you gets killed tonight.”
“I think Jock and I need to go to Charlotte,” I said. “See if we can find young Doug Peterson and get a line on the Brewsters.”
“Aren’t you getting a little off subject?” J.D. asked. “The connections between the Dulcimer murders and Jim Desmond’s seem to be pretty thin.”
“They’re linked,” I said. “I don’t know how or why, but my gut tells me they’re part of the same operation.”
“That’s not a lot to go on, Matt,” said J.D.
“No, but my gut is hardly ever wrong. I want to show the pictures of the Asians to Billy Brugger. See if he can pick out one of them who was at the Hilton the night of the wedding.”
“I should have thought of that,” said J.D.
“You want to stop by the Hilton before you call it a day?” I asked.
“No. My car’s at your place, Matt. Drop me there and you two go ahead. Let me know what you find out.”
Jock and I drove south to the Hilton over a rain-slicked Gulf of Mexico Drive. The rain had moved across the bay, but the low clouds still hung over the island, giving it a look of somberness. Night was approaching and I turned on my headlights. We pulled into an almost empty parking lot and nosed into a place next to the ramp leading to the deck and outside bar. A cool breeze blew off the Gulf giving some surcease to the heat.
“Jock,” said Billy. “I heard you were on the island. Welcome back.”
“Thanks, podna. Good to be back.” We ordered burgers and drinks and took our seats at one end of the bar. A tourist couple in bathing suits sat at the other end. Laughter from children in the adjacent swimming pool floated across the deck. A mother called out to her child to be careful.
I laid the photos of the three Asians on the bar. “Billy, does any one of these look like the guy who came to the bar the night of the Desmond wedding?”
He looked closely at the pictures, pulled some reading glasses from his pocket, put them on, and peered some more. “This one,” he said, pointing to the photo from the airport security camera. “That’s the one who was at the bar that night.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I’ve got a great memory for faces. No doubt about it. That’s him.”
Jock looked at me. “Your gut’s probably right. It’s too much of a coincidence to have Mr. Nguyen show up here on the night of the wedding and be aboard Dulcimer the next night.”
“Not to mention that he hired somebody to try to kill me.”
“Or to scare you.”
“If that was his intention, he did a pretty good job.”
On the way home, I called J.D. and told her that Billy had identified John Nguyen as the man who’d been at his bar the night before the murders.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The University of Virginia campus in Charlottesville was busy with summer school students scurrying from one class to another, lugging books and computers, frowns of concentration on their faces. A few lolled in the grass under the trees that studded the campus, the light from the July sun diffused by the leafy cover.
A U.S. Army first lieutenant dressed in the summer uniform of dark green skirt and light green shirt, black epaulets with the single silver bar of her rank, strolled toward the army’s Judge Advocate General Corps School. She was in her second week of learning how to be an army lawyer.
She was a very bright young woman, blonde, fit, and personable. She’d easily finished college and law school, never breaking a sweat while earning top grades. She’d had a number of offers from large civilian firms, but decided to be a soldier, like her dad, the man who’d meant the most to her growing up. She wasn’t sure if the army was the ultimate career for her, but the four-year commitment she’d made would give her time to mature, gain some courtroom experience, and serve her country. In a way, she was putting her life on hold, but it seemed the right thing to do. She needed some breathing space before locking into the future.
The JAGC School wasn’t particularly difficult. She’d met some nice young people, all with the same interest, law. The class was small and everyone seemed compatible. The only blot on this otherwise idyllic portrait was a student from New York who had attached himself to her on the first day. He had, in a short