Kill and Run (A Thorny Rose Mystery Book 1)

by Lauren Carr

  “And this blogger is talking about a conspiracy involving the military.” Boris kept in step with Murphy while bringing up the website on his tablet. “Army is military.” Finding the site, he stopped walking in the middle of the parking lot and cursed. “She accuses our military of training men and women to be predatory serial killers.” He showed the screen of his tablet to Murphy. “Even if the motive of these murders has to do with the military, you certainly can’t believe the military had them killed?”

  “I’m surprised she hasn’t posted that yet,” Murphy said. “If she had something, she’d have posted it by now and, if there was any evidence to back it up, it would be all over the news.” He resumed the trek across the parking lot to the building.

  Shaking his head, Boris continued to explore the blog. “This woman hates police and military. Actually thinks that our country should do away with both of them.” After tucking his tablet under his arm, he took his cell phone out of the case on his belt. “Let’s bring her in.”

  Murphy grabbed the deputy chief’s phone. “Not before we have something concrete to go on.”

  “Sounds to me like we already have something concrete to go on,” Boris argued. “She’s been tailing you and dangling a big conspiracy story before her followers. Our victims were meeting to discuss putting a stop to someone. They were all connected to the military somehow. This Dolan woman has got to be involved in whatever it was they were planning.”

  “She’s anti-military,” Murphy said. “That means she’s already got a chip on her shoulder. If we drag her in kicking and screaming, she’ll give us nothing, scream for her lawyer, and post a scathing article on the Internet about how the big, bad, military bullied her.” With a grin that broadly displayed his deep dimples, he held up a finger. “But … if we know something, we could bluff her into giving us what she does have. Give me time to get the army’s records about our victims and go through them.”

  “In the meantime, we need to learn everything we can about Dolan and the connection between her and our murder victims,” Boris said. “If she was at the meeting, why wasn’t she killed?”

  “Maybe she did committed the murders or helped the killer escape.” Stepping up onto the sidewalk leading to the entrance, Murphy stopped to turn to Boris. “Crenshaw was late due to the accident on the beltway. Maybe Dolan didn’t make it there at all for the same reason. She wasn’t killed because she couldn’t make it to the meeting.”

  Beyond Boris, parked along the curb, Murphy saw a long, white stretch limousine. A huge man in a black suit and dark glasses waited next to it. Even behind the mirrored glasses, Murphy could see that he was staring straight at him.

  “I’ll order Perry to get into Dolan’s phone records and emails,” Boris was saying. “Compare them with Francine Baxter’s to see if she was supposed to be there at the meeting.”

  “If our victims were Dolan’s source for this big story that she’s planning to break on her blog,” Murphy said, “then the killer could be after her. He doesn’t seem to be one to take chances. That could make her a potential victim.”

  “Have you changed your mind about bringing her in?” Boris asked.

  “No, I don’t want to bring her in yet, but I do want to keep a pair of eyes on her. Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch our killer red-handed.”

  “I’ll send a couple of our agents to track her down and keep her under surveillance.” Seeing that Murphy was not making any move toward the entrance, Boris paused. “You coming?”

  “In a minute,” Murphy said. “I need to check in with my CO.”

  With a quick glance over his shoulder to see who Murphy was looking at, Boris hurried through the security check point.

  “Don’t let Izzy have any more brownies,” Murphy called after him.

  Once Boris was out of sight, Murphy sauntered down the sidewalk to where the huge chauffeur slash security guard waited. He stood as still as a statue. Murphy sensed that behind the sunglasses his eyes were bouncing around the parking lot in search of threats to his charge waiting in the back seat of the limousine. He recognized the unmistakable bulge of a weapon under his black jacket.

  Even when Murphy walked up to him, he did not move. “Good afternoon, Bernie.”

  “Afternoon, Lieutenant.” Bernie reached over to open the rear door of the limousine.

  Taking off his hat, Murphy climbed into the back seat. Bernie closed the door.

  Her long slender legs seemed to stretch the length of the rear compartment of the limousine. They appeared even longer in the red stilettos she was wearing. Her hair was pulled up into a twist that was covered by a red fedora, which matched her jacket and pencil skirt. Dark sunglasses concealed her eyes.

  “You’ve been one busy boy, Lieutenant,” she said once Murphy was seated next to her. “You’ve been sending up red flags all over Washington.”

  “What caused that?” Murphy heard the driver’s door shut in the front compartment and felt the limousine engine turn on.

  “Your request for copies of files relating to several women attached to the United States Army,” she replied.

  “They were all murdered,” Murphy said.

  “They were army,” she replied. “You are navy. None of them were active duty army.”

  “I thought we were all on the same side.”

  “We’re one big family,” she replied. “Unfortunately, we’re a dysfunctional family. Sibling rivalry is not the least of our issues.”

  “I’m investigating this case because a murderer waited in Francine Baxter’s home for over an hour to put five bullets into Donna Crenshaw, a navy petty officer. That makes her a—if not the, target.”

  “I know all about that,” she said. “You explained it all on the phone to me yesterday. Your instincts said you needed to investigate this case. It is because I trust your instincts that I authorized you to take it on.”

  “Do you still trust my instincts?” Murphy asked her.

  “They haven’t been proven wrong yet,” she replied. “Do you think the other four victims were collateral damage with Donna Crenshaw being the intended target?”

  “No,” Murphy said. “The only common denominator we can identify right now is that all of the victims were women and in one way or another connected to the United States Army.”

  “Which is why General Graham has requested that the Joint Chiefs order army’s CID take the lead in this investigation,” she said. “He claims that the navy has no jurisdiction in this case and that you lack the experience to conduct a thorough and complete investigation.”

  “Is that what the Joint Chiefs are going to do?”

  “The case really belongs to the FBI,” she said. “I’m surprised they haven’t requested it and if they did, then we have no reason not to comply.”

  In a low voice devoid of emotion, Murphy said, “With all due respect, ma’am, I think it would be best to allow me to stay on the case.”

  “Why, Lieutenant?”

  “Because I’m a Phantom.”

  With her full body, she turned to him. “What’s going on, Lieutenant?”

  “I have a feeling about this case … these murders,” Murphy said. “My gut is telling me that there is something very odd behind all this. None of these women knew each other. Did you hear me say that the only thing they had in common was a connection to the army? In some cases, it wasn’t even a direct connection.”

  “Which is why this case belongs with the FBI,” she said. “Most likely the motive for the murders has nothing to do with the military.”

  “With all due respect,” Murphy said, “I disagree. Otherwise, why is an anti-military blogger tailing me?”

  “What have you gotten yourself into, Lieutenant?”

  “This blogger has been creating a lot of buzz about being on the verge of breaking news about a military conspiracy and cover up.”


  “What kind of conspiracy and cover-up?”

  “I don’t know,” Murphy said. “But if the Joint Chiefs of Staff assign this case to the army to investigate themselves—even if they are not behind the murders—the appearance of a cover-up will still be there. An independent party needs to investigate this case.”

  “The FBI is an independent party.”

  “But they’re not Phantoms,” Murphy argued. “If they uncover a conspiracy inside the military what will they do? Yes, if those behind it are lower ranked, they’ll put a stop to it. What if those behind it are higher ups—with enough juice to put pressure on the agents investigating to intimidate them into looking the other way? Isn’t that why the Joint Chiefs put the Phantoms together in the first place—to give our country an untouchable team of soldiers willing and able to fight for what is right—no matter who the bad guys are?”

  “Do you think this is one of those cases, Lieutenant?”

  “My gut is telling me that it is.” Murphy nodded his head. “But I will follow the Joint Chiefs’ orders.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. He saw by the firm set of her jaw that she was torn and disgusted which became clear when she asked, “How did you end up with this case in the first place? You’re supposed to be the liaison, the connection between the civilian staff of NCIS and the navy. We put you there and told you to keep your eyes and ears open—not work their cases for them. What were you doing at that crime scene in the first place?”

  “Staff Chief Hillary Koch sent me.”

  “She’s not your CO,” she replied. “I am.”

  “But she is my direct supervisor,” Murphy said.

  “Koch is also a moron.”

  “If you say so, ma’am.” He saw the hint of a smile come to her lips. “Ma’am, I have no interest in tarnishing the army’s name or reputation. All I want is to solve these murders. All the army has to do is cooperate and turn over those records that I have requested—”

  “Where does General George Davis’ death fit into all this?” she asked. “The chair of the Joint Chiefs, General Raleigh, was not happy when she got word about that request.”

  “I’m sorry if my request made her unhappy—”

  “CID is claiming that your request for those records proves that you’re grasping at straws and possibly on a wild goose chase,” she said. “Complaints have been flying up the chain of command. Do you have any evidence or reason to believe that Davis’ helicopter crash, which killed six good men, could be connected to the murders of those women?”

  “I’m not certain that it does,” Murphy replied.

  He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his head.

  “General Davis is the army connection to Colleen Davis,” he plunged on. “Every woman in that townhouse was connected to the United States Army. You take General Davis and possibly his death out of the equation, then you lose Colleen Davis’ connection. I can’t do a complete investigation without at least looking at the case file.”

  Her voice was steady when she asked, “Do you feel that the United States Army is involved in some sort of conspiracy and cover up, Lieutenant?”

  “What I feel or believe about a conspiracy and cover up in the army is irrelevant,” Murphy said. “Five women are dead. Five families are grieving their loss. They deserve answers and justice. I promised Donna Crenshaw’s daughter that I would do everything in my power to find out who killed her mother and why. I intend to keep that promise, with or without the approval of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I’m a man of my word. If that doesn’t fit in with the Joint Chief’s agenda, then I sincerely apologize. But I can’t back away from this investigation … even if they do make the decision to send the case over to the army’s investigative unit or the FBI.”

  There was a long silence while Murphy waited for her response. The limousine pulled up to the curb and came to a halt. Murphy saw through the tinted windows that they were at the same place where they had started. Bernie had simply driven them around the Pentagon’s parking lot.

  Looking straight ahead, she finally replied, “You will get everything you believe you need to complete your investigation, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Bernie opened the rear door.

  “You’re welcome, Lieutenant,” she said. “Keep me informed … about everything.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” When he moved toward the open door, he felt her long slender hand grasp his. He turned to her.

  “Take a long thorough look at the Davis file,” she whispered.

  While her fingernails dug into his wrist, Murphy took a long look at her. Her dark glasses covered up her eyes, concealing the emotion behind her warning. “Thank you, ma’am, I will.”

  She refused to release her grip on his wrist. “Lieutenant …”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Be careful,” she whispered. “Our country needs you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “So this is the infamous Irving.” Jessica peered through the door into the cat carrier resting on the queen sized bed in the loft guest room.

  Seemingly unimpressed with the woman studying him, Irving narrowed his eyes into thin emerald slits. He looked like he was about to go to sleep.

  “Infamous in Josh’s book.” Cameron dumped the bag of litter into Irving’s box, which she was setting up in the full bath off the guest room. She set the lid on top of the box. “I’m sorry, but I had to bring him.” She stepped into the doorway. “Josh threatened to send him to the taxidermist if I left him behind.”

  “I’m sure he wasn’t serious.” Jessica was kneeling on the floor in front of the carrier. “Can I let him out now? I’m really curious. I can’t believe he looks exactly like a skunk.”

  “Knock yourself out.” Cameron went to the bed to open her suitcase.

  Jessica unlatched the door to the carrier. Instead of rushing out, Irving opened his eyes to observe her, as if to determine if she was worthy of him making her acquaintance.

  “Okay, big guy,” Jessica urged him. “Come on out and strut your stuff.”

  Irving stared at Jessica who looked back at him.

  “Seriously?” she replied to his lack of motion. “You’re only going to stare at me?”

  “Don’t be offended,” Cameron said. “I’m afraid Irving is a one-person cat.”

  Jessica rose to her feet. “Be that way. I’ll show you who’s boss. I’ll introduce you to Spencer, who has yet to meet a cat up close and personal.”

  With a laugh, Cameron answered her ringing phone. Bringing it to her ear, she stepped out of the bedroom into the sitting room. “Gates here.”

  “Detective Gates, this is Agent Peter Sanders.”

  “I remember.” In spite of her effort to keep a professional demeanor, she couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “I’m here in Washington. I’m ready to roll whenever Bertonelli is available for me to question him.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Detective Gates,” the agent replied.

  “Why?” Cameron turned around to see that Jessica had managed to extract Irving from the carrier. He actually tolerated her carrying him out into the sitting room. “What’s up?”

  “Bertonelli is dead,” the agent replied. “He was found in his bed late this morning. M.E. says it appears to be a heart attack.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Cameron said.

  “Neither do we,” the agent said. “That’s why we’re ordering a full autopsy.”

  “That doesn’t help me,” she said. “He’s the only one who would know why—”

  “Last night, when we talked to him about you coming out to see him,” Agent Sanders said, “he said that he really couldn’t give us or you much information about the Gates hit, except for one thing.”

  “What one thing?”

  “The order for him t
o make the hit came from Adrian Kalashov.”

  Cameron repeated the name over and over to commit to memory before saying, “I’ve heard the name Kalashov—”

  “Ivan Kalashov is like the CEO of the Russian mob,” Agent Sanders said. “Started out with smuggling. He got on the ground floor when the communist regime fell. Then, he branched into human trafficking. Now, he’s into everything from illegal arms, to drugs, to pornography. His son Adrian is rumored to be taking over for him, but that’s only rumor. On the surface, he is supposed to be totally legit. American educated, law degree from Yale. As hard as the bureau has tried, we have yet to be able to pin anything on him and make it stick.”

  “But Sal Bertonelli said Kalashov ordered him to take out Nick,” Cameron said.

  “And now Bertonelli is dead,” Sanders said. “Based on what Bertonelli said, I don’t think we can make any connection between your late husband and Kalashov, unless you know of one.”

  “I don’t. Did Bertonelli say anything else?”

  “Kalashov did tell him that the hit was for a friend.”

  “What friend” Cameron asked.

  “Bertonelli claims Kalashov didn’t elaborate any further.”

  “And now he’s dead.”

  “Dead men tell no tales,” Sanders said.

  Blinking the tears out of her eyes, Cameron thanked Agent Sanders for his help and disconnected the call.

  “Bad news?” Jessica asked while handing Irving over to her.

  “The man who killed my husband is dead.” Cameron rubbed her face into Irving’s thick fur. The big cat rubbed his face against her jaw.

  “That means you can’t interrogate him.” Jessica reached out to squeeze her arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  “He did tell the FBI that the hit was a favor for a friend of a big Russian crime boss,” Cameron said. “I don’t understand. Nick had no connection with organized crime.”