by Debby Giusti
He raised his brow. “You mean like one of my men being shot?”
The Cajun may have dropped his accent but not his attitude. “That is why I’m here, Captain.”
Before he could reply, she turned her gaze toward the ridgeline where Taylor’s squad had made their final attack on foot. “Which of your platoons was advancing in this area?”
His brow furrowed. “Weren’t you at the live-fire demonstration, ma’am?”
“That’s correct, Captain, but my attention was on the visitors I was assigned to safeguard.”
He hesitated for a moment before his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly and his hard-core expression softened.
Noting the visible signs of his change of attitude, Kelly regretted her own stubborn desire to always be on the offensive.
“Never let down your guard” had become a personal mantra. Her mother, when she had been alive, had pointed out numerous time that the tough facade Kelly tried to project was both a blessing and a curse.
Growing up as a headstrong teen, Kelly hadn’t wanted advice from a woman who was a pushover when it came to Kelly’s “here today, gone tomorrow” father. A little backbone and a firm no-you-can’t-come-back attitude from her mother would have made life a lot more bearable for her only child. Not that Kelly was complaining. She had survived, thanks to an army recruiter who pointed out the benefits of enlisting in the military.
But all that was in the past, and at the moment, Kelly needed to deal with Captain Thibodeaux. To his credit, the captain had just lost a man to friendly fire and was still able to function. Perhaps she should cut him a little slack. Her initial assessment had been biased, no doubt, by his Cajun roots.
“First Platoon was advancing up this small hill.” Phil finally provided the information she had requested. “The three squads had dismounted. The men were gaining ground on the enemy.”
He pointed to where the soldiers had made their advance. “Corporal Taylor was on the far end of the squad, moving forward. The bullet hit just below his protective vest.”
Kelly focused on the range, mentally seeing the attack unfold. “The other soldiers in the platoon were to the victim’s right?”
“That’s correct. The men were in their squads and spread out in a V formation, moving forward.”
“How far apart were they?”
Phil shrugged. “Roughly eight to ten meters.”
“And the other two platoons?”
“Were positioned farther east.”
“Too far away to have shot into the First Platoon?”
“It’s unlikely.”
“But could have happened?” she pressed.
He nodded, his lips tight. “Yes, but as I mentioned, highly unlikely.”
“Which means the shooter is probably one of the men in First Platoon.”
The captain bristled. “This was a training accident, Agent McQueen. The soldier who accidentally dislodged a bullet that hit Corporal Taylor is not a shooter.”
“Yet one of the guns fired the deadly round.”
“Accidentally.”
She tilted her head. “Are you sure of that, Captain?”
“Ma’am, most of the men in this unit just returned from a year in combat. They are well trained and competent. I’d stake my life on any of them.”
She glanced at the soldier on the ground. “Regrettably, Corporal Taylor can’t say the same.”
Once again, they seemed at have hit an impasse. Attempting to give them both space, she walked to where the medical examiner knelt over the body. Her heart went out to the corporal, who didn’t deserve to have his life end on a dusty army range in South Georgia.
Jamison approached her. His voice was low when he spoke. “The doc will have the bullet for us after the autopsy tomorrow. I called our lab at Fort Gillam and told them we’d need ballistics run.”
Kelly nodded her approval as Jamison continued. “Once the lab comes up with a match, we’ll have the serial number of the weapon that fired the bullet and the name of the soldier to whom the rifle had been issued.”
Just as Jamison had mentioned, the investigation should be fairly straightforward, but complications were a fact of life when a death was involved. Uncovering the real reason a soldier had died could turn into a lengthy process.
She watched Phil give orders to his executive officer and first sergeant about securing the weapons and locking them in the arms room. Up close and personal, the captain was even better-looking than Kelly had realized. The eyes clinched the deal, along with the dimples that must be killers when he smiled. Not that he was smiling this evening. His rugged face was lined with concern and an underpinning of grief.
No doubt he felt for the loss of his soldier’s life, but he also had to know his own career was on the line. If the captain had made a mistake, he’d be disciplined as well as the shooter. Phil had a reputation for being the pretty boy on post with the ladies and the man most likely to be promoted above his peers. Maybe the poster boy of Fort Rickman knew his moment of glory was coming to an end.
“With some luck, we might have this investigation under wraps within a few days,” Kelly told Jamison. Then she could say goodbye and good riddance to Captain Thibodeaux. Until then, she had to be careful.
She knew all too well that a handsome face could turn a girl’s heart. Her mother had been a perfect example. At least Kelly had enough sense to stay away from guys who promised everything and gave nothing but heartache in return.
The memory of her Cajun dad bubbled up like rancid oil. Kelly wouldn’t take pity on anyone, even a handsome captain who, at this particular moment, looked like he needed a friend.
TWO
Phil glanced at the clock on the wall as he entered his company headquarters. Eight o’clock. He and Agent McQueen had talked to the unit as a whole. Both of them had addressed the terrible tragedy and the need to find out what had happened. Phil had encouraged the men to confide in their platoon leaders, squad leaders and the battalion chaplain. Tomorrow they would spend one-on-one time with each man in hopes of learning more.
Kelly had been supportive through it all, which Phil appreciated. Maybe having her in charge of the investigation wouldn’t be a complication after all.
The next priority was to notify Mrs. Taylor of her husband’s death. The wives had been briefed before the company road-marched to the field four days ago about the time of the unit’s return to post. None of the family members expected their soldiers to be released from duty for another two hours.
Still, Phil wanted the chaplain and Taylor’s platoon leader on the road as fast as possible to notify the corporal’s next of kin. Phil wanted to be there, as well.
Currently, the special agent was overseeing the turn-in of weapons in the arms rooms. The serial number on each rifle would be checked and double-checked. She had mentioned returning to CID headquarters once the firearms were under lock and key.
If he had noticed one thing about the special agent tonight, it was that she was thorough. Her attention to detail had given him confidence the investigation would be handled by the book.
Earlier he had feared Kelly might be a distraction, but she understood the work that needed to be done, for which he was grateful. Cute as she was, the woman seemed keenly aware of the SOP—standard operation procedure—for the company and in no way hampered Phil’s leadership or got in the way of the men doing their jobs.
As far as he could tell, she realized everyone was stretched thin from the four-day field exercise prior to live fire, and although she hadn’t verbalized her opinion, she must have known their fatigue could have played into the incident today.
The battalion chaplain was on his way over to the company. A new guy named Sanchez, who’d recently transferred into post.
Together, along with Lieutenant Carl Bellows, a slender twenty-three-year-old who was in charge of First Platoon, the three officers would break the news to Mrs. Taylor. Not something to look forward to doing tonight, or any night for that mat
ter.
Letting out a deep breath, Phil stepped into the latrine and slapped cold water on his face. Tired eyes stared back at him from the mirror. What would he tell Mrs. Taylor about her husband’s death? Hopefully, the chaplain would offer the comfort Phil didn’t know if he could provide tonight. All he knew was that Taylor shouldn’t have died.
As he stepped from the latrine, the first sergeant approached him. “Sir, Chaplain Roger Sanchez is waiting in your office.”
The chaplain stood about five-ten, with a square face and stocky build, and had new-to-the-army written all over him. He held a Bible in his left hand and accepted Phil’s handshake with his right.
“Chaplain, thanks for helping me out this evening.”
“No problem, sir.”
Phil almost smiled. “Is Fort Rickman your first assignment?”
Sanchez nodded. “After Chaplains School.”
“Good to have you with us. First rule to remember, we’re both captains. You only need to ‘sir’ someone who’s above you in rank.”
Sanchez shook his head at his own mistake. “Guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“Well, there’s a lot to learn. Tonight you’ll get some experience in notification of next of kin.” Phil explained about Corporal Taylor’s death and the necessity of informing the family members.
“Taylor and his wife, Lola, lived on a farm his mother owns. The senior Mrs. Taylor—” Phil opened a file on his desk “—Mildred Taylor, the mom, has medical problems, although I’m not sure about the exact nature of her condition. We’ll probably learn more tonight.”
Sanchez nodded and then eyed the framed unit citations and awards on the wall behind Phil’s desk. “You commanded C Company in Afghanistan?”
“That’s right. We got back three months ago.”
The chaplain shook his head. “So there was a long separation for the family prior to Corporal Taylor’s death.”
Phil narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t say tonight would be easy, Chaplain.”
Sanchez held his gaze. “And I never expected it would be. Just to set the record straight, I didn’t become a chaplain for the easy jobs.”
With that one statement, Phil’s opinion of the chaplain went up tenfold.
“Lieutenant Bellows, the platoon leader, will meet us outside. He’ll drive his own vehicle.”
Phil grabbed his hat and motioned the chaplain forward just as the door to his office opened and Kelly McQueen stepped inside like a whirlwind of fresh air and energy.
“I thought you’d be at CID headquarters by now,” he said.
“I’m on my way.” She glanced at Sanchez, then back at Phil. “You said you were going to notify the next of kin?”
“That’s right.” He introduced her to the chaplain. “Lieutenant Bellows is meeting us outside, and the three of us will drive to the farmhouse.”
“First Sergeant Meyers gave me directions,” Kelly said. “The Taylor home is about five miles farther out from where I live. I’ll join you there.”
“Ah—?” Phil hadn’t expected Kelly to go with them. “Do you think that’s wise?”
She stood up a little straighter. “Wise?”
“Meaning it’s late. Both Mrs. Taylors—the wife and the mother—will need time to grieve. We could drive out there tomorrow. I’ll probably need to talk to the widow again.”
Kelly nodded. “Perfect. But I want to see her tonight, as well. I have to stop by CID Headquarters for a few minutes, but I’ll meet you at the farmhouse.”
She smiled at Sanchez. “Nice to meet you, Chaplain.” Turning on her heel, she left the office and Phil to stare after her.
His phone rang. Lieutenant Bellows’s voice sounded fatigued when he answered. “Sir, can you give me about fifteen minutes? Private Benjamin Stanley wants to talk to me about what happened today.”
“He’s one of our new recruits.”
“Yes, sir. Seems he’s pretty shook up.”
Phil glanced at his watch. “Get here as soon as you can.”
The lieutenant drove up in front of the company headquarters just as Phil and the chaplain left the building fifteen minutes later. After introducing the two men, Lieutenant Bellows shared his own concern for the private.
“Stanley’s young and impressionable. From what he said, this is the first time he’s seen someone die. I’ve got Staff Sergeant Gates with him now.”
Phil turned to the chaplain. “Gates is one of Lieutenant Bellow’s squad leaders. He’s mid-thirties and fairly squared away. If he can’t reassure Stanley, I may ask you to talk to him tomorrow. He’s a good kid who loves the Lord and knows his Bible, but he’s still got a lot to learn.”
The chaplain smiled. “I can relate to that. I’d be happy to pray with him. Inviting God into any situation usually brings comfort to those experiencing difficulty.”
Although Phil didn’t personally agree with the chaplain, he knew Stanley would benefit from the outreach.
Phil turned to the lieutenant. “Let me know what Gates has to say. If Stanley’s still upset, we can call the chaplain in the morning.”
“Yes, sir. Some of the other men have been talking about Corporal Taylor. Evidently things hadn’t been too good on the home front since the company redeployed back to the States. Sounds like he and his wife were having problems.”
“At Chaplains School, we talked about how marital problems escalate once the soldiers redeploy home,” Sanchez said.
Phil nodded. “Unfortunately the separations are hard on family members as well as the soldiers.”
“Which will probably compound the grieving process for Mrs. Taylor.”
The chaplain was right. Phil kept thinking about Taylor and his wife as he and Sanchez headed to the parking lot. Phil had instructed Bellows to drive ahead and wait for him at the farm, assuring the lieutenant they wouldn’t be far behind him.
Once on the way, Phil made a quick detour that took them past the CID headquarters. He scanned the parking lot, hoping to spot Kelly in case she wanted to follow them, but her Toyota Corolla wasn’t in sight.
Maybe she had another stop to make. No reason for Phil to be concerned. Sergeant Meyers had given her directions, and she said she would meet them at the Taylor home. From everything he had seen tonight, Kelly could take care of herself.
As difficult as the notification would be, Phil’s mood lifted ever so slightly when he thought of seeing her again. Then he clamped down on his jaw. What was wrong with him? The last person he should be thinking about was the CID agent. Yet, for some reason, Kelly McQueen was the only thing his mind wanted to focus on tonight.
The sun had set hours ago, and darkness, thick as tar, enveloped South Georgia as Kelly left Fort Rickman and headed north along the two-lane road that led through Freemont and past the nursing home where her mother had lived for the last year of her life.
A lump filled Kelly’s throat at the memory of sitting at her dying mother’s bedside. Coronary obstructive pulmonary disease had sapped her energy and left her gasping for air. In spite of the oxygen concentrator that had become her constant companion, her mother’s body had weakened until death seemed almost a welcome alternative to the fragile existence that had held her bound between this world and the next.
Just a short distance beyond the nursing facility, Kelly spied her own home, which sat back from the road. Never expecting to be tied up for so long on post, Kelly had failed to leave a light on when she left the house earlier today. Now the brick ranch looked dark and foreboding and recessed with shadows from the sliver of moon that hung low in the sky.
Passing her house, she sped north along the Freemont Road and into a stretch of no-man’s-land flanked by a thick forest of trees on each side of the asphalt. Kelly turned her lights to high beam and flicked her gaze over not only the pavement but also the shoulder and the edge of the forest.
Deer often darted out from the underbrush, causing accidents and injuries to both car and driver. The only motion she saw came from the branches
that swayed in the wind and the flutter of leaves that fell one after another from the canopy of boughs overhead.
She checked her odometer. Five miles into the darkness seemed an eternity tonight. Maybe it was the anticipation of knowing the captain was already at the farmhouse. She wanted to be on the scene when he and the chaplain broke the news to Corporal Taylor’s widow. The initial reactions from loved ones could be telling, especially in a criminal investigation.
At this point, Kelly had no evidence to indicate foul play. A training accident more than likely would be the final determination. Tomorrow she would review Phil’s operations order to determine if there were any safety issues with the plan.
Phil Thibodeaux seemed competent and concerned about his soldiers. Hard to imagine he had made a blatant mistake, but the unit had been in the field for the past four days, and fatigue could be a significant factor. As much as Phil seemed to have his act together, looks could be deceiving.
Her father’s face floated through her mind. Everything about that no-good Cajun had been a sham. Each time he had returned home, he had taken her mother for a ride, wiping out her money and her emotional stability. When he tired of pretending to love her, he hightailed it out of Savannah and headed west, more often than not back to his beloved bayou.
Even as a child, Kelly had questioned her father’s here-again gone-again behavior. By puberty, she recognized him for who he really was—a conniver who thought only of himself. She’d asked God to take him out of her life, but God seemed occupied with other people’s problems instead of hers. When her dad had become abusive to her mother, she’d prayed he would be attacked by snakes and eaten by alligators in the Louisiana swamps he loved more than his own daughter.
God hadn’t answered that prayer, either.
Eventually she decided that since she couldn’t count on her earthly father, she shouldn’t rely on her heavenly one, either. Instead she vowed to never be subservient to a man, like her mother had been whenever her father came back to Savannah with his proverbial hat in hand and a string of excuses for being gone so long.
