by Zoe Dawson
Her sympathy made him want to draw her close, but he was aware of the time and their responsibilities. It was the only thing that stopped him.
“Time for my shower,” he said, meeting her gaze head-on.
She grabbed her hat and nodded she was ready to go.
Back in his own stateroom, he opened his locker and pulled out his weapon. Sia looked over his shoulder.
“Your gun is here.”
It looked the same as when he’d left it. He nodded. He caught a whiff of cleaning oil and noticed his kit was just below the weapon. Reaching down, he opened it. Nothing inside was disturbed. He called the captain and gave him that information while Sia took a seat on his bunk.
While he was in the shower, he mentally went over what they knew. Two aviators were dead. It seemed both of them had radar issues and both of them had been incoherent at the end. They had a dead master chief who’d tried to murder Sia. Two planes were being thoroughly investigated. Last but not least, an LSO who had seen the suspect under one of the jets.
They needed more answers. When he emerged from the head, they headed to the legal office.
“Your weapon is still in your locker?” Sia asked, her gaze flowing over him like a warm caress.
He was sure it was involuntary, but that thought did nothing to lessen the impact of her eyes on him. “Right now, I have it against the small of my back. I’m not taking any more chances.”
She looked pensive. “So someone must have smuggled the weapon aboard.”
He reached up and rubbed her shoulder to tell her he would stick by her. “Looks like it.”
Two masters-in-arms were standing on either side of the door as Sia and Chris approached. The guards nodded as Chris opened the door and indicated for Sia to enter.
Lieutenant Cotes was sitting at the small interrogation table. Her hands were nervously intertwining but ceased when they entered.
Sia sat and Chris nestled in next to her. Sia pulled Lieutenant Cotes’s file out of her briefcase.
“We have received information you and Lieutenant Washington had an argument on the flight deck the night before he flew his mission,” Sia said.
Chris was beginning to think Sia would make an excellent cop. Her interrogation skills were very good. She didn’t elaborate or expound on what she was saying. She just gave her suspect a little rope.
Susan shifted and looked away, her lips tightening. “It’s true. We had an argument, but I only wanted to talk to him and tell him I was going to the captain because his notes hadn’t stopped.”
“What was his response?” Sia asked, her eyes sharp.
“He got really angry and accused me of playing games and said I didn’t need to bother because he was going to talk to the captain.” She dropped her head in her hands. “This is a nightmare. Nothing good comes from even speaking to a pilot.”
“Were you?”
“Was I what?” Susan asked, her head coming up, her eyes moist.
“Were you playing games?” Sia elaborated her voice even.
“No!” Susan snapped.
Sia arched a brow and studied her so hard that Susan dropped her hands to her lap and glanced away. Without a word, she pulled out the notes she had found in Washington’s bunk and laid them on the table one by one.
Susan’s eyes swung suspiciously toward the pieces of paper, and then her face went white as she studied the notes. Color flushed back into her cheeks as her shocked and angry eyes met Sia’s. “I didn’t write these. I don’t know what kind of game Lieutenant Washington was playing, but I wasn’t a part of it.”
Chris asked softly, “Did you tamper with Lieutenant Washington’s jet?”
“No! I told you. We fought on the deck, but I left when he did. I didn't touch the plane. I had nothing to do with his death!” She smacked the table with the flat of her hand.
Sia ignored the outburst and fired off another question. “Where were you at zero one hundred hours yesterday?”
“In my bunk sleeping after my shift,” Susan said, clearly wondering where this was heading. “Why?”
“Someone with a yellow tunic pushed me down the ladder.”
“It wasn’t me,” she said, even more agitated.
“Can anyone confirm you were there…sleeping?”
Susan’s eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened. “No. I don’t know. As I said, I was sleeping.”
“What about your roommate?”
“She was on duty.”
“I have one more question for you. Do you own a gun?”
Susan made a soft sound and looked away. “No, I don’t own a gun.”
“Have you fired one recently?”
“What? At you and Agent Vargas? Is that what you’re asking?”
“Have you?”
“No! All the answers to your questions are no!”
Chris’s phone buzzed and when he looked down, he saw he had a text from Math. He checked the message. Need to talk to you now.
“Looks like Math has something for us.” Chris got up and opened the door. “Lieutenant Cotes, you may go back to your duty station.”
Susan angrily pushed her chair back and with a sullen look on her face brushed past them. Chris shut the door.
“I’ll commission us a vehicle and we’ll head over to Hickam and talk to Math,” Chris said.
An hour later they were in the procured vehicle and heading over to the base. Chris navigated the streets easily.
“Your old stomping grounds?” Sia asked.
“Yes, we docked here often. I will say that Rafe and I took advantage of the beaches and the pretty women in bikinis.”
Sia smiled. “Rafe was my brother, but he was purely male.”
After getting through security, they were directed to a hangar on the north side of the base, Chris pulled up to the large gray structure and he and Sia left the car.
Once inside, they found Math examining a large piece of what looked like the fuselage of a fighter.
“Math?”
Math turned around and smiled. “Hey, that was fast.”
“The ship is docked less than a mile from here. It took longer to get a car. The Navy and their red tape.”
“Hello, pretty Sia.”
Sia smiled at him and shook his hand.
“What do you have for us?” Chris asked.
Math rubbed at his tired eyes, went over to a desk and sat down. He indicated two chairs. Sia and Chris settled in.
“What is it?”
“I went over the planes and can tell you there were no structural issues. Both of them were sound, solid pieces of machinery. However, I can’t say the same about each radar. Both of them were damaged.”
“From the impact or from something else?” Chris asked, leaning forward.
“It would be hard to determine. Saunders’s jet took less damage when it crashed into the ocean. According to the data recovered from the flight recorder, it was clear he was at the controls most of the way down, so he tried to minimize the damage when he realized he was about to crash.”
“Realized? What do you mean?” Sia asked.
“I can only guess that he was in and out of consciousness most of the descent. I think he was unaware his jet was so close to the water. He made no move to adjust his controls between the time of the collision and just before he hit the water.”
“He was mentally incapacitated?” she asked, giving Chris a knowing look.
“He was most likely mentally and physically incapacitated. Whether it was from something inherent or introduced into his system—the ME has to make that determination.”
“There was no conclusive evidence from his autopsy that indicates he was drugged,” Sia said, and she looked triumphant in her insistence that a drug had been involved in the pilot deaths had turned out to be true.
“Well, I suggest the ME take another look. That pilot was not acting normal when handling that jet. It took a long time for him to crash. Several minutes.”
“It’s true,�
� Sia said. “His wingman confirmed that.”
“And the flight recorder corroborates the wingman’s testimony.”
“Did he have water in his lungs?” Math asked, his brow furrowing in thought.
“According to the report, yes. He drowned,” Chris replied, thinking Sia was right and they did have a drugging of a military pilot on a U.S. carrier.
Math nodded in confirmation. “Then he was alive for some time after he hit the water.”
“So he had ample time to eject?” Sia asked, her eyes shining a bit.
“More than ample time,” Math said.
“And Washington’s jet?” Chris needed to know if the same things added up there.
Math reached up and scratched his stubbled jaw. “There it is cut-and-dried. The radar was damaged when the jet hit the ship and exploded. It had more extensive damage.”
“So, then you can’t tell if it was tampered with?” Sia asked, disappointment evident in her tone. They were both hoping for some kind of evidence they could use.
Math grinned and cocked his head. “On the contrary, I can.”
“What did you find?” Chris knew that look. Math had it whenever he’d found something substantial. Chris always liked that look.
“Two fingerprints. I ran them through AFIS and I got a hit.”
“Who do they belong to?” Chris asked, anticipation curling in his gut.
“Lieutenant Susan Cotes.”
Chapter Nine
“Chris, I do want to point out to you the fingerprints I lifted off the casing were almost perfect.”
“No smudges? No smears?”
“None. But the evidence speaks for itself. Your case is solved thanks to me and I did it in just under twenty-four hours.” Math smirked.
“It would seem so.”
Sia and Chris made their way back to the ship. Chris reported to the captain and got permission to bring Susan Cotes back to interrogation. She paced restlessly in her stateroom as Chris entered. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said. “I want the truth from that woman.”
“Let’s go get it.”
Sia nodded, her face solemn. Chris headed toward the door, and just as she was going to shut down her laptop, her email notification dinged. She clicked on the icon and her email message popped up. The email was from her aide. He’d gotten the list she wanted of all pilot deaths aboard Navy ships from the time her brother had been killed. She clicked on the list and found eight names, including Rafael’s. She also noticed her aide had included pictures. In the email, he said it was important she opened the file. She clicked the attachment. The file loaded and she gasped softly.
“Chris,” Sia said, her eyes on her computer screen.
Chris paused with his hand on the door handle. “What is it?”
“Look at this.”
When he walked closer to the screen, he swore softly under his breath.
“They look like you. Well, except for Rafael. All of them, including Saunders and Washington. They look enough like you to be brothers.”
She was reeling from this information, not quite sure how she should feel. Not quite sure how she should act. “Susan Cotes is a serial killer. It’s clear from these photos.”
If Chris had been targeted by a serial killer all those years ago, then her brother had been nothing more than collateral damage.
And, Chris…Chris had been the intended victim.
Her stomach churned at this news, and in the bright light of day, she had to realize she had been so off-base. It was true the accident that had taken her brother’s life was no accident at all. It was supposed to have been Chris who died that day. He had been the target.
All these years she’d blamed Chris, so sure her brother couldn’t have made a mistake. She had been right. He hadn’t made a mistake, but then, neither had Chris.
Both of them were blameless. She had wronged Chris. And her mother and father had also wronged him. But they couldn’t make amends. That burden fell completely on Sia’s shoulders.
Anger like she’d never felt before infused her with a searing heat. Without a word, she left the stateroom. She could hear Chris calling her name, but she was too caught up in the emotion to stop, to reason, to give a damn about anything. When she reached the legal office, she burst into the cabin.
Susan Cotes jumped in her seat as the door slammed against the wall. She reacted visibly to the look in Sia’s eyes. She rose and started to back up. Without preamble, Sia lunged at the woman, grabbed her by the shirtfront and pushed her into the bulkhead. “You ruined my life. You killed my brother.”
Susan Cotes’s eyes filled with confusion and fear. She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Strong hands grabbed at Sia and pulled her off and away from Susan. Chris stepped forward and said softly, “Get ahold of yourself.”
Sia shouted, “You’re a monster!”
Susan looked at Chris and asked, “What is she saying?” Why is she so upset? I don't even know her brother.”
Chris pulled out his handcuffs and Susan’s eyes widened, tears gathered. “No,” she said, her voice breaking. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Susan Cotes, you’re under arrest for the murder of Lieutenant Eli Washington.”
He turned her around and snapped the cuffs on her wrists.
Susan shouted, “This is crazy. I didn’t kill him!”
Chris ignored her words and said, “You have the right to remain silent…”
His words faded as she stared at the woman responsible for so many deaths. What sick, twisted mind could have planned seven murders? But she had killed eight men! And only Chris survived. Guilt rolled and tumbled around in Sia’s gut as she looked at him, staying calm and doing his duty. She watched mutely as he turned the woman over to the masters-at-arms with instructions to put her in the brig.
Sia turned away from the door, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to tamp down her anger.
When the door closed behind them, Chris turned to her. “Sia, what were you thinking! You have no proof she’s done anything but kill Washington.”
She turned to meet his eyes but dropped her gaze down at the way he looked at her, disappointment clear in them. She unwrapped her arms.
He continued. His voice was closer, which meant so was he. She had to look up, but she really needed more space, and more time, before having to handle him, or handle anything. Dealing with Chris up close in her personal space was more than she could take on at the moment. “You’re a seasoned prosecutor, and you had better start thinking like one.”
“It has to be her,” Sia said stubbornly. “Did you see the photos? Did you? They all look like you! Oh, God, you were a victim. She was trying to kill you, and yet, she stands there looking so innocent.”
“You need to step away from Rafael’s death. You’re letting your grief and anger get in the way of rational thought. You need to get back on track right now or I’m taking you off this case!”
“You will not!”
His eyes went hard and flinty, and she had to resist the urge to shiver. “I will, and I have the authority.” Gone were the smooth-as-velvet, dulcet tones. In their place was a flat, steely voice that brooked no argument.
He took a step closer, and she tensed. She tried not to show it, but that much was really beyond her at the moment. The stabilized world she’d thought she’d constructed for herself had just been proven to have very shaky foundations. And she didn't know what to do about that. All these years, she’d gone on the assumption that Chris was at fault, not forgiving him, not allowing herself to pine for him. She had wanted him so badly, for the comfort, for the peace, but she couldn’t find it with him. And now she realized, she hadn’t found it without him either. She felt adrift and lost.
“We have a lot of work to do, foremost being looking into those other deaths and getting the details. We will need to be calm and prepared when we talk to her again. You can�
��t come barreling in here and accuse her of a murder where we have no proof. Get ahold of yourself—now!”
The conflagration of her anger dissipated, leaving a small, burning ember inside her. He was right. She had lost it. After so many years of grief and loss filling her up, she’d snapped. Her bottled-up feelings had broken free, and if not for Chris, she could have jeopardized this solid case against Susan Cotes. It was a good thing he was here.
She took a cleansing breath and headed for the door. When Chris didn’t move, she tossed him a chiding look. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Where?” he asked, eyeing her warily.
“To the captain. We have to search her bunk.”
He nodded and opened the door, “Now you’re talking. After you.”
Sia donned gloves after they entered Susan’s berth, the one she shared with Lieutenant Maria Jackson. Sia started with her locker and Chris worked on searching the bunk.
Without thinking about it, she went straight for the socks and began pulling them apart. After the fourth pair, a familiar bottle dropped out. Sia looked down, her stomach twisting. Bending down, she picked up the bottle and gasped.
“What is it?” Chris asked.
“This is the exact same bottle I found in the master chief’s berth. What appears to be a simple over-the-counter irregularity aid.”
“How do you know that?”
“The label was torn in the exact same spot. You find anything?”
“Yes and no. I found her yellow tunic stuffed under her mattress. I bagged it to test for gun residue. But no gun.”
“One more question to ask her.”
“Let’s get this cataloged as evidence and get it to Math. He’s still at Hickam. In the meantime, we need to slog through the information your aide sent us regarding those deaths. Let’s get to it.”
“Yes, sir,” Sia said.
After getting the sample off to Math, they returned to her cabin for her laptop, went to the legal office and printed out all the information her aide had sent her. They decided that it would be more comfortable working out of her own stateroom and returned there.
If they were going to tie these murders to Susan Cotes, there was a lot to go over. She was also still waiting on the information regarding the master chief.
