Four Blind Mice

Chapter Eighty-Three

You run pretty good for a washed-up cop in his early forties," Sampson said as we walked through a dusty lot filled mostly with minivans and trucks. We'd seen enough at the company picnic. After our show of respectability we'd lost the softball game by seven runs, and it could have been even worse.

“At least I don't have to bunt to get on base,” I said.

“Last thing they expected, sugar. Worked, didn't it? Pissed'm off, too.”

“We lost the game.”

“But not the war,” said Sampson.

“This is true. Not the war. Not yet anyway.”

I drove from the picnic site out to the Falling River Walk development. I parked right around the corner from Thomas Starkey's house. It was redbrick with white trim on the windows, black shutters. The lot looked to be about an acre and was landscaped with rhododendron, hemlock and mountain laurel. It was well kept. We walked past a mass of yellow chrysanthemums to the side door.

This how it's going to be from here on?“ Sampson asked. ”Breaking and entering in broad daylight?"

They probably know who we are,“ I said. ”Know we're here for them."

“Probably. Rangers are the premier light-infantry unit in the Army. Most are good guys, too. ”Rangers lead the way.“ That's been their motto since Omaha Beach, D Day. Tip of the spear.”

“How about in Vietnam?” I asked.

“Lots of Rangers over there. They performed the heavy re-con missions. Seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment, three battalions. Exemplary soldiers, the best. Most of them. Probably had the best military assassins, too.”

It took me less than a minute to get inside the side door of the Starkey house, which led into a small laundry room that reeked of bleach and detergent. We didn't hear any alarm going off, but that didn't mean we hadn't tripped one coming inside.

“Could the three of them still be in the Army? Special assignment?” I asked.

“The thought had crossed my mind. I hope this isn't about something the Army is trying to hide.”

“But you think it might be?”

“Like I said I hope it's not. I do like the Army, sugar. Hoo-hah!”

The house was only a few years old, and it was immaculate and strikingly ordered inside. Two field stone fireplaces on the first floor, vaulted ceilings, a game room with a wet bar and a pool table. I figured the house was probably around five thousand square feet and cost maybe four hundred thousand. Thomas Starkey lived pretty well for a salesman. So did Griffin and Harris from the look of their new houses.

Everything was neat and clean; even the kids' toys were stacked and arranged on shelves. Starkey and his wife sure ran a tight ship.

The kitchen was high tech, with a big Below Zero refrigerator. Shiny, stainless-steel All-clad pots and pans hung above the work station. A giant cast-iron skillet had a place of pride on the right back burner of the stove.

Off the master bedroom was a small room that turned out to be Starkey's den. Lots of Army souvenirs and pictures. I looked at the photographs on the walls, saw Harris and Griffin in several. But none of the men whom they had set up. I didn't really expect to see Ellis Cooper in a picture on Thomas Starkey's wall, but that didn't stop me from hoping.

Sampson was opening desk drawers and examining the contents of several cabinets built into the wall. He came to a closet with a padlock on it. He looked over at me.

I shrugged. “Go for it. That's what we're here for.”

“No turning back now.”

He took out his Clock and smashed down with the butt. The padlock held, but he had snapped the hinge off the wall. Obviously, the lock was just to keep out Starkey's kids, and maybe his wife.

“Dirty pictures,” Sampson said as he rummaged around inside. "Skin magazines, some nasty bondage. One with really young girls. Here the women are shaved. Lots of Asian girls. Fancy that. Maybe they did those girls in New York

He checked the closet for false sides. “Nothing. Just the sleazy porn collection. He's not the husband and daddy of the year, but I guess we knew that already.”

I kept looking, but I didn't think I'd find anything incriminating. “He must keep the good stuff somewhere else. I guess we should go. Leave everything the way it is. I want Starkey to know we were here.”

“Might get Tom in some trouble with the missus,” Sampson said, and winked.

“Good deal. He should be in trouble with somebody.”

Sampson and I walked back through the house and out the side door again. Birds were chirping in the trees. How sweet. The sun was a brilliant white-gold orb in blue skies. Nice town, Rocky Mount.

A blue CMC Suburban was parked out front. Starkey, Harris and Griffin were waiting for us.

Three Blind Mice.

Also, three against two.