Stranded (Military Investigations)

by Debby Giusti

  “Could have?” Frank repeated the phrase she had used. “Did Trey kill your sister?”

  “She overdosed on drugs he provided.”

  “You notified the authorities?”

  “I did, but they had other, more pressing cases to investigate. Or so it seemed.”

  “Did Briana tell you about Trey?”

  “She...she was slipping into a coma and died soon after I got to the ER. The only thing she said was to stop Trey Howard.”

  Which Colleen had vowed to do.

  Had she made a mistake by taking on so much by herself? She rubbed her forehead and swallowed the lump that clogged her throat. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t appear weak. Not with Frank sitting across the table.

  He scooted out of his chair and reached for the coffee carafe. He refilled her cup and his.

  Colby held up his hand. “No more for me.”

  “Let’s go back to Vivian,” Frank said when he returned to the table. “You two decided to meet?”

  “That’s right. At the roadside park, but Trey was hiding in the woods.”

  “Why risk meeting her?”

  “Vivian said she had something that would prove his guilt. I wanted that evidence.”

  “Evidence or drugs?”

  Colleen didn’t know whether to burst into tears or pound her fist on the table at his pigheadedness. She did neither. Instead she willed her expression to remain neutral and her voice controlled.

  “I planned to mail whatever evidence Vivian provided, along with the list of names and the photo I found on Trey’s computer, to the DEA.”

  “You have the photo?”

  “I used the camera on my phone and took a snapshot of his computer screen. It’s not the best quality, but I thought it was enough to get the police interested.”

  “If it’s still on your phone, send the photo to my email,” Frank requested.

  “I’ll need a copy,” Colby added. Both men provided their online addresses. Colleen plugged the information into her phone and sent the photo as an attachment.

  Frank left the kitchen and returned with his laptop in hand. He placed it on the table, hit the power button and quickly accessed his inbox. After opening the attachment Colleen had sent, he enhanced the screen.

  “There’s some type of case on the edge of the table with an identity tag, although it’s too blurred to read.”

  She nodded. “The tag says Howard. It’s Trey’s camera case. That’s why I thought the cop would be interested.”

  “But he wasn’t?”

  “He said I could have pulled the photo off the internet.”

  Colby glanced at the computer screen over Frank’s shoulder. “Any idea where the picture was taken?”

  “In La Porta Verde, the Colombian resort Trey wanted me to visit. As I mentioned, Trey had done the photo layout for their brochures and website when the resort was first built.”

  Frank tapped in the name of the resort. The home page appeared. He hit Additional Photos and clicked through a series of still shots. “Here it is. The same pool and gardens with the ocean as a backdrop.”

  Although still not satisfied with the direction of the questioning, Colleen felt somewhat relieved that Frank and Colby recognized the connection between the photo from Trey’s laptop and the resort website.

  “I sent the website URL to the Atlanta police,” she continued, “along with the photo. The officer who talked to me didn’t see the tie-in and said neither seemed relevant to him.”

  “Who’d you deal with?”

  “An officer named Anderson.”

  Colby returned to the table and made note of the name. “Did he want to talk to you in person?”

  She shook her head.

  “So your only dealing with the police was over the phone to a cop named Anderson?” Frank asked.

  “I dealt with two different officers at two different times. After Briana died, I contacted a cop named Sutherland. He worked close to where she lived.” Colleen glanced down at her partially filled mug, remembering the less than desirable area. “He was a tough guy who didn’t seem interested in the fact that she’d OD’d. He kept asking pointed questions about my relationship with my sister and insinuated I had something to do with her death.”

  Frank shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  Colleen bristled. “Maybe not, but I’m just telling you what happened.”

  Seeing the frustration plainly written on Frank’s face, she glanced down and rubbed her hand over the table. “The cop talked about the free flow of drugs to the inner city often brought in by dealers who lived in the nicer neighborhoods.”

  “Did you mention the photographer’s name?”

  She shook her head. “Sutherland made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t interested in the accusations of a dying addict.”

  “What about Anderson? Did you have any more contact with him?”

  “Not face-to-face, but someone came to my apartment.”

  Frank glanced at Colby then back at her. “Go on.”

  “I had a short overnight flight. The gal who lives in the apartment across the hall called to tell me someone had been looking for me.”

  “Anderson?”

  “I’m not sure. He wasn’t in uniform, but Trey had boasted of having connections with the Atlanta PD. I was afraid Anderson might be on the take.”

  “Why would you jump to that conclusion?”

  She shrugged. “Call it woman’s intuition, but a warning bell went off. I had my carry-on bag so I checked into a motel instead of going home.”

  “That’s when you contacted Vivian.”

  “A few days later. I needed more evidence, which I planned to mail to the DEA.”

  “Calling them on the phone would be a whole lot easier.”

  “Vivian didn’t want her name used, and I didn’t want the call traced back to me.”

  “Because?” Frank asked.

  “I didn’t know if they’d believe me.”

  She stared across the table at Frank, who seemed like the other cops with whom she’d dealt. “You don’t believe me either.”

  He hesitated for a long moment. “I’m not sure what I believe.”

  His words cut her to the quick.

  She glanced at Colby. “What about you?”

  “I’m just making note of your statement, ma’am. More information will be needed before I can satisfactorily evaluate your response.”

  “Lots of words to say you’re not on my side.” She shoved her chair away from the table. “Neither of you are.”

  Standing, she glared at Frank. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ll answer any additional questions you might have in the morning.”

  She turned on her heel and walked with determined steps to the guest room. Closing the door behind her, she dropped her head in her hands and cried.

  * * *

  Frank let her go. She was worn-out and on the brink of shattering. He felt as frustrated as she looked and needed time to process what she had already revealed. Parts of her story seemed valid, although her attempt to bring down a drug dealer single-handedly was hard to accept. Yet surely she could have made up a more plausible story—and one that was less convoluted—if she was trying to cover up her own involvement.

  He turned back to his laptop. “Let’s check out those newspaper articles about Jackie Leonard and Patty Owens.”

  Searching through the AJC archives, Frank located information on both women. Just as Colleen had said, the girls had worked at the King’s Club in Atlanta. Frank checked the address and mentioned the location to Colby.

  He nodded. “The heart of the inner city. Crime is rampant in that area. Those girls were flirting with trouble”

  “Looks like the
y found it.” Frank read the news stories about their bodies being found. “Know anyone in the Atlanta PD?”

  “There used to be a guy. Former military. George Ulster. I could see if he’s still there.”

  “Find out if he knows Sutherland or Anderson. Get his take on both guys. See if anyone suspects either of them is dirty. Then see what Ulster knows about the two women and whether the PD has any leads. Mention Colleen’s sister, just in case there’s a tie-in. Seems all three women were on a downward spiral.” Frank shook his head with regret. “And hit bottom.”

  The front door opened, and Evelyn’s laughter filtered down the hallway. Stepping into the kitchen, her face sobered. She glanced first at Frank, who quickly logged out of the archives, and then nodded to Colby.

  Ron walked up behind her. “Evening, folks.”

  To her credit, Evelyn seemed to realize this wasn’t the time for late-night chatter. She patted his arm. “It’s late, Ron. We need to say good-night.”

  She hurried him toward the door. After a hasty few words, he left the house, and Evelyn headed to her room.

  Frank closed his laptop and stood. The energy had drained from him. He grabbed the mugs off the table and placed them in the dishwasher.

  Colby glanced at his watch. “It’s late. I need to get back to post. I’ll take the iPhone with me and stop by headquarters in the morning. Hopefully, I’ll be able to talk to Wilson about getting a warrant to access her call list.”

  “The Freemont police need to be in the loop, but I want Wilson’s approval before I do anything.”

  Colby headed for the hallway and then turned back. “Try to get some sleep, Frank. She’s not going anywhere. At least not tonight. Besides, we all might think a bit more clearly in the morning.”

  Frank watched his friend leave the house. He planned to lock the doors and let Duke have the run of the house. If anyone tried to get in or out, the dog would sound a warning. Frank needed to be careful and cautious. He didn’t want anything to happen to Colleen, whether she was telling the truth or not.

  SIX

  Colleen woke the next morning with a pounding headache. She touched the lump on her forehead and groaned, thinking back over everything that had happened.

  Vivian! God, help her. Heal her.

  If only she could get an update on the army wife’s condition. As soon as Vivian was able to talk, the police and military authorities would question her. The video proved she had been working for Trey. Even if she claimed innocence, Vivian had brought drugs into the United States from Colombia and would, no doubt, be tried and prosecuted.

  Would her guilt rub off on Colleen?

  Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she sat up and groaned again. How had her once orderly, controlled life gotten so out of hand? She longed to flee Freemont and Georgia and wipe everything she knew about Trey and his trafficking from her memory. As if she could.

  Thinking back over Frank’s barrage of questions last night, she sighed. She had kept some information from Frank, not wanting to fuel the flame of his disbelief. Still, she should have mentioned seeing Trey at the triage area right after the twister hit.

  How could she have been so forgetful? Actually more like stupid. Probably because of her own nervousness and because Frank’s penetrating gaze had left her frazzled and totally undone.

  She specifically hadn’t mentioned the memory card because of the digital photo she feared Frank might see. A photo taken of her with Trey’s so-called friends, who were probably involved in his drug operation.

  Frank didn’t believe her now, and she refused to give him any more reason to doubt her. His cryptic and caustic tone had been hard enough to deal with last night. As much as she didn’t want to face him in the light of day, he needed to know Trey could still be in the area.

  Leaving the comfort of the bed, she walked to the window and opened the shades. Her mood plummeted as low as the gray cloud cover that blocked the sun and put a heavy pall on the day. At least it wasn’t raining.

  Needing something to hold on to, she once again reviewed the steps she needed to take to get out of Freemont. Once she retrieved her identification and the memory card, she would head back to Atlanta. Catching a flight to the West Coast seemed her best option. As Frank had suggested last night, she could notify the Atlanta DEA by phone—an untraceable cell—or even by email, all the while staying out of the agency’s radar and away from Trey Howard and the men who worked for him.

  A safer escape plan might be to drive to Birmingham, two hours west in Alabama, and fly out of that airport. If Trey’s men or the Atlanta PD were checking Hartsfield, she didn’t want to walk into a trap after all her hard work trying to prove Trey’s guilt.

  Had he already returned to Atlanta?

  Or was he still in Freemont?

  If so, it was because he was looking for her. Knowing how effective Trey was in getting what he wanted, she couldn’t successfully hide out for long.

  With a shudder, she yanked the curtain closed again and hastily slipped into jeans and a lightweight sweater from her carry-on bag.

  Colleen looked at her reflection in the mirror after she’d brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face in the adjoining bathroom. Her cheeks were flushed from the abrasive washcloth she’d scrubbed with and the cold water she’d splashed on her face.

  Running a comb through her hair, she hoped to untangle the mess of curls that swirled around her face. She usually relied on the products she’d forgotten to pack to tame her unruly mane.

  All she could do was roll her eyes at the halo of locks that circled her face. She’d never liked her red hair, and this morning’s frizz made her look like Little Orphan Annie, only older and in no way cute or endearing.

  For a fleeting moment, Colleen wondered what type of woman Frank liked. Blondes, perhaps, with rosy cheeks and finely arched brows. Maybe jet-black hair and ivory skin turned his fancy. Or women with big eyes and tiny, bow-shaped mouths.

  She scoffed at her foolishness. Why would she even consider such thoughts? As far as she’d seen, the CID agent was all business with no pleasure allowed.

  Colleen made the bed and tidied the room. After ensuring the colorful quilt and lace pillow shams were in place, she let out a deep breath and opened the door to the hallway.

  The smell of fried eggs and bacon, mixed with the rich aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, led her to the kitchen. Usually Colleen skipped breakfast, but this morning her stomach growled with hunger, and her mouth watered for whatever Evelyn was cooking.

  Stepping into the airy room, she was greeted with a wide smile from her hostess. Standing at the counter, Evelyn was arranging biscuits, still warm from the oven, in a cloth-lined basket.

  “Tell me all the food I smell isn’t just for you and Frank,” Colleen said with a laugh.

  “Help yourself. I’ve got four egg-and-bacon casseroles in the oven for the rescue workers. Ron’s coming over at nine-thirty to take them to the triage area. You’re welcome to join us if you feel able, but first, you need breakfast.”

  “Coffee sounds good. Mind if I pour a cup?”

  “Mugs are in the cabinet closest to the stove.”

  Colleen selected a sturdy mug with a blue design. “Polish pottery, isn’t it?”

  Evelyn nodded. “Frank gave me the set for my birthday two years ago. They’re popular with the military.”

  Colleen enjoyed the weight of the pottery as she filled it with coffee.

  “Cream’s in the refrigerator. There’s sugar on the counter.”

  “Black works for me.”

  “You’re like Frank. He claims sugar spoils the taste.”

  Colleen tried to seem nonchalant as she took a sip of the hot brew and then asked, “Is Frank helping with the relief effort?”

  “He’s in his room getting ready. I tried to convi
nce him to sleep in this morning. I heard him pacing until the wee hours. In case you haven’t noticed, my brother has a mind of his own, which sometimes causes him problems. He thinks he can do the things he used to do before his surgery.”

  “I heard mention of convalescent leave last night. Was Frank wounded during a deployment?”

  Evelyn nodded. “He entered a building while on patrol in Afghanistan. An IED exploded and trapped him in the rubble. Duke found him and alerted the rescuers who pulled him to safety the next day.”

  “No wonder dog and master are so close.”

  “Inseparable is more like it.”

  “They make a good team.”

  “Speaking of teams, Ron needs help with the breakfast line this morning. Are you interested?”

  “Count me in.”

  A bedroom door closed, and footsteps sounded in the hallway. Colleen tightened her grip on the mug, unsure how to react when she saw Frank.

  He nodded as he entered the kitchen, looking rested and self-assured. “Morning, ladies.”

  “Do you have time for breakfast?” Evelyn seemed unaware of the tension Colleen felt.

  “Not today.” He glanced at his watch, equally oblivious to her unease. “When do you expect Ron?”

  “Soon.”

  “Tell him folks have been notified that food will be available in the triage area. The volunteers will arrive first, followed by Amish families.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  Frank glanced at Colleen. “Can you lend a hand?”

  “Of course, if Ron needs help.”

  “I’m sure he will.” Frank stared at her a moment longer than necessary, causing her heart to flutter, but not in a good way.

  She kept remembering his pointed questions from the night before.

  “Then I’ll see you shortly.” With another nod, he hurried outside along with Duke.

  He had backed his truck out the driveway before Colleen could shake off the nervous edge that hit as soon as Frank had stepped into the kitchen. If only she could react to his nearness in a less unsettling way. He seemed like a good man, but Frank was a CID agent first, and he was convinced she had some part in the drug operation.