Julia Spencer-Fleming - One Was a Soldier

The message light was blinking on the kitchen phone. Russ tugged on his purple evidence gloves and hit the PLAY button. The first message was a shade above a whisper, as if the woman speaking didn’t want to be overheard. “Tally, where are you? Kirkwood’s having a hissy fit because you haven’t called in sick.” The second message was professionally warm. “Tally? This is Elaine Kirkwood in human resources. Are you ill? Please remember we need you to either phone in or request a personal day in advance.” The final message was a voice that made his skin crawl. “Hi, Tally. This is John Opperman. Please call me at your earliest convenience.”

“Whatever happened, she didn’t plan it in advance,” Lyle said.

“Get back to the HR woman. Let her know we’re investigating Tally’s death. I want to know her work history. Did she report directly to Opperman? Does she have any incidents on her record? Maybe lodged a complaint against him?”

“Russ.” Lyle stepped closer. “There must be two hundred people employed by BWI Opperman, if you count the construction crews and the part-timers. I know how you feel about Opperman, but you can’t automatically make him a person of interest because one of them decides to snuff it.”

“He doesn’t get my back up because he took Linda to the Caribbean, Lyle.”

His deputy chief looked at him.

“Okay, he does, but that’s not the only reason he goes on the list. The man built his company over the dead body of his former partner.”

“Accordin’ to you.”

“If I’m wrong, it’ll be easy enough to find out. It shouldn’t take more than a phone call.”

Lyle sighed. “All right.”

Russ moved on to the den. He poked at a stack of documents and bills next to the computer. “I want her e-mails. Bank statements, travel reservations. Run down her friends. Did she talk to anyone about killing herself? Or about trouble with her husband?”

“I’m going to need Eric.”

Russ blew out a breath. “Okay. Kevin and Knox must be done taking the neighbors’ statements. I’ll release them and set them on patrol.”

“They’ll be on overtime.”

“I know, I know.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll have to take a break soon. Clare and I have another premarital counseling session this evening. I’ll have my phone on, so you can reach me for anything, and I’ll head back here as soon as we’re done.” He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “I’d reschedule, but we’ve only got three more weeks to the wedding.”

“You don’t need to reschedule. Eric and I can handle-”

“Russ?” Dr. Dvorak’s precise European voice cut Lyle off.

“Yeah, Emil.” Russ crossed into the kitchen. Its open door led into the garage, and from there to the yard. “You all set?” The wind had risen, the temperature low fifties and dropping fast. As he and Lyle emerged from the garage, Kevin and Knox rounded the side of the building.

“Yes, the body is in the mortuary transport.” He gestured toward the pool, its bloodstained waters turning gray beneath the looming clouds. “I will want to be able to compare the weapon’s particulars against the cranial damage the deceased sustained.”

“Uh…” Russ looked at Lyle. “Get a diver?”

“You want to call in the staties to get a gun out of a pool? Hell, you can see the thing from here. Just have somebody strip down and jump in.”

“You volunteering?”

“Hell, no. Rank hath its privileges. That’s a job tailor-made for a rookie.”

Russ, Kevin, and Emil Dvorak all looked at the newest member of the department. Russ was trying to manage his newly integrated force in a gender-blind fashion, but he didn’t think letting Hadley peel down to her skivvies was going to fly. Hadley stared back at them wary-eyed.

“No, no, Jesum, not her. I didn’t mean her.” Lyle, for the first time in the nine years Russ had known him, looked embarrassed.

“I’ll do it.” Kevin unbuckled his rig and handed it to Knox. “Can I use one of their towels, Chief?”

“Sure. Don’t leave your prints on anything.”

The young officer disappeared into the garage. Russ looked at Emil. “You said you could confirm she’d been shot through the head when you got her out.”

The medical examiner nodded. “I don’t need to autopsy her to see the bullet went through the back of her throat and exited out the upper rear of her skull.”

“She ate her gun,” Russ said.

“It does have the hallmarks of the classic suicide technique used by someone who wants to leave no chance that his attempt might fail. However, I cannot confirm the wound was self-inflicted. The time of death will be difficult, due to the temperature of the pool, and the presence of water creates a capillary osmosis, drawing blood out of the body even after the heart ceases.”

Lyle translated. “You’re saying there’s a chance she was killed elsewhere and dumped in the pool.”

“I have no evidence yet with which to express my opinion. I do want to make you aware there is a slight possibility you are dealing with a homicide.”

Kevin emerged from the garage wearing his T-shirt and purple evidence gloves, a large floral towel wrapped around his waist. Lyle coughed, a sound suspiciously like a laugh, and Knox said, “Don’t you want to take your shirt off? So it’ll be dry after?”

Kevin shot her a look. “I’m fine.” He dropped the towel, revealing striped boxers, and plunged into the pool. Twenty seconds later, he emerged from the water, teeth chattering, the.38 in one hand. Lyle held an evidence bag out. Kevin kicked to the edge of the pool and dropped the gun in. “D-d-do you want me to look for the casing, Chief?”

The afternoon hour and the approaching storm meant they were losing light fast. Maybe Kevin could strike it lucky. “As long as you’re wet, yeah, go ahead.”

Kevin dove again. He went under two times, three, each time breaking the surface gulping for air and shaking his head. After his fourth dive to the bottom, his lips were tinged blue.

“Come on out, Kevin. No sense in you getting hypothermia.” Russ wondered how difficult it would be to get the pool drained. If Emil Dvorak confirmed the.38 caused her death, they’d be fine. If not, he’d sure like to know if there was a shell casing down there or not.

Kevin hauled himself out of the water and wrapped up in the towel. Russ pointed him toward the garage. “Get yourself dried off and then take a break and go home for dry, uh, clothes. I want you and Knox both back on patrol while Eric and Lyle are working this scene.”

“I’ve g-g-got a complete change at the sh-sh-shop,” Kevin said.

“Go ahead, then.” Russ looked at Knox, who was peering at her watch. “Knox, do you have your kids covered? Or do you need to make arrangements?”

“No, sir. I’ll just call my granddad and let him know I’ll be home late.”

“Do it.” He turned back to Lyle. “The husband.” He held up one finger. “Quentan Nichols.” A second. “Work problems.” A third. “We clear those three, and if Dvorak’s autopsy doesn’t contradict it, we can close this case. Death from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

“Hell of a thing,” Lyle said. “Make it through two tours of duty in Iraq just to wind up capping it in your own backyard.”

Russ glanced at the pool again. A trio of sere yellow leaves tore away from a dipping, flailing birch and whirled through the air to touch down on the surface of the water. “Yeah,” he said. “Hell of a thing.”

Clare parked across the street from St. James and turned off the engine. She dropped her head back and simply sat for a moment, as gusting rain rocked her Jeep and rattled across the roof. She’d been going nonstop all day; morning Eucharist and visiting the hospital and dealing with her mother’s drama over the phone and counseling and the teen mothers group. Somewhere in there she had written Sunday’s sermon, which was probably three pages of All work and no play makes Clare a dull girl . The uppers she had popped that morning had long since worn off, and she was craving that kick right now like she craved a good night’s sleep. She felt it in the pressure behind her closed eyes and the hot ache of her muscles.