“Not really.”
“Okay,” said Decker, looking thoughtful.
They were cleared through a security post manned by a quartet of very serious looking men wearing Level 2 body armor and holding combat weapons. They were dressed all in black with SECURITY stenciled on the backs of their vests.
“Vector?” said Decker, reading this name off the label on one of the guard’s sleeves.
Kelly said, “Vector is the contractor that runs this place. They’re the subsidiary of some big player in the arena. Least that’s what I heard.”
They drove to a one-story brick building. It was within walking distance of the pyramid.
Decker eyed the line of ambulances parked in a row next to the pyramid.
They were escorted inside by a uniformed guard and led down a short corridor to a large office. The guard left and Kelly introduced them to Colonel Mark Sumter. He was medium height, about fifty, trim with a bald head and intense blue eyes. He was dressed in an ABU, or Airman Battle Uniform, that carried a camouflage design.
He invited them to sit down across from his desk in three straight-back chairs. “Good to see you, Joe.” He looked at Decker and Jamison. “So you’re the FBI? How can I help?”
Decker said, “There’s been a murder. A young woman named Irene Cramer.”
“Yes, I heard about that.”
“She taught school at the Brothers’ Colony,” added Kelly.
“Did she?” Sumter looked interested. “Do you suspect someone from there might have been involved? They’re very religious folks, from what I understand. Pacifists, in fact.”
Decker shrugged. “We’re just gathering facts, conducting interviews, nailing down timelines.”
Jamison interjected, “I guess it’s unusual to be sharing property lines with a religious organization.”
Sumter bristled a bit. “The DoD, with all its money, somehow found it imperative to sell off most of the land surrounding this installation. Now, I have no problem with the Brothers. I’m just not used to being on base and seeing a tractor plowing a field in the distance. Or oil rigs pumping up crude from the earth. I’m one who likes more buffer, particularly with what we do here.”
“And what is that?” asked Decker. “Kelly just gave us a thumbnail sketch.”
Sumter instantly adopted a more guarded look. “Much of what we do is classified.”
“Just the nonclassified parts then,” said Decker. “Kelly here said you watch the sky for nukes?”
“In part. Have you ever heard of PARCS?”
“As in like parks people visit?” said Jamison.
Sumter smiled. “No. It’s an acronym, just like everything else in the military. It stands for Perimeter Acquisition Radar Attack Characterization System.”
“Long name.”
“And it’s justified. Along with watching for nuclear weapons, we also track earth-orbiting objects.”
“Why’s that?” asked Decker.
“We’re sort of like air traffic control for outer space. We analyze and track about twenty thousand objects per day, from giant satellites to small space debris. We can spot something the size of a soccer ball at a distance of two thousand miles.”
“Expensive pair of binoculars,” commented Decker, drawing a sharp and somewhat unfriendly glance from Sumter.
Jamison said in a more casual tone, “I understand you have a bar and even a bowling alley on-site.”
Sumter smiled. “Yes. Drinking and bowling, not the best of combinations, but still, it allows people to wind down.”
“How long has Vector been running this place?” asked Decker.
“The United States Air Force runs this place,” said Sumter firmly. “But Vector’s involvement is fairly recent. I can’t give you the exact date because that’s classified.”
“So getting back to Irene Cramer. Has she ever been here?” asked Decker.
“No. And she wouldn’t have the clearance to get on the installation.”
“Would she know any of the people who worked here?”
“I don’t see why.”
“Well, she worked right next door,” said Jamison.
“Yes, but no one from the Brothers can just stroll over here.”
“Cramer had a second occupation,” said Decker.
“What was that?”
“An old-fashioned way of terming it would be a ‘lady of the night.’ ”
“She was a hooker?” said Sumter, sitting upright.
Decker just stared at him.
Now Sumter looked more guarded. “And you think one of the men here . . . ?”
“I just want to acquire the facts. It’s sort of like your radar here, always sucking up information.”
Sumter eyed Decker in a new light. “I, uh, I can make inquiries.”
Decker said, “Actually, we would prefer to do that. I doubt that anyone here will volunteer that they paid a hooker. Wouldn’t that land them in trouble?”
“It could. But we’re experienced with ferreting out the truth.”
Kelly said, “Why don’t you make a first sweep, narrow it down, and then we can interview those folks?”
“I’ll have to think about that.”
“This is a murder investigation,” said Decker. “A young woman was badly butchered.”
“And this is a U.S. military installation,” retorted Sumter. “And we do things a certain way. Now, if that’s all, I can get on with my duties and you all can do the same.”
As they were leaving Decker turned back. “You have many accidents here?”
“No. It’s not really a dangerous place to be stationed. Beats the hell out of Iraq or Afghanistan,” he added with a forced grin.
“That’s great. Keep up the good work.”
As they were walking to their truck, Jamison said, “Why did you ask him that?”
“Because I wanted to know the answer,” Decker said bluntly. “And that answer has led to another question.”
“What’s that?” asked Kelly.
Decker pointed to the ambulances. “If this is such a safe place, what the hell are all those for?”
WHEN DECKER GOT BACK to his hotel room he ended up taking Jamison’s advice and called his sister, but probably not for the reason his partner had intended.
Renee exclaimed, “Okay, I’m going to stroke out, Amos Decker calls his big sister. Stop the presses.”
“Growing up, I never really realized how funny you were, Renee.”
“Disappointed how our last conversation went? Want to make amends?”
“Right now, I just want Stan’s cell phone number.”
“You didn’t get it from him when you saw him?”
“It didn’t seem appropriate under the circumstances.”
She gave him the number and he put it in his contacts. “Thanks. Stan said Diane’s husband lost his job?”
“That was a year ago. Tim’s back on his feet and Diane has a good job. They’re doing okay. And I guess it’s a good thing they don’t have any kids they have to support. Now, don’t call me for another year.”
“What, why?”