"Call me Bill," said the General on taking the call from Detective Lyons.

"I'll address you as Sir, and I'd appreciate you calling me Detective Lyons." The ice age generated more warmth than her greeting.

"Can you provide me with a brief rundown on the evidence discovered so far, Detective."

"Your instructions have been adhered to, Sir. The site has been cleared of all local investigators with the exception of those securing the scene's perimeter." She made no attempt to conceal her anger. Nonetheless she continued, her integrity enforcing an uncomfortable cooperation. "Our forensic team, in the few minutes they were allowed, found nothing. No forced entry, no indication of violence and not a shred of physical evidence. At the time of her death, Mrs Rodwell was relaxed and sitting comfortably in a lounge chair. Her head was resting against the seat's cushioned back."

There was so much more Kennedy Lyons could have added. But detail was, she believed, most effective when delivered at the scene. The detective recalled her first impressions. The victim's lap was wet, a coffee cup, now on a table beside her chair had spilled its contents. A stain on the floor indicated the cup's landing space. Someone had lifted the cup from the floor. It was the act of a woman.

"There was little blood spatter, just a thick mass of blood where the head had been. An indentation on the wall matched the bullet's probable trajectory. There was however, no exit point on the wall's exterior which indicated lodgement of the bullet within the wall's framework. But not so, the shooter had removed the evidence required to identify the weapon. It was a clean and professional hit. A single shot, from close range, between the eyes."

"Did the neighbours see or hear anything?"

"Forty minutes doesn't allow a lot of time, General, but my team had commenced a door-to-door canvassing, prior to being called off. They had spoken to the closest residents on either side of the Rodwell home and the neighbour directly behind. No one saw or heard anything."

"Thank you Detective, we should be there within the hour. Is there anything else, Detective?" The General anticipated a blunt dismissal.

"I believe she knew her killer, sir." Lyons delivered her opinion with certainty. "And my instincts suggest the shooter may well have been a woman."

"What brings you to that conclusion, Detective?" The General cursed the sharpness of his tone. "Allow me to rephrase that."

"No need, sir, neither words nor authority intimidate me, I'm just here to do my job. So back to your question, what makes me suspect a woman? The first indication is the faint presence of a perfume in the air. The victim doesn't appear to be wearing any and there is no fragrance dispenser anywhere in the house. Second, Mrs Rodwell and her killer were sharing coffee in the moments leading up to her death, coffee assumedly made by the victim. And my final reason has no basis in fact, just feminine experience. Mrs Rodwell's coffee cup had fallen to the floor. Someone has then placed it back on a side table; a man wouldn't have tidied up the mess."

"I look forward to meeting you Detective Lyons." She sensed the lie. The General's only interest lay in closing down the investigation, protecting the God damn military. Her anger intensified. Her role in the enquiry was about to be terminated.

*


"What now?" asked Arthur as they strode towards the helicopter? They halted about forty yards short of the aircraft to complete their conversation.

"Perhaps it's time to allow Calin Roberts free rein. Have you any ideas, Calin."

"Not without more detail, sir. And full disclosure would be a good place to start."

"Are you suggesting you've been misinformed in the past?" There was an uncharacteristic terseness in the tone. Quite obviously the General didn't appreciate insubordination.

"Sir." The Lieutenant's demeanour had changed. Neither apology nor back down existed in the mind of Calin Roberts. Respect remained but military protocol surrendered, replaced by the instinct of survival. "I obey orders and never question a command, but you and I both know bullshit and covering one's arse takes precedence in the eyes of some senior command. What are they hiding?"

"What is it you want, Arthur?"

"Make up your mind, General. Is it Arthur or Calin? I can't be both. And if it's to be Calin, I need the truth from hereon in. And you can start by telling me what Spellman did?"

"I can't tell you what I don't know."

"Who then authorised the debriefing by the Guantanamo gestapo and the subsequent pursuit of him?"

"Again I don't know."

"I'll need a list of names of those capable of issuing directives to terminate."

"Wouldn't it be easier to go after Spellman?"

"Easier for whom, General, you or one of your Pentagon pals," demanded Arthur? "Who are you protecting?"

"I'm not sure I like your tone, soldier."

"And I'm not all that keen on pursuing a brother on the unproven allegations of unidentified men whose sole intent is self-survival."

"He's not a brother, soldier. He's a fucking traitor, a cowardly bastard who sold out this country." Every instinct in Calin suggested untruth. The General was becoming agitated and lying.

"General Thomas, as you're aware, I've undertaken intensive assessment and analytical studies and when I apply those principles to this case I keep coming back to the same conclusion, deceit. It's either blatant lying or doctored truth. Allow me to start with the most obvious point. A traitor is rarely allowed back on the streets to again ply his trade, unless of course he is fitted with some form of electronic surveillance tag, most probably surgically inserted which we know didn't happen in this instance. Otherwise you would know his precise location at any given time. So that gives lie to the treason argument." Arthur maintained eye contact, the General looked away.

"Next I ask myself," Arthur continued. "What prompts such an urgent and insane response? The answer is obvious. The one being pursued has uncovered knowledge that threatens someone else's past, or more possibly, future. Who could it be? And what is the secret? All we know is the secret involves a very prominent person in either the Pentagon or the Presidential Administration.

"And the termination order is being passed down. Am I wrong, General?"

"Are you incapable of undertaking the mission, soldier?" Again the General was on the offensive.

"Am I getting too close to the truth?"

"Dismissed," the General snapped. "And you're confined to your barracks until further notice. Failure to comply with this instruction will see you incarcerated. Do you understand?"

"More than you know, General." Calin found it difficult to contain his disgust. "Does that offer of a year ago, still stand?"

"What offer was that?"

"Release back into civilian life?"

"We'll discuss that once this matter is resolved. Now get into the helicopter. I have a case to solve." The din created by the aircraft's engine prevented further conversation. The silence only served to intensify Calin's anger.

"Wait here for me," said the General on alighting from the aircraft as it set down on the street outside the Rodwell home. "This should only take a few minutes."

"I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not. Your decision to decline the mission removes you from all involvement in the investigation. You'll wait here." Arthur, never again would he consider himself Calin, saw the General again reach for his phone.
The pilot heard nothing; his ears remained cupped by the headphones. Arthur's instincts kicked in. He tapped the pilot on the shoulder and by way of hand signals indicated his intention to alight. The pilot offered thumbs up and continued on checking the aircraft's cockpit panels. He paid no attention to Arthur's exit.

Arthur walked up to one of the perimeter cops. He made sure his presence couldn't be seen from either the house or the helicopter. "Buddy," he said. "I'm with the General who's just gone inside to talk with Detective Lyons, and I thought I should ask if you guys saw anything suspicious. You never know what a second set of eyes might see."

"I'm not sure I should be talking to you guys," he answered. "Especially after the heavy handed FO policy you guys imposed."

"Can't say I know the FO policy. What is it?"

"Fuck off."

"Not my doing, sorry. Military command is littered with arse holes. Don't suppose anyone got the name of the bastard who delivered the message?"

"I didn't, maybe Detective Lyons did."

"Do you know which car she drives?"

"The unmarked Ford over there," replied the obviously disgruntled policeman. He
pointed to a dark blue sedan.

"Do you think she'll mind if I take a seat and wait for her?"

"It might be quite a wait."

"I doubt it. I believe she too is about to get the FO treatment."