White Ghost Ridge Read online

  “A little but it’s OK.”

  “You know, your husband was a fool to do what he did. He was lucky to have you.”

  “Thank you,” she replied meekly.

  She could still feel his eyes on her as they drove through Junction City and headed further south towards Jefferson. She blinked to banish the small tears that had suddenly welled up in her eyes.

  They reached Sioux City and followed the route further south to the Sioux Gateway Airport. She parked in the long-term car park, returned the keys of their hired car and followed Locklear into the terminal of the small bright airport which was used for both military and public flights. The five-hour American Eagle flight would stop briefly at Chicago O’Hare before taking the final leg of its journey to Washington.

  As they sat into their seats, Locklear ordered them coffee and did not look at Mendoza as he took the steaming cup from the flight attendant and handed it to her.

  “How are you feeling about seeing Walsh?” she asked.

  Locklear inhaled. “Not good.”

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  “Not really.”

  Mendoza picked up the in-flight magazine and leafed through it as she drank her coffee. Not long after, her boss was snoring loudly in the seat beside her. She smiled and touched his face. This time she knew he was really asleep as he did not move away.

  As the plane landed in Ronald Reagan airport, DC, Locklear woke up and stretched.

  “You ready for this?” Mendoza asked.

  “I’m ready.”

  Chapter 16

  From the airport terminal, Locklear hailed a cab to take them to their hotel on South Capitol Street. He looked out of the cab window as it followed the George Washington Memorial Parkway, crossed the Potomac River and drove into the District of Columbia until it arrived at their hotel on Capitol Street.

  Locklear and Mendoza checked into their rooms, which had an adjoining door, and dropped in their luggage. Fifteen minutes later they left the hotel and hailed a cab on 7th. The cab driver took Maine St SW for two blocks before swinging another right onto 4th street.

  “You been to these offices before, Locklear?” Mendoza asked.

  Locklear shook his head and stared out of the window as the cabbie swung a sharp left onto Potomac Avenue SW and then a right onto 2nd street on which the main gate to the Fort Lesley J McNair army base was located.

  “And we don’t have an appointment and you don’t think Walsh will want to see you?”

  “No, we don’t have an appointment and, no, I don’t think Walsh will want to see me.”

  “Well, this will be interesting.”

  The cab slowed as it climbed up the steep concrete ramp and then came to a halt in front of the boom gate. A tall black army private approached the car and looked into the front passenger seat at Locklear. Mendoza, seated in the back, looked out the opposite window at the second guard, a short, serious-looking Hispanic man who eyed her suspiciously.

  “Name?” the first guard asked Locklear.

  “Detective Sergeant Locklear. This is my trooper Mendoza,” he said as he saluted the young man.

  The man looked Locklear over and noted the lack of a uniform. He glanced at Mendoza who was staring at the second guard who had not taken his eyes off her.

  “How can I help you today, sir?”

  “I’m here to see an old friend of mine. Staff Sergeant Joe Rubin.”

  “And he’s expecting you, sir?” the guard asked as he glanced down at his clipboard.

  “No, but I’m in town on official police business and thought I’d stop by and say hi. I’d say he’d be very disappointed if I didn’t. He’ll be even more disappointed with you if you don’t let me in. What’s your name, private?”

  “Private Valentine, sir.”

  He stood back from the cab and went to the booth behind the boom gate. Lifting the phone, he spoke urgently into it. He was staring directly at Locklear. After a couple of minutes, he came out of the booth and towards the car.

  Mendoza could hear her breathing quicken even though the worst thing that might happen would be that the two serious-looking guards would refuse them entry and direct the cab to reverse back out of the high-security compound.

  “You’ll have to walk from here, sir. No civilian transport allowed inside the base. You’ll also have to surrender any weapons.”

  Locklear got out of the car and paid the cab driver.

  “I’m not armed,” Locklear said as he raised his hands upwards to allow the second guard to frisk him. “Trooper Mendoza is also unarmed.”

  “I thought you said you were on official police business?” the second guard asked.

  “We are,” Mendoza said as the guard frisked her roughly.

  Private Valentine pointed Locklear to a set of double doors on the other side of a large and mostly empty parking lot.

  “Go through those and sign in. Staff Sergeant Rubin will meet you just inside the door.”

  Locklear and Mendoza set off on foot towards the entrance.

  “Sir, I hope you really do know this Rubin guy,” Mendoza said as they neared the doors where a bald, thin man stood waiting inside a second security area.

  “I do.”

  Locklear opened the door and placed his jacket, keys and wallet onto a table and walked through the metal detector. Mendoza followed and watched as Locklear shook the hand of the waiting man.

  “I see the army has stepped up security,” Locklear said.

  “You can’t be too careful these days,” Rubin said with a smile.

  Locklear nodded as Rubin shook hands with Mendoza.

  Rubin gestured for them to follow him down a long narrow hallway lined with the dark closed wooden doors of rooms Mendoza assumed were offices. He opened the sixth door and stepped back to allow Mendoza and Locklear inside before he followed them and gently closed the door. He inhaled and shook his head before taking a seat behind the desk.

  “It’s been a long time, Locklear,” he said.

  Locklear nodded.

  “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

  “It’s not.”

  Locklear looked at the desk which was overflowing with paperwork. Several more files lay on the ground around the desk and an open filing cabinet looked disorganised and overfull. The phone rang three times and stopped before shrilling again. Rubin ignored it.

  “I can see you’re busy, Joe, so I’ll come right out with it. I want to see Susan Walsh. I know she’s based in this building. Can you take me to her office?”

  “I see,” Rubin said quietly. He rubbed his hands together and pursed his lips. “Locklear, I don’t think ...” he began, shaking his head.

  “Look, Joe, it’s important.”

  “Can I ask what it’s about?”

  “It’s better you don’t know.”

  “I see.”

  “Look, I know it’s a big ask but you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t have to.”

  “No, I expect you wouldn’t. Is this something that’s likely to get me in trouble?”

  Locklear inhaled. “Well, that depends on how much she still hates me,” he replied.

  Mendoza looked at him, startled.

  “Have you seen her since Kate’s death?” Rubin asked.

  “No.”

  “Even talked to her?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then, I guess you’re about to get me into a hell of a lot of trouble.”

  “I’ll say I cajoled you. Or told you a pack of lies about me and Susan being good buddies.”

  “She won’t buy that, Locklear. Anyone who knows you knows you don’t lie.”

  “Well, I’m getting better at it, Joe. My colleague here, she’s real good at it so I’m learning. Talked my way onto the base, didn’t I?”

  Rubin smiled. “OK. It’s good to see you, Locklear,” he said quietly.

  He stood and opened his office door. He pulled a fob from a long chain around his ne
ck and motioned for them to get into the secure elevator. He pressed the button for the fourth floor and sighed.

  When the door opened, two guards standing on either side of the elevator door saluted Rubin. He returned the salute and walked in very quiet shoes to the end of a dark empty corridor until he reached a large desk which sat facing three empty chairs and a windowless wall. At the desk sat a young uniformed man wearing a private second-class insignia on his jacket. He stood and saluted but did not avert his eyes from the bare wall in front of him. To his right was a single door which Mendoza assumed was Walsh’s office.

  Rubin introduced the visitors and lied that they were on official police business. He motioned for them to sit on two of the empty chairs, wished Locklear good luck and walked away as quickly as he could. Locklear and Mendoza waited in silence while the young man moved his eyes from his paperwork occasionally to glance at them. Mendoza read the name tag on the nervous young man’s chest. Private M. Brodeur.

  “Sir?” he called to Locklear. “Do you have an appointment with Sergeant Major Walsh? She’s not in her office at present and I don’t seem to be able to locate your name on her itinerary.” He had a slight Southern drawl.

  Locklear stood and walked sharply to the desk. The man stood. Locklear glanced down at Walsh’s appointment list and saw that the woman was due back at her office in ten minutes. He looked at Brodeur and noticed the sweat building on the man’s face. He guessed that Susan Walsh was a tough superior and any mistakes on the part of her junior staff would be severely dealt with.

  “No. I don’t but ...” Locklear began, before his attention was drawn to the sound of high heels clicking along the expensively tiled corridor floor.

  Brodeur swallowed. Mendoza heard him whisper ‘Oh, Lord’ to himself. Locklear looked down the hallway and watched Susan Walsh approach with two female privates, both carrying huge files while Walsh walked unburdened.

  He looked the woman up and down. Susan Walsh had not changed that much since he had last seen her. She was, he figured, about five foot ten and her figure had remained slim, her forearms taut. Now in her late fifties he figured her short platinum-blond hair, which showed only a small amount of grey at her temples, was dyed. She wore little make-up and her fitted army skirt moved with her slim hips as she sashayed along the corridor at speed.

  He knew the exact moment she recognised him. The serious, business-like expression on her face changed to surprise and then, as he had expected, to rage.

  “Get out!” she shouted from the twenty-foot distance that remained between her and Locklear.

  Mendoza stood while Brodeur placed his hands over his face.

  Locklear dug his hands in his pockets but did not move.

  “I said get out!” Walsh roared. “You fuck! You complete fuck!”

  “Jeeze, sarge, guess you really pissed this one off,” Mendoza whispered as she made her way to her boss’s side.

  Walsh seemed to suddenly become aware of the eyes of her subordinates on her.

  “Go!” she screamed at the two young privates who turned and almost ran back to the elevator. “You too!” she screamed at the two privates who stood on guard on opposite sides of the elevator.

  Brodeur pretended to tidy some loose sheets on his desk.

  “And you!” she screamed at her secretary. “You incompetent fool!” she added as Brodeur lifted his briefcase and ran past her to join the other scurrying rats to the elevator.

  When only Mendoza and Locklear remained, Walsh marched up and stopped with her face only inches from the sergeant’s face.

  “How dare you come here, to my place of work? How fucking dare you? Did you remember that her anniversary is only days away? Oh yes, sure you did. It was both your birthdays. Your shared special day – isn’t that what Kate called it?”

  Locklear’s face remained impassive as he waited for Walsh to finish.

  Mendoza felt a small smile rising at the corner of her lips. Locklear, she reasoned, was right. He would make a lousy boyfriend, impossible to argue with, and therefore make up with.

  Her boss’s silence only seemed to further anger the woman. Walsh drew back her hand and slapped Locklear hard in the face. Mendoza moved in and caught Walsh by the wrist as the woman tried to deliver a second blow.

  Locklear did not move.

  “Now just a fucking minute!” Mendoza yelled.

  Walsh turned to face Mendoza. “Take your goddamn hands off of me!” she spat.

  She turned back to Locklear and her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

  “I see you still like them young,” she whispered.

  Locklear lowered his head. “Susan, this is my colleague, Trooper Mendoza. I ... I didn’t come here about Kate.”

  “Then what? Why the fuck did you come here if it’s not to apologise for what you did to my sister? You know you broke my father’s heart? Do you know he spent the entire time at Kate’s funeral looking around the crowd for you? He thought you’d be heartbroken. He felt sorry for you. Wondered how you’d cope. But you coped. I can see you got on with your life.” She glanced sideways at Mendoza. “You always did like women with dark, smouldering looks,” she added through gritted teeth.

  “Look, lady,” said Mendoza, “for the last time I’m his colleague. Nothing more.”

  “You’ll respect my office by addressing me as Sergeant Major!” Walsh spat.

  “Well, I’m not in the army so I’ll address you any way I please and, also, do you expect respect after that outburst?”

  “It’s OK, Mendoza, I deserved it,” Locklear said.

  Walsh inhaled and stepped back. She looked at her right hand as if her appendage had launched its own battle against the man in front of her and had not been directed by her to do so.

  “What do you want?” she said, quieter now.

  “I want to talk about Private Patrick Lewis. I want to talk about how and why you sorted his army pension out. I want to talk about missing artefacts. I want to talk about Iraq.”

  “But not about Kate?” she whimpered.

  Locklear looked at his shoes. “I’m sorry, I really am,” he said quietly.

  Walsh looked at Mendoza but could not meet the officer’s steely gaze. She opened her door and beckoned for Locklear to come inside.

  “You wait outside,” she barked at Mendoza.

  Mendoza mock-saluted which earned her an angry glare from Locklear. He went inside and closed the door quietly behind him.

  At the end of the corridor Mendoza noticed movement. She looked up to see that Rubin had reappeared and was skulking in the corridor with his briefcase in his hand. He smiled weakly at Mendoza.

  “Just checking to see if Locklear is still alive! I see he got inside.”

  “Just about,” Mendoza replied with a grin.

  “OK, well, think the best thing for me to do is to make myself scarce,” he replied weakly.

  Mendoza nodded. “Think so.”

  She walked to where he stood.

  “So you knew Sergeant Locklear in the army?”

  “Yes. We were both very young – still teenagers when we joined,” Rubin said simply.

  “What kind of soldier was he?”

  “The best,” Rubin replied sincerely.

  “Why did he leave?”

  Rubin shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “He didn’t really talk about it but I heard his mother was unwell. There was no-one else to take care of her.”

  “Can you tell me anything about this Kate woman? About what happened?”

  The elevator door opened, Rubin stepped in and pressed the button for the ground floor.

  “I think you’ll have to ask Locklear himself,” he said as the elevator door closed.

  Mendoza walked back to the seats and sat heavily on the hard surface. Walsh had obviously calmed because she could hear no voices coming from the room. She lifted her phone and tried to call Santy but there was no signal in the building. She sighed and sat back into the chair and waited for her boss to return.<
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  Chapter 17

  Thirty-five minutes after Locklear entered the office of Sergeant Major Walsh, he exited, looking exhausted. Mendoza stood and followed him down the corridor. Together they got into the elevator where the two privates had once again taken up guard and made their way to the ground floor. Mendoza opened the door for Locklear who had still not spoken one word. She walked with him onto the main road and hailed a cab to their hotel.

  “You going to tell me what happened?” she asked.

  “I’m starving, Mendoza. Can we just go get something to eat and then we’ll talk.”

  “Sure.”

  As they settled into a booth in Bert’s Diner, Mendoza slurped on a coke while Locklear drank two strong coffees. She thought she noticed a slight tremor in his hands as he lifted the heavy mug to his dry lips.

  “I guess seeing Walsh was pretty hard on you,” she began.

  Locklear nodded.

  “Well, at least she didn’t think you were my father. That’s a plus, right?” she said as she tried to coax her boss out of the dark mood he appeared to have descended into.

  He didn’t respond.

  “What did you find out about Walsh’s involvement in the whole artefacts thing?” she asked.

  Locklear lifted the burger from his plate and took a huge bite. Mendoza waited while he chewed on the rubbery meal which she had discarded minutes earlier in favour of the diner’s home-made apple pie. He swallowed and took another gulp of his coffee.

  “Walsh isn’t involved,” he said. “I never thought she was. She said the army’s legal department asked Torres to sign a disclaimer, saying she’d accept a full pension in exchange for withdrawing her claim that the army was involved in the illegal transportation and sale of artefacts from Iraq.”

  “But Torres refused the deal.”

  “Yes. Walsh said she phoned her personally but Torres wasn’t backing down.”

  “I bet the army didn’t put any of this in writing?”

  “Bet not,” Locklear replied.

  “Smart.”

  “And Whitefeather? Did she have any involvement with him?”

  Locklear shook his head. “Albert was flown home long before Walsh left Iraq. Susan said she never heard from him again. She never handled any paperwork for him, said she didn’t even know he was dead.”