Julia Spencer-Fleming - One Was a Soldier

Hadley felt her face heating up. He knew she had lied. He didn’t trust her to pick up the guy by herself.

“Both of us?” Flynn asked. “I didn’t think he was in any shape to put up a fight.”

“I’m not worried about him resisting arrest. I’m worried about him being alone with an officer and no witness to say what happened or didn’t happen. I don’t want to give McNabb an opportunity to lodge a false complaint on top of the real one he’s got going.” The chief pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.

“What do we do if Colonel Seelye is already there?” Hadley asked. “She’s going for a warrant to search the place, right?”

“If she’s there, tell her unless she’s immediately placing McNabb under arrest, we’re taking him in for protective custody. She can come over to the station and question him here.” He slid off the table and thudded to the floor. “That’s all. Lyle?”

Kevin drove. She took shotgun. It was the first time they’d been alone together in at least a week. So of course, he led off with “What happened with you and Eric at this guy’s house?”

“You know what happened. The guy swung at Eric, they got into it, eventually the perp was subdued.”

“Right into the hospital. You know, I might have bought that story- might have-if I hadn’t seen Eric go medieval on that emergency room doctor.”

She looked out the window. “It doesn’t matter to me what you believe. I made my statement. It’s on the record. I’m not changing it.”

“Hadley. Jesus. You’re not a coward.”

She turned on him. “Eric McCrea is a red-white-and-blue, yellow-ribbon war hero, Flynn. He’s been on the force for nine years, and everybody knows if MacAuley retires, he’s getting the deputy chief’s slot. I’m the girl. The new girl. Who’s going to get burned if I turn him in?”

“I’d back you up!”

She smiled a little. “I know. I knew. Now tell me who else will.”

“The chief. He suspended Eric on the spot, and he’d stand by you against anyone in the department.”

“Yeah, and what happens when he’s not around? You know MacAuley and Noble and the other guys are Code Blue, all the way. I heard about what happened to the guy who was here before me. He got frozen out because he called the state police in on a murder case. He had to leave town to get another job!”

“Mark Durkee.” Flynn shifted in his seat. “That was different.”

“No, it wasn’t. Let it go, Flynn. I made my choice, and I’ll live with it.”

His hand tightened on the steering wheel. “I just hate to see you forced to compromise yourself.”

She almost whooped. “Compromise myself?” She leaned back into the seat. “Flynn, you’re a world too late to stop that from happening.”

He opened his mouth as they drove into view of the McNabbs’ house. The driveway was empty, both her Navigator and his Escalade gone. Flynn changed whatever he had been about to say into “In the garage?”

“There wasn’t room last time. Let’s check.”

They parked. She peered into the garage. He banged on the door. They both turned up empty.

“Now what?” Hadley said over the hood of the squad car.

“Could he be at work?”

“I don’t think he’d be physically able to after-” She couldn’t say it. “What happened. I’ll check. Do you still have your notes from the interviews we did right after the suspicious death?”

Flynn brandished his pocket-sized notebook.

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “Okay. I’ll call BWI while you drive to the closest friend’s house. He’s gotta be around somewhere.” She didn’t have to point out that McNabb wasn’t well enough to take off for another casino vacation.

The BWI Opperman receptionist transferred her to the construction department, where she hung out on hold for two minutes, three, four, while boring classical music tried to lull her into a stupor. “God.” She turned to Flynn. “They must be hauling some poor guy off his bulldozer to talk to me.”

The line went live. “Hi! What can I do you for?” The man was shouting over the sound of machinery grinding in the background. Her guess about the work site must have been correct.

“I’m looking for Wyler McNabb.” She tried not to raise her own voice. “Is he working today?”

“Naw, he’s off for a few weeks. Try him at home.” The line went dead.

She stared at her cell, frowning. “Talkative guy.”

“Don’t worry about it. At least we know he’s not on the job.” Flynn handed her the notebook. “Do me a favor. Figure out who on the list is closest to us if we strike out on the first contact.”

The first person listed was a co-worker. When they got to the address, a small house on Meersham Street, the only person home was a harried wife with a baby on her hip and a toddler shrieking behind her. Her look of alarm melted into an expression of relief when they asked about McNabb. “Don’t know, and don’t care,” she said. “We didn’t move in the same circles.”

The next person on Flynn’s list was labeled “drinking buddy.” He lived in a much rattier house on South Street, and his expression wasn’t so much alarm as it was sullen suspicion. He, too, looked relieved when they asked about McNabb, although in his case, Hadley figured it was relief that they weren’t after him.

“I dunno where he is. I heard he was feeling pretty lousy.” The drinking buddy rubbed his chin. “I wonder if he mighta gone to Tally’s mom’s house? She’s a LPN. What with Tally being gone, she mighta taken him home for a little whaddaya call it.”

“TLC?” Flynn said.

“Yeah. They always got on well. Mrs. Walters is pretty laid-back. Not like Wyler’s mom.” He shuddered.

Hadley glanced at Flynn. It sounded like a solid lead. “What’s her address?” she asked.

“Fifty-two MacEachron Hill Road. Up in Cossayuharie.”

Hadley kept her face neutral while Flynn thanked the guy. They got back into the cruiser. Buckled up. Pulled away from the curb. As soon as Hadley was sure she couldn’t be seen, she turned to Flynn. “Did you hear that? The same place with the B and E last night!”

He grinned at her. “Oh, man. Maybe we’ll have a major theft fall right in our laps.”

“You know what the chief says.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” they chorused.

Flynn’s notes had more details than hers, including the complainant’s name, Evonne Walters. Paul Urquhart had taken the call last night around eleven. A search of the area turned up nothing-knowing Paul, the search probably consisted of him waving his flashlight around the yard-and the complainant believed nothing had been taken. There hadn’t been any mention of a connection to Tally McNabb, which didn’t surprise her. She had heard Paul say that asking questions only led to more work.

They drove through fields and woodlots as they wound their way up MacEachron Hill Road. Most of the residences they passed were slightly sagging farmhouses, where solid nineteenth-century construction managed to keep the worst ravages of time and poverty at bay. Tally McNabb’s mother’s house, on the other hand, looked like something out of Traditional Homes magazine. The roof was so new it gleamed like fresh blacktop in July; the deep, wide gutters emptied into neat gravel beds; the windows were period reproduction, with built-in storms and freshly painted shutters.

“Geez,” Flynn said.

Hadley nodded. “Unless LPNs get paid a lot more than I thought, I think we know where some of the stolen loot went.”

They got out of the cruiser. At the door-also recently painted, with bright hardware and a fancy, chime-playing bell-Flynn stepped back, letting Hadley take point.