Free Evil for Evil by James R. Benn Page A

them.
    “Are all these receipts for messages received? If a message came into Northern Ireland Command HQ to be passed on to you, would they have the same kind of documents?”
    “They ought to. And sent, as well. But if I don’t have a record of it coming in, they didn’t send it.”
    “I can believe it, Sarge. Everything looks fine on your end.”
    “Is there a problem, if you don’t mind me asking?”
    “You know Captain Heck, the provost marshal?”
    “Know of him,” Lasner said, his tone carefully neutral.
    “I think he intercepted a message meant for Major Thornton about my arrival here. Sound likely to you?”
    “From what I hear, he’d be careful to cover his tracks. Not that I’m accusing the provost marshal of anything.”
    “That would mean he had someone working for him at HQ.”
    “Let’s just say I’ve heard Heck will do you a favor if you find yourself at the wrong end of an MP’s nightstick. Only problem is, once he’s got you over a barrel, the favors have to keep coming.”
    “So he’ll withhold charges for a price?”
    “He doesn’t take money, if that’s what you mean. He’s always looking for an angle, so he’d rather have information. He’s smart, Lieutenant. Watch yourself around him.”
    “You’re not the first to warn me. If that’s his game, and he’s so slick, how can you be certain it wasn’t one of your men here who killed the message to Thornton and gave it to Heck?”
    “I know my men. I trained them all, and they know what would happen if they pulled something like that.” There was a hard look in his eyes, a combination of resentment that I’d asked the question and fury at the thought of such betrayal.
    “How about your captain?”
    “I couldn’t imagine it. Besides, he doesn’t spend a lot of time here.”
    “He lets you run the show?”
    “The captain wisely delegates responsibility. I think he’s been in Belfast for the last few days.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Whatever it is that officers do while the work gets done, Lieutenant.”
    “Understood, Sarge. One more question, though. You know anything about the BARs stolen from the depot at Ballykinler?”
    “Only that Major Thornton is mightily pissed off about it. Heck has been nosing around asking a lot of questions too, looking through stacks of shipping receipts, bills of lading, making himself a real pain. Every time he shows up, it takes us a day to put the place back together. You investigating that?”
    “Yeah. And I’m not working for Heck, to answer your next question. Any rumors about who was in on the heist?”
    “A million of them, but I won’t waste your time. Hang on, there is something here.” He flipped back through the message receipts until he found what he was looking for. “I guess it’s OK to give you this, since Major Thornton said I should help you out. Or did he already tell you?”
    “Tell me what?”
    “Here. This message came in yesterday morning from some inspector from the Royal Ulster Constabulary. Local flatfoots investigating the heist. Inspector Carrick asked the major for service records for Sergeant Peter Brennan.” He handed me a copy of the message form.
    “Who’s that?”
    “Pete’s a buck sergeant at the Ballykinler Depot.”
    “You know him? What kind of guy is he?”
    “We’re not pals but he seems OK. He’s been with us about six months now.”
    “Thanks, Sarge, you’ve been a big help. Can I have this?”
    “Sure. I’ve got another, we do them in triplicate.”
    “God bless army paperwork.”
    “So who do you work for, Lieutenant, if you’re not part of the provost marshal’s office?”
    “I’m here at the request of the British.”
    “Well, you know what they say. It takes a thief.”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “That the English are pretty savvy, sending an Irishman. Boyle— that’s Irish, right?”
    “We’re not all thieves, Sergeant,” I said in my best stern disciplinarian officer’s voice.
    “Sorry, sir. No