‘He was born in Albany and graduated from the Citadel in 1942. Two years later, when he was a captain, his division moved to France, where he became a hero in the Battle of the Bulge. He won the Medal of Honor and was promoted again. After the war, he was sent to Ft. Lee as officer in charge of the uniform research division of the Quartermaster Corps.’

‘Then the boots were his,’ I said.

‘They certainly could have been.’

‘Was he a big man?’

‘I am told that he and his nephew would have been the same size when General Gault was younger.’

I thought of the photograph of the general in the dress mess jacket. He was slender and not particularly tall. His face was strong, eyes unwavering, but he did not look unkind.

‘Luther Gault also served in Korea,’ Wesley went on. ‘For a while he was assigned to the Pentagon as the assistant chief of staff, then it was back to Ft. Lee as the deputy commander. He finished his career in MAC-V.’

‘I don’t know what that is,’ I said.

‘Military Assistance Command - Vietnam.’

‘After which he retired to Seattle?’ I said.

‘He and his wife moved there.’

‘Children?’

‘Two boys.’

‘What about the general’s interaction with his brother?’

‘I don’t know. The general is deceased and his brother will not talk to us.’

‘So we don’t know how Gault might have wound up with his uncle’s boots.’

‘Kay, there is a code with Medal of Honor winners. They are in their own class. The army gives them a special status and they are stringently protected.’

‘That’s what all this secrecy is about?’ I said.

‘The army isn’t keen on having the world know that their Medal of Honor-winning two-star general is the uncle of one of the most notorious psychopaths our country has seen. The Pentagon is not exactly keen on having it known that this killer - as you have already pointed out - may have kicked several people to death with General Gault’s boots.’

I got up from my chair. ‘I’m tired of boys and their codes of honor. I’m tired of male bonding and secrecy. We are not kids playing cowboys and Indians. We’re not neighborhood children playing war.’ I was drained. ‘I thought you were more highly evolved than that.’

He stood up, too, as my pager went off. ‘You’re taking this the wrong way,’ he said.

I looked at the display. The area code was Seattle, and without asking Wesley’s permission I used his phone.

‘Hello,’ said a voice I did not know.

‘This number just paged me,’ I was confused.

‘I didn’t page anybody. Where are you calling from?’

‘Virginia.’ I was about to hang up.

‘I just called Virginia. Wait a minute. Are you calling about Prodigy?’

‘Oh. Perhaps you talked to Lucy?’

‘LUCYTALK?’

‘Yes.’