demille.thegeneralsdaughter-第9部分

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　home；　and　I　couldn't　imagine　a　general's　daughter　having　a　live…in　male　lover；　or　even　a　female　roommate；　who　would　promise　her　privacy。　On　the　other　hand；　you　never　know　who's　inside　a　house；　and　when　the　subject　is　murder；　you　proceed　with　caution。
　Where　the　patio　met　the　back　wall　of　the　house　was　a　basement　window　well；　which　meant　these　units　had　basements；　which　also　meant　a　tricky　descent　down　an　exposed　staircase。　Maybe　I'd　send　Ms。　Gung　Ho　down　there　first。　In　any　case；　the　window　well　was　covered　with　a　Plexiglas　bubble　that　was　bolted　to　the　outside　wall；　so　that　no　one　could　get　out　that　way。
　To　the　right　of　the　sliding　doors　was　a　door　that　opened　into　the　kitchen。　There　was　a　buzzer　there；　and　I　pushed　it。　I　waited　and　rang　again；　then　tried　the　doorknob；　which　is　a　good　idea　before　breaking　and　entering。
　I　should　have　gone　straight　to　the　Midland　city　police；　of　course；　as　Colonel　Kent　suggested；　and　the　police　would　have　been　happy　to　get　a　search　warrant；　and　happier　still　to　be　included　in　the　search　of　the　victim's　house。　But　I　didn't　want　to　bother　them　with　this；　so　I　found　the　house　key　on　Ann　Campbell's　key　chain　and　unlocked　the　door。　I　entered　the　kitchen；　then　closed　the　door　behind　me　and　relocked　it。
　On　the　far　side　of　the　kitchen　was　a　solid…looking　door　that　probably　led　to　the　basement。　The　door　had　a　bolt；　which　I　slid　closed；　so　if　someone　was　down　there；　he　or　she　was　locked　in。
　Having　secured　my　rear；　or　perhaps　having　cut　off　my　line　of　retreat；　I　moved　unarmed　and　cautiously　went　through　the　house　to；　the　front　door　and　opened　it；　letting　Cynthia　in。　We　stood　there　in　the　cool；　air…conditioned　foyer　a　moment；　looked　around；　and　listened。　I　motioned　for　Cynthia　to　draw　her　pistol；　which　she　did；　a　。38　Smith　&　Wesson。　That　done；　I　shouted；　〃Police！　Stay　where　you　are　and　call　out！〃　But　there　was　no　reply。　I　said　to　Cynthia；　〃Stay　here　and　be　prepared　to　use　that。〃
　〃Why　do　you　think　I'm　carrying　the　fucking　thing？〃
　〃Good　point。〃　Bitch。　I　walked　first　to　the　coat　closet　and　pulled　the　door　open；　but　no　one　was　standing　there　with　a　tent　peg　in　his　hand。　I　moved　from　room　to　room　on　the　ground　floor；　feeling　a　little　silly；　ninety…nine　percent　sure　the　house　was　empty；　but　remembering　a　case　when　it　wasn't。　A　staircase　led　from　the　foyer　to　the　second　floor；　and　staircases；　as　I　indicated；　are　dangerous；　especially　if　they　squeak。　Cynthia　positioned　herself　at　the　base　of　the　stairs；　and　I　bounded　up　three　steps　at　a　time　and　flattened　myself　against　the　upstairs　hallway　wall。　There　were　three　doors　ing　off　the　upstairs　hallway；　one　open；　two　closed。　I　repeated　my　order　to　stay　put　and　call　out；　but　again　no　answer。
　Cynthia　called　up　to　me；　and　I　looked　down　the　stairs。　She　was　halfway　up　and　pitched　the　Smith　&　Wesson　underhand。　I　caught　it　and　motioned　her　to　stay　where　she　was。　I　flung　open　one　of　the　closed　doors；　dropped　into　a　firing　stance；　and　shouted；　〃Freeze！〃　But　my　aggressiveness　did　not　provoke　a　response。　I　peered　into　the　unlit　room　and　saw　what　appeared　to　be　a　spare　bedroom；　sparsely　furnished。　I　closed　the　door；　then　repeated　the　procedure　with　the　second　closed　door；　which　turned　out　to　be　a　large　linen　closet。　Despite　all　the　acrobatics；　I　knew　that　if　there　was　anyone　up　there　with　a　gun　who　wanted　to　use　it；　I'd　be　dead　by　now。　But　you　have　to　go　through　the　drill。　So　I　spun　back　against　the　hallway　wall　and　glanced　inside　the　door　that　had　been　open。　I　could　see　a　large　bedroom　and　another　door　that　led　to　a　bathroom。　I　motioned　Cynthia　to　e　up　the　stairs　and　handed　her　the　Smith　&　Wesson。　〃Cover　me；〃　I　said；　and　entered　the　large　master　bedroom；　keeping　an　eye　on　the　sliding　doors　of　the　closet；　and　the　open　bathroom。　I　picked　up　a　bottle　of　perfume　from　the　dressing　table　and　threw　it　in　the　bathroom；　where　it　shattered。　Recon　by　fire；　as　we　used　to　say　in　the　infantry；　but　again　I　did　not　provoke　a　response。
　I　gave　the　bedroom　and　bathroom　a　quick　look；　then　rejoined　Cynthia；　who　was　in　a　crouched　firing　stance　off　to　the　side　door；　covering　all　the　doors。　I　half　expected；　half　wanted　someone　to　be　in　this　house　so　I　could　arrest　him…or　her…wrap　the　case；　and　get　the　hell　back　to　Virginia。　But　that　was　not　to　be。
　Cynthia　looked　into　the　large　bedroom　and　mented；　〃She　made　her　bed。〃
　〃Well；　you　know　how　those　West　Pointers　are。〃
　〃I　think　it's　sad。　She　was　so　neat　and　orderly。　Now　she's　dead　and　everything　will　be　a　mess。〃
　I　glanced　at　Cynthia。　〃Well；　let's　begin　in　the　kitchen。〃
　
　CHAPTER　FIVE
　
　Indeed；　there　is　something　sad　and　eerie　about　intruding　into　a　dead　person's　house；　walking　through　rooms　they　will　never　see　again；　opening　their　cabinets；　closets；　and　drawers；　handling　their　possessions；　reading　their　mail；　and　even　listening　to　the　messages　on　their　answering　machine。　Clothes；　books；　videotapes；　food；　liquor；　cosmetics；　bills；　medicine　。。。　a　whole　life　suddenly　ended　away　from　home；　and　no　one　left　behind；　and　a　house　filled　with　the　things　that　sustain；　define；　and　hopefully　explain　a　life…room　by　room　with　no　living　guide　to　point　out　a　favorite　picture　on　the　wall；　to　take　you　through　a　photo　album；　to　offer　you　a　drink；　or　tell　you　why　the　plants　are　dry　and　dying。
　In　the　kitchen；　Cynthia　noticed　the　bolted　door；　and　I　informed　her；　〃It　leads　to　the　basement。　It's　secure；　so　we'll　check　it　out　last。〃
　She　nodded。
　The　kitchen　yielded　very　little　except　for　the　fact　that　Ann　Campbell　was　for　sure　a　neat…freak　and　ate　the　kind　of　healthful　foods…yogurt；　bean　sprouts；　bran　muffins；　and　such…that　make　my　stomach　heave。　The　refrigerator　and　pantry　also　held　many　bottles　of　good　wine　and　premium　beer。
　One　cupboard　was　crammed　with　hard　liquor　and　cordials；　again　all　high…priced；　even　at　post　exchange　prices。　In　fact；　by　the　price　tags　still　stuck　on　some　of　the　bottles；　the　liquor　did　not　e　from　the　PX。　I　asked；　〃Why　would　she　pay　civilian　prices　for　liquor？〃
　Cynthia；　who　is　sensitive；　replied；　〃Perhaps　she　didn't　want　to　be　seen　in　the　PX　liquor　store。　You　know…single　woman；　general's　daughter。　Men　don't　worry　about　that。〃
　I　said；　〃But　I　can　relate　to　that。　I　was　once　spotted　in　the　missary　with　a　quart　of　milk　and　three　containers　of　yogurt。　I　avoided　the　O　Club　for　weeks。〃
　No　ment　from　Cynthia；　but　she　did　roll　her　eyes。　Clearly；　I　was　getting　on　her　nerves。
　It　occurred　to　me　that　a　junior　male　partner　would　not　be　so　disrespectful。　And　neither　would　a　new　female　partner。　This　familiarity　obviously　had　something　to　do　with　us　having　once　slept　together。　I　had　to　process　this。
　〃Let's　see　the　other　rooms；〃　she　said。
　So　we　did。　The　downstairs　powder　room　was　immaculate；　though　the　toilet　seat　was　in　the　up　position；　and　having　just　learned　a　thing　or　two　from　that　colonel　at　the　O　Club；　I　concluded　that　a　man　had　been　here　recently。　In　fact；　Cynthia　mented　on　it；　adding；　〃At　least　he　didn't　drip　like　most　of　you　old　guys　do。〃
　We　were　really　into　this　gender　and　generation　thing　now；　and　I　had　a　few　good　zingers　on　the　tip　of　my　tongue；　but　the　clock　was　ticking　and　the　Midland　police　could　show　up　any　minute；　which　would　lead　to　a　more　serious　difference　of　opinion　than　that　which　was　developing　between　Ms。　Sunhill　and　me。
　Anyway；　we　searched　the　living　room　and　dining　area；　which　were　pristine；　as　though　they　were　sanitized　for　public　consumption。　The　decor　was　contemporary　but；　as　with　many　career　military　people；　there　were　mementos　from　all　over　the　world…Japanese　lacquers；　Bavarian　pewter；　Italian　glass；　and　so　forth。　The　paintings　on　the　walls　would　have　been　appropriate　in　a　geometry　classroom…cubes；　circles；　lines；　ovals；　and　that　type　of　thing；　in　mostly　primary　colors。　They　conveyed　nothing；　which　was　the　point；　I　suppose。　So　far；　I　couldn't　get　a　handle　on　Ann　Campbell。　I　mean；　I　remember　once　searching　the　home　of　a　murderer；　and　within　ten　minutes　I　had　a　grip　on　the　guy。　Sometimes　it's　a　small　thing　like　a　record　album　collection；　or　paintings　of　cats　on　the　walls；　or　dirty　underwear　on　the　floor。　Sometimes　it's　the　books　on　the　shelves　or　the　lack　of　them；　a　photo　album；　or；　eureka；　a　diary。　But　here；　in　this　place；　so　far；　I　felt　I　had　mistakenly　broken　into　the　realtor'