Oath of Honor

by Lynette Eason

  “Of course,” Mrs. Gill said, leading them into a recently renovated den. Hardwoods gleamed around the edges of the large oriental rug and the smell of paint hung faintly in the air. “Would you like anything to drink?”

  Ryan declined.

  “I’m fine,” Izzy said.

  Charice shook her head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

  Once they were all seated, Izzy and Ryan on the love seat, Charice in the chair by the fireplace, and the Gills on the long couch against the far wall, Mrs. Gill clasped her husband’s hand and studied Ryan. “Marshall?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Any relation to the young officer who was killed?” she asked.

  “My brother.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How terrible.”

  Ryan cleared his throat and nodded. “Thank you.”

  She turned her attention to Izzy and Charice. “Now, what’s this all about?”

  Izzy leaned forward. “There was a crime committed at a warehouse last night.”

  “We saw it on the news.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Izzy said, her voice slightly husky. She cleared her throat. “During our investigation, we came across your son’s name on the purchase of the warehouse.”

  “Jonathan?”

  “Yes.”

  Mr. Gill frowned. “But how is that possible? He’s been dead for almost two years.”

  “And the building was sold just shortly after his death. Two months after, to be exact.”

  Mrs. Gill’s gaze bounced between the three of them. “But, I don’t understand. He never owned a warehouse that I know of.”

  “Well, the paperwork says he did,” Izzy said, her tone mild. “Or does. Do you know who Tony Bianchi is?”

  “No.” She didn’t flinch or even blink when she answered. Her husband answered negatively as well. Charice had already informed them in the car that she’d found nothing to indicate a connection between the Gills and Bianchi. Not even something as small as using the same bank or attending the same church.

  Ryan had no reason to suspect they were lying. If they were, they belonged on the big screen.

  Frustration mounted. How were they supposed to connect Gill to Bianchi? Or was there a connection at all? But there had to be. How did a dead man sell a building two months after his death?

  Mrs. Gill shrugged. “Who is Tony Bianchi?”

  Charice rubbed her chin. “A career criminal, but forget that for a moment. Let’s go at this from a different direction. I know this is painful and I apologize, but when Jonathan died, who inherited all of his assets?”

  “His father and I did.” She cleared her throat and a sheen of tears appeared briefly in her eyes before she blinked them away. “He wasn’t married and …”

  Her husband picked up the explanation. “Jonathan wrote a will before he left for Afghanistan and made sure his mother and I were on the safe-deposit box where he kept all of his important documents and such.”

  “And there was nothing in there about a deed to a warehouse?” Charice asked.

  Mr. Gill shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Izzy frowned and looked at Charice, who shared the frown. Ryan shifted and sent a text to Izzy. He had questions he wanted answered but didn’t want to be the one asking them. She glanced at her phone, then gave him a nod.

  “Mrs. Gill,” Izzy said, “the whole point of this visit is that we’re trying to figure out how a warehouse in Jonathan’s name ended up being sold two months after he died. That’s all.”

  “I really don’t know.” The lines in her forehead deepened. “But for some reason, I keep coming back to the name Marshall,” she said. “That’s so familiar.” She hesitated, then stood and walked over to the desk in the corner of the room. “There’s a picture here, somewhere …” She looked back over her shoulder at Ryan. “You remind me of him. He was military, too, like Jonathan.” One drawer opened, then closed. Another drawer opened. “Ah, here we go.” She studied the photograph, then let her gaze rove back over Ryan’s face. “Yes, there are differences, but you look very similar.”

  Ryan held out a hand. “Who?”

  Mrs. Gill crossed the room and handed the picture to him. “I believe his name was Chris, but I may have it wrong. It’s been almost two years.”

  Ryan looked down at the picture and the air left his lungs. For a moment, all he could do was stare at the two men in the photo. They were sitting at the kitchen table, laughing. Chris had his head thrown back in that carefree way that had been more obvious when he was a teen. Ryan didn’t remember seeing Chris laugh like that since enlisting. And then he’d died …

  Ryan cleared his throat and passed the picture to Izzy, who looked at it. She lifted her gaze to his. “How … ?”

  “You’re right. His name is Chris Marshall,” Ryan told the Gills. “He’s my brother who was killed in Afghanistan a year and a half ago. There were only two men in that unit who didn’t die that day.” He took the picture from Izzy and studied it one more time. “But Jonathan wasn’t in Chris’s unit. So how did they meet? What was he doing there?” Charice shot him a “shut up” look and Ryan snapped his lips together.

  Mrs. Gill shrugged. “As far as I know they were just hanging out. There was another young man as well, but I can’t remember his name for the life of me. Richard? Rowen?” She sighed. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember. I only met him the one time, but I got the feeling Jonathan had met both of them recently.”

  “You don’t have a picture of him?” Charice asked.

  “No. I just snapped that one of those two. They looked so happy, without a care in the world.” She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure where the other man went, but he wasn’t in the kitchen at that time. I cherish that picture. It’s how I want to remember Jonathan.”

  “Of course. I can’t believe I never heard Chris mention Jonathan,” Ryan murmured.

  She shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t think they knew each other very long. They had met at some charity dinner—a fundraiser for veterans—and hit it off. I think your brother was getting ready to head off overseas in the next month or so. Anyway, they came here for the long weekend in May to go hiking, and I know they spent a lot of time talking, but I really didn’t pay that much attention, to be honest.” Sadness clouded her eyes. “I wish I had now. I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Ryan studied the picture again. “He looks so happy,” he murmured.

  “They were laughing about a funny story Chris told.”

  Ryan looked up. “Probably the time he got roped into dancing with his CO’s wife.”

  “Oh my. That sounds interesting.”

  A slight smile curved his lips in spite of the grief he could never shake when talking about his brother. Now brothers. “And intimidating. Chris hated dancing. He was lousy at it and his unit promised him that if he came to the dance, he wouldn’t have to do anything but be there. They insisted that they were a team and if he didn’t show, he was breaking up the team. Chris reluctantly agreed, and when they arrived, Mrs. Pitts decided there wouldn’t be any wallflowers on her watch. She pulled him onto the dance floor and proceeded to school him in ballroom dancing. Chris was sure her feet were never the same after that night.”

  Ryan remembered the first time Chris had told him that story. He’d been home for Christmas and they’d sat out on his parents’ front porch to catch up. His brother had been mortified, but big enough to recognize it for what it was. A funny incident that made for a great laugh.

  After the fact, of course.

  Mrs. Gill smiled. “I don’t remember what story he told, but there was a lot of laughter that weekend. Like they did that on purpose.”

  “I’d like to know who the other person was,” Izzy said.

  Charice nodded. “So would I.” She looked at the two. “Anything else you can tell us? Any small detail at all that you think may be insignificant, but stood out to you?”

  The Gills exchanged a glance, then shook their hea
ds together. “No,” Mr. Gill said, “I can’t think of a thing. There was nothing extraordinary about that weekend. I wasn’t even here that much. I’m an ER nurse and was working a double that weekend, I do remember that much. I was mad because I wanted to be home with my son while he was here.” He shrugged. “But the flu was running rampant and I didn’t have much choice but to go to work.”

  “Right. Not every job is nine to five.” Ryan stood.

  “Wait a minute,” Mrs. Gill said. “I don’t know if this means anything, but …”

  “But what?” Izzy asked.

  “After Jonathan was killed, we went to his apartment to gather his things and close it up. And … there was something odd about it.”

  Charice leaned forward. “What was that?”

  “Someone had been there recently. Nothing was out of place except there was a coffee cup in the trash can and it still had coffee in it.”

  “Why would that be odd?” Izzy said.

  “Because Jonathan had been gone for a month at this point. Before he died, we’d go by and check on his place every so often and we never left trash there, for sure. When I picked up the cup, it was still just a tad bit warm.”

  Charice frowned. “That is odd. And you have no idea who it could have been? Someone who had a key and thought they’d help Jonathan out by checking on his place? Maybe a girlfriend who was missing him and went by to feel closer to him by visiting his home?”

  “No, nothing like that. But the place was locked up tight when we got there. It’s not like the door was left open or anything. And like I said, nothing was out of place or disturbed. Just the coffee cup. It bothered me greatly at the time and I thought about calling the police, but”—she shrugged—“like I said, there really wasn’t anything to report. But I’ve never forgotten that—or stopped wondering about who it could have been and why.”

  Charice’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen and frowned. “I need to take this. Excuse me, please.” She stepped into the foyer and Ryan could hear her low voice, but not the words.

  Izzy nodded to Mrs. Gill. “That might be pretty significant. We’ll look into it. Again, thank you for your time.”

  “Of course.”

  The couple escorted the three of them to the door and Charice followed, ending her call.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Izzy said to the woman.

  “And yours,” Mrs. Gill said. She hugged Ryan. “Very sorry for yours as well. Two brothers. I can’t imagine the pain your poor mother is going through. The pain you’re all going through.” She shook her head, sorrow radiating from her. “You’re in my prayers from this moment on.”

  “Yes. It’s definitely a beast.” Ryan swallowed against the lump that wanted to form in his throat. “Thank you for the prayers.”

  “If we think of anything else, we’ll call,” Mr. Gill said.

  Charice handed him a card. “That would be great.”

  The door shut with a quiet snick behind them. “Well,” Ryan said. “That was interesting.”

  They made their way to the SUV and climbed in. Ryan let Charice drive. “What do you think about that? Jonathan and Chris?” she asked.

  Ryan shrugged. “Chris was very involved in that charity for veterans. The Forgotten Warriors. That must be the charity event Mrs. Gill was talking about where he and Jonathan met.”

  “But what about the third guy?”

  Ryan sighed and rubbed his head. “I don’t know, and I don’t know how to find out. We might never know now.”

  “Maybe not,” Izzy said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “His mother said they were all part of that charity dinner. We have the weekend that it took place. All of those kinds of functions have a professional photographer. It shouldn’t be hard to track that person down. What if we got pictures from it and started looking to see who was there? See if you recognize anyone.”

  Ryan turned in the passenger seat to capture her gaze. “That’s good thinking.” It bothered him that he hadn’t thought of it himself. Was his head that messed up because of all of the emotional hits he’d had lately? He sure hoped not.

  She smiled. “Thanks. It might be like looking for the proverbial needle, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “I’ll text David now and see if he can help us track down some pictures. But I don’t think I’d recognize anyone.”

  “No, maybe not. You probably need to find someone who knew both Jonathan and Chris and the people they knew,” Izzy said. “Maybe someone in their units.”

  Ryan gave a slow nod. “I know exactly who to call for help.” Lee Filmore would be next on his list.

  Ryan spent the rest of the ride back to the office texting David. He’d also left a message for Lee to call him when he got a chance. Charice had just finished taking a call.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  “They finally found an address for Spencer Elmore, the dead guy from the warehouse.”

  “And?”

  “They didn’t find much, not even a laptop or a tablet. He lived in a squatty little apartment in a government housing project, but he did have over three hundred grand in the bank.”

  “Smart,” Ryan said. “No one would ever suspect it. He wasn’t living above his means and could sock it away until he had enough to just disappear.”

  “Only he didn’t live long enough to enjoy it,” Izzy said.

  Ryan shrugged. “It’s a dangerous occupation hanging out with Bianchi. You take your chances.”

  “Right. They’re still looking for anything that will give them a hint of where to look next for him,” Charice said. “They’ll be thorough and I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

  “Perfect.” Hope sprouted. Maybe they’d figure this out before too much longer.

  All he knew was that Bianchi was partly responsible for Kevin’s death and Ryan would see him pay for it. One way or another.

  Back at the station, Charice went inside and Ryan snagged Izzy’s hand. “Let’s get some food and take a look at Kevin’s phone.”

  “It’s at my house,” she said.

  “I’ll drive.”

  10

  2:00 P.M.

  Izzy climbed in his SUV and Ryan drove to the nearest fast-food restaurant that also offered healthier options. “What do you want?”

  “A cheeseburger all the way and large fries.”

  “Wow. Wasn’t expecting that one.”

  She shrugged. “It’s two o’clock. I’m hungry.” She usually stuck to the healthier stuff, but not today.

  Once they had the food, she dug into the fries, passing him some as he drove. “What did David say about tracking down the photographer?” she asked.

  “Said he didn’t think it would take him very long.”

  “Is he doing okay? David, I mean?”

  “I think so, why?”

  She shrugged. “We’re kind of asking a lot of him lately.”

  “It’s his job.”

  “I know, but we’re asking him to put other stuff aside to rush our needs through. I’m feeling a little guilty.”

  “Yeah.” He fell silent and continued to work through her fries. “What about this? He’s a huge Gamecocks fan. Do you think we could get him tickets to the Carolina-Clemson game?”

  “Oh, he’d love that.”

  “I’ll see if I have any strings to pull. Keep it to yourself.”

  “Of course.”

  Ryan was such a considerate guy. Always thinking of others and how to help or how best to do his job. A lot like Kevin. Thinking about Kevin brought back the lump in her throat that never seemed to completely go away. She wished she could just stop thinking, but it seemed like the only thing she could do. Think and see Wednesday night play out over and over in her mind. Think and try to avoid the grief that wouldn’t let go.

  “Iz?”

  With a start she realized they were sitting in her drive. And she held a french fry in the air pointing toward her mouth. “Oh. Sorry.”
She ate the fry and gathered her stuff.

  When they walked inside her home, Mozart greeted them, begging for attention.

  From Ryan.

  “Why does he like you so much?” she asked.

  “He knows a good guy when he meets one,” he said while scratching the dog’s ears.

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  She smiled softly. “You are a good guy, Ryan. You’re definitely one of the rare ones.”

  His eyes narrowed, and a thoughtful look she’d seen on occasion crossed his face. “Thanks, Izzy.”

  “Sure.” She cleared her throat. “Let me just get the phone.”

  “Of course.” Mozart ran in circles around Ryan’s feet. “I’ll just let this dude out.”

  “That would be great. I’ll be right back.”

  Once he and Mozart were outside, Izzy went straight to the nightstand in her bedroom and picked up Kevin’s phone. The blood on it seared her. She couldn’t let Ryan see it like that.

  She took it into the bathroom and retrieved some cotton balls. Soon, she’d scrubbed as much of Kevin’s blood off the device as she could.

  And then she cleaned it again through a fresh bout of tears.

  Finally, she sighed and pressed the home button. New emails appeared on the screen and she swiped one. Which took her to the screen to enter a passcode. He’d used the six-digits code, not the four.

  Great.

  Then she paused. Of course he’d use the six digits. Because his code would be someone’s birthday.

  She tried Kevin’s.

  Two-digit month, two-digit day, two-digit year.

  Nope.

  Ryan’s.

  Her phone rang and he grabbed it from the dresser where she’d set it when she’d walked into the bedroom. “Hello?”

  “Izzy?”

  The hushed voice captured her attention. “Louis?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “The warehouse. Did you set us up?”

  “No!” The word exploded from him in a low hiss. “I swear.”

  He was telling the truth. “How did you know what was going down?”