“Yes, ma’am.” Bakhtiari gave her a slight nod and continued to type. He compared the time on the tape with the time on the sheet of paper, then pushed back his chair, about to hit the arrow to play the tape.
“Can you stand on the other side of the computer?” Owens said.
Bakhtiari looked between the two of them, uncertain of the request.
“In case this becomes evidence, you might have to testify regarding the chain of custody,” Owens said. “I think it best if you also don’t become a witness to what’s on the tape.”
“No problem.” Bakhtiari rose from his seat. “Just press that button to go forward and that one to go back.” He stepped around to the other side of the screen.
Owens sat, surveyed the keyboard for a second, and hit the arrow to start the video. When he did, Tracy hit the stopwatch on her phone.
“What are you doing?” Owens asked.
She kept her voice low. “I want to be sure this tape wasn’t tampered with either.”
On the screen, Al Tulowitsky exited the second office with two plastic waste bins, one for trash and the other for recycling. He emptied them and returned both bins to the office. He then rolled the garbage can to the front door, exiting.
Several minutes passed. Tracy was tempted to hit “Fast Forward.”
“It would take him a minute or two to empty the garbage,” Owens said, eyes locked on the screen.
Another fifteen seconds and someone stepped into the lobby. Owens and Tracy leaned close to the monitor. She felt a rush of adrenaline. It wasn’t Tulowitsky. It was someone dressed in the same baggy, blue-and-gray uniform, the hat squarely on the head, which was turned to the left, away from the camera.
“Holy shit,” Owens said under his breath. “There really is somebody. I—can’t tell who it is. Can you?”
“They know the camera is there,” Tracy said softly. “Whoever it is, they’re avoiding it, avoiding showing their face.”
Owens leaned closer. “Then they work in the building.”
“Or just know where the security camera is,” she said.
“Can you tell if it’s male or female?”
“Not in those uniforms,” Tracy said. “Everyone looks the same.” The angle of the camera also made depth perception difficult.
The person walked down the hall between the two offices to the staircase leading up to the evidence room.
“Play it back,” Tracy said.
Owens did, but even viewing it a second time, Tracy could get very little from the tape.
They let the tape run. Tracy checked the stopwatch on her phone. Four minutes and twenty-four seconds had passed. Then five minutes. Six. At six minutes and forty-two seconds, the uniform returned from down the hall, but again the person kept his or her head lowered so the bill of the cap prevented Tracy from seeing the face in any detail.
“I think it’s a woman,” she said.
“How can you tell?”
“The facial features are soft. The chin.”
Rather than proceed to the front door, the uniform turned quickly into the second office and partially closed the door.
“That explains the first door movement,” Tracy said.
“Anything?” Owens asked.
“Not yet,” Tracy said.
“Could it be Cho?”
“I don’t think so. Cho was more erect in his walk and his features were stronger. It could be Battles or Stanley. They’re about the same height and build.”
At eleven minutes and four seconds, Al Tulowitsky came through the front door carrying the cleaning supplies and the vacuum cleaner.
“Somebody cut about two minutes,” Tracy said. “The tape I have, Tulowitsky is gone for nine minutes.”
“He’s heading for the bathrooms,” Owens said.
Seconds after Tulowitsky exited the reception area, the office door opened and the uniform stepped out.
“There’s the second door movement,” Tracy said.
The uniform moved quickly toward the front entrance, head still down, face still partially obscured by the bill of the cap. Tracy’s heart quickened for just a beat before the image was out the door. “Go back.”
Owens hit the keys and went back. “How far?”
“That’s good there. Can we slow it down frame by frame?” Tracy asked Bakhtiari.
Bakhtiari came around the desk and Owens pushed back his chair to provide him space. Bakhtiari hit a couple of keys, and again departed. Owens pushed the “Forward” button and Tracy leaned closer to the monitor. The uniform came out of the office and walked toward the door one frame at a time. Tracy had her finger on the keyboard as the uniform approached the entrance. She hit the “Stop” key, freezing the frame.
“I know who it is,” she said.
Tracy and Owens exited Bakhtiari’s office, hurrying down the hall to Leah Battles’s office on the same floor. Battles wasn’t there.
Tracy moved quickly to the woman at the reception desk. “I’m looking for Leah Battles,” she said, holding out her shield and ID.
“Can I ask what this is about?” the woman said.
“Make it happen, Petty Officer,” Owens’s friend ordered.
“She left,” the woman said. “She left with the OIC.”
“Rebecca Stanley?” Tracy asked.
The woman nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t.”
“Where’s her office?” Owens asked.
“The OIC? She’s down the hall, first floor.”
Tracy followed Owens and his friend down the hall. Stanley was not in her office. They started back to reception.
“Detective Crosswhite?” Brian Cho stood above them on the stairs, his brow furrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for Leah Battles or Rebecca Stanley. Have you seen either of them?”
Cho nodded. “Earlier today, but they left together about half an hour ago.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“I do,” another woman said. She came out from behind a desk in the hall. “They were going to The Bulkhead, for a drink to celebrate.”
“To celebrate?” Cho sounded skeptical. “More likely to drown their sorrows.”
“Why do you say that?” Tracy asked.
“Because the ethics committee came back with its decision today. They’re recommending a court-martial against Lieutenant Battles.”
CHAPTER 44
Leah Battles stared at the gun in Rebecca Stanley’s hand, though it had not come as a surprise. The gun in Battles’s hand, however, had clearly surprised Stanley. Now they were at what some referred to as a Mexican standoff.
Anticipate your opponent’s moves and be prepared to counter. One of the first rules of competitive chess.
Battles had started to put things together after Stanley indicated that the detective, Tracy Crosswhite, was still involved and seeking the original security tape, despite having the copy from Stanley. Based on Crosswhite’s questions the night the two of them went for coffee, the detective was either pursuing a theory, or had evidence that Trejo had been dealing drugs the night he ran over the kid in Seattle. The logical conclusion, if Crosswhite was seeking the original tape, was that she had reason to believe the copy had been edited. If it had, Stanley, who supplied the tape, was the most likely suspect. Stanley also had access to the building and to the court reporter’s office. She also knew, from her discussions with Battles, the significance of the convenience store video and the likely outcome if that tape went missing. Finally, the invitation to get a drink was out of character.
“You stole the tape that night,” Battles said. She circled to her left as Stanley circled to her right and came farther into the room.
“I had no choice. Like you said, the tape was damning. Trejo would have been convicted.”
“And you edited the DSO security tape so that you wouldn’t be on it. That’s why Crosswhite wanted the original. You’re on the tape?” S
he stepped again to her left.
“I always said you were a good attorney, Leah.” Battles stepped right.
“You should see me play chess.” Battles continued circling. “So you took the tape to get Trejo off, and then you killed him because you couldn’t trust that he’d keep quiet about the heroin.”
Outside the apartment, thunder clapped. Stanley flinched, but Battles resisted the urge to pull the trigger.
“Easy, Captain,” Battles said. Despite outward appearances, Stanley was clearly on edge.
The thunder became a distant rumble but the rain intensified, pecking on the roof and the deck furniture—not rain but pellet-size hail pinging off the table and chairs.
“So why are we here?” Battles asked, trying to keep Stanley talking, looking for any opening to strike and take her gun. She had to get closer. “Trejo’s dead. You have the tape. The ethics investigation isn’t going to be pursued. Why bring me here?”
“Yeah, well—I lied.”
“They intend to pursue it? I figured they would. I didn’t expect anything less of those coneheads.”
“They’ve recommended a court-martial. I told you, chain of command wants someone’s ass.”
“Too bad they’re not going to get it.”
“It isn’t personal, Lee. But we both know the first thing your defense attorney will request is the security tape for the building.”
“And they’d find you on that tape?” Battles said.
“I doubt they could positively identify me. I knew where the camera was located. But . . .”
“You couldn’t take that chance. So if I’m dead, there’s no reason for the hearing. No hearing, no reason for anyone to seek the tape.”
“Simple, really,” Stanley said.
“So what’s in this for you? The drugs?”
Stanley didn’t answer.
“Your back,” Battles said, nearly smiling at the simplicity of it. “You started using after you hurt your back.”
“Heroin was easier to get in Afghanistan than pain medications, and some days it’s the only way I can cope,” Stanley said. “So, you’re an unfortunate problem.”
Battles stepped again to her left. “This isn’t going to be as simple as making Trejo look like he committed suicide.”
Stanley smiled. “Maybe not, but that’s not going to be what happens.”
“No?”
“No.”
“What is going to happen?”
“This time, I’m pretty sure a police detective is going to kill you.”
Tracy followed Owens out the door. She covered her head with her jacket against the hail. The balls were large enough to sting when they hit skin. The windshield was covered with accumulating ice and, inside the car, the glass had again fogged over. Owens turned on the engine and the defroster kicked into high, but it had little impact on the glass. The wiper blades scraped away the balls of ice as Tracy and Owens furiously swiped at the windshield to open a viewing hole.
Owens couldn’t wait. He backed out and drove toward the Charleston Gate. “How do you know it was Stanley?”
“The earrings,” Tracy said. “Stanley wore the same gold stud earrings when we met in her office.”
“I’m betting a lot of women on base wear those earrings,” he said. “And I’m betting regulations are fairly stringent.”
“Battles doesn’t,” Tracy said. “And she and Stanley are the two women with the means and opportunity to get that tape. And, they’re going to court-martial Battles. What do you think would be the first thing Battles’s defense attorney would demand for her defense?”
“The security video,” Owens said.
“And Stanley knows she’s on it.”
“So how do we find them?” Owens asked.
“She’s not going to kill her in a bar,” Tracy said.
“The secretary said The Bulkhead is near Stanley’s apartment across the Manette Bridge. I’d say that’s our first stop.”
“We’re going to need backup.”
“I’ve called in the car make and license number. Uniforms will meet us at the apartment.” He handed a slip of paper to Tracy identifying Stanley’s car type and license plate number. “We check the cars parked outside the bar. If her car isn’t there, we haul ass to her apartment, unless someone calls in that they’ve spotted the car elsewhere.”
Owens drove across the Manette Bridge and took the first exit onto Wheaton Way, pulling quickly into The Bulkhead parking lot. Given the weather, there were just five cars in the parking lot, none Stanley’s. Owens exited the lot and continued toward Stanley’s apartment complex. Minutes later, he pulled into The Crow’s Nest. Patrol cars had not yet arrived.
“That’s her car.” Tracy pointed to a Chevy TrailBlazer parked in one of the spaces.
“Let’s move,” Owens said. “Patrol has to be close behind.”
Owens parked and they both pushed out of the car. Tracy looked in the back of the Chevy TrailBlazer and saw Leah Battles’s bike. “She’s here.”
They made their way toward the glass door entrance and the lobby. “What floor?” Tracy asked.
“Third,” Owens said, viewing a directory and proceeding inside. He ignored the elevator, climbing the stairs two at a time. Tracy was winded just trying to keep up.
On the third floor, Owens exited the stairwell door with his head on a swivel, searching the apartment numbers embossed on brass plates on each door. Stanley’s apartment was to the left. Owens moved quickly down the hall and stopped outside the apartment. Tracy heard voices inside, looked at Owens, and nodded.
Quietly he said, “I’ll kick it in. You go in first and to the right. I got your back.”
Tracy held her Glock muzzle up. “Ready.”
Owens kicked at the door, which was made of cheap materials. It exploded in. Tracy slid into the apartment. To the right was a kitchen. Empty. She slid two steps farther and saw Stanley and Battles holding guns on each other.
“Drop it! Drop the gun! Drop the gun!”
Stanley let the gun slip from her hand onto the carpet, but Battles hesitated.
“Drop it,” Owens said.
Battles too let the gun drop.
Tracy exhaled, rising from her crouch. About to speak, she felt the barrel of John Owens’s Glock 22 press against her temple.
CHAPTER 45
One moment, and it was all over. One moment, and Tracy had arrived in time to keep Rebecca Stanley from pulling the trigger, from killing Leah Battles. She hadn’t been there the night Sarah had been abducted and she hadn’t been able to save her. Failure had a terrible way of lingering in the recesses of your mind, waiting for another opportunity to smack you with horrible pangs of guilt. But that wasn’t going to happen this time. They’d arrived in time. She’d arrived in time. Leah Battles was alive and Rebecca Stanley had dropped her gun.
And just like that, everything evaporated.
She’d been played the way a street magician played a tourist.
See this red ball? Follow the red ball. That’s all you have to do. Follow the red ball and tell me which cup the ball is under. The one in the middle? Are you sure? Of course you’re sure. You have good eyes and you watched it the whole time.
Only the game isn’t about what you can see. It’s about what you fail to see, and you failed to see the magician squish that red ball into his palm. It never even went under a cup. You couldn’t win. The game had been rigged, but your ego wouldn’t allow you to admit it, and now you’re standing in an apartment looking for the red ball that never was there. Meanwhile, the magician is holding a gun to your temple.
“You’re going to lower your arm and let the gun slip from your hand and fall onto the carpet, Detective.”
Still confused, her brain still processing what had just transpired, Tracy couldn’t move.
“I said, drop the gun.”
Tracy lowered her arm and released her finger, letting the gun slip from her grip. It hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud. Owen
s took a step back, but kept the gun trained on Tracy. Stanley moved forward and picked up Tracy’s weapon.
Battles looked at Tracy. There was fear in her eyes but not in her voice. “I guess you know who took the tape of Trejo.” She almost smiled when she said it.
Tracy said, “I guess you know the ethics committee is going to court-martial you.”
“Who told you?”
“Brian Cho.”
“I never liked him,” Battles said.
“And the first thing the defense attorney will request is the security tape, which we can’t have because the detective here noticed your earrings,” Owens said, his voice becoming angry. Stanley reached up with her free hand and touched the gold nubs as if just remembering them.
“Trejo was working for you,” Tracy said to Owens. She felt like one of her students—all those years ago—the ones who’d failed her chemistry exams because they hadn’t studied, and afterward still felt compelled to know the right answers to the questions, though it wasn’t going to change their grade or, in this instance, her circumstances.
“I’m a Navy man,” Owens said. “It was right there on my office wall. If you’d done your research you’d have known I was also a logistics specialist.”
“So you knew where the ships were docking overseas.”
“And I knew what could be obtained when the ship docked, how to obtain it, and how to get it on and off the ship. And from my years working narcotics I know a bit about where to sell it.”
Battles looked at Stanley. “You became addicted after the explosion in Afghanistan.”
It explained Stanley’s role, why she’d taken the tape.
“My back will give me a lifetime of torment. The pain will never go away. The doctors said I had to learn to live with it. They wouldn’t prescribe me any more pills. Do you have any idea what it’s like to live in pain every hour of every day?” She noticed Battles considering the pictures on the mantel.
“My ex,” Stanley said. “He left when I started using heroin.” She seemed to be fighting back tears. “He said he wouldn’t raise a daughter with me. He said that I could either let them go or he would let the Navy know about my problem.” She appeared bleary-eyed. “Do you have any idea what that was like? What choice I had to make? Of course you don’t. You’re not even married.”
Close to Home (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 5) Page 31
