Free The Jefferson Allegiance by Bob Mayer Page A

his hands, and realized they had tightened into fists. With great difficulty he unclenched them. “Someone wanted them to talk. General LaGrange wouldn’t have. I don’t know about McBride.”
    “You sound sure of LaGrange. I thought everyone talked under torture.”
    “I am sure of the General. And everyone talks under enough torture applied long enough,” he corrected. “The killer was in a rush. Also, with torture, even though everyone eventually talks, you can’t believe what they say. It’s a paradox—when the torture is extreme enough to make someone talk, they’ll say anything to stop it, especially what they think the torturer wants to hear, whether it’s true or not. That’s why it’s ineffective.”
    “Interesting.” Burns took a moment to digest that. “You often provided LaGrange with backup in Washington DC?”
    “Never before. But we served together.”
    Burns stared at him. “And now you serve with…?”
    “I can’t tell you that.”
    “The Activity?”
    “I can’t tell you.”
    “Why do you call LaGrange, ‘General’ all the time if he was your uncle?”
    “We always called him the General.”
    “’We’?”
    Ducharme sighed, and felt the pounding in his head worsen. “His son, Charles, my cousin, was also my best friend. He didn’t call General LaGrange, ‘dad,’ he called him ‘the General.’ And it was out of respect.”
    “’Was’?”
    Ducharme stiffened. “You a fucking echo? Charlie was killed in a car wreck four days ago. That’s why I was at Arlington.”
    “I’m sorry.” Burns ran a hand across the stubble on his chin as he made a note in his pad.
    “Do you have anything on his death?” Ducharme asked.
    “I’ll look into it,” Burns said. The FBI agent pulled two wooden disks out of the manila folder and slid then across the table. “Seen these before?”
    Ducharme took the disks. One had the number “26” etched in it—the one Kincannon had given him—and the other had “1” on the side. “You know I saw one of them since you took it off me.”
    “Tolliver was carrying the other one in McBride’s briefcase,” Burns said. “What are they?”
    “Never seen anything like them before. Ask her.”
    “I will.” Burns picked the disks up. “They look—feel—old.”
    Ducharme pointed at the photo, trying for misdirection. “What’s the monument the body parts are on?”
    “The Zero Milestone,” Burns said.
    “This placement wasn’t done by chance,” Ducharme said.
    “It’s a message,” Burns said with a nod. “I’ve got people working on it.” Burns slammed the blade into the desk top, leaving the knife there, handle quivering. He turned toward the mirror on the side of the room and crooked a finger. “What does ‘See the elephant’ mean in the message?”
    “No idea.”
    “Bullshit.”
    Ducharme didn’t respond.
    “So you never met Tolliver before?”
    “No.”
    “But you were waiting for LaGrange in that restaurant, and she was waiting for McBride. Not coincidence.”
    “Brilliant deduction.”
    The door to the room opened, and Evie Tolliver was escorted in.
    “Professor Tolliver, meet Colonel Ducharme. Again,” Burns said. “Take a seat.”
    Evie sat to Ducharme’s right, giving him a curious glance as Burns spread photos over the desk: the head and heart on top of the Monument; a headless body lying in the snow; LaGrange’s heartless body in the driver’s seat along with others of the two crime scenes.
    “We’ve got two murders,” Burns said. “Two bodies mutilated. And you two are connected to the victims. I want some answers.”
    “What are the questions?” Ducharme asked.
    “Don’t push me,” Burns snapped.
    Ducharme stared at the FBI man. “OK, what are the fucking questions?”
    Burns’s fists clenched. “That asshole thing—nice.”
    Ducharme nodded. “It’s a technique.”
    “It’s not working.”
    “I think it is.” Ducharme shrugged. “It’s called frustration and I don’t know