can listen in.

The phone rings once and is then picked up. “Sullivan County Dispatch. What’s the nature of your emergency?”

A crisp, professional-sounding woman. I put the iPhone closer to my mouth and say, “This is Major Jeremiah Cook, US Army CID from Quantico, calling for Sheriff Williams.”

The woman dispatcher says, “Please hold for a moment, Major Cook,” and we’re placed on a silent hold. No music, no sound of static, no chirpy voice thanking the caller for choosing Sullivan County for their law enforcement needs.

The dispatcher comes back on. “Major Cook? I have Sheriff Williams on the line.”

A stronger, older woman’s voice comes on and says, “Major? This is Sullivan County sheriff Williams. What can I do for you?”

I say, “Sheriff Williams, I’m from the US Army Criminal Investigation Division, out of Quantico. I’ve been tasked to lead the Army’s inquiry into what occurred with these four Rangers.”

“Well, you realize this crime took place in my county, on civilian property, correct?”

“Absolutely, Sheriff Williams,” I say, “and I have no intention or desire to interfere with your investigation.”

“Why am I talking to you and not someone from the MP unit over at Hunter?”

Connie looks my way, and it’s not a hard look or skeptical. I think she’s just paying attention, and I say, “Sheriff Williams, a matter of this magnitude, involving four Ranger servicemen and seven dead civilians, has gotten the attention of very senior Army personnel.”

She says, “Well, that makes sense, I suppose. Where are you now?”

“On Interstate 16, heading to the city of Sullivan.”

She chuckles. “Don’t call the damn place a city. It’ll just get the Chamber of Commerce all hopeful. Nope, we’re a town, and a small one at that. Tell you what, how does thirty minutes sound? At my office in Sullivan?”

Now I look at Connie and she looks back at me, smiles, shrugs her shoulders. To the sheriff I say, “Ma’am, that’s incredibly considerate and generous of you, meeting with us late on a Saturday.”

“Not a problem, not at all,” she says.

She hangs up and I disconnect the call, and Connie says, “Well, that’s a nice change of pace. Civilian law enforcement offering instant cooperation.”