Julia Spencer-Fleming - One Was a Soldier

Clare breathed in. “They were talking? About me?”

“And we’re what Tally left behind. Her squad mates.” Will closed his eyes. “Losers and failures. You wanna know who’s going to give her justice? Nobody. Not a damn soul.”

The silence that followed was painful. It wasn’t thoughtful or contemplative. It was the silence of despair. Of ending. Of surrender. Sarah should remind them of the grief process. She should help them connect their feelings with their experiences. She should offer them something positive. She couldn’t. The echo of Will and Clare’s words were drowning out all her other ideas. Who will give justice to the dead?

She opened her mouth. “We can try.”

“What?” McCrea looked at her.

“I said we can try. There’s no law against asking questions, is there? Talking with her friends or co-workers?” As she said it, Sarah realized she wanted someone to blame as much as the rest of them. She wanted to know she could not have prevented Tally’s death. This is not a therapeutic response, she told herself. “I suppose we could… we could…” She spread her hands. “Actually, I have no idea what we could do.”

“There might be some people I could call,” Stillman said hesitantly. “To find out about her service in the 10th Soldier Support. I can probably get some information on the man she met in Iraq as well.” He smiled vaguely. “The old doctors’ network.”

Sarah made an encouraging noise.

“I’ve met the officer who’s investigating the theft,” Fergusson said. “I can see if she’ll tell me anything about what they’ve discovered so far.”

“Why don’t you just pump the chief for information?” McCrea asked.

“Euw.” Will made a face. “She’s my priest, remember? TMI.”

“What? It’s okay if she drinks, but it’s not okay if she-”

“That’s enough.” Fergusson sounded every inch the officer. “I know you’re angry with Russ. I’m pretty pissed off at him myself. But don’t take it out on me, Eric.”

McCrea couldn’t meet her gaze. He dropped his head and mumbled something.

“I don’t have any special contacts or anything,” Will said. “I don’t think any of the marines I knew can help us out.”

“She was closer to your age than to any of us,” Fergusson said. “Maybe you can spread the word among your friends. You never know what somebody may have heard on the grapevine.”

Will looked skeptical. “Most of my friends left for college.”

“So e-mail them. Pick up the phone. They’ll be so happy to hear from you, they’ll tell you anything.”

“Well…” He kneaded his thighs. “I guess. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to anybody. Maybe I can call a few guys. Okay.”

If Sarah hadn’t been watching Fergusson instead of Will, she would have missed the flare of triumph on the priest’s face. Doing well by doing good, Reverend? One way or another, something positive might come from this folly. Which made her think. “What about you, Eric?”

McCrea glared at her. “I told you. I’m suspended. I can’t help you.”

“Maybe you should try helping yourself. A structured, goal-oriented activity with no pressure from your work or your family? It could be a good place to work on containing your anger.”

“C’mon, Eric.” Fergusson leaned forward. “We need you.”

“In the first place, I don’t have either my badge or my service piece. In the second, pursuing an active investigation while suspended is grounds for termination.”

Fergusson snorted. “You don’t need a badge to be good at asking questions and figuring things out.”

“Besides, if Tally’s death has been ruled a suicide, you can hardly call it an active investigation.” Stillman didn’t lift his eyes from his PalmPilot while speaking.

“That’s right,” Fergusson agreed.

“Barracks law,” McCrea said.

“Join us, Eric.” Fergusson looked far too sly for someone professing to be religious. “You know you want to.”

“Oh, my God.” McCrea snorted. “This is how you got the chief to do all that crazy stuff with you, isn’t it? You just badgered him until he gave in.”

“Yup.”

“Okay. Okay.” He sighed. “I can question her co-workers. Lyle took statements over the phone from a couple people, but we were looking for evidence of suicidal intent at that point. I’ll see if I can get an idea as to how she might have laundered the money.” He huffed a laugh. “I think you’re all freaking crazy, though.” Then his breath broke, and he bent over again. “I think I’m freaking crazy,” he said in a cracked voice.

Eric had hoped that somehow he could get by without telling Jennifer. Dawdle in the morning, maybe, so she didn’t see him not getting into his uniform. It wasn’t until he tried that he realized how set the three of them were in their morning routine. Jen in the shower first while he got Jake up and started the coffee. Then he showered while she dressed and yelled at Jake to hurry up. Downstairs, he and Jake ate breakfast while she blow-dried her hair. He put away the milk and cereal while Jake fed the cats and Jen checked to make sure the boy hadn’t forgotten anything that ought to be in his backpack. Then out of the house, look for the bus, wave good-bye, slamming doors, and they were all on their way, to the middle school and the elementary school and the cop shop.

“What are you doing?” Jennifer bent over, towel-drying her hair. “You’re going to be late.”

He mumbled something. Went into the bathroom. Turned on the shower. Sat on the toilet lid and considered exactly how far he was going to go to keep Jen from knowing about his suspension.

What the hell, he had to take a shower anyway.

He sat at the table and methodically spooned Cheerios into his mouth while Jake read The Last Olympian and occasionally managed to get a bite in without taking his eyes off the book. Jennifer’s blow-dryer cut off, and he could hear her putting it in the drawer. She came into the kitchen. Paused with her hand on the refrigerator handle. “You’re not dressed.”

Eric looked down at his khakis and shirt. “Sure I am.”

“Why aren’t you in uniform? Is there something special going on today?” She frowned. “Are you working plainclothes?” Which he did, once in a blue moon.

It was so tempting to say yes. He wiped his mouth. Stood up. “No,” he said. “I’m off for the next ten days.”

Jennifer glanced at Jake, still lost in Percy Jackson’s adventures. She beckoned Eric into the family room. “What do you mean, off? You don’t have any vacation coming until Christmas.”

He took a breath. “I’m on suspension.”

Jennifer’s eyes widened. “Suspension? Oh, my God. What did you do?”

He felt a flare of irritation at her instant conclusion that he was the problem. It could have been an administrative action. If he had been involved in a shooting, for instance. Which he would have told her about as soon as he got home yesterday. His anger deflated. “I got into it with a suspect who resisted arrest. The chief thought I was too… physical.”

“Physical? As in what? You hit the guy?”

“Look, Jen, he was-”

“You hit some guy, right?”

He looked toward the bookcase, littered with pictures of Jake and half-completed craft projects. “Yeah. I hit him. Put him in the hospital.”

She covered her mouth. “Oh, Jesus,” she said into her palm.

“Listen-”

“No. You listen. First it was yelling at Jake and blowing up at me. Then it was threatening that doctor. Now it’s beating up suspects.”

“For God’s sake, Jen, he threw the first punch-”