Page 56 of Holmes, Margaret and Poe

“How old’s the groundskeeper?”

“Thirty?”

“Blood clots,” Sampson said, gesturing at three of them in the vomit. “Unless the park worker or your young trooper has an ulcer or some kind of cancer, I’d say the Dead Hours killer just left us a big DNA present.”

Hanson agreed and immediately sealed off the area. Because the murder was clearly the Maryland State Police’s jurisdiction, Sampson left soon after, promising to speak with Hanson onceshe had a chance to dig more into the life of Henry Pelham, accountant.

He drove north to Alexandria and was soon parking in front of the Charles School. He went to the office and spoke at some length about Captain Davis with Headmaster Nicholas Hampstead III.

“Everyone loves Captain, but I always thought there was something off about him,” Hampstead said, flicking at a speck on his trousers. “And he definitely has a drinking problem. He rarely lets it get in the way of coaching, but it did happen the day the plane was shot down.”

“He was sick from a crab boil.”

“So he says,” the headmaster said. “I believe he was with his cronies drinking at their favorite watering hole, Bowman’s. The big sports bar.”

“I know it,” Sampson said.

“Davis lives there most Sundays and has to be driven home most Sundays.”

“By whom?”

“Coach Penny, I imagine. Troy Penny, his assistant and now the acting coach.”

“I’d like to talk to him. To Coach Penny.”

Hampstead checked his watch. “He should be ending a gym class about now, and he has the next period free. Try his office in the field house.”

Sampson walked over to an impressive athletic facility that contained a lap pool, indoor practice space, and a weight room that looked like it belonged at the University of Notre Dame, not a high school. He found Troy Penny looking at film.

The coach jumped when Sampson knocked. John showed him his badge.

“I know who you are, and I don’t want to talk to you,” Penny said.

“This is a mass murder investigation,” Sampson said. “You have to talk to me.”

Penny crossed his arms. “There’s no way Captain Davis shot down a jet.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” Sampson said, coming in. “The U.S. attorney has asked me to play devil’s advocate, to tell her every reason why we should not think Captain Davis is responsible. So tell me why we were wrong to arrest him.”

“He’s a war hero, for God’s sake. And he played in the NFL!”

“So did OJ. But it’s true Davis is a war hero.”

“Damn straight. What he gave up going? What he did over there? Hero.”

“When was the last time you saw Davis before the plane was shot down?”

“Bowman’s Sports Bar,” Penny said. “Sunday, one in the afternoon.”

“Before he went to the crab boil?”

“Honestly, I got no idea on the crab boil. But if he went to one, he wasn’t alone.”

“Who was with him?”

“I’ve never seen her before, but mmm-mmm, she was something. She must have recognized Captain from his Baltimore Ravens days. I mean, she was wearing a Ravens tank top herself. They were drinking, carrying on, and next thing I knew, they were gone. I figured they were on a one-way street to the sack and that’s where he was the next two days.”

“Why didn’t anybody tell us this before?”

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