by Debby Giusti
“Maybe there’s a reason she requested the feds,” he suggested. “If she works for a senator, there might be something she’s not telling you.”
“Could be. We can check it out. She claims to have heard footsteps as she ran back to the house.”
“Did she get a visual?”
“Unfortunately, no. She didn’t see anyone. Could be an overanxious imagination, especially after finding the body. Still, you never know. People have been known to fake grief and shock.”
“Did you get her boss’s name?”
Inman glanced down at his open notebook. “It’s here somewhere.”
Tyler turned his gaze to the living area, feeling an emotional pull deep within him. Usually he didn’t allow his feelings to come into play during an investigation. This case seemed different. Perhaps because her father had been a neighbor. The close proximity might have triggered a familiarity of sorts. Or maybe because she’d lost her father. Tyler could relate. Still, he hadn’t expected the swell of empathy he felt for her.
“Here it is.” Inman stepped closer and pointed to his notebook. “Ms. York works as a speechwriter for Senator Kingsley.”
Any warmth Tyler had sensed disappeared, replaced with a chilling memory of a man from his past.
“Senator Drake Kingsley?” Ty asked.
Inman nodded. “That’s right. You know the name?”
Worse than that, Tyler knew the man—a man he would never forget and never forgive. Drake Kingsley had killed his father, yet he’d never been charged for the crime.
TWO
Carrie’s head throbbed and her mouth felt dry as cotton. Officer Reynolds appeared oblivious of her discomfort and continued to ask questions that seemed to have no bearing on the terrible crime that had happened tonight.
“Has Senator Kingsley had attacks against his person?” he asked. “Or have there been attacks on anyone with whom you work?”
“Not that I know of, but I don’t see how what happens in Washington could have bearing on a soldier’s murder in rural Georgia.”
“Yes, ma’am, but I just want to cover every base.”
“Bases as in baseball, Officer Reynolds, or the investigation?”
He looked peeved, which was exactly how she felt. Peeved and tired and more than a little frightened to think of what had occurred just outside her window while she slept. She’d never expected following the trail to her estranged father would hurl her into a murder investigation.
If she wasn’t so confused, she would cry, but that wouldn’t solve the problem at hand, namely to answer the officer’s questions. Plus, she didn’t want to appear weak. She’d been living alone long enough to know she had to rely on her own wherewithal. A lesson that had been one of the few good things she’d learned from her mother.
Not what she wanted to bring the memory of her deceased mother into the upheaval tonight.
“I’m sorry,” Carrie said with a sigh. “My rudeness was uncalled for, to say the least.”
“I know this must be hard for you, ma’am, but if you can endure a few more questions.”
Which she did until her head felt as if it were ready to explode. She glanced at the leather-bound Bible on the side table, the stack of devotionals and religious texts on a nearby shelf and a plaque that read As for Me and My House, We Will Serve the Lord. All of which made her wonder if she had stumbled into the wrong house. How could she be so closely related to a man she didn’t even know?
Exhausted and exasperated, she finally held up both hands as if in submission. “If you don’t mind, I need a glass of water.”
“Certainly. Why don’t we take a break?” Officer Reynolds acted as if pausing had been his idea. “Officer Phillips will probably want to talk to you later.”
She sighed. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll pass that on, but I’m fairly confident he’ll have additional questions.”
“Of course, he will.” She stood, her gaze flicking to the man in the foyer wearing the navy jacket. He and Officer Inman were whispering as if they were talking about her.
Turning back to Reynolds, she asked, “May I bring you something? Water? Coffee?”
“No, thank you, ma’am. I’m fine.” He closed his notebook and pointed to the door. “I’ll step outside for a bit while you relax.”
As if she could with so many police officers swarming over her father’s property. Hurrying into the kitchen, she ran water in a tall glass and drank greedily, hoping to slake her thirst as well as the headache. She arched her shoulders to ease the tension climbing up her neck and glanced out the window at the neighboring brick ranch.
George Gates, her father’s lawyer, had mentioned the army man who lived next door. She’d seen him come home earlier, when she fixed a cup of tea and nibbled on the chicken salad croissant the lawyer had been kind enough to have waiting in the fridge for her.
Tall and well built with short dark hair and a thick neck, the neighbor had US Army written all over him. Hard to mistake a guy who looked that all-American. She hadn’t expected to see him walking across the front lawn earlier in his CID windbreaker. Now he was waiting for her in the foyer.
Did he even have jurisdiction this far from post? As much as she didn’t want to answer any more questions, she didn’t have a choice. Placing the glass on the counter with a sigh, she then returned to the living room.
Reynolds and Inman had left the house, leaving the younger cop guarding the door and the army guy standing in the entryway. She extended her hand and walked to meet him. “Carolyn York. My friends call me Carrie.”
“Tyler Zimmerman. I’m a special agent with the Criminal Investigation Division at Fort Rickman. The CID is involved because the victim was military.”
His handshake was firm and confident.
“Fort Rickman is where my father was last stationed,” she stated in case he wasn’t aware of her father’s military past.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand you just arrived in Freemont.”
She nodded. “A little before five and in time to talk to my father’s lawyer briefly. Mr. Gates asked me to return to his office in the morning to discuss my father’s estate, but—” She spread her hands and looked out the window. “I’m not sure if everything will settle down by then.”
“I understand your concern, Ms. York.”
She tried to smile. “Carrie, please. Since we’re neighbors.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
Had she revealed too much? “The lawyer mentioned that someone from the CID was my father’s neighbor,” she quickly explained. “I put two and two together. You do live next door?”
“That’s correct.” He motioned toward the living room. “Shall we sit down? I know you’ve answered a lot of questions already, but I’d like to hear your take on what happened.”
She settled onto the couch while he pulled a straight-back chair close. Mr. Zimmerman seemed to be a man of few words with no interest in social niceties that could take the edge off the tension hovering in the air. She wouldn’t make another mistake by trying to be neighborly.
As much as she struggled to remain stoic, a picture of what she’d seen played through her mind again.
The gaping wound, the bloody ground—
She dropped her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, but I...I can’t get the image—”
“The man in the field?” the special agent filled in.
Pulling in a ragged breath, she glanced up and nodded. “The memory keeps flashing through my mind.”
“Which is understandable.” He hesitated a long moment, before asking, “What alerted you to go outside, ma’am?”
“It was Bailey.” The dog lay by the chair where she had sat earlier. Hearing his name, he trotted to her side.
“I had let him out a little before midnight,” she explained. “When he hadn’t returned, I must have fallen back to sleep.”
She rubbed the dog’s neck, finding comfort in his nearness. “At some po
int, Bailey started barking. I went outside to get him, thinking he’d found an animal.”
Mentally she retraced her steps, seeing again the mound that had turned into a man. “I never expected to find a dead body.”
“Did you see anyone else or hear anything?”
“Footsteps behind me when I ran back to the house. I locked the door and called 911.”
“After you made the call, did you hear or see anyone outside?”
“No, and I was too afraid to pull back the curtain. The only sounds were the sirens.”
“Could you describe what you saw when you discovered the victim?”
“Blood, a military uniform, boots. At first, I thought he might have tripped and fallen. When I saw his face, I...I knew he...he was dead.” Her hand touched her throat in the exact place the soldier’s had been cut. “The wound was—”
She dropped her hand into her lap and worried her fingers. “I can’t describe it.”
“But you saw no one the entire time you were outside the house.”
“That’s correct.”
“How did you learn of your father’s death, Ms. York?”
“George Gates called five days ago with the news. That’s when I learned Sergeant Major Harris was my father.”
The agent glanced up from his notes. “Sorry?”
“I thought my father had died soon after I was born.”
“Why did you think that?”
“My parents weren’t married. My mother evidently fabricated a version of what had happened.”
“She told you he had died?”
“That’s correct. In a covert black ops mission.”
The special agent narrowed his gaze. “And you believed her?”
Carrie bristled. “Don’t children usually believe their mothers?”
A swath of color reddened his cheek as if he were embarrassed by his lack of sensitivity. “So you grew up not knowing Sergeant Major Harris was your father?”
“My mother told me my father’s last name was Harrison, probably to keep me from learning the truth. I searched through military channels when I was in college, but the army disavowed having a record of a Jeffrey Harrison from Radcliff, Kentucky.” She glanced up at the tall ceiling and crown molding, thinking of the lie her mother had perpetuated for too many years. Lowering her gaze, she focused on the photo of a muscular man in uniform. The name tag on his chest read Harris. “Now I find out my father lived in Georgia.”
“What did your mother say after Mr. Gates notified you of the sergeant major’s death?”
“My mother died three years ago of a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry.”
Carrie had grieved deeply for her mother, but she wasn’t sure how she felt now. After the phone call from Gates, she’d been numb and confused. Since then, the word betrayal had come to mind, although she knew her mother wasn’t totally to blame for the disinformation she had passed on to Carrie. Surely the sergeant major bore some of the guilt, as well.
She hugged her arms, suddenly cold and overcome with fatigue. Once again, the line of questioning seemed to have digressed off track.
“Mr. Zimmerman,” she said with a sigh. “I have no idea what is going on here. My father supposedly died from an accidental fall ten days ago. Finding another military man dead on his property tonight has me wondering if something suspect could be underfoot.”
The agent leaned in closer. “Like what?”
She shrugged. “You tell me. Was my father involved in some nefarious or illegal operation?”
“Do you think he was?”
“I have no idea. According to his lawyer, Jeffrey Harris stipulated in his will that I was not to be notified of his death until after his burial. Mr. Gates presumed that my father didn’t want me to feel coerced to attend his funeral. I must admit that I question my father’s logic. It seems strange that he would be considerate of a daughter he’d never tried to contact.”
Giving voice to what troubled her the most about her father brought even more unease to her already-troubled heart. Why hadn’t her father wanted a relationship with his only child?
She glanced at the fireplace with its wide hearth and sturdy oak mantel and shook her head to ward off the hot tears that burned her eyes. She usually could control her emotions. Tonight was different. More than anything, she didn’t want to seem needy in front of the agent with the penetrating eyes and questioning gaze. “I feel like I’m drowning, as you might imagine. No buoy or life preserver in sight.”
“Ms. York...uh, Carrie, I’m sure things will sort themselves out over the next few days. How long do you plan to stay in Freemont?”
“I’m not sure. Mr. Gates mentioned that someone is interested in buying the property. He encouraged me to sell, and initially, I had planned to put the house on the market as soon as possible.”
“And now?” the CID agent asked.
“Now I’m not sure.”
“Then you plan to stay?”
“No.” She didn’t know what she planned to do. “I have a job in DC, but I can work here for a period of time. I’m sure the police won’t want me to leave the area.”
“Not until the investigation is over,” he confirmed.
“Then that settles the problem. I’m forced to stay, although I’m concerned about safety issues with a man dead in the backyard. Still, I’ll remain here, at least until the ceremony downtown.”
“I’m unaware of any ceremony.”
“Honoring veterans from the local area. Mr. Gates said a plaque with my father’s name and years in service will be added to the War Memorial and unveiled at the end of the month. I’ll stay until then.”
“And if the investigation is still ongoing?”
Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “Eventually I’ll have to return to my job.”
“You work for Drake Kingsley?”
“That’s right. I’m his speechwriter.”
“Do you believe everything you write in his speeches?”
The personal nature of the question surprised her as much as the sudden hard edge to his voice.
Any residual tears instantly dried. “What does that mean?”
“He’s not a friend of the military.”
“Senator Kingsley is a good man.” With a big heart, she almost added.
“If that’s what you believe, then he’s got you fooled.”
The door opened, and Inman stepped into the foyer. “Officer Phillips needs to see you, sir.”
The special agent pushed out of the chair and stood. “Excuse me, ma’am. I have work to do.”
He turned on his heel and followed Inman outside, leaving her alone, except for Bailey and the young cop who stood guard at the door.
Recalling the special agent’s curt tone and abrasive comment, she felt her heart pounding. The senator had been like a father to her over the past eighteen months that she’d worked for him. Demanding at times, but he was also generous with his praise, and her writing had improved under his tutelage.
Why would Special Agent Zimmerman be so antagonistic toward a noted public servant who played such an important role in her life? The senator had changed a few of her speeches over the months to tone down her exuberant support for the military. She had never purposefully maligned anyone in uniform, nor would she ever do so. The special agent didn’t understand that she was a paid employee on Kingsley’s staff and had to comply with his requests in regard to his talks.
Evidently Mr. Zimmerman was unaware of the number of people Carrie admired, all dedicated men and women who were serving in the military. She—and indeed, the entire nation—was indebted to their sacrifice.
Admittedly Senator Kingsley had been somewhat vocal in his disregard of those in uniform in private settings, and she had heard him say that the military wasn’t to be trusted, but that was the senator’s belief and not hers.
Unlike Kingsley, she was wholeheartedly pro-military.
Except she did wonder about the special agent ne
ighbor. Not because he was in the army, but because he lived next to a murder scene and had so quickly appeared on site. Was it purely coincidental?
Carrie needed to be careful until she knew if the CID agent was trustworthy or someone to watch.
* * *
Tyler left the house and descended the porch steps to where Officer Phillips stood on the sidewalk, cell phone at his ear. Disconnecting, the cop acknowledged Tyler with a nod.
“The victim’s wallet confirmed Fellows’s name and provided an address.” Phillips pointed into the wooded area behind the Harris home. “A dirt road winds along the rear of the property. The sergeant major kept a trailer in the woods and rented it out. Fellows was his latest tenant. Some of my guys are there now looking for anything that can shed light on his murder.”
Tyler glanced back at the house. “I wonder if Ms. York was aware of the trailer. She plans to talk to her father’s lawyer in the morning.”
“George Gates?” Phillips asked.
“You know him?”
“I know of him,” the cop acknowledged. “His office is just off the square. He’s well thought of in town. Has a pretty wife, a couple kids. The wife is some kind of designer. Works with Realtors by staging the homes that are on the market. All high-end properties.”
“Thanks for the information,” Tyler said. “I’ll pay him a visit in the morning.”
“Doubt he’ll provide anything new.” Phillips smirked. “You know lawyers and client privilege.”
“You’re saying Harris had something to hide?”
“I’m saying you never know about neighbors.” Phillips made a clucking sound as he stared into the wooded area before turning back to Tyler. “Did you ever see Fellows hovering around Harris’s property?”
“Never. But then I’ve haven’t been in Georgia long.”
“Where were you stationed before Rickman?”
