Yellow Ribbons

by Caitlyn Willows

  And was subsequently framed for a murder he didn’t commit? Owens saw him coming from the house. Lani caught herself shaking her head. No one seemed to notice. The sandwiches the men didn’t seem to want minutes ago now held the greatest interest because Jordan grabbed one and started eating, just like Greg. Lani supposed they did so to give them something to do to cover the silence while they ordered their thoughts. Nerine had given them a lot to process.

  Finally, his sandwich eaten, Greg heaved a sigh and leaned back. “We’ll keep this as quiet as we can, Nerine, but this is information the detectives need. If the major didn’t do this, someone else did. Autopsies will eventually support the child isn’t his. In the meantime, they need to broaden their scope and look for other possible suspects.”

  “I do not want this getting out.” She stabbed her finger into the table with such force, the dishes rattled.

  Greg slipped his hand over hers. “Nerine, what’s the bigger sin? To be thought of as a murderer or to be outed as gay?”

  “You have to ask that? We’re military.” She slipped her hand away to reach for her tea. “It’s why I came to you. I need your help. It’s his computer. There was a lot of porn on there before. I can only imagine what’s on there now. Maybe even e-mails from his lover. I can’t risk someone finding that.”

  Jordan cleared his throat. “The detective in charge has released the home to you. If he hasn’t called you, he should soon.”

  “I talked to him a short time ago. I’ve already been to the house. I searched everywhere. I can’t find his computer or his cell phone.”

  “Both could be with any personal effects recovered at the scene.” Lani’s words only brought more tears to Nerine’s eyes.

  “Or in evidence. If this gets out… Once they do those autopsies, they’ll know Mick wasn’t the father of that child. They’ll dig further.”

  “I can’t and won’t remove anything from evidence for you, Nerine.” Greg’s gaze turned cold, a look reserved for wayward marines.

  Nerine reached across the table, but he refused to connect. “You can go there and accept his personal effects for me, can’t you? Can’t you at least find out if the things are there? Help me prepare for the fallout?”

  Lani sympathized. Nerine’s world had caved in. What few military friends she had might snub her once this came out.

  “I’ll look at his personal effects and see if the items are in evidence,” Greg finally replied. “But I won’t accept anything on your behalf, especially in light of his possible innocence. I don’t want anyone to suggest I’ve tampered with evidence.”

  “Thank you.” She pushed out a breath. “After everything we’ve been through, all I want is to be prepared.” Nerine gave Lani a halfhearted smile. “Thanks for the sandwich. I guess I wasn’t that hungry after all. I should get going. I need to let the Seabergs know I’ve got a motel room in town.”

  They stood with her. Nerine wrapped Lani in a hug. “I miss you,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, but…”

  Lani hugged her back. “I understand. I wish I’d been more observant. Maybe I could have helped him.”

  Nerine snorted. “No one could help him. I imagine his new little friend discovered that the hard way. I actually feel sorry for the guy.”

  “Any clue who it was?” Lani asked.

  Something flickered across Nerine’s face. Indecision? Disgust? Finally she replied, “Not a one.”

  Lani was struck with the feeling that Nerine had lied and dreaded that it might be someone they all knew, possibly yet another person associated with PMO. She racked her brain, trying to determine what, if anything, she might have missed over the last six months. To remember if there was any one person Kenyon spent extra time with, or avoided all together. Nothing new came to mind.

  They all filed out the door. Nerine paused shy of her SUV, closed her eyes, and lifted her face into what little warmth the sun provided. The temperature had dropped ten degrees in the last thirty minutes. Dark clouds had breached the battlement of mountains keeping the storm at bay. It wasn’t going to be warming up today. Even Mita’d had enough. She shivered by Lani’s feet, her big eyes cast longingly toward the front door.

  “It’s always so peaceful out here. I could so use a little peace.” Her lips trembled at the attempt of a smile. Without another word, she slipped into her vehicle, waved, and drove away.

  They watched her dust trail filter into nothing.

  “I’m ready whenever you are,” Jordan said.

  “Let’s go.”

  Greg kissed her cheek. “We’ll be back in time for dinner.”

  “Don’t make me wait that long to tell me what you find.”

  He flashed her a smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She fisted his flannel shirt and held him in place for a bigger kiss. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart.” Another kiss and he was gone.

  Lani suddenly didn’t give a damn anymore. She wanted that man who’d walked out the door. Wanted the forever, the dogs, cats, birds, and babies. Some would call her crazy for losing everything because of him. What no one realized was that Greg was everything. Well, they were about to find out. All Lani had to do was figure out how to resign her commission without compromising Greg in the process.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I’m open to suggestions.” Jordan flexed his shoulders for the umpteenth time.

  Greg had never seen anyone fidget so much. It was getting on his nerves. “I can tell you this much… If you don’t stop rutchin’ and start concentrating on the road, I’m going to make you pull off so I can drive.”

  “Sorry,” Jordan muttered. “Nervous energy. Frustration. There’s no way they’re going to let us look at evidence.”

  Greg knew that, despite his connections. Jordan stood a better chance without him.

  “At this point, I’m beginning to wonder if the boogeyman is responsible for these murders.” Jordan snorted. “What are the odds we’re actually going to find Kenyon’s mystery lover?”

  Greg wouldn’t take bets. He had his suspicions, once he’d heard Kenyon was gay. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to out Lieutenant Cornwall…yet. Greg sifted through his recent conversations with the man and Cornwall’s reaction to Kenyon’s death. There was nothing over-the-top or out of the ordinary, except Cornwall confiding his orientation. If they’d been lovers, Cornwall would have been more upset over his death. Unless he’d been present when it happened, made it happen.

  Greg considered the size of the two men. Kenyon out-bulked Cornwall in height and weight. Greg couldn’t see Cornwall wrestling Kenyon to the floor and pouring liquor and sleeping pills down his throat. Kenyon would have won that battle. But not if he was passed out.

  “Fuck.” He rubbed his aching neck. “Let’s break this down. The one thing that ties all the murders together is those yellow ribbons. Someone with knowledge of all three crime scenes is involved, whether as the original murderer or as a copycat.”

  Jordan flicked up his thumbs in agreement but maintained hold on the wheel. “That brings us back to the list and who knew the names on it.”

  They’d narrowed that down to Pattison, Juarez, and Seaberg. “Motive? Because I got nothing.”

  Jordan chewed on that one for several miles.

  “All right,” Greg broke the interminable silence. “Here’s what else we know. The first two murders are directly related. Someone who killed Tipton and Whittaker either framed Kenyon, or Kenyon was the killer and then killed himself.”

  “Why?”

  Fuck if I know. “Maybe Tipton and Kenyon were lovers.” Because that was sure a hell of a lot easier than suggesting Cornwall at this point. “He thought Tipton and Regina were lovers and went off in a jealous rage.” Or Nerine could have it all wrong, and they were back to their original suppositions.

  “Lance Corporal Owens saw Kenyon leave the house in bloody clothes. Albeit, in a secret manner that didn’t leave footprints or a trail.”


  “According to detectives on the scene: Juarez, who got there shortly after you with a chip on his shoulder, and Pattison, who was too proud to admit everything needed a second look.”

  “Whoa.” Jordan raised his palm. “I was on the scene.”

  Yes, about that. “Why? Where was Pattison? Why not go through regular channels? More importantly, why did you jump at the chance?”

  Jordan jerked his head Greg’s way. “Are you suggesting I had something to do with this?”

  Scary as it sounded, it seemed as logical a conclusion as anything else they’d come up with. If it were true, that made Greg the stupidest person in the world for being in the car with him. “Is it any different than you suspecting me?”

  Jordan whipped to a stop on the shoulder, shooting up tiny rocks and sand in his haste. “I responded to Pattison’s request because he’s a friend and fellow law enforcement officer!”

  “There’s no such thing as friends when it comes to murder.” And Greg still didn’t feel the least bit guilty in tossing Jordan’s words back in his face again.

  “Touché.” Jordan rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “I don’t have an alibi. I don’t have an excuse for why I rallied to his call for help. I guess I thought…” He pulled upright. “I don’t know what the hell I thought. So…” He turned Greg’s way. “Okay, Seaberg, Juarez, and Pattison are at the top of the suspect list, for lack of better options.”

  “Only because they’re the only other people who knew who was on the yellow ribbon list.” Flimsy at best. Greg knew they were grasping at straws. Jordan knew it too. “Let’s head to Major Kenyon’s house first and take a look around before we jump to further conclusions. I know Nerine was already there, but maybe we’ll catch a break.” They sure as hell needed one, and their chances of finding something at the Kenyon house were a little better than the futile attempt to view evidence in lockup.

  “I suppose you intend to pick the lock?” Jordan asked.

  “I could.” Although he didn’t have his tools with him. “I know where Major Kenyon keeps the spare key. I saw it hanging behind one of the eaves on their back porch last summer during a barbecue.”

  “You and probably a dozen other people.” Jordan drew a deep breath and pulled onto the road once more. “That opened up a host of possibilities. I feel like I’ve screwed up right and left lately.”

  For a perfectionist, it was a hard reality to swallow. Greg knew that all too well. “Best you can do is chalk it up to a learning experience and move on.” A thought occurred to him. He doubted Jordan would appreciate him mentioning it, but… “All bullshit aside, what was the very first thought that ran through your mind when Pattison called for your help that night? Quick answer. Now.”

  A grimace twitched his mouth. “That I’d get the chance to see Lani that night, work with her, be with her, maybe get her alone for once. Second thought was that I’d finally have something more interesting to work on than the latest rash of government property thefts. So, I called you to cover my tracks, thinking you lived too far out to come all the way in and would pass it off to her. I’d been dancing around her for months, trying to find the courage and a break in our schedules.”

  Greg felt for the guy. “I’ve been told—though I don’t like it—that we males can only truly focus on one goal at a time. We see what we want and go after it, putting everything else on the back burner. Maybe you were so focused on Lani, you neglected to notice anything else.” He lifted his hand when Jordan drew breath to deny it. “I say that because I’ve been so focused these last few days on the fear of losing her, I’ve neglected to notice much else.”

  “Well, that path’s clear now.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “All the good ones…”

  “You’ll find someone. Probably where you least expect it.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  They passed the remainder of the drive in silence. Greg tried to focus on solving the murders, but his thoughts kept wandering to his future with Lani. She hadn’t said yes to his marriage proposal. Greg couldn’t blame her caution. What he’d proposed was risky, and she stood to lose a lot for him. He’d wait as long as it took to have them together without repercussions. First thing tomorrow morning, he was going to start the ball rolling on his retirement package. It was time. He was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life, tired of bullshit politics, tired of living his life on hold awaiting orders. Though his love for Lani prompted the decision, Greg knew it’d been a long time coming. He needed this for them. More importantly, he needed this for himself. For his own peace of mind.

  “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  Greg blinked into awareness. They’d arrived at the Kenyon home to find Juarez exiting his vehicle. The miles had fallen away while he’d been lost in thought.

  The detective walked up to the driver’s side when Jordan pulled to a stop in the driveway. “What are you doing here?”

  “We were wondering the same thing of you.” Jordan cut the engine and pushed open the door.

  Greg exited the passenger side and braced his hands on his hips. It gave him quick access to the handgun holstered to his lower back if it came to that. Juarez was, after all, one of their three remaining suspects for the moment. Greg wasn’t willing to take any chances.

  Juarez cast a puzzled frown toward the house. “Something doesn’t add up. Pattison and I went back to the primary murder scene yesterday afternoon and couldn’t find anything to substantiate Lance Corporal Owens’s statement. Pattison said there were no footprints up against the side of the Whittaker house. From the amount of yard debris piled up, I’d say it hasn’t been touched since Captain Whittaker deployed. Pattison released the scene. Told me he was doing the same with this place. That there was no sense wasting more time on what was a cut-and-dried case, especially since you’d determined it wasn’t related to the murder on base.”

  Juarez shoved his hand into his pocket. Greg slipped his hand to the gun grip, then relaxed when Juarez pulled a ring of keys from his pocket.

  “I pulled these from Kenyon’s personal effects. I’ve pretty much been a fuckup since I transferred up here. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. My wife left me. My kids hate me. My reputation is shit. I’ve had it. All this crap opened my eyes. I tried to not care, but I do. I can’t let this go. Pattison didn’t investigate this scene at all. He’s relying on Owens’s statement and circumstantial evidence. Not on my watch.” He jingled the keys. “And you?”

  Greg relaxed his stance. “Mrs. Kenyon was here earlier, looking for his laptop and cell phone. She couldn’t find either, so we thought we’d take a look. Unless they’re among his personal effects?”

  “No. All that was logged in was the wallet, keys, and pocket change, and that’s all I saw. Only evidence collected was the bloody clothes, an empty vodka bottle, and the empty bottle of sleeping pills.”

  The image of Kenyon sprawled on his living room floor played across Greg’s mind. He should have looked closer, despite the shock. Now nothing made sense. “He was found in his boxers. What personal effects could he possibly have had on him? The man never took a piss without his cell phone, though, and it’s not in his things?” Like percent of the people Greg knew, Major Kenyon had been surgically attached to his cell phone. It was always a hand’s grasp away.

  “I checked out the coroner’s photos. All his pocket junk was on the coffee table. Maybe the phone’s in the couch or under it.” Juarez frowned at the house. “Let’s glove up and take a look.”

  They slipped on nitrile gloves from Jordan’s stash in the trunk, then Juarez led the way to the front door.

  Greg aimed for the backyard. “I’m going to make sure the spare key is where it should be.” It was, neatly woven in place by a fat black widow spider. No one had touched the key in months. Another possibility gone. If Kenyon’s death wasn’t suicide, he knew his killer and had let that person in. Greg left the key alone and hurried around front to catch up wit
h the others.

  Jordan and Juarez stood inside the front door, adjusting to the smell. Kenyon’s remains were gone, but the stench of eliminated bodily fluids lingered. He hated that Nerine had walked in to this.

  Juarez scanned the open living area from where they stood at the conjunction of the living room, dining room, and kitchen. “It’s pretty clear nothing’s been checked in this house. There’s nothing in evidence, and not a speck of fingerprint dust anywhere. There’s no dust anywhere. I’ve never seen a house so meticulous.”

  “Major Kenyon was obsessively neat, somewhat anal retentive.” A place for everything and everything in its place.

  “Everything always lined up in his office.” Jordan’s eyes scrunched. “I don’t understand. What in the world could have set him off so much that he hacked two people to death? It seems out of character.”

  “So does suicide,” Greg muttered. “I can’t imagine that someone like Kenyon would willingly allow himself to be found dead in a puddle of his own waste. A man like Kenyon doesn’t dump his pockets on the coffee table.”

  “Listen to us. A man like Kenyon isn’t messy. A man like Kenyon doesn’t murder two people. A man like Kenyon wouldn’t commit suicide. And yet…” Jordan waved his arms to encompass the room. “He’s distraught. He’d just killed two people. Out of character, yes, but not impossible. He’d dumped the bloody clothes on the laundry room floor. There’s nothing tidy about that.”

  Juarez’s gaze swept the room. For the first time in his experience with the man, Greg could see the wheels turning in his head. He didn’t know if he appreciated Jordan’s insight or resented it. Coming here was a mistake. Seeing where Kenyon died, remembering the sight of his body sprawled on the floor…

  Greg closed his eyes. Thinking about it still made him sick inside.

  “We’ll start from where he was discovered and work our way out.” Greg wanted to be anywhere but there, just like he hadn’t wanted to be there the day they’d found him. He tried to distance himself emotionally, tried to keep himself objective and logical. But each place they looked, his mind churned to what might have been in Kenyon’s head those last hours, the anger that had propelled him to kill two people, the desperation that made him kill himself, or the fear and helplessness when he realized he’d been framed and he’d let a murderer into his home. Somewhere in all that, they’d find the truth. Or maybe it had always been staring Greg in the face, and he didn’t want to see it.