Julia Spencer-Fleming - One Was a Soldier

“Tony, did you get a sense of what Seelye was doing in Iraq? Could she have been part of the plot to steal the cash from the start?”

“She was doing loss prevention in Camp Anaconda, according to my contact. Reviewing contracts, running spot accounting checks, the sort of thing a bank’s financial control officer does-and don’t forget, we’re running the biggest bank in the country. I have to say, though, you’re not talking about a high level of sophistication here. This is basically a couple guys shifting a box out of a warehouse. It doesn’t take any special knowledge.”

“Except knowing that the box had a million inside.”

“Right. My guess-and you can take it for what it’s worth-is that she spotted something that tipped her off to the missing money. It was her job to pass on all accounts coming in and out of Anaconda. For whatever reason, she decided she could use that money more than the army could. I bet if you dug into her personal life, you’d find a major weak spot. Husband’s business failed, or they lost all the kids’ college money.”

Russ smiled. “Good to know you can still think like a cop, counselor.”

“Hey. I learned from the best.”

“Thanks-and thanks for getting me the info. I owe you a big one.”

“You can pay it off by sending us a picture of your wedding. I want proof you’re not getting hitched to some gap-toothed second cousin. I know how you northern rednecks roll.”

Russ was still laughing when he said good-bye. His smile faded as he thought about Seelye, and the money, and about Nichols and McNabb. McNabb and Seelye were out of his reach. Nichols, on the other hand…

He glanced at the instrument panel clock. Five thirty. He made another call, to the same Fort Gillem MP station that had sent him a copy of Nichols’s transfer orders. “This is Chief of Police Russ Van Alstyne from Millers Kill, New York,” he said when he had gotten hold of the officer of the day. “Chief Nichols was consulting with me about a veteran’s suicide we had here.” That wasn’t stretching the truth too much. “I need to follow up with him.”

“Sorry, sir, but Chief Nichols is off base at this time.”

“Can I reach him later?”

“No, sir, he’s been temporarily detached to Fort Drum to assist in an investigation. I can look the number up for you if you want to contact their MP station.”

“Thanks, no. I’ll try them later.” Russ hung up. Fort Drum. Four hours away by car. That was quite a coincidence. He wondered who Nichols knew in their MP post. Obviously, Seelye wasn’t the only officer who could pull a string and get someone reassigned.

Russ tried on the idea that Nichols had been telling Clare the God’s honest truth. He wasn’t prepared to credit the man with no interest in getting the monies for himself, but it was sure looking more and more likely that he had been right when he said Seelye was on the take.

He needed to talk to Clare. He shifted the truck into gear and pulled out of the station parking lot. Traffic at this hour was as heavy as it ever got out of tourist season. Brake lights bloomed and faded in the twilight as cars and SUVs stopped and started their way up Main toward Church Street. Which is why Russ was able to spot Clare, in jeans and a jacket, coming out of the Rexall.

He jerked his truck out of traffic and pulled into a no-parking tow zone. He unrolled the passenger-side window and leaned over. “Hey!”

She looked up, surprised.

“Didja walk?”

“Of course.”

“Get in.”

She hopped into the cab, stuffing the small paper pharmacy bag into her coat pocket. “When you said you wanted to take care of me, I didn’t think it would involve driving around town looking for a chance to pick me up.”

“I was on my way to talk to you. Were you getting a prescription filled?”

“Mmm. I know things are cheaper at the Super Kmart in Fort Henry, but shop local and all that. What did you need me for?”

He saw a break in the traffic and took it. “What? Oh. Quentan Nichols.”

“You’ve found him?”

“Nope. Although I found out how he’s been able to do his little appearing acts here. He’s still posted to Fort Gillem, but he’s TDY to Fort Drum.”

“Ah.”

He swung into the wide curve of Church Street. The single spot on the flagpole was the only light in the park now; the bandstand was a pale outline in the shadow of the maples. “Tell me what he said about Seelye.”

“I already told you everything I heard. He applied to her office for the original shipping manifests, and she showed up in person a couple weeks later and took him off the case.”

He turned onto Elm. They passed the stone bulk of St. Alban’s. “How did he seem when he was talking about her? Emotionally?”

“A little frustrated, maybe.”

“Did he seem angry? Make any threats against Seelye?”

She turned to him as he rolled his truck up her drive and put it into park. “Oh, my God. You don’t think she disappeared because he killed her, do you?” She frowned. “No, that couldn’t be it. Ron Handler at the inn saw her check out.”

“I’m just trying to sort out the possibilities. Could she be after the million for herself? Or is she just an ambitious officer who doesn’t want to share the limelight when she gets it back? Is Nichols trying to stop Seelye, or is he trying to screw her out of the money?”

“One doesn’t preclude the other.”

“No.” He unbuckled and slung his arm over the back of the seat. It was familiar, talking to her like this, sitting in the cab of his truck in her driveway. There was a time-a long time-when it was the only safe and private place for them. “I want to find that cash.”

“Get to the back of the line.”

“We should be able to figure it out. There has to be some evidence of what happened stateside in her house, or her mother’s house or her bank. If we had Nichols to tell us what went down at Balad Air Base, we could do it. It’s an equation. Millers Kill plus Iraq equals one million dollars. Which means he ought to be somewhere around here, looking for that evidence.” His chain of thought unlinked at the sight of her smile. “What?”

“Just you. I like watching your mind work. It’s sexy.”

“It is, is it?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She smiled again.

He mentally tossed the missing million aside. “You know, I just happen to have a box full of quilts in the back. Feel like taking a ride?”

She laughed. “When I suggested the truck bed, it was a sunny afternoon. Not nighttime, thirty-eight degrees and falling.”

“Chicken. What happened to army tough?”

“You’re the one who always knows when the snowbirds have flown. Don’t you have some friend or acquaintance with an empty house and a working furnace?”

The answer hit him hard enough to snap him upright in his seat.

“What?” Clare sounded alarmed.

“I know where Nichols is.”

“You do?”

He buckled up and threw the truck into reverse. “He has a friend with an empty house and a working furnace.”

Clare looked up from fastening her own seat belt. “Tally McNabb’s place.” Russ nodded. He threaded through the Friday evening traffic, surprising her when he turned off onto the Cossayuharie Road and began the twisting drive through the hilly farmland. He pulled into the driveway of a large, well-lit home and disappeared inside, returning five minutes later with a key and an expression of grim satisfaction. He dropped the key into her hand. “We have Evonne Walters’s permission to enter her daughter’s residence.”

“Oh. Does this mean you can legally search the place?”

“Hell, no.” He peeled out of the drive. “Anything I found would be tossed out before it reached trial. I don’t want to search the house tonight. I want Nichols.”