Title:Four Blind Mice
Author(s): James Patterson
Publisher(s): Grand Central Publishing
Pages: 416
Year: 2003
Format: MOBI
Language: English
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I had called the History Department immediately after I received the $prime;helpful$prime; e-mail from Foot Soldier. I was told that Colonel Handler had a class that met from eleven until noon. We had twenty minutes to kill, so we took in a few sights: Washington Hall, a cavernous three-story building where the entire Corps of Cadets could sit simultaneously for meals; the Eisenhower and MacArthur Barracks; the Cadet Chapel; plus several incomparable river vistas.
Cadets flowed past us lickity-split on the sidewalk. They wore long-sleeved gray shirts with black ties, gray trousers with a black stripe, brass belt buckles shined to perfection.
Everybody was moving in double time! It was contagious.
Thayer Hall was a huge gray building that was virtually windowless. Inside, the classrooms all looked identical, each with desks arranged in a horseshoe so that everyone was in the front row.
Sampson and I waited in a deserted hallway until Handler$prime;s class was finished and the cadets filed out.
They were incredibly orderly for college students, which didn$prime;t surprise me, but it was still impressive to watch. Why aren$prime;t students in all universities orderly? Because no one demands it? Well hell, who cares? But it was a striking scene. All these young kids with so much purpose and resolve. On the surface anyway.
Colonel Handler trailed his students out of the classroom. He was a burly man, around six feet one with short-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair and a full beard. I already knew he$prime;d served two tours of duty in Vietnam,had an MA from the University of Virginia and a doctorate from Penn State. That much was on the West Point web-site.
«We$prime;re Detectives Cross and Sampson,» I said as I walked up to him. «Could we talk to you for a moment?»
Handler grimaced. «What$prime;s this about, Detectives? One of our cadets in trouble?»
«No, no,» I shook my head. The cadets seem beyond reproach.»
A smile broke across Handler$prime;s face. «Oh, you$prime;d be surprised. They only look blameless, Detective. So if it isn$prime;t one of our charges, what is it you$prime;d like to talk to me about? Robert and Barbara Bennett? I$prime;ve already spoken to Captain Conte. I thought CID was handling that.»
«They are,» I told him. «But the murders might be a little more complicated than they appear. Just like the cadets here at West Point.»
As concisely as I could, I told Handler about the other murder cases that Sampson and I had been investigating. I didn$prime;t tell him about the e-mail from the Foot Soldier that had led us to him. As I spoke, I noticed a professor in the classroom next to Handler$prime;s. He had a bucket with water and a sponge, and he was actually washing the blackboard before the next class. All the classrooms had identical buckets and sponges. Hell of a system.
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