One Was a Soldier

by Julia Spencer-Fleming

  She looked up at him. “I told you. I think Tally McNabb was killed for a million dollars. I want to find out everything I can about the money, because if I know that, I’ll know who murdered her.”

  It came to him as he spoke the words. “You know, distracting yourself by playing private eye won’t make the bad stuff in your head go away.”

  She opened her mouth. Shut it. “Is that why you became an MP? Because focusing on other people’s problems helped you ignore your own?”

  His breath hitched in his chest. Jesus. Sometimes she pulled truth out of him like a magician conjuring scarves. Then he saw her eyes, wide and white-edged, and realized she was feeling the same way he was right now. Because he had done the same thing to her. Truth for truth. He took her hand, holding her palm open as if he could see the future there. “You know what’s scary about being with you?”

  She shook her head.

  “There’s not anyplace to hide. For either of us.”

  She smiled a little. “You chickening out?”

  “Not a chance.” He started for the hotel’s entrance. She fell into step beside him.

  “So,” she said. “Nichols.”

  “I figure there are three possibilities behind McNabb’s disappearance. One, he really was shipped off to Iraq as a BWI contractor.”

  “That sounds flat-out strange to me.”

  “Yeah. Two, he told people he was going to Iraq on a job and skipped town for places unknown.”

  “Let me guess the third. Nichols took him out in a bid to be the last man standing.”

  “Like you said, a million bucks is a powerful incentive to murder.”

  They thumped through one of the revolving doors and crossed to the gleaming reception desk. A cute young woman with dark hair perked up at them. “Welcome to the Algonquin Waters Spa and Resort, Reverend. Chief.”

  Clare’s title was self-evident, but how had she known he was—he spotted her first name pinned to her chest. “Christy McAlistair,” he said.

  “Yup. It’s Christy Stoner now, though.”

  He knew Wayne and Mindy Stoner’s boy had gotten married between deployments, but he hadn’t put that fact together with the name on the Bain accident report. “How are you doing?” He glanced at her trim waistline. “Everything, uh, okay?”

  “You mean after the accident? I’m fine. Zachary—our baby boy?—came early, but he was already almost six pounds, so my OB said it was probably just as well he was born at seven months.” She laughed. “Then—because the driver who caused the accident had been working up here?—Mr. Opperman offered me a job. Wasn’t that amazingly nice of him?”

  Amazingly smart of him to avoid a lawsuit. Ellen Bain had been drinking at the lobby bar before taking her fatal drive.

  “Zach and I are living with my parents while Ethan’s in Afghanistan, so everything I earn can go toward a down payment on a house when he gets out of the marines.”

  “You’re Ethan Stoner’s wife.” Clare put the pieces together.

  Christy’s eyes lit up. “Do you know Ethan?”

  “We haven’t met, formally. I know of him.”

  The girl laughed again. “Yeah, he was kind of wild when he was young. He’s settled down now.”

  Clare glanced at him, and he knew just what she was thinking. When he was young? For all that she was a wife and mother, Christy Stoner looked to him like she ought to be cheering on the Minutemen football team. God, he was old.

  “Well.” The voice behind him was as smooth as a well-oiled gun. “What have we here? The Church and the State. Together.” Russ and Clare turned around. Opperman’s mouth curved up as he looked at them. “How unconstitutional.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry,” Christy said. “I didn’t know you were waiting for them, Mr. Opperman.”

  “That’s all right, Christy.” Opperman gestured toward the elevators. “My office is this way.”

  Russ threw out his arm, blocking Clare’s way. He didn’t want her anywhere near the resort’s CEO. Irrational, but there it was. If he had kept Linda away from Opperman, she never would have gone to the Caribbean with the man, never would have been driving home from the resort in a blizzard, never would have died—and he never would have been marrying Clare, which brought him back to irrational. “We don’t need to take up your time,” he said. “I came here to speak to your HR director.”

  Opperman gazed at him coolly. “It’s no bother. I should be able to answer anything you might ask her.”

  “Look, I just need to know—”

  “Let’s not keep our paying guests from the desk.” Opperman strolled across the expansive lobby toward a riverstone fireplace big enough to roast an ox in. The small fire burning in its center made it look like the entrance to a prehistoric cave. Opperman sat in one of a group of chairs clustered to the side of the hearth. He held out his hand toward the remaining chairs.

  Russ grudgingly sat down. Clare settled beside him.

  “You just need to know…” Opperman began.

  “If Wyler McNabb was transferred to your operation in Iraq.”

  “Yes. Employees working on the Provisional Authority contract are on a six-month cycle, six months in-country, six months at home. Wyler returned in mid-April, and so…” He spread his hands. His nails were clean and shining.

  “Were you aware Wyler McNabb was out on bail?”

  Opperman’s eyebrows went up. “I was not. What are the charges?”

  “Resisting arrest and assaulting an officer.”

  Opperman nodded. “Does he have a trial date?”

  “Sometime in January.”

  “We have a monthly flight to and from Balad Airport. If you let us know the exact date, I’ll have the crew supervisor make sure he’s on it in time to make his appearance.”

  “Just like that.”

  “Even highly skilled construction workers tend to be, shall we say, rough around the edges. This isn’t the first time one of my employees has been extra-jurisdiction, and it won’t be the last.” He placed his hands on the chair’s arms and prepared to rise. “If that’s all—”

  “Were you aware McNabb was released from the hospital five days ago with several broken bones in his face?”

  The hands relaxed. “I was not.”

  Russ waited, but Opperman didn’t seem to have anything else to say. “Don’t you have some sort of basic health requirement for your construction workers?”

  “I’m moved by your concern, Chief Van Alstyne. Since you seem so much better informed than I, perhaps you can tell me how Wyler was injured.”

  Russ tried to keep the tension out of his voice. “As I said, he assaulted an officer and resisted arrest.”

  “And as a result, someone in your police department smashed his skull in?” Opperman shook his head. “Funny. You see it in the news, but you don’t expect something like that in a small town like Millers Kill.” He laced his fingers together and looked straight at Russ. “I hope this is an isolated incident of police brutality. The tourism-dependent businesses in this area can’t afford to have their customers frightened of the very men and women they rely on for protection.”

  A scalding cloud of shame and rage surrounded Russ, burning his chest and face, tightening his throat. Clare laid her hand on his arm. “Mr. Opperman, have you met Lieutenant Colonel Seelye? She’s an Army CID investigator.”

  Opperman blinked at her. Then looked at Russ. “Are you delegating your work to the clergy these days?”

  “It’s a simple yes or no question,” Clare said. “Have you met the colonel?”

  “Yes.” Opperman’s voice was short. “I met with Arlene Seelye a day or two ago. She was investigating something to do with the unfortunate Tally McNabb, and she wanted to know what kind of employee Tally was.”

  “All right. Thank you.” Clare got up. Russ frowned. He wasn’t certain what she had been after, but he stood with her.

  Opperman rose as well. He smiled broadly. “I understand you two are planning to get married.�
� He captured Clare’s hand in both of his and raised it almost to his lips. “I imagine you’ll be a ravishing bride, Reverend.”

  Russ balled his hand into a fist to keep from reaching over and tearing out Opperman’s throat. Clare snatched her hand away.

  “I hope you’ll consider the Algonquin for your reception,” Opperman continued smoothly.

  “We’ve already booked the Stuyvesant Inn.” Russ’s voice was harsh.

  “Now that’s a shame.” Opperman looked at him regretfully. “You’re settling for second best.”

  Clare went pale. Russ put his hand in the small of her back and steered her toward the hotel’s entrance. “Come back anytime,” Opperman called.

  Walking out into the cold mountain air was like bathing in a clear, clean fountain after wading through muck. “Are you okay?” he said.

  “Yeah.” She twitched her shoulders, a movement that became a full-body shiver.

  “I’m sorry. God.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

  “He was playing you. When he almost kissed my hand? He was trying to stir you up.”

  “It worked.” He kept his arm tight around her as they descended the steps to the parking lot.

  “He knew about Wyler McNabb’s injuries. Before you told him. It’s unlocked,” she said to his outstretched hand.

  He opened the Jeep’s door. “What makes you think that?”

  She climbed into the driver’s seat and swiveled to face him. “He didn’t ask anything about Wyler’s condition, or about how you knew. The only thing he asked was the one thing guaranteed to embarrass you and throw you off balance.”

  “Hmn.” He braced his arm on top of her door and leaned forward. “Why’d you ask him about Arlene Seelye?”

  “She’s gone. I went to the Stuyvesant Inn to talk with her, and she had upped stakes. I wanted to know if she’d investigated Opperman first.”

  “Gone? Huh. Although if she got a lead on Tally stashing the missing loot elsewhere, there wouldn’t be any reason for her to hang around. Especially at what the Stuyvesant charges for a room.”

  “Do you think Opperman is involved? I mean, Wyler McNabb was working for him, then he hired Tally.”

  “What, with the theft? I’d like to think so, because I can’t stand the smug sonofabitch. I believe right down to the bottom he got control of that company by killing off his partners.” He shook his head. “That was for high stakes. Huge money. To you and me and Tally, a million bucks would be life-changing, but to a guy like Opperman? It’s a couple months’ salary. Not worth the risk.”

  “Shame.” She smiled a little. “He makes such a satisfying bad guy.”

  “He is a bad guy. Just not the one we want.”

  “Who is, then? Wyler McNabb? Are you going to try to get him back?”

  “Extradite him from Iraq? Hell, no. I can’t even imagine what kind of hoops I’d have to jump through for that.”

  “Oh, come on. He’s got to be in on the theft.”

  “Agreed. Unfortunately, it’s not my case. It’s the army’s. If Seelye wants him, she can try to reel him in. He’s left town, and she’s left town, and if there’s a merciful God—”

  “There is.”

  He smiled at her. “Then Quentan Nichols will also have left town. Let ’em all chase their money somewhere else. We’ve got more important things to do.” He kissed her, slow and easy, an apology for mixing her up in this business. Pulled away and looked at her, her lips parted, her eyes half closed. He kissed her again, harder, wrapping one hand around the back of her head, the other tracing the barrier of her collar until he found the tiny button in the back. He twisted, tugged, and her neck was bare.

  “Smooth,” she gasped, as he put his teeth and tongue to her throat. The sound she made jacked him up even higher. Beneath his coat, she clutched at his shoulders, his chest, his sides. Even through his uniform blouse and undershirt, the bite of her fingers into his muscles sent electric jolts skittering over his skin. She took hold of his rig, pulling him closer, rattling the baton, clinking the magazine pouch.

  “Damn.” Her voice was husky. “This thing is worse than a chastity belt.”

  He broke off, panting, hard, and realized they were still in the Algonquin’s parking lot. Any guests looking out their windows were going to see a lot more than foliage. “Shit.” His own voice was pretty far gone, too. “I’m sorry.” He laughed harshly. “So much for discretion.”

  She shook her head. “It’s Opperman.”

  He reached down to adjust himself. “Darlin’, I can guarantee you it’s not Opperman did this to me.”

  “No, I meant—” She grinned at him. “Never mind. Come back to the rectory with me. I’ve got a couple of hours before my afternoon appointments.”

  “No.”

  “Your mother’s place.”

  “God, no.”

  “Your truck.”

  He paused at that one. Sighed. “Regretfully, no. Nice idea, though.” He searched her face for a safe spot and settled for kissing the tip of her nose. “I’ve got to get back to the station. Hold that thought.”

  * * *

  At his desk at the end of the afternoon, his vision blurring from the small print the state used on its crime stats reporting forms, his mind kept going back to Clare. Not the good stuff: He packed the image of Clare, nude and in his pickup, into a box labeled LATER. Instead, he thought about her exchange with Opperman. Something about it was sticking in his brain.

  Lyle came in without knocking, which made him grateful he hadn’t been sitting there trying to figure out how to fit a mattress in the bed of his truck.

  “I finished the rest of the midmonth stuff we gotta send on to CADEA for you.” Lyle tossed a folder on his already overcrowded desk before collapsing in the one chair still empty of booklets, bulletins, and circ sheets. “Kevin says in Syracuse they got two full-time civilian employees to deal with the paperwork. Think about that, will you?”

  “First another officer. Then a second-shift dispatcher. Third, Tasers. A paper pusher comes fourth after that.”

  “Tasers.” Lyle snorted. “When I started out, all you needed was a club. My first sergeant taught me how to break open hippies’ heads with a nightstick. Good times.” He sighed. “You find out anything about Wyler McNabb?”

  “According to John Opperman, he was, in fact, sent back to Iraq to join the construction team. They get six months on, six off, and his time card was punched.”

  “With a busted jaw. Right.”

  “Opperman claimed he didn’t know the guy was out on bail.”

  “You believe him?”

  “I did at the time. Now I’m not so sure. I don’t doubt Opperman could have sent McNabb off and lied about it just to make my life more difficult.”

  Lyle shrugged. “No skin off his nose. He’s not the one posted bail.”

  “Yeah. Here’s the thing. He said Arlene Seelye had interviewed him. Asked him about Tally McNabb.” Russ crossed his arms on top of the drifts of paperwork. “Wouldn’t she have also asked him about Wyler McNabb? He was her biggest lead. She knew he worked for BWI Opperman.”

  Lyle nodded. “Makes sense. I would’ve.”

  “But she also knew McNabb was under arrest.”

  “So she told Opperman. You already said he might have known, and sent the guy off to Iraq anyway. He doesn’t care if he takes a dump on Seelye’s investigation.”

  “Maybe, but think about it. He’s got a lucrative contract with the army. Why would he chance jerking them around?”

  “What chance? When was the last time somebody complained and got rid of Halliburton? Or Blackwater?”

  “Those are the big boys. The T. rexes of the contracting world. Opperman’s one of the little guys, comparatively speaking. He’s got to make nice and deliver the goods and keep his accounts clean, because there are five other guys just like him waiting to take his place if he goes down.”

  “Then what? It can’t be the money. Opperman’s the CEO and maj
ority stockholder of BWI Opperman. The damn company’s estimated worth is five hundred million.”

  Russ raised his eyebrows. “And here I was, thinking you were just a pretty face.”

  “I read more’n Guns and Ammo, you know.”

  “I’m agreeing with you. A million’s small potatoes for him.” He folded his hands. “It’s a hell of a lot for a lieutenant colonel, though.”

  “Seelye?”

  “The way things played out doesn’t make a lot of sense if she went in there asking questions like we would, right?”

  Lyle made a noise of cautious assent.

  “What if she never mentioned Wyler McNabb because she had already suborned him? Or because they were already accomplices? She was in Iraq. She told me so herself.”

  Lyle sat for a moment, his woolly eyebrows drawn down in thought. “That’s a mighty thin thread to hang her on.”

  “What if I told you she left town yesterday? The same day Wyler McNabb did?”

  “I’d say it’s likely her investigation petered out here and she went after the next lead. We’re talking cash, stolen overseas by a bookkeeper. It’s probably sitting in an account in the Cayman Islands right now.”

  “Which is one of the reasons Seelye wanted to search McNabb’s house so bad. We were just looking for evidence pointing to suicide. She’s a financial crimes specialist. If there’s anything to lead her to an offshore bank or some other money-laundering operation, she’s going to find it at Tally’s house. Or at her place of employment. Or at her family’s or friends’ houses.” He reached for the phone. “Hang on. I want to check something out.” He dialed the courthouse.

  “H’lo Washington County Courthouse Lila Greuling speaking may I help you please.”

  “Lila, it’s Russ Van Alstyne.” When he had worked for her dad back in high school, he’d always let talkative little Lila follow him around, “helping.” His patience with an eight-year-old paid off when she became a clerk of the court.

  “Well, hel-lo, handsome. What can I do you for?”

  “I’m looking to find out if Judge Ryswick issued a residence-and-accounts warrant on Wyler McNabb, 16 Musket Way, Millers Kill.”

  “Not through me, he didn’t. When would this have been?”