Julia Spencer-Fleming - One Was a Soldier

The chief rubbed his lips. “Wyler McNabb’s first shift in Iraq overlapped Tally McNabb’s second tour of duty.”

“He was there ? In-country?” Nichols sat back. “She never told me that.”

“They,” the chief said. “ They had brought it back home.” He tapped the worn surface of the table. “Tally and Wyler did it together.”

“Didn’t Eric say he was the materials guy?” Kevin tried to remember the rest of the case file. “Would that mean he’d have been the one in charge of getting stuff to and from the States?”

“Yeah. On their monthly flight out of Plattsburgh.” The chief had that look on his face, the one he got when pieces started falling into place.

“How far away is Plattsburgh?” Nichols asked.

“An hour and a half, if it’s not snowing,” Reverend Clare said.

The chief shook his head. “I don’t think it would still be there.”

“Why not?” Nichols looked at him. “Just one more pallet, sitting around? Who’s going to know?”

“They’d need to have it someplace Tally could access. McNabb could have manufactured an excuse for being at the depot in Plattsburgh once in a while, but if they were laundering cash, they needed to keep a small, steady stream going. I’m betting that would have been her job.”

Nichols propped his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers. “Okay, what about this: Either McNabb brings it back from Iraq himself, or he ships it back to their materials depot. Then he gets some of his co-workers to help him move the thing.”

“More accomplices?” Kevin asked.

“Not necessarily. He could have it marked up as unused PVC or grout or whatever. Something nobody would care much about. All he needed was some muscle to help him get it into a truck.”

“Then the television falls off the back of the truck.” The chief’s voice was knowing. Kevin found himself nodding along with Nichols.

“What?” Reverend Clare said.

“It means he reports it stolen. Or lost in transit.”

“Okay.” Her voice was cautious. “How does that tell us where it is now?”

That one stalled out the conversation. Kevin tried to imagine the places where you could hide two square meters of cash and not have it seen. Old barns. Abandoned houses. A root cellar or summer kitchen or even up on blocks in the woods, protected by a tarp. A lot of ground to cover. Too much ground. “We need to question other members of the construction team,” he said. “Somebody must have seen something. Or heard about it.”

The chief shook his head again. “We’ve got no jurisdiction. The crime was committed on army property by army personnel. We have no legal justification for investigating unless we’re asked to by the army.”

Everyone looked at Nichols. He raised his hands. “Not me. I’m supposed to be tracking down steroid pushers who’ve been supplying Fort Drum. If I raise my head on this case, Seelye will have my ass posted to Fort Wainwright before you can say boo. Excuse me, Reverend.”

“Fort Wainwright?” Kevin asked.

“Alaska,” the chief said.

“ Fairbanks, Alaska.” Nichols shivered.

The reverend wrapped her hands around her mug. “I know someone I can ask.”

The chief frowned. “What? Who?”

“Dragojesich. The big guy Tally and I were talking with the night we got engaged.” A look passed between them, tender and soft, like the last warm day in October. Kevin dropped his gaze to the table. “He was with the construction team in Iraq the same time as Tally. So he was probably there with McNabb.”

“Do you know his first name?”

“No-but how many Dragojesiches could there be in the phone book?”

She could find one. G. Dragojesich. In Fort Henry, not Millers Kill. Russ had sent Kevin on his way, with an admonition to say nothing about their less than legal visit to the McNabb house. Then they dropped Nichols off at his rental car-he had parked it on Morningside Drive and hiked the mile to his hideaway-with directions to the Sleepy Hollow Motor Lodge and a promise to call him first thing in the morning.

“Don’t you worry he’s going to bolt again?” Clare asked.

Russ glanced away from the road for a second. His mouth tipped up at one corner. “That sounds like something I’d say.” He faced forward again. “No, I don’t. First, even if he originally planned to get ahold of the money, he knows that’s not going to happen now. If he disappears, I’ll blow the whistle on him. His best bet is to do just as he said, help us out in the hope that returning the loot will squeak him past any damaging questions.”

“And second?”

“Second, the man’s a cop. I think he’s probably a good one. Were you watching him when we were laying out the investigation? He wanted in. He wants to break this case as bad as we do. More.”

“Do you think he’s hoping it’ll give him a lead on Tally’s murder?”

“Clare…”

“I don’t want to fight with you. Honestly, I don’t. I just want you to admit-”

“That I should have ignored the evidence and the ME’s report and kept the case open?”

“I’d settle for you keeping your mind open!” She looked out the window at the orange sodium lights of the Super Kmart. “I have a personal stake in this.”

“She knocked you down, sprained your ankle-and gave you an infected gash in your back, remember that? Then you met her once a week for an hour with a bunch of other people. How on God’s green earth does that translate into a personal stake?”

“She was one of us.” Clare’s voice was low. “I can’t just turn my back on her.”

“Look. I understand that. I meet a guy who served in Nam, I feel a spark of connection with him. It doesn’t matter if we have nothing in common. It doesn’t matter that we’re old and gray now. He was there, and I was there, and we remember.”

She turned toward him. Looked at his hands, big and steady on the wheel, his forearms exposed where he’d rolled his flannel shirt up.

“But here’s the thing. That connection doesn’t overshadow the ones I’ve made with people I’ve lived with and worked with and served with.” He glanced at her. “We’re supposed to be getting married in a week. You need to decide which connection is more important. The one with your brothers in arms? Or the one with your husband?”

“So I should support you, no matter how I feel? Pretend I think you’re right?”

“No. You should respect my professional judgment and realize that I only rejected your point of view after careful consideration.” He flicked on his signal and turned onto the street whose name they had copied out of the phone book.

We’re supposed to get married. Was he having second thoughts? Linda never critiqued his investigations. Linda never called him names. Linda never, ever slammed out of his office, swearing she was going to prove him wrong. God. Clare hadn’t even been married yet, and she was already a failure at being Mrs. Van Alstyne.

“We’re here.” Russ pulled into one of Fort Henry’s small condo complexes, the sort of place where couples commuting to Albany or singles with good jobs in Glens Falls touched down until they’d saved up the down payment for a house. “Will you take the lead? Since you’ve already met him?”

“Of course.” She half-expected Dragojesich to be out on a Friday night, so when the door opened moments after she rang the bell, the sight of him filling the entryway knocked her opening line out of her head.

“Can I help you?” he said.

“Mr. Dragojesich? I don’t know if you remember me, but I met you at the BWI Opperman party at the end of August. I was with Tally McNabb?”