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concisely as I could, I told the general what we had already found out, and also our reactions to the evidence as homicide detectives. He was a practiced listener who punctuated what I had to say by uttering, “Interesting,” several times. He seemed open to other points of view and eager for new information. For the moment, I was hopeful.
    When I stopped, he asked, “Is there anything else either of you wants to add? This is the time for it.”
    Sampson seemed unusually quiet and reserved in the general’s presence. “I’m not going to get into my personal feelings for Sergeant Cooper,” he finally spoke, “but as a detective, I find it impossible to believe that he’d bring the murder weapon, plus several incriminating photographs, back to his house.”
    Surprisingly, General Bowen nodded agreement. “I do too,” he said. “But that’s what he did. I don’t understand why either, but then again, I don’t understand how a man could willfully murder three women, as he most definitely did. It was the worst peacetime violence I’ve seen in my career and, gentlemen, I’ve seen some bad business.”
    The general leaned forward across his desk. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed. “Let me tell you something about this murder case that I haven’t shared with anyone else. No one. This is just for the two of you. When Sergeant Cooper is executed at Central Prison by the state of North Carolina, I will be there with the families of those murdered women. I’m looking forward to the lethal injection. What that animal did revolts and disgusts me. Your ten minutes are up. Now get the hell out of here. Get the fuck out of my sight.”
    His aide, Captain Rizzo, was already back at the door.

Chapter 18
    THE THREE BLIND Mice were in Fayetteville again, headed toward Fort Bragg for the first time in several months. Thomas Starkey, Brownley Harris, and Warren Griffin were admitted through the security gates on All American Freeway. No problem. They had official business on post; they had an appointment.
    The three men were unusually quiet as Starkey drove the dark blue Suburban across the base. They hadn’t been at Bragg since the murders of the three women. Not that the place had changed one iota; change happened very slowly in the military.
    “This is a trip I personally could do without,” Brownley Harris contributed from the backseat of the Suburban.
    “It’s not a problem,” said Starkey, taking control as he always did. “We have a legitimate reason to be here. Be a mistake if we stopped showing our faces at Bragg. Don’t disappoint me.”
    “I hear you,” said Harris. “I still don’t like being back at the scene of the crime.” He decided that things needed some lightening up. “You all hear the differential theory of the U.S. Armed Forces — the so-called snake model?” he asked.
    “Haven’t heard that one, Brownie,” said Griffin, who also rolled his eyes. He knew a joke was coming, probably a bad one.
    “
Army Infantry
comes in after the snake. Snake smells them, leaves the area unharmed.
Aviation
comes next, has Global Positioning Satellite coordinates to the snake. Still can’t find the snake. Returns to base for refuel, crew rests, and manicures.
Field Artillery
comes. Attacks the snake with massive Time On Target barrage with three Artillery battalions in support. Kills several hundred civilians as unavoidable collateral damage. All participants, including cooks, mechanics, and clerks, are awarded Silver Stars.”
    “What about us Rangers?” asked Griffin, playing the straight man.
    Harris grinned. “Single Ranger comes in, plays with the snake, then eats it.”
    Starkey snorted out a laugh, then he turned off Armistead Street into the lot for the Corps Headquarters. “Remember, this is just business. Conduct yourselves accordingly, gentlemen.”
    Griffin and Harris barked, “Yes, sir.”
    The three of them gathered their briefcases, put on lightweight suit jackets, and tightened