Chasing a Blond Moon(117)

“Go see him, Simon. Find out where he was last night between four and midnight.”

“What’s going down?”

Service stared at the captain’s scribbles, said, “Just fucking do it.” And hung up.

LeBlanc reappeared, put another sheet of paper on his desk. Her eyes were teary and her hand was shaking. “I got this off the Dictaphone tape he made early this morning.”

Service read. “How’s the cow? She walks, she talks, she’s full of chalk. The lactine liquid extracted from the female of the bovine species is highly prolific to the nth degree. Go Army!”

“He shouted the last part, almost burst my eardrums,” LeBlanc said.

Service said, “Come with me,” led her down to the captain’s office. The door was closed. He knocked once and walked in. The captain had a foot on his desk, the sock off. He was studying it through a magnifying glass. He looked up at Service, said, “If God inhabits our souls, he is in our toenails as well.” He pulled his foot down and his tone changed. “What’s the meaning of this? My door was closed.”

Service put the two pages from LeBlanc on the captain’s desk. The captain ignored them.

“Where are your keys, sir?”

The captain pointed at the corner of his desk. Service picked them up and handed them to LeBlanc. “Fern is driving you home, Captain.”

The captain clutched his sock, held it against his chest, and looked confused. Service said, “If we can’t go at one hundred percent, sir, the team suffers.”

“Listen to him, Captain,” Fern added.

The captain did not protest. Service walked beside him out to Fern’s car, made sure he was buckled in, and watched them drive away, the captain staring straight ahead.

He went back to his cubicle and called Grant’s doctor. “This is Detective Service. The captain is on his way home and he is not to come back here until he is ready. Concussion, my ass!” he added, slamming the phone down.

He was disgusted with himself and pissed at the captain’s selfishness for putting him in this position. He had just turned on his computer to call up his e-mail when he heard a cough and looked up to see the captain standing just inside the cubicle.

“Writing utensil and paper,” the captain said. He took a pen from Service, standing by the desk, and wrote, then handed the pad to Service. His handwriting was normal, flawless.

“It takes courage to do what’s right,” the captain said. “I never again want to hear that you lack management potential. Leadership is a burden few can endure and fewer are willing to do so. I will be in my office, Detective Service. Carry on.”

Fern LeBlanc was standing behind the captain, smiling slyly. “Cash register,” she said.

Service closed his gaping mouth. “What the hell is going on?”

“The captain is somewhat unorthodox in his methods,” she said.

“I called his doctor.”

“Exactly,” she said, turning, swirling her skirt and disappearing.

He went directly to the captain’s office and found him writing. Grant held up the pad of paper. “Do you wish to inspect?”

Service nodded, took it and scanned it. Normal, perfect. He handed it back.

“Excellent,” the captain said. “Perfect. Good leadership: Assume nothing. Always follow up.” He was smiling.

Service told LeBlanc he was going out. “Lunch,” he said. Only when he got into the truck and pulled out onto US 41 toward town did he notice it was only 9 a.m.





30

Teddy Gates called on Service’s cell phone. “I tried the office, but they said you’d gone to lunch. Lunch at this hour?” Gates asked with a chuckle.

“What is it?” Service shot back, still shaken over the captain’s strange little performance.

“Oliver Toogood, Sarn’t.”

“He’s a fake.”

“On the contrary, he’s very real and quite authentic. He receives a one hundred percent medical, which goes to a bank in a town called Ontonagon. He rarely draws on it and he has never made a deposit, the result being that he has accumulated a rather hefty nest egg.”

“How can you get into bank records without a subpoena?”

“Work-around. It all depends on who you know,” Gates said.

Trapper Jet was legit? “How can we be sure?”

“The bank has his fingerprints and they match the ones we have at DoD. I’m going to fax you some photos from his swearing in as an officer and another at the time of his release as a POW.”

“When was the most recent withdrawal?” He was desperate for something.

“Three years ago.”

If he was on the level, where the hell was he? “Thanks,” Service said.