"This investigation is half mine. I'll involve myself as I see fit."
I looked at him and said, "Major Tran informed me that you're a former military policeman."
"That's right. Twenty-five years' service. Damned good one, if I say so. My commands always led in closure rates."
"Twenty-five years. I'll assume then that you know the basic rule of criminal procedure--let the investigators do their job."
As you might expect, I work with the MPs and CID types a lot. As cops go, they tend to be excellent; for some reason the military concepts of discipline and obedience and the societal concepts of law and order are a marriage made in hell. Also, unlike cops in civilian communities, the military cop does not exist in a world apart, feels no disorienting distance from his community, nor is there a blue wall of silence that pops up whenever the poop hits the fan. Rank is rank in the Army, and the military policeman is well advised to remember it. You can give a speeding ticket to the Secretary of the Army, and I know an MP private who did. But there had better be an up-to-date calibration record at the MP station for the speed gun, which explains why the private was a sergeant when he first became my client before his court-martial.
Occasionally, however, one finds an individual who transcends these boundaries and traditions. I suspected that Waterbury was such a man, and I would bet he wasn't fondly remembered by the military communities he oversaw.
In fact, Waterbury told me, "I weighed into investigations whenever I felt it was necessary. My MPs appreciated it, too."
"Well, I don't."
We stared at each other a moment.
Satisfied that he made his petty point, he informed me, "As I said, Enders and his detectives are leaning toward a ruling of suicide."
"Good. That's exactly what we want them to conclude at this stage."
He looked thoughtful for a moment, then leaned toward me and said, "The position of the Defense Department is that we will subscribe to whatever determination the police--the proper civil authorities--whatever they decide."
"Why do I think you have something to add?"
"You're right, Drummond. You and Tran will confine your investigation to the possibility of a security leak. How Daniels died is neither the purpose of this investigation nor is it your business, nor will you interfere with or duplicate the work the civilian authorities are doing." He finally came to the real point of this dialogue and said, "When you speak with Mr. Tigerman, you'll contain your questions to that realm of inquiry."
"The question of Daniels's death and a security leak are possibly related. You know that."
"That's speculation. In the mind of the investigating detective, we're dealing with a suicide, not homocide. Daniels was certainly a ripe candidate . . . a broken marriage, a foundering career . . . Who knows what else was going wrong in his life or his head?"
It appeared that Mr. Waterbury had done a little research and investigation since we last spoke. Or maybe he knew all about Clifford Daniels all along, but he and the boys upstairs--actually, downstairs--had put their heads together and figured out how to handle this thing--and Sean Drummond.
I said, "Why don't I tell you what else? He had an order to testify before a congressional investigating committee."
"Irrelevant. I'll reiterate--this investigation is not about his death."
"Bullshit."
He narrowed his eyes at me. "It also strikes me, Drummond, that I had better remind you that Albert Tigerman is not a suspect. Nor will he be treated like one. He is an important man, a busy man. He has agreed to meet with you out of courtesy." He added, "You will have five minutes."
Bian protested, "Sir, five minutes is--"
"Is more than enough. Choose your questions wisely. In fact,
I'm coming with you. Step over the line, and I'll gladly terminate the interview."
I said, "What are you afraid of, Waterbury?"
"Deal with it, Drummond." He stood. "Follow me."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Albert Tigerman's office was located on the second floor of the E-ring--the outermost ring--which, within this building, is the equivalent of a beachside condo on the Cte d'Azur.
Grand titles are the coin of the realm in Washington, and particularly among political appointees--many of whom paid a fortune for these jobs--the title at least has to sound impressive. It can get fairly confusing, and even annoying, as there is this bewildering array of deputy this and assistant that, with the ever-popular stringing together of two or more of these prefixes, and a flowering