Standing Fast

“Two dozen of the dogs Boyd let out of the kennels still haven’t been found, Airman,” Preston said. “Many of them had PTSD from serving their country and saving the lives of service members overseas. You recently transferred to the K-9 unit, didn’t you?”

Was it his imagination or did Chase pick up a hint of resentment in the lieutenant’s voice. It was no secret that Preston had done basic K-9 training as well but had yet to be paired with a canine partner. Did he resent that Chase had been partnered first? He hadn’t thought so. He’d have expected a man like Preston to be focused on getting a fierce and dangerous animal, who specialized in something like suspect apprehension, rather than a sweet little search dog like Queenie.

“Yes, sir, I did request a transfer to the K-9 unit,” Chase said. “Though, as I’m sure you know, completion of my training with the team is currently on hold until this mix-up can be resolved. I have the utmost respect for what the dogs in the unit and their trainers do to serve our great country. I hope the missing dogs are found soon.”

“I spoke to your old boss, Captain Reardon,” Preston said, “and she described you as a quiet man who kept to himself.”

Chase didn’t answer. He hadn’t been asked a question and didn’t like Preston’s insinuation that being private and quiet was somehow a crime.

“Why did you request a transfer?” Justin’s voice snapped his attention to the doorway. Chase blinked. He couldn’t remember the lead investigator asking any other questions since the interrogation had started. “Your previous career was security, correct? You guarded missiles, weapons transfers and installations in Afghanistan?”

“And personnel, yes, sir,” Chase said. “I requested a transfer because as fulfilling as it was to be overseas, serving my country on the front line, I couldn’t neglect my duty to my own daughter. Seeing the difference we were making in the lives of Afghan children made me miss my own. I figured my daughter deserved better in life than a daddy who she knew only through a video-chat screen, sir.”

Justin’s eyebrows rose. His mouth opened, like he was about to ask a follow-up question, and Chase suddenly remembered that Justin himself was the single father of a teenaged daughter.

The sound of another picture smacking the table yanked Chase’s attention back to Preston. He looked down and his heart ached. It was Maisy’s father, Chief Master Sergeant Clint Lockwood, lying on the floor in a navy blue PT uniform. A red rose was tucked under his arm. A dark pool of blood stained his crisp white shirt.

Maisy thinks I had something to do with this? Anger and sadness crashed over Chase like competing waves battling on the shore. The look of disbelief and doubt in her eyes when she’d looked at the gold cross was seared in his mind. It reminded him all too much of the look of defeat that had greeted him when he’d answered the overseas video call from his then pregnant wife, telling him that she’d given up on their marriage and fallen in love with another man who was “emotionally available” for her in a way Chase could never be. Liz had filed for divorce almost immediately. Thankfully a DNA test after Allie was born had proven she was Chase’s little girl. Even before Allie was born, Liz had decided to restart her life without them.

“Chief Master Sergeant Lockwood was my basic training officer,” Chase said, quickly, snapping his errant mind back to attention and filling in the information before Preston could try to hit him with another question. “It’s well-known by everyone who trained under him how tough he could be. He didn’t give me a rougher time than anybody else, and I certainly didn’t hold a grudge.”

Before Preston could speak, Justin asked another question. “What’s your relationship like with his daughter, Maisy Lockwood?”

“Much the same as I imagine Lieutenant Flannigan’s is, sir,” Chase said. “Polite and courteous, but not personal. My daughter is in her preschool, as his son is.”

Was it Chase’s imagination or did irritation flicker in Preston’s eyes?

“Then why were you holding a picture of her when you were arrested?” Preston snapped.

“I’ve already answered that question. There was a prowler outside my daughter’s window. I went outside to investigate and found the picture in the dirt. They cut the screen on Allie’s bedroom window, pulled the picture from her dresser and ripped my daughter’s face from the frame. My baby daughter’s picture is now in this person’s hands.”

He fought the urge to drop his head into his hands. Instead, his eyes rose to the ceiling as he prayed. Did they believe he’d cut the screen and scuffed the ground himself to cover his tracks in case someone saw Boyd near his home and called the police? Didn’t they get how ridiculous that would be?

“My name was used by someone visiting the Red Rose Killer in prison,” he added. “My truck was broken into. I was robbed. My home was invaded by someone who planted evidence under my floorboards. My daughter is in danger. I need to protect her. What you should be investigating is who is so intent on framing me.”

A quick, curt knock sounded on the door, interrupting wherever Justin was going with his next question. Justin excused himself and slipped out into the hallway.

“I don’t care what sack of lies you try to sell, I know you’re helping Boyd Sullivan,” Preston said. His lip curled. “A few scuffed footprints in the dirt and a hole in a window screen doesn’t prove anything. You’ve been sneaking him on and off base. You helped him kill these people and I will prove it.”

Chase felt his jaw clench. How could anyone possibly think he’d allow a man like Boyd in his home or near his daughter? He held his tongue and stared straight ahead as if Preston was nothing but a window and he was looking through him. Still, he couldn’t miss the dangerous glint in the lieutenant’s eyes. A lifetime in the Security Forces had taught him to spot a hostile element.

The door handle began to turn and Preston leaned forward so suddenly the table lurched.

“You better stay far away from Maisy Lockwood,” he hissed. “Take your little brat out of her school and never bother her again. Or I will make sure you pay.”

THREE

The lead investigator walked back into the room, giving Chase barely a moment to process Preston’s words before rising to his feet and saluting. Preston rose as well.

Justin’s eyes scanned their faces. “Everything all right, men?”

“Yes, sir,” Preston said.

Chase did his best to keep his face impassive. Preston’s determination to nail him was immaterial. Chase knew he was innocent.

As if he read Chase’s thoughts, Justin turned to him. “You’re free to go.”

So he wasn’t being charged? Did that mean they didn’t have enough evidence? Or did they think that if they let him go and trailed him, he’d eventually lead them to the Red Rose Killer?

“You are not being charged with any crime at the moment,” Justin went on, his face so steady he might as well have been carved out of marble. “We may wish you to come in for future questioning and appreciate your continued voluntary cooperation with our investigation. JAG can inform you of your legal rights going forward, including your right to cease cooperation and retain legal counsel. Don’t leave base without letting my office know. I believe the team has finished processing your home as well. You can collect your cell phone later this afternoon.”

“Thank you, sir.” Chase saluted sharply.

The other man returned the salute, and Chase was escorted from the building. But it wasn’t until he stepped inside the front door of his own Canyon bungalow that he let his shoulders slump and his bearing relax. Twenty minutes later he was showered, shaved and dressed in his crisp dark blue uniform, with its pale blue shirt, navy tie and laces tight on the leather shoes that were so well shined he could almost see the mess of the house that surrounded him reflected in them. He’d need to have the front door replaced before Allie came home. It still opened and closed all right, but the visible dent and damaged hinges would upset her. His bedroom and the living room had both been tossed, but nothing seemed broken—he was thankful for that—and his daughter’s room would only take a minute to set back to rights. Even the window screen would be easy enough to replace. He’d change the locks on the doors as well. A bigger problem would be repairing the baseboards and floor tiles. He’d carefully peeled back half a dozen of each to create little hiding places for electronic SD cards and thumb drives, as part of Queenie’s training, and this had no doubt seemed suspicious enough for deeper investigation. Now, patches of his floor looked like a sloppy and haphazard contractor had quit partway through the job. He took another deep breath, let it out slowly and reminded himself that the investigators had only been doing their job. They’d done it with the utmost of respect and professionalism too—for the most part. He ran his hand over the back of his neck.

God, what do I do? Who’s out to get me? How do I find them?

The red light on his answering machine was blinking. He pressed the button. The light and airy sound of Maisy’s voice filled his wrecked and damaged living room, as sweet and as comforting as a chilled glass of sweet iced tea.

“Hey, Chase? It’s Maisy. Not sure when you’ll get this message, but Justin...uh, Captain Blackwood said you wouldn’t have your cell phone. Allie wanted to give you a call to let you know we were having a good morning...” There was the sound of whispering and the scuffle of the phone changing hands.

Then he heard the voice of his daughter, Allie, sounding so tiny and little, and a sudden lump formed in his throat. “Hi, Daddy! Maisy let me have a special pink hair bow! And I had berries. And waffles. Queenie is here too. Say woof, Queenie! Queenie! Say woof, woof! Queenie doesn’t want to say hi. Bye!”

There was the thump of the phone falling, another scuffling sound and a pause that lasted so long he wondered if they’d forgotten to hang up. Then he heard Maisy’s voice again. There was an unmistakable strain of worry pressing through her light and cheerful tone. “Allie ate a lot of breakfast. She’s good. Felicity gave me a scoop of dog food for Queenie. We’re just going to hang out here and have a fun day. Give me a shout when you—”

The phone message cut off in a long beep. He sat down on the couch, feeling his heart beat hard against his rib cage. Then he played the message again, finding comfort in the sound of his daughter’s voice and Maisy’s reassurance. Did Maisy have any idea how much her act of kindness meant to him? His daughter had been screaming, his world had been falling apart and she’d been there for him, stepping into the chaos, reaching out her hands to his little girl, like a heroine plucking his daughter out of the rubble and into safety.

He’d never met a more beautiful, kind and generous woman.

* * *

Real men don’t whimper and they don’t complain. Nobody ever solved a problem by sitting around feeling sorry for themselves. Unexpectedly, his grandfather’s voice echoed through the back of his mind. The Senior Master Sergeant had been in military intelligence long before Chase had been born and was proud of having gone to his grave never breathing a word of what his work had entailed. He’d been widowed when Chase was a baby, moved in with Chase and his parents and stepped into the role as head of the household, filling the void that was left behind by the hectic nature of his mother’s long and exhausting overnight shifts as an ER nurse and his father’s lengthy deployments overseas. He’d instilled in Chase at a young age that real men didn’t lose control of their emotions, ever, even if they were four years old and had broken their leg jumping off the garage roof.

Chase gritted his teeth and stood up. This was no time for self-pity. Someone was out to get him, and he had to find out who. That was never going to happen while he was sitting around thinking about some pretty preschool teacher.

If Security Forces wasn’t going to track down his alibi for the morning of the Red Rose Killer’s murders, he was going to have to do it himself. The fact that Preston had brought up his former boss, Captain Jennifer Reardon, in the interrogation had reminded him that there might be more than one way to track Ajay down. He dialed Captain Reardon’s office number. She answered on the first ring. “Morning, ma’am.”

“Morning, Airman.” The captain’s voice was clipped and her words precise. He often thought she spoke the way a sniper fired. “What can I do for you?”

He imagined word of his early morning arrest had already made it to her ears.

“I’m trying to track someone down,” he said, “and I’m hoping you could help. When I was in Afghanistan, I became friends with a local contractor named Ajay Joseph...”

“I can’t say I remember him,” she said briskly.

That didn’t surprise him. There had been hundreds of American servicemen and -women on the base, as well as hundreds of local contractors. She hadn’t been wrong when she’d told investigators that he’d been a quiet man who kept to himself, though he seriously doubted she’d put the kind of negative spin on it that Preston had implied. A certain inner calm was important in the kind of Security Forces work that involved protecting high priority targets for long and potentially boring periods of time, when nothing was happening and there was empty desert spread in all directions. He hadn’t socialized much with the broader team. Not because he hadn’t liked them, but because he was the kind of guy who’d always preferred just having a couple of close friendships.

“He was an Afghan contractor who helped as a local liaison to get our weapons into the hands of the right people on the ground,” he said, “and keep them out of the wrong ones. It’s very important that I speak with him as soon as possible, but I haven’t been able to reach him in weeks. I considered contacting your counterpart on the ground, Captain Teddy Dennis, but I don’t know him personally and never served under him directly.”

“May I ask what this is regarding?” Her voice was guarded and cautious, even clipped. Under the circumstances, he wasn’t surprised.

Lord, I hate asking anyone for help. But I don’t have the resources to track Ajay down on my own.

“I need him to confirm a video communication we had on the morning of April 1,” he said, knowing the date would probably trigger the same shudder of familiarity down her spine as it did his. “Ajay and I used to be in a small Bible study together, and consider each other friends. He had been dealing with a tricky situation and was looking for my advice.”

Specifically, the young Afghan had been noticing some slight discrepancies in some of the weapons shipments and wondered if a fellow contractor was skimming off a few items to sell on the black market. Considering the desperate poverty some of his men were coming from, Ajay had been tempted to look the other way. But his new and growing Christian faith had been nudging him toward making a full report to Captain Dennis. He’d asked Chase to pray with him and had also promised to send through some supply records to get Chase’s second opinion. He didn’t want to ruin another man’s life until he was positive theft was actually happening. The supply record emails had arrived encrypted. In the chaos of Boyd’s breakout and the release of the K-9 dogs, Chase hadn’t managed to unencrypt them before his laptop had been stolen from his truck. When Chase had gotten a new machine and asked Ajay to resend the files, Ajay had emailed back saying the matter had been resolved. It had been nothing but an accounting error. He’d also said that his father was ill, so he was going to visit his family in the mountains. Chase had wished his father a speedy recovery. That was the last Chase had heard from him.

He was thankful Captain Reardon hadn’t pressed him for more information about the call. If Ajay had been right, and it had been nothing but an accounting error, he didn’t want the notoriously aggressive Captain Dennis firing Ajay’s crew over it.

“While we were talking, a phone call came in about the Red Rose Killer breaking onto base and releasing K-9 dogs,” he said. “We’d been on the call from four fifteen onward, which proves I wasn’t helping Boyd Sullivan on base that morning and was not involved in any of the crimes that took place. I got an email from him a few weeks ago telling me he was going to visit his family in the mountains and I haven’t heard from him since. But, as you can imagine, I’m quite eager to talk to him now.”

“While I don’t recognize his name, Captain Dennis did recently mention his main liaison with one of the Afghan independent contractors had recently left,” she said. “I assume we’re talking about the same man. Communication lines in the mountains are virtually nonexistent.”

“Did Captain Dennis have any idea when he’d be returning or how I could contact him?” Chase asked. “Do you know if Ajay’s company has anyone who’d be heading up into the mountains who could try to pass along a message for me?”

He ran his hand over his face. Maybe he should have gone to Captain Dennis directly.

There was a heavy pause, which he knew meant Captain Reardon was choosing her words carefully. “Airman, I know you’re frustrated. But you know that things don’t work in Afghanistan the way they do here. It’s the middle of the summer. The heat is extreme and we can’t expect one of our partners on the ground to send someone wandering through a war zone to find one man who might not even remember a conversation he had with you three months ago.”

He blew out a long breath. She was right and he should probably be thankful she was agreeing to talk to him at all under the circumstances.

“I understand, ma’am,” he said. “I apologize for putting you in this situation. I realize I’m grasping at straws. But my laptop was stolen from my truck and along with it any evidence of the video call. Someone threatened my daughter’s life this morning. There was a prowler outside her window who tried to cut the screen with a knife.”

She took in a sharp breath.

“Oh, Chase, I’m so sorry.” Her voice softened. “As I hope you can understand, my hands are fairly tied and there’s very little I can do. But I will speak to Captain Dennis directly today and ask if there’s any way he can speak to the man’s organization and access his computer logs. If he was using a base computer, Captain Dennis might be able to access the records himself and confirm when you spoke and for how long. I can also ask him if he knows of any way to contact him directly. Although, I would’ve assumed Security Forces would’ve already sought to access that information.”

So would he. But the almost gleefully vindictive look that had glinted in Preston’s eyes was now making him wonder. Was it possible Captain Dennis had already provided that information and investigators were so eager to see him hang that they’d discounted it? “Do you think I should contact Captain Dennis directly?”

“May I be blunt?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“You’re suspected of helping a serial killer who murdered several fine servicemen and -women.” Her voice sharpened. “You know what Boyd Sullivan has done to our community. His crimes and the fact that he’s still on the loose is tearing Canyon apart. Everyone you speak to is going to be under a cloud of suspicion and it could have an extremely unwelcome impact on anyone serving overseas if you start making calls on secured lines about accessing old video logs. I’m talking about how it will look, Airman, regardless of how innocent your intentions are. Let me talk to Captain Dennis. I’ll impress on him the importance of the situation and tell him to pass everything he can find directly onto investigators. You and I have served together. I have broad shoulders and can take a bit of heat. I’ve already been questioned about you once and I won’t be surprised if I face some additional questioning over this conversation.”

He hadn’t even considered how talking to Captain Reardon or Captain Dennis would impact their careers, their work or their teams. Suspicion was like a toxin. It had been spreading through Canyon Air Force Base for weeks now, poisoning hearts and infecting relationships. He prayed that neither of the captains would face any trouble for helping him.

“Let me assure you that nobody you’ve served with believes for a moment you have anything to do with Boyd Sullivan,” she added. “Hopefully, this will all be cleared up quickly. But, in my opinion, the best thing you can do right now is to lay low and let the investigators do their job.”

“Thank you, ma’am, and thank you for the help. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, Airman.”

They ended the call and he set the phone back in its cradle. Relaxing was the last thing on his mind. He’d been framed for murder, his life was falling apart and he wasn’t about to sit around and wait for someone else to sort it. The uncharacteristic silence of his empty house surrounded him. He knelt in the mess and closed his eyes to pray. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been truly alone in his bungalow without his daughter and dog running around. He wasn’t sure he liked it. Questions tumbled through his mind like Ping-Pong balls in a dryer. His daughter’s frightened face filled his mind.

Help me, God. I’m in really deep trouble and You’re my only hope.

He opened his eyes and set out for Sunny Seeds Preschool.

* * *

“Doggy, Doggy, go find the phone!”

Maisy sat cross-legged on the brightly colored carpet in Sunny Seeds Preschool’s large open classroom and chanted along with her students and classroom assistant, Esther Hall, as little Allie whispered the search command in Queenie’s ear. Then Maisy let Queenie climb off her lap and into the circle. The children giggled as Queenie walked over to each one and sniffed them in turn. Then the small dog trotted off in the direction of the dress-up corner. Eleven small shining faces watched her go.

“Queenie finds phones!” Allie had explained to Maisy when they’d first gotten to the preschool. The toddler had then whispered something in the dog’s ear and then Queenie had walked over and sat neatly in front of where Maisy’s phone was on the table, and refused to move until Allie had patted her head. “I gave her a command just like Daddy. Queenie finds computers too.”

Maisy hadn’t even heard of an electronic-sniffing dog, let alone expected to find one in such a small and adorable size. All the K-9 dogs she’d met had been large, majestic and formidable breeds, like rottweilers, German shepherds and Doberman pinschers. But when Felicity and her newlywed husband, Westley, had dropped by with some dog food, she’d told Maisy that Chase and Queenie had done the electronic search of her home back in April and found two listening devices. Westley had then explained that while ESDs were relatively new in law enforcement, they had incredible abilities to sniff out the smallest electronic devices on command, as small as tiny thumb drives and picture storage cards, no matter where a criminal hid them. A beagle’s small size and excellent nose made it the perfect breed for that kind of work. He said it seemed that while little Allie had been watching her father train Queenie at home she’d picked up how to give the dog the search command with the exact same tone of voice, intonation and gestures her father used. Ultimately, Chase would have to train the dog to ignore Allie’s instructions. At least, thankfully, it only seemed to be Allie that the dog responded to that way.

Even then, Maisy had been a bit skeptical until Allie got Queenie to sniff out each arriving parent who came to drop off their child and then reported back whether or not they were carrying any electronic devices on their person. If they weren’t carrying any, she moved on. If they were, she howled once, sat directly in front of their feet and stared.

She hadn’t gotten it wrong once.

So now, on top of the general excitement of having a small dog as a very special visitor at the preschool, the regular circle time had turned into a game. Maisy, with Allie’s help, held Queenie and theatrically covered the small dog’s eyes while her assistant, Esther, helped one of the students hide the phone, and then Allie would give Queenie the command to find it.