Julia Spencer-Fleming - One Was a Soldier

Russ smothered a sigh. “I want to ask you about your wife.”

McNabb went quiet. He turned his face toward the ceiling. “If you’re gonna break the bad news to me, save your breath. M’mother told me. She killed herself.”

“When was the last time you saw Tally?”

“Monday morning. ’Fore she went to work.”

“How was she when you saw her? Happy? Sad? Did you two argue?”

“Argue? Hell. We fought. I was headed off with Fetch for the week. Going to a big casino in Connecticut. She din’t like Fetch, and she din’t like gambling, and she sure as hell din’t like me being out from under her thumb.”

“So you fought. Were you mad at her?”

“Not mad enough for her to want to kill herself.” He rolled his head back toward them. “Look, she was screwed up in her head about the war. Lots of soldiers come back that way. I saw it on the news. She was going to this counselor. You go ask her if you want to know why Tally did it.” For the first time, his voice shook. His eyes sheened over. “Goddammit. She always was a pain in my ass. Always had to have things her way. Didn’t even wait to tell me good-bye, the-” His voice cracked.

McNabb blinked ferociously and hacked. Russ handed him a tissue, and McNabb spat into it, balling it up in his fist. “When did you get back from the casino?” Russ asked.

“This morning. About an hour before your guy comes along like Vin freaking Diesel.”

“Were you alone at the casino?”

“I told you, Fetch was with me.” McNabb’s mouth dropped open. “Ohh, I get it. You think I was cheatin’ on Tally, and that’s what set her off. Well, I wun’t. One woman is more’n enough trouble for me. I don’t need that kind of complication. Closest I got to girls was the tits and ass show.”

“Did you leave the resort for any length of time?”

“Nope.”

“Did you get any calls from Tally? Or call her?”

“Nope.”

Kevin, who had been detailed the task of faxing McNabb’s picture to area casinos, had already gotten in touch with Mohegan Sun’s security. They were reviewing their camera footage and would send the MKPD the relevant pictures and a summary of McNabb’s movements. It would have taken a seven-hour window to get from Uncasville to Millers Kill and back again. If McNabb had been gone that long, they would know it.

“One more question,” Russ said. “Do you know of anyone who might want to kill Tally? Or any reason why?”

McNabb’s mouth sagged. His eyes bugged. “What? No!”

Russ waited to see if more was forthcoming. It wasn’t. “Okay. Thank you, Wyler.”

“I’m still gonna sue your ass,” the younger man mumbled.

Seelye leaned forward. “I’d like to ask you a few questions now, Wyler. About Mary-Tally’s service in Iraq.”

McNabb made a face that would have been a frown if his eyebrows could have moved. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Lieutenant Colonel Arlene Seelye.”

For the first time, Russ saw apprehension on McNabb’s face. “What do you do? What, you know, branch are you in?”

Seelye hesitated. Glanced at Russ. “I’m with the military police.”

McNabb turned toward the ceiling again. Clicked his mouth shut. “I’m not saying nothing without my lawyer.”

It was colder outside now. A raw, damp cold that promised more rain in the next day or two. Seelye shivered and buttoned her trench coat. “You folks ever have anything approaching warm weather?”

“July and August. First half of September.”

“And you came here voluntarily?”

He shrugged. “It’s home.”

She made a noise. Fished in her coat for a tissue and blew her nose. “So what do you think?”

“He didn’t do it.” He jammed his hands in his jacket pockets. “Unless he’s the greatest actor since Laurence Olivier. I’ll take a look at the casino report, but I’m betting it’ll show us he was there the whole time. Just like he said he was.”

“You going to clear it as a suicide?”

He nodded. “I’ll give the ME the results of the investigation. He’ll make the ruling. Release the body.”

“And that concludes your interest in McNabb.”

“Unless you’ve got information suggesting someone else might have had the means, motive, and opportunity. Like maybe a co-conspirator.”

She looked at him. “Did you find any anomalous prints at the scene?”

“No.”

“Then, no. I have no reason to suspect anyone else is complicit in her death.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

She thought for a moment. “Yes. Unless it would torpedo my own investigation.” Her wide mouth twisted. “The army’s interest is in getting its money back, after all.”

“Wyler McNabb knows something.”

“Oh, yes. I’m quite sure Mr. McNabb knows a great deal about that money.”

“Let me give you some free advice. John Ryswick is the judge you’re going to be dealing with for the warrants. Give him more information than you think he could possibly need, and make sure you cross your t’s and dot your i’s. Have you gotten the federal district attorney in the loop?”

“Not yet.”

“Hold off as long as you can. Ryswick doesn’t like the Feds.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

He held out his hand. “Let me know if we can assist.”

She shook it. “I will. I plan on wrapping this up and getting out of here as quickly as possible.” She hunched her shoulders against the chill. “This weather is actually making me miss Iraq.”

The rain that had drifted in patchy showers through the weekend was on again Monday morning, a cold drizzle from a blank gray sky. Perfect weather for a funeral. Clare could have walked-the cemetery was barely a mile away-but she had pressed her Class A uniform and polished her regulation one-and-three-quarter-inch heels, and she wanted to look parade-ground ready for the interment. So she climbed into the rattleclank Jeep and drove.

The new cemetery, as it was called, had been new in 1870, when the dead from the Civil War had claimed the last of the original settlers’ burying ground. Clare rolled through the iron-framed gate and crunched along the twisting gravel drive, past Victorian marble obelisks and yellow weeping willows, past Depression-era granite and dark red alders, until she reached a treeless plain of flat stamped-metal markers and high-gloss composite memorial stones. She parked behind a line of cars. She left her coat in the car but took her hat.

She picked her way through the grass, her heels sinking into the ground with every step. A small striped awning had been erected next to a large mound of excavated soil discreetly covered with bright green outdoor carpeting. She hated that carpeting. She always wanted to roll it away at her interments. Show the reality. Earth to earth.

There were more people than she expected; far more than the number of folding chairs set up beneath the awning. Good. She spotted Trip Stillman and Sarah Dowling standing near the back of the crowd, Sarah in Quaker gray and Trip, like Clare, in an immaculate green uniform whose shoulders were blotched with rain. She joined them.

“Do you know the minister?” Sarah asked quietly.

“That’s the funeral director.” Clare spoke in the same undertone. “They’re not having a religious service. Just a few people speaking. Mr. Kilmer will make sure things move along smoothly.”

The first person to the podium was a cousin. Good choice. Close enough to have some warm anecdotes, not so attached to the deceased that she was in danger of losing it. Clare let her mind and her eyes wander. The woman in the front row who looked a thousand years old must be Tally’s mother. With his face varying shades of purple, green, and yellow, Wyler McNabb was very visible a few seats down from her. Russ had told her Tally’s husband had been discharged, been arraigned, and posted bail all on the same day.