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Eleven years in the military, with the last six in the army’s Criminal Investigation Division, had accustomed him to sirens and flashing lights at the crime scenes he investigated, but when the caravan of police cruisers turned into the driveway next door, Tyler’s mouth soured as thoughts from his youth returned. Once again, violence was striking too close to home.
Leaving his computer, he hurried into the kitchen, grabbed his SIG Sauer and law enforcement identification before he shrugged into his CID windbreaker and stepped outside. The cool night air swirled around him. He hustled across the grassy knoll that separated his modest three-bedroom ranch with the historic home next door.
The flashing lights from the lineup of police cars bathed the stately Greek revival in an eerie strobe effect. The house, with its columned porch and pedimental gable, dated from before the Civil War when life wasn’t filled with shrill sounds and pulsating light.
Men in blue swarmed the front lawn. Others hustled toward the field behind the main house. A woman stood on the porch, next to one of the classical white columns. Her arms hung limp at her sides. She was tall and slender with chestnut hair that swept over her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes—caught in the glare—were wide with worry as she stared at the chaos unfolding before her.
Gauging from the number of law enforcement officials who had responded, something significant had gone down. For a moment, Tyler switched out of cop mode and considered the plight of the stoic figure on the porch. Whatever had happened tonight would surely affect her life, and not for the better. Ty was all too aware that everything could change in the blink of an eye. Or the swerve of an oncoming car.
Approaching a tall officer in his midthirties who seemed in charge, Ty held up his identification. “Special Agent Tyler Zimmerman. I’m with the CID at Fort Rickman.”
The guy stuck out his hand. “You’ve saved me a phone call to post. Name’s Brian Phillips.”
He pointed to a second man who approached. “This is Officer Steve Inman.”
Tyler extended his hand and then pointed to his house. “I live next door and saw your lights. I wondered if you needed any assistance.”
“Appreciate your willingness to get involved,” Inman said with a nod.
“You probably know that the owner of the house, a retired sergeant major named Jeffrey Harris, died ten days ago,” Ty volunteered.
“I remember when the call came in about his body being found.” Phillips pursed his lips. “Seems he lost his footing on a hill at the rear of his property and fell to his death. Terrible shame. Now this.”
Tyler pointed to the forlorn figure on the porch. “Who’s the woman?”
“Carrie York. Evidently she’s the estranged daughter of the deceased home owner.” The taller cop glanced down at a notepad he held. “Ms. York called 911 at twelve-thirty a.m. She had arrived at her father’s house approximately six hours earlier after traveling from her home in Washington, DC. She was asleep when her father’s dog alerted her to the body. Supposedly the deceased is in uniform.”
“Army?”
“Camo of some sort. Could be a hunter for all we know. Some of my men secured the crime scene. I’m headed there now. You’re welcome to join me.”
“Thanks for the offer.”
Phillips turned to Inman. “Get Reynolds and question Ms. York. See what you can find out.”
“Will do.” Inman motioned to another officer and the twosome hustled toward the porch, climbed the steps and approached the woman. She acknowledged them with a nod and then glanced at Tyler as he fell in step with Phillips and passed in front of the house.
In the glare of the pulsing lights, she looked pale and drawn. A stiff breeze tugged at her hair. She turned her face into the wind while her gaze remained locked on Tyler.
Warmth stirred within him, and a tightness hitched his chest. The woman’s hollow stare struck a chord deep within him. Maybe it was the resignation on her face. Or fatigue, mixed with a hint of fear. Death was never pretty. Especially for a newcomer far from home and surrounded by strangers.
He dipped his chin in acknowledgment before he and Phillips rounded the corner of the house and headed toward the field of tall grass that stretched before them.
“How well did you know your neighbor?” Phillips fixed his gaze on the crime scene ahead.
“Not well. I’m new to the area. We exchanged pleasantries a few times. The sergeant major seemed like a nice guy, quiet, stayed to himself.”
Tyler had spent the last month and a half focused on his job, leaving his house early each morning and returning after dark. Being new to post and getting acclimated into his assignment didn’t leave time for socializing with the neighbors.
The cop glanced left and pointed to the Amish farm house on the adjoining property. “What about the other neighbors?”
“Isaac Lapp’s a farmer. He and his wife and their eight-year-old son are visiting relatives in Florida.”
“Probably for the best, especially so for the boy’s sake. No kid should witness a violent death.”
Tyler’s chest constricted. Without bidding, the memory returned. His father’s lifeless body, the mangled car, the stench of gasoline and spilled blood. He blew out a stiff breath and worked his way back to the present. Why were the memories returning tonight?
Two officers had already cordoned off an area near the rear of the field and stood aside as Ty and Phillips approached. Ducking under the crime scene tape, they headed to where battery-operated lights illuminated the body. The victim lay on his side, his back to them. No mistaking the digital pattern of the Army Combat Uniform or the desert boots spattered with blood.
Grass had been trampled down as if there’d been a struggle. The earth was saturated with blood. The acrid smell of copper and the stench of death filled the night.
Ty circled the body until he could see the guy’s face and the gaping wound to his neck. He paused for a long moment, taking in the ghastly sight of man’s inhumanity. What kind of person would slice another man’s throat?
The victim’s hands were scraped. His left index finger was bare, but then not all married guys wore rings. Blood had pooled around his head.
Ty hunched down to get a closer view. Fellows, the military name tag read. The 101st Airborne patch on his right sleeve indicated he had served with the Screaming Eagles in combat. The rank of corporal was velcroed on his chest. The patch on his left arm identified that he was currently assigned to the engineer battalion at Fort Rickman.
“Looks like he’s one of ours.” Tyler stood and glanced at Phillips. “I’ll contact the CID on post as well as his unit.”
Pulling his business card from his pocket, Tyler handed it to the cop. “Let me know what your crime scene folks find. I’d like a moment with Ms. York as soon as Officers Inman and Reynolds end their questioning.”
“No problem. Tell them you talked to me.” Phillips pocketed the business card. “I’ll keep you abreast of what we find.”
Tyler retraced his steps to the house, climbed to the porch and tapped lightly on the door before he turned the knob and stepped inside. A young officer glanced at the identification he held up and motioned him forward.
Inman and Reynolds stood near the fireplace in the living room. Ms. York sat, arms crossed, in a high-back chair.
Inman excused himself and quickly walked to where Tyler waited in the foyer. “Was the victim military?”
Tyler nodded. “From Fort Rickman. I’ll notify his unit.” He handed the cop his business card. “The CID’s resources are at your disposal. Let me know what you need.”
“Glad we can work together.” Glancing into the living room, Inman kept his voice low as he added, “I presume you want to talk to her.”
“Whenever you’re done. Has she provided anything of value thus far?”
“Only that she works as a speechwriter for a US senator in DC. Probably a big-city girl, with big-city ideas.” Inman smirked. “She asked whether the FBI would be notified.”
“And you told her—”
“That we’d handle the initial investigation.”
Noting the agitation in the cop’s voice, Tyler was grateful for the good relationship between the Freemont Police Department and the Fort Rickman CID, which hadn’t always been the case from the stories he’d heard around the office. Things could change again, but currently the two law enforcement agencies worked well together. A plus for Tyler. Getting in at the onset of a case made his job easier and pointed to a faster resolution, especially on a death investigation.
“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 (#ulink_1236812e-d130-5159-8d54-f2776d70b814)
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?”
