Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 44, No. 4, April 1980

“I pegged you for a junkie the second I laid eyes on you,” the CID investigator explained. “What is it? Cocaine or speed? You’ve been snorting something a lot stronger than snuff. You practically have skid marks on your nostrils.”

“Let go of me, you sonofabitch!” Smothers whined.

“Did Lundy know you were putting this crap up your nose?” Lansing asked. “When he came into the barracks drunk did he threaten to expose you? Is that why you broke his neck and threw him down the stairs?”

“No! I didn’t kill him!”

“Then Lieutenant Benton got suspicious. So you rigged up his car with an explosive surprise, but the timers failed so it didn’t pass as an accident. Right?”

“No! No! I never killed nobody!”

“Well, I’m going to take you over to the detox ward in Nuremburg, where they help you fellows with a drug or alcohol problem dry out. I’ll tell them you came to me for assistance. If you’re smart you’ll play along. You could come out of this with an Honorable Discharge or at least a General.”

“I know the Uniform Code for Military Justice!” Smothers hissed throught clenched teeth. “This is improper search and seizure. I’ll have your ass for this, pig!”

“Sure you will,” Lansing replied. “And I’ll charge you with assaulting a commissioned officer. Wise up, Smothers. This is the best thing that could happen to you.” The Major sighed. “Unless you’re the murderer I’m after. In which case, I’ll know right where to go to pick you up when I’ve completed my investigation.”

Wendy Davis brought Lansing a cup of coffee as he sat at his desk examining an assortment of information concerning the homicide case. He thanked her and gratefully sipped from the steaming cup.

“A CID official from Fort Jackson called earlier this morning, sir,” Wendy said as she perched a buttock on the edge of Lansing’s desk. He tried not to stare as her skirt hiked two distracting inches higher. “Specialist Lundy’s body was transported from them to his family in South Carolina. They should know what happened to the remains by this afternoon.”

“I hope they have something encouraging. This case is one tough nut to crack.”

“Then you don’t think Smothers is the killer?”

“He’s still a prime suspect. At least now he’s locked in a rubber cell in detox instead of running around. Smothers could be our man. He could certainly have planted the bomb, or bombs, and he wouldn’t have any trouble figuring out how to disable an automobile. As he obviously has connections with some local criminal elements in order to get his supply of nose-candy, he could probably get his hands on some plastic explosives too.”

“Sounds like there are a lot of reasons to suspect him.”

“Yeah, but we shouldn’t forget Smith and Cross. The Sergeant hated Benton’s political guts. He may sincerely believe that killing Benton was a patriotic act to defend his country. Of course, a demolitons expert wouldn’t have any difficulty blowing up a car, and I suspect he could manage to find a black market source that dealt in C-four sales, if he really tried to find one. However, I have no idea what motive he might have for killing Lundy... if indeed Lundy was murdered.”

“What about Cross?”

“Well, that secret project that begins with ‘SM’, which I am not allowed to tell you anything more about, was Cross’s baby. Cross, however, claims the project was canceled by Washington, and Benton had nothing to do with its failure.”

“What if Cross didn’t tell you the truth?”

“I’ve considered that,” Lansing replied. “I’m going to take a little trip over to Bamberg today and talk to their S-2 department to try to find out exactly how the project got scrapped. After that, I’m going to inspect the Lieutenant’s quarters. Sometimes the victim can offer some pretty valuable evidence.”

“If Fort Jackson contacts us and confirms that Lundy was murdered, that would suggest Smothers was the killer. After all he was the only one of the suspects in the barracks the night Lundy died.”

“He was the only one that was supposed to be at the billets,” Lansing said. “However, there are very few buildings that have only one entrance, and Headquarters Battery’s barracks is no exception. I’ve already checked it out. The post chapel is built onto the same structure as Headquarters Battery. A basement extends under the chapel to the barracks. From there, one can enter an emergency fire exit stairwell that leads right upstairs. The chapel is never locked or guarded, so the killer could have entered any time without the CQ or anyone else’s knowledge. Both Cross and Smith are familiar with Headquarters Battery, as they’re assigned to the unit, so either man would know about the fire stairs.”

“So all three are still equally in the running,” Wendy sighed.

“Yeah.” Lansing muttered as he rose. “Now we have to eliminate two contestants.”