Four Blind Mice

Chapter Sixty-Three

Sampson and I got to West Point at a little past five o'clock on Friday evening. All hell had broken loose there.

I'd received an urgent heads-up from Ron Burns at the FBI. There'd been a murder-suicide at the Point that had immediately aroused suspicions when the news got to Quantico. A highly decorated colonel had supposedly killed his wife, then himself.

Sampson and I flew into Stewart Field in Newburgh, then I drove eighteen miles by car to West Point. We had to park our rented car and walk the last several blocks to the officers' housing

The streets were roped off and closed to through traffic. The press was on hand, but they were being kept away by military police. Even the cadets couldn't help looking curious and concerned.

“You're getting chummy with Burns and the FBI,” Sampson said as we walked to the murder scene on Bartlett Loop. “He's giving a lot of help.”

“He has it in his head that I might want to work with them,” I told Sampson.

“And? Might you?”

I smiled at Sampson, didn't confirm or deny.

“I thought you were getting out of police work, sugar. Wasn't that the big master plan?”

“I don't know anything for sure right now. Here I am though, headed to another completely fucked-up murder scene with you. Same shit, different day.”

“So you're still hooked, Alex. Bad as ever, right?”

I shook my head. “No, I'm not hooked on the case, John. I'm helping you out. Remember how this started? Payback for Ellis Cooper?”

“Yeah, and you're also hooked. You can't figure out this puzzle. That makes you angry. And curious as hell. That's who you are, Alex. You're a hunter.”

“I am what I am,” I shook my head and finally smiled, 'said Popeye the sailor man. The killers were here, John. The three of them were here."