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The interior of the courthouse was massive and calm。 The ceilings were at least fifteen high。 Even the interior walls were thick； substantial； built to last。 He examined the signs on the wooden doors and settled on the circuit clerk's office。 Inside he asked； 〃Where do I find the prosecuting attorney？〃
〃Across the street on the left end of the block。 He has an office above the liquor store。 Cookman's his name。〃 The lady smiled。
〃And the state police？〃
〃Out of the courthouse； turn right and go three blocks； then another right and down about a half mile。 The barracks is a nice little brick building。 You can't miss it。〃
Standing in front of the courthouse beside the statue of a World War I doughboy； Jake decided to walk to the state police barracks first。 The first three blocks were along the main drag； by stores and empty display windows。 The decay of the American Main Street had reached this little munity too。 When he turned right he left the mercial district and found himself in a quiet residential area。 As he passed modest houses with trees in the lawns and pickups and motorcycles in the drive； he could hear dogs barking and occasionally a snatch of talk show from an open door。
The police barracks had American and West Virginia flags flying on large poles in front； beside an empty parking area festooned with signs and plastic barriers for driving tests。 Inside there wasn't a cop in sight。 The girl behind the desk looked like she was barely out of high school。
〃Hi； I'd like to get a copy of an accident report from a couple months ago。〃
〃Did it happen in the city or out in the county？〃
〃Outside the city。〃
〃You've e to the right place。〃 She smiled。 〃I need the names of the parties involved； or at least one of them。〃
〃Harold Strong。〃
〃Just a moment。〃 She selected a drawer in a large file cabinet and began looking。 〃All we have are copies； of course。 The originals go to DMV in Charleston。 We're not even required to keep copies but we do because the lawyers and insurance adjusters always want to see them。 Are you a lawyer？〃
〃Uh； no。 I was a friend of Captain Strong's。〃
〃Here it is。〃 She looked at it as she walked toward the counter。 〃He was in the navy； wasn't he。〃
Her ment was a statement； not a question； but he responded anyway。 〃Yes； he was。〃
She laid the report on the counter in front of him。 〃That's our office copy and our copy machine is out of order。 There's one up in the county clerk's office； where they keep the deeds and all？〃 He nodded。 〃But you need to leave your driver's license with me。〃 She smiled apologetically。 〃So many people forget to bring our copy back。〃
He dug out his wallet and extracted his license。 She didn't even look at it。 〃Thanks。 I'll be back in a bit。〃
Very nicely done； he thought as he walked the half mile back toward the main street。 No doubt before he got out of Romney he would be talking to a state trooper。 He looked at the name on the report。 Trooper Keadle。
There was an unpadded bench in the corridor outside the county clerk's office and he settled there。 The report consisted of three pages。 The first was a form with blanks to be filled in and a diagram where the investigating officer drew little cars and arrows to show what he believed happened。 The next two pages were merely handwritten ments of the investigating office。 Keadle had a neat hand…he obviously hadn't ruined his penmanship with years of furious note…taking。
The report was straightforward； devoid of bureaucratese。 Jake read it a second time slowly； studying the words。 According to Admiral Henry the prosecuting attorney had had a hand in this report； which 〃would not preclude a homicide prosecution。〃 That could only mean that none of the critical facts were omitted。 A half…smart defense lawyer would raise holy hell if the prosecutor asked the trooper to testify about facts that he had 〃forgotten〃 to put in the official report。
What was in the report？ Marks on the highway where it appeared tires may have broken their regular grip with the pavement and spun under power。 No skid marks： wet pavement prevented that Deep trenches in the gravel； some of which went all the way to the edge； presumably from skidding tires。 Marks in the earth where the Corolla went over the edge。 Wooden guardrails had been chain…sawed several days before the accident； presumably by vandals or parties unknown； see previous report of sheriff's deputy。 Fire in Corolla passenger partment very intense； body burned beyond recognition and identified with help of FBI forensic lab。 No mention of why or when the FBI was notified。 Dents and scrape marks all over the vehicle。 Finally； Corolla still structurally intact but gutted by fire。
No mention of the Corolla's fuel tank。 But the trooper could certainly testify that the fuel tank； like the car's frame； was intact。 No speculation on or estimate of how fast the Corolla would have had to be going up that mountain to slide all the way across the overlook area。 Did he explain that the Corolla was ascending the grade？ Yes； on page one。
No speculation about the cause of this single…car accident and no speculation anywhere that another vehicle might be involved。
He took the report into the office beside him and had it copied。 They charged him thirty cents。 He was tempted to use the car to return the original report but decided the exercise would be good for him。 As he approached the police building； a trooper was parking his car in a reserved spot。
〃Thanks；〃 he told the girl at the desk。 She handed him his driver's license； which had been lying on the counter beside the police radio microphone。
The door behind Jake opened。 〃Hi； Susie。〃 Jake turned。 The trooper was clad in a green uniform and wore a short green nylon jacket。 He was somewhere between thirty and thirty…five years of age； with a tanned； clean…shaven face and short military haircut。 He stood several inches taller than Jake and was built heavier。 On the left breast of his coat was a silver name tag： Keadle。 〃Hello；〃 he said； addressing the greeting to Jake。
〃Hi。〃
〃This is Mr。 Jacob L。 Grafton of Arlington； Virginia；〃 the girl said。 〃He was a friend of Captain Strong's。〃
〃Izzatso？〃 The trooper's eyes swept him again； more carefully。 〃Why don'tcha step into this other room here for a minute。 Susie； how about getting us both coffee。 White or black？〃 he said to Jake。
〃Black。〃
〃Black it is；〃 he said； and led the way behind the counter and through a door into an adjoining office。 His big revolver swung freely below his jacket in a brown holster that hung halfway down his right leg。
〃Captain Strong had a little cabin a few miles east of here for weekends and all；〃 the trooper said。 〃I knew him to speak to。 Helluva nice guy。 Too bad about that wreck。〃
Jake nodded and sank onto an old sofa with the stuffing ing through the cracks in the vinyl。
〃You in the navy too？〃 the trooper asked。
Jake took out his wallet and extracted his green ID card。 He passed it across。 The trooper looked it over； both sides； then handed it back。 〃Why'd you e up here； Captain Grafton？〃
〃Were you ever in the service？〃
〃Marines； four years。 Why？〃
〃Just curious。〃
The door opened and Susie came in with coffee in Styrofoam cups。 Both men thanked her and she pulled the door shut on her way out。
〃Let's try it again。 Why'd you e up here； Captain Grafton？〃
〃To get a copy of this report。〃
Keadle thought about that for a bit； then said； 〃Well； you got one。 What do you think of it？〃
〃It was a strange accident。〃
〃How so？〃
〃Car going up a steep； curvy road on a rainy evening goes skidding off the pavement and across a fifty…foot…wide gravel turnout。 Right over the edge。 Then there's a furious fire in the passenger partment。〃
〃What's strange about that？〃
〃He must have been flying low that night。 Or else somebody pushed him over the edge。 And an interior fire…I thought that stuff only happened in movies。 Wrecked cars rarely explode or catch fire。〃
〃You don't say。 If it wasn't an accident； who wanted Captain Strong dead？〃
〃I don't know。 I dropped in to see if you did。〃
〃I'm just a rural peace officer； not some big…city detective。 This county don't have much real crime。 Seems that most of the scumbags just do their thing over in Washington。 I'm not…〃
〃Let's cut the bullshit。 Why aren't you investigating an apparent homicide？〃
〃Who says I'm not？ I'm sitting here chinning with you； ain't I？〃
Jake sipped on his coffee。 Finally he said； 〃Well； you got any more questions？〃
〃Gimme your address and phone number。〃 Keadle picked up a pad of paper and a pen from the desk。 〃If I think of any I'll give you a call。〃
Jake told him the number。 〃Susie already gave you my address from my driver's license。〃 He stood and drained his coffee。 〃Thanks for the coffee。 I hope you catch him。〃
Keadle looked at him with pursed lips。
Jake opened the door and walked out。 He nodded at Susie as he went by。
The red flag was up on the Main Street parking meter but no ticket yet。 It was almost noon。 Perhaps be should stop and see if the prosecutor was in his office。 But what good would that do？
There was no way he could make it back to the office before everyone left for the day。 Perhaps a hamburger。 He fed the meter another quarter and walked down Main Street toward a cafe that he had noticed near the courthouse。 Before he got there Trooper Keadle went by in a state police cruiser。
When he finished his lunch Jake drove east on the road back to Washington。 Somewhere off one of these side roads； between here and the accident site； Harold Strong had had a cabin。 He wished he had thought of finding the cabin and stopping by before he went to town。
Who are you kidding； Jake？ What would you look for？ A long golden hair on the bedspread？ Perhaps a sterling silver cigarette case bearing Mata Hari's initials？ You're no murder investigator。 Keadle has undoubtedly been through that cabin with a fine…tooth b。 If there were clues he has them。
Thoroughly disgruntled； Jake drove at forty miles an hour along the two…lane highway toward Virginia。 He didn't want to see Trooper Keadle in the rearview mirror with his red light flashing。 Not too likely； of course。 The odds were that Keadle was sitting in his cruiser right now in sight of Strong's cabin； hoping against hope that Jake would drop by and enter without using a key。
Keadle was no hick cop； even if he liked to play the role。 He undoubtedly knew a murder when he tripped over one； and then the very next morning a man appeared…by the Lord Harry a vice admiral in the U。S。 Navy…who wanted the investigation of the very recent death of a captain in that very same navy put on the back burner。 And Keadle and the prosecutor went along。 Or did they？ And how did the FBI get involved？
But if it didn't happen like that； why did Henry tell that fairy story？
He glanced at the map he had jammed over the passenger's sun visor。 The report said the accident happened four miles west of Capon Bridge； that little village Jake had stopped in this morning to get gas。 The Shell station。
When he topped the mountain west of Capon Bridge he slowed and looked for the scenic overlook。 There。 On a whim he parked his car beside the trees so he could examine whatever marks remained after two months。 As he got out of his car and surveyed the muddy gravel he knew it was hopeless。 Two months of rain and snow and traffic pulling off to look at the valley had totally obliterated the marks that Keadle's report said were here after Strong's wreck。
He walked over to the edge。 Some of the guardrails were obviously newer than the others。 He looked down the embankment。 Beer cans； trash； bare dirt； washed…out furrows。 Well； it sure looked like a car might have been dragged up that slope some time back。 The ground was soft and no plants had yet had a chance to hide the scars。 No sense going down there and getting muddy。
Harold Strong died here。 Jake had lied to the office girl…he had never met Strong。 He stood now feeling foolishly morbid and half listening to a car laboring up the grade from Capon Bridge。 The engine noise carried through the trees budding with spring green and echoed off the mountainside。
Henry had been telling the truth about one thing anyway： Harold Strong h