9
The snow-covered Kansas highway was ablaze with vehicles with flashing red lights that turned the frosty air bloodred. A fire truck, ambulance, tow truck, four highway-patrol cars, a sheriff’s car, and in the center, ringed by headlights, the five-ton M871 army tractor-trailer, and partially beneath it, Edward Ashley’s crumpled car. A dozen police officers and firemen were milling around, swinging their arms and stamping their feet, trying to keep warm in the predawn freeze. In the middle of the highway, covered by a tarpaulin, was a body. A sheriff’s car was approaching, and as it skidded to a stop, Mary Ashley ran out of it. She was trembling so hard that she could barely stand. She saw the tarpaulin and moved toward it.
Sheriff Munster grabbed her arm. “I wouldn’t look at him if I were you, Mrs. Ashley.”
“Let go of me!” She was screaming. She shook loose from his grasp and started toward the tarpaulin.
The body. “Thank you,” Mary said politely.
He was looking at her strangely. “I’d best get you back home,” he said. “What’s the name of your family doctor?”
“Edward Ashley,” Mary said. “Edward Ashley is my family doctor.”
Later, she remembered walking up to the house and Sheriff Munster leading her inside. Florence and Douglas Schiffer were waiting for her in the living room. The children were still asleep.
Florence threw her arms around her. “Oh, darling, I’m so terribly, terribly sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Mary said calmly. “Edward had an accident.” She giggled.
Douglas was watching her closely. “Let me take you upstairs.”
“I’m fine, thank you. Would you care for some tea?”
Douglas said, “Come on, I’m putting you to bed.”
“I’m not sleepy. Are you sure you wouldn’t care for something?”
As Douglas led her upstairs into the bedroom, Mary said to him, “It was an accident. Edward was in an accident.”
Douglas Schiffer looked into her eyes. They were wide and vacant. He felt a chill go through him.
He went downstairs to get his medical bag. When he returned, Mary had not moved. “I’m going to give you something to make you sleep.” He gave her a sedative, helped her into bed, and sat at her side. An hour later, Mary was still awake. He gave her another sedative. Then a third. Finally, she slept.
In Junction City there are strict investigative procedures involved in the report of a 1048—an injury accident. An ambulance is dispatched from the County Ambulance Service, and a sheriff’s officer is sent to the scene. If army personnel are involved in the accident, the CID—the Criminal Investigating Division of the army—conducts an investigation along with the sheriff’s office.
Shel Planchard, a plainclothes officer from the CID headquarters at Fort Riley, and the sheriff and a deputy were examining the accident report in the sheriff’s office on Ninth Street.
“It beats me,” Sheriff Munster said.
“What’s the problem, Sheriff?” Planchard asked.
“Well, looky here. There were five witnesses to the accident, right? A priest and two nuns, Colonel Jenkins, and the truck driver, Sergeant Wallis. Every single one of them says Doc Ashley’s car turned onto the highway, ran the stop sign, and was hit by the army truck.”
“Right,” the CID man said. “What’s bothering you?”
Sheriff Munster scratched his head. “Mister, have you ever seen an accident report where even two eyewitnesses said the same thing?” He slammed a fist against the papers. “What bothers the hell out of me is that every one of these witnesses says exactly the same thing.”
The CID man shrugged. “It just shows that what happened was pretty obvious.”
The sheriff said, “There’s somethin’ else nigglin’ at me.”
“Yeah?”
“What were a priest and two nuns and a colonel doing out on Highway Seventy-seven at four o’clock in the mornin’?”
“Nothing mysterious about that. The priest and the sisters were on their way to Leonardville, and the colonel was returning to Fort Riley.”
The sheriff said, “I checked with the DMV. The last ticket Doc Ashley got was six years ago for illegal parking. He had no accident record.”
The CID man was studying him. “Sheriff, just what are you suggesting?”
Munster shrugged. “I’m not suggestin’ anythin’. I jest have a funny feelin’ about this.”