Mrs. Chamberlain gave a deep sigh and shook her head. “But before I could ask her anything else, we had an emergency. One of the mail sorters went on the fritz, and I had to make some calls, schedule repairs, reassure Mr. Murcheson, calm down Mr. Judd and set him and his people to sorting the overflow mail by hand. When I finally came up for air, I asked where Gunny was. Mr. Judd told me he’d seen her leave. It wasn’t her break time or lunchtime, either, but he said he didn’t stop her. He said she was clutching her cell phone in her hand, seemed to be repeating something to herself, which she does sometimes, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. I forgot about it, to be honest, something I very much regret now, after what happened to her. Of course you know Chief Masters found her in an alley, badly hurt. But still, Agent Porto, Chief Christie, why someone would hurt her doesn’t make any sense to me. I know Mr. Henry did not own that belt buckle shown on TV, I would have seen it.” She sighed. “I know, I know, the fact that someone tried to kill Gunny means there had to be something to what she was saying, but I don’t know what it could possibly be.”
Ty said, “Mrs. Chamberlain, this is very important. Where were you when Gunny asked to see you about Mr. Henry’s belt buckle? Who was around you?”
Both Ty and Sala saw kindling outrage. “Oh, I see. You want to blame one of my employees for striking down that poor girl? That is outrageous, and I won’t have you suggesting it!” She curled her heavy white fist on her desktop. “My people are always underfoot, even where they shouldn’t be, and I’m telling you, none of them would do something like this. Everyone likes Gunny. She doesn’t have an enemy in the world.” She shrugged. “So maybe Mr. Henry did have a Star of David belt buckle. I never saw it, and no one else ever saw it, to the best of my knowledge.” She met their eyes. “I will be honest here. After Mr. Henry’s poor wife died some fifteen years ago—cancer, you know—he and I became close. Not many people knew at the time, and we both preferred it that way. I am a very private person with certain standards to maintain, Mr. Henry as well. As I said, I never saw him with this belt buckle. He always wore red suspenders. Ask anyone.
“And to answer your question, I don’t remember seeing anyone in particular. When Gunny came up to me in the lobby, there were customers around—I don’t remember who specifically—checking their boxes, chatting, the usual, but to be honest, I didn’t pay any attention.” She paused, frowned. “I remember Gunny got really close when she spoke to me, like she was worried someone might overhear her. I don’t know really, maybe I’m remembering it that way now because of what happened to her. I don’t suppose your hotline got a lot of calls about this belt buckle?”
Sala said, “The hotline got only one call about the Star of David belt buckle, and that was Gunny’s.”
Ty said, “Which leaves us with quite a mystery.”
Mrs. Chamberlain fiddled with a pencil, threading it between her heavy fingers. “Chief Masters should have ideas about this. He was the one who investigated Mr. Henry’s murder five years ago. He’s Gunny’s godfather.” She lowered her voice. “You probably already know Lulie’s never said who Gunny’s father is. Of course, some people believe Chief Masters is her father. His poor wife, Molly, has always been clueless, so I suppose it’s possible.”
Sala wasn’t about to touch that. He said, “You spoke of Henry LaRoque’s murder five years ago. Is there anything you’d like to tell us about it?”
She lowered her head, the memory of it still strong.
Ty said, “Given the manner of death, it’s obvious someone hated him. Do you think somehow Gunny could have connected his belt buckle to his murderer?”
“Mr. Henry’s death, what was done to him, it was despicable. But as for Gunny connecting anything to his killer, it simply isn’t possible. Listen, Gunny performs simple tasks here at the post office. I hired her because Chief Masters asked me to.” She paused. “But I have to say, in the five years she’s been here, she’s done her various jobs well enough.”
Ty said, “Where did Gunny work before she came to the post office?”
“Once she graduated high school, she worked full-time with her mom for a while. Before she came to the post office, Susan Sparrow hired her to work at the Sparrow Crematorium. This was right after Susan married Landry Sparrow. Then she came here to the post office.”
“What did she do at the crematorium?” Sala asked.
“Some reception work and she passed out cookies after memorial services, things like that. You’d have to ask Susan Sparrow what her other tasks were. Why do you ask?”
Ty smiled. “Collecting information. Do you know why she left?”
“I never asked her directly, but I got the impression it was too depressing for her.” Mrs. Chamberlain fell silent. She looked to be studying a large citrine cocktail ring on her pinkie finger. “Mr. Henry gave me this ring on my birthday seven years ago.” She met their eyes. “It all comes back to why someone tried to kill Gunny. I don’t see how Gunny could know who murdered Mr. Henry. Because of the stupid belt buckle?” She huffed out a deep sigh. “You know they couldn’t have dredged up Mr. Henry’s bones from the bottom of that lake in Willicott along with that buckle. His family had him cremated.”
41
* * *
PRINCE WILLIAM FOREST PARK
VIRGINIA
EARLY TUESDAY AFTERNOON
The air-conditioning in Sherlock’s stalwart Volvo was on the fritz. According to the temperature on the dash it was ninety-one degrees. Inside or out? Sherlock wondered. And not a single cloud in the sky.
Savich was driving the familiar route to Quantico, with the Prince William Forest Park adjacent to it. He and Sherlock had visited the park a couple of times when Sean was younger, spending the day hiking the trails, showing Sean the eastern box turtle, picnicking on the edge of the North Fork of Quantico Creek. He didn’t remember it being this hot. Actually, he couldn’t remember any other day being this hot. No one had been more surprised than Savich when they got a call from a park ranger thirty minutes before.
As he turned into the shaded park entrance, with the forest pressing in, Sherlock said, “Finally, a call about the Kia.”
They’d put an APB out on the green Kia immediately after Victor had shot at them in Peterborough, but there’d been no calls. Savich pulled up close to the ranger kiosk, got out of the Volvo, and slipped his Glock into his pocket so he could take off his jacket. He and Sherlock waited for a single car filled with a father, mother, and three young kids, all laughing, talking, and arguing, to pass through. They’d hoped Ranger Harmon would be there, but she wasn’t. Still, they identified themselves, showed the young man with thick black eyebrows their creds.
Terry Menard studied them, then looked up, head tilted to the side. “Agents, what can I do for you?”
Savich said, “We need to know where to find Ranger Sionna Harmon. She called us.”
Terry perked right up. “Oh yes, this is about that terrorist who bombed the cathedral in Falls Church? I’ve seen his photo—it’s all over TV and the Internet. He sure looks like a wuss, doesn’t he? As harmless as my terrier Milo. None of us saw him though, only Sionna—well, you can speak to her yourself. I’ll give her a heads-up, tell her you’re here. She’s doing an hour in the visitor’s center.”
Savich parked Sherlock’s Volvo and they walked quickly out of the insane summer heat into glorious air-conditioning and what looked like controlled pandemonium. Families and children, happy to be out of the sun, crowded around the exhibits of the park’s history and its geology, the kids shouting questions to a docent. Savich asked for Park Ranger Sionna Harmon.
A tall, leggy black woman with buzz-cut hair strode to them, everything about her screaming efficiency. They introduced themselves. “You called us about the green Kia,” Sherlock said.
“That’s right. Sorry, but I never saw Victor Nesser. Last night, before I left, I walked through the parking area as I always do, my last duty of the day, looking for anything hinky, I guess you could say. I saw a banged-up green car and wondered about all the nicks and holes, wondered how it could still drive. And I forgot about it. Then this morning a police officer from Dumfries was here drinking my coffee, telling us about the news, and he happened to mention the green Kia. After he left I went back and took a look. It was the Kia. That’s when I called you.” She paused a moment. “Look, I’ve asked, but no one saw him come in.”
Savich said, “Nesser probably drove the Kia in while you were on break. He did the same thing at a park in Maryland.”
“Well, that makes sense. Parks aren’t prisons, and we aren’t guards. He could have snuck in if he was lurking, watching to see when I or another park ranger left the kiosk for a break. There are lots of places he could have parked out of sight.” She paused. “I didn’t look closely, but I was wondering. Are all those nicks in the car bullet holes?”