by Margaret Kay
“Les, really?” Allen said. “Like Gary cares how hectic a mother’s schedule is.”
Sloan shook his head. Allen was still a dick. He didn’t know why Leslie put up with him. “I actually do,” he said, his eyes on Allen. “It’s hard to balance it all. Our receptionist at work is married to one of our teammates and they have a little boy. It’s hard on her, working and taking care of their son, especially with how much we’re away. She does a lot of it by herself,” he said, sure that was the situation for Leslie. He was sure Allen didn’t do jack shit to help out, even though he was home. “Being a mom is a hard job.”
“It’s sometimes a challenge juggling the schedules of four kids,” Leslie said. “I hate to say it, but it will be helpful when AJ gets his license.”
After breakfast, Sloan and Sherman helped clear the dishes from the table. Sloan noticed that even though each of the kids carried their own plates into the kitchen, Allen did not. Lazy asshole, Sloan thought. “Thanks for breakfast, Leslie.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and gave her a hug. “I hope to be in town long enough to see you again.”
“I hope so, Gary.”
“Ma’am.” Sherman extended his right hand to her. “Thank you for a mighty fine breakfast.”
“You are welcome anytime.” After she released Sherman’s hand, she embraced him in a hug.
Sloan led Sherman through the family room, towards the door to the garage, following Allen. The entire wall was lined with pictures of the kids, a few formal portraits with Leslie and Allen and the kids, then near the door to the garage where they had always been, were the pictures of extended family, parents, grandparents, and Sloan’s formal Naval graduation picture, the only one with him displayed. He was sure keeping that picture of him up was Leslie’s doing.
There were several with their father in it, the loving grandfather with Allen’s boys. He felt the disgust bubble up in his throat, threatening to force his breakfast to make a reappearance. If Allen knew what their father was really like, he was sure he’d take those pictures of him down. He knew Allen had all their old family pictures from when they were kids, yet he couldn’t display a single one of their mother. He would have to ask about those pictures. He remembered a portrait that just had him and Allen with their mother. He wanted it.
“Are you coming?” Allen’s voice tore his eyes from the large grouping of pictures. Both Allen and Sherman stood in the garage. The big door was already open.
“Yeah.” He stepped out.
“Nice Beemer,” Sherman said, nodding at Allen’s black car in the garage as they passed it.
“Thanks,” he acknowledged. “Illinois plates, huh?” Allen pointed at Sloan’s SUV. “Is it a rental?”
“No, it’s mine.”
“So, you live in Illinois now?”
“I’m there maybe fifteen percent of the time when I’m not away for work,” Sloan answered as he stood with the driver’s door open, ready to get into his vehicle. “I’m not sure if that is really considered living there.”
“Your brother is a bit uptight, huh?” Sherman asked as Sloan backed out of the driveway.
“Yeah. He was born that way. A chip off Dad’s old block.”
“Your dad died of a heart attack. Allen should have more oatmeal and less bacon and eggs,” Sherman said with a laugh.
Sloan laughed too. He was glad Sherman was here with him. “And I shouldn’t be surprised he has his boys working at the funeral home already, either. My dad had us working there from the time we were ten years old.”
Sherman didn’t know what to say to that. “Four kids, Allen’s been busy.”
“That’s my brother, the overachiever.”
“So, this is a glimpse into what your life would have looked like had you not joined the Navy and married Kennedy.”
“Yeah, no thank you,” Sloan snorted. “I’ll take the combat zones we’ve been in over this shit. I honestly can say it’s not good to be back here. Leslie’s always been a doll, but Allen is still a prick. I don’t know how she puts up with him, parking his ass at the table to be served, like he’s too good to carry a bowl over to it.”
Charlie
Sloan put the car in park and stared out his windshield at the sign that loomed over the building that was practically his second home growing up. Sloan and Sons Mortuary and Crematorium, though the actual crematorium was off site, out in the country. The building before him was where bodies were embalmed, grieving loved ones came in to meet with the funeral director to arrange for the service and burial for their dearly departed. Viewings, final visitations, calling hours, wakes, whatever people called it, were held here to say final goodbyes in one of the three salons of varying sizes for mourners.
He remembered his dad’s wake, in the largest of the salons. The line of visitors stretched out the door and around the block. You would have thought a celebrity was laid out in the top-of-the line, cherry casket. People waited hours to come inside and say their farewells, and wish Gary and his brother well, recounting stories of how wonderful his dad had been. He remembered feeling numb to it all. And he remembered wondering who in that line were kinky sex buddies of his father’s.
What kind of man gets a Prince Albert piercing? Sloan still wondered. His nipples were pierced too, with rings through each. His anus had seen a lot of action. Was his dad gay? He didn’t know or give a shit for that matter. Sloan had seen his dad with women over the years after his parents’ divorce but never men that he thought were more than friends. But it was the scars and fresh wounds on his back, ass, and torso from the repeated whippings that disturbed Sloan the most. Yeah, there were some things sons should never know about their fathers.
“Are we going to go in sometime today?” Sherman’s Cajun drawl broke in on Sloan’s thoughts.
Sloan turned the ignition off. “Yeah.” He opened the door and reluctantly pulled himself from behind the wheel. Kennedy waited.
He led Sherman through the back door of the building and into the prep room. Allen had just arrived as well, and he pulled the body from the cooler. Sherman was surprised. There wasn’t even a sheet over her face, just her torso, not that Sherman hadn’t seen more than his fair share of dead bodies. It was just that it was usually fresh kills, fully clothed, that he saw.
“Coroner did a good job with her, thorough,” Allen said.
Sloan gazed at the face of the woman who lay on the table. The face was a bit swollen, but it looked like Kennedy had aged well. She still wore her hair long, dyed a few shades blonder than he remembered. The more singing gigs she had in the early days, the more highlights she put in her hair. He pulled the sheet back. Her tits looked different and not like she’d had a boob job, or if she had, it wasn’t a good one.
That was when the nagging in the pit in his stomach started, and it wasn’t just denial. His eyes scanned over her torso, mentally measuring the distance between her nipples and her clavicle. He glanced at both Allen and Sherman, who watched him with alarm.
He scrubbed his hand over his face and then held his eyebrows with both hands. He felt a hand to his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Allen standing beside him. “Take as long as you need. I need to go check messages in the office.”
“Thanks,” Sloan muttered.
He waited until Allen left and then he turned her over, being careful with her head as the back part of it had been nearly blown away. The butterfly tattoo wasn’t on her left butt cheek. He rolled her back. He raised her chin into the air. The scar under her chin from that ice-skating accident that hid in the dip wasn’t there either. He grabbed the razor and shaved off the right side of her dark-haired muff, but he already knew that it too wouldn’t be there.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Sherman asked.
“This isn’t Kennedy.”
“It’s been a long time since you’ve seen her,” Sherman said.
“I’m telling you, this isn’t Kennedy,” Sloan insisted. “This chick looks like her, but she doesn’t have the birthmark
that is right here,” he said pointing to the place he’d just shaved, “or the butterfly tat on her ass. I held her hand when she got it.”
Sherman flipped her back over. He examined the skin on her butt cheek closely. No, there had never been a tattoo there. “We need to alert the local cops.”
Sloan shook his head no. “I have a feeling we shouldn’t yet.” For some reason, until they figured out this woman’s identity and where Kennedy was, he didn’t think they should tell anyone. He pulled his phone from his pocket and brought up the Fingerprint ID App. He pressed each of her digits to it. Then he grabbed a couple of swabs and took several DNA samples, hair, mucus, and blood. Then he dialed Garcia from Alpha Team, who he knew was not away on a mission.
“Sloan, I thought you were in Ohio on personal business,” Garcia answered on the first ring.
“I am. I have a situation.” He focused his gaze on the door to be sure no one entered as he spoke. “I need your help. I’ve just scanned a set of fingerprints into the app. I need you to run them and find me who they belong to. And I need to have some DNA tests run without going through local authorities.”
“What’s going on?”
“My ex-fiancé was found murdered. But I’m with the body and I can tell you, this isn’t her. I don’t want to alert anyone yet, and I’ll make sure her body is processed slowly so we can figure out what is going on.”
“Give me her name. I’ll run her to ground.”
“Kennedy Lee Bristow,” Sloan said. “Last I heard, she was in L.A. pursuing her singing career.”
“I’ve never heard of her,” Garcia said.
“I don’t think anyone else has either. Some career,” Sloan remarked. “Sherman will have the samples. Figure out where he can bring them and let him know, or he can fly them back to HQ to Michaela too. Someone’s daughter is laying on this prep table and they don’t even know she’s dead.”
“I’ll talk with Shepherd and give you a call back,” Garcia said. Then he disconnected.
Sloan’s serious stare met Sherman’s. “Garcia will get in touch with you and let you know where to bring the samples. He’ll probably have you just fly them back to HQ for Michaela to run. He’s going to talk to Shepherd.”
“What am I missing? Why aren’t we calling the local authorities?”
“I don’t know. Call it a gut instinct. The coroner had good reason for identifying this woman as Kennedy. I need to know why.”
Just then the door opened, and Allen walked through. He pointed at the body. “I’m sorry, Gary.”
“Do me a favor and don’t prep her yet. Put her back on ice for a day or two.”
Allen looked confused. “Her family wants to bury her. She was with the coroner for five days.”
“How did they identify her?”
Allen’s lips twisted into a grimace. “Why are you asking?”
Sloan’s eyes shifted to Sherman’s. He flashed him a stare of warning. Then his gaze went back to Allen. He couldn’t tell his brother. Allen would notify the authorities immediately. “I thought she was still in L.A. Come on Allen. I know your guy at the morgue always gives you way too much info on our clients.”
“On my clients, Gary, not ours. You left over ten years ago and never looked back. You have nothing to do with the business except draw a small trust fund from it that Dad set up when we were kids, that if you ask me, should have been pulled the day you walked away, but that wasn’t my call.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about the trust fund. The sign out front says Sloan and Sons. I always thought I’d have a place here if I ever wanted to return, but never the fuck mind.”
“Oh, Jesus, Gary, like you’d ever come back. I don’t even know if you’re still in the Navy or who you work for if you’re not. I know nothing about your life except that you’re all over the world doing only God knows what. And you and your friend here come into my house this morning carrying guns, and don’t lie about that. I saw bulges and caught sight of the metal.”
Sloan’s lips twisted into a scowl. He exchanged glances with Sherman. He pulled his ATF badge and credentials out. “Sherman and I are special agents with the ATF, have been since I got out of the Navy. Our SEAL training for firearms and explosives translated over very well for this particular federal bureau.”
Allen was dumbfounded. “ATF? You’re a federal agent and you never told me?”
Sloan put his creds away. “I’m sorry if seeing us armed this morning bothered you or your family.”
“My girls are scared of you. Do you realize that? And they didn’t even see the guns. The boys think their Uncle Gary is cooler than hell, so I’m glad they didn’t see it either. Damn it, bro, my kids don’t even know you. Obviously, I don’t know you either.”
“I’m asking you as a federal agent this time. How did they identify Kennedy?”
“Go to the morgue yourself and flash your shiny federal badge if you want to know. I have a body to embalm and a funeral to plan.”
Allen gasped when Sloan grabbed him and slammed him against the wall. “You are impeding a federal investigation right now. I am not at liberty to tell you why I am asking, but I need to know everything you know.”
“You walked out on Kennedy too. I don’t think her murder is your jurisdiction, so don’t think you can make up for it now. Just go. Do what you do best and walk away.”
Sloan wanted to pound his brother’s head through the wall. “I didn’t walk out on her. She wanted a music career. She never would have been happy as the wife of an undertaker, and she sure as hell didn’t want to be a Navy wife. She’s the one who ended our relationship, not the other way around.”
“An undertaker? What the hell? No one calls a funeral director that anymore.”
Sloan shook his head and released his brother. “Never mind. Look, Allen, I need all the info you have on Kennedy. Please. My job is top secret, that’s why I never told you. Sherman and I are part of a multi-agency task force and yes, I work all the time and all over the world. What I do is important. I need to be here and see this to the end, but when this is over if you want me out of your life, I’ll go. But that isn’t what I want. You’re my brother. Your family is the only family I have.”
“Like you’ve ever acted like you care about that,” Allen said.
“Allen, please. By looking at the head wound, it looks like a .380 fired at close range. I see stippling and burn marks on her head.”
Allen nodded. “The coroner said the muzzle was pressed to the top of her head. The angle indicates she was on her knees and the shooter stood, classic execution style,” Allen said, shaking his head.
Sloan examined the exit point in her neck. Not so classic. The angle of the shot kept her face intact. Did the shooter want her face to be identifiable or was it by chance?
“She was found at the Bristow residence, neighbors called in what sounded like a gunshot and the police arrived at the scene to find her lying on the kitchen floor. Her parents were on vacation in Colorado. Her purse with her ID, credit cards, and phone was beside her. The house keys were lying on the floor too.”
“Did her parents know she was coming home?”
“No, they too thought she was still in L.A. She’d only visited a handful of times since she moved out there. Sounds familiar, huh?”
Sloan ignored his last statement. “What’s the police’s working theory?”
“Officially, they’re saying she surprised an intruder, burglar or something. Unofficially, because of the manner in which she was killed, they think trouble from L.A. followed her here. They’re working with the LAPD.”
“Thank you, Allen. I’ve reached out to my team to look into it too.”
“You two can stay at the house if you want to. You don’t have to stay at a hotel.”
“Thanks, but that’s okay. We’re good at the hotel.” Sloan answered.
“Why don’t you come out to the house for dinner tonight, get to know your nieces and nephews.”
“I’d l
ike that. I’m going to go upstairs and take a look at that apartment I set up. I just need to spend some time, you know, need some closure.”
Allen patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah. I know.” Then a grin spread over his face. “I remember when Dad found your little love nest up there. Man, he was fit to be tied. You always had more guts than me. I’d never have pulled that. I never would have left home. I never wouldn’t have done anything less than what was expected of me. If I ever said it or not, I respected you for that, bro.”
