Julia Spencer-Fleming - One Was a Soldier

“Just her purse,” Olivia said, “but that was small.”

Clare looked at Russ. “What do you think it was?”

His face was grim. “The question is, where is it?”

“If she left anything, it’s in Trip’s study.” Flora stood up. “Our cleaning service only dusts and vacuums in there, and the girls and I hardly ever go in.”

Russ opened his hand in a you-first gesture. They trooped-or in Will’s case rolled-down the hallway and through the foyer and squeezed into a small room at the front of the house. It was a true office; desk and file cabinets and bookcases and a whole shelf of tiny papier-mâché skeletons playing instruments, golfing, and otherwise enjoying the afterlife. Russ touched a skeletal police officer with a fingertip. “ Calacas. From El Día de los Muertos. ”

“The Feast of All Souls,” Clare said. “Coming right up.”

“We’ve been collecting them for years,” Flora said. “Ever since we honeymooned in Mexico.” She bit her lip again as she looked at her husband. “Do you remember?”

He took her hand. “Every minute. It’s just the present I’m having trouble with.”

Russ pushed to the center of the small room, scanning the contents. “Can you tell if anything here is out of the ordinary?”

Both the Stillmans shook their heads.

“It might have been papers,” Russ went on. “If she was getting a payoff to look the other way-” He held up one hand at Trip’s sound of protest. “ If that’s what happened, she might have documentation of a separate account. Something unconnected to her usual bank.”

“You’d put any paperwork in the file cabinets, wouldn’t you, darling?”

“Let’s take a look,” Russ said.

Trip retrieved a ring of small keys from his desk, squinted at their labels, and began unlocking the first file cabinet. Each drawer had its own key.

“That’s a good system you’ve got.” Eric rolled the top drawer open. “Most folks’ file cabinets you can get into with a bent paper clip.”

“They’re fireproof as well. I’ve got patient information in here, and it’s important to keep it safe.”

“I noticed a keypad by your front door,” Russ said. “Do you have a security system?”

“Yes.” Flora stepped forward and took the handle of the bottommost drawer. “You can remove these entirely and put them on his desk if you don’t want to work bent over.”

Clare hadn’t noticed any keypad, but she could tell what Russ was thinking. Tamper-resistant file cabinets in a wired and alarmed house must have been as close to a safety deposit box as Ellen Bain could come without actually going to a bank and leaving a paper trail.

As Trip unlocked his way through the cabinets, Eric and Clare pulled out the lowest drawers and set them side by side on the desk. They ran out of room well before Trip ran out of files. “I’ll get the card table,” Flora said.

Clare tugged on the next-to-last drawer. Something shifted inside, thudding against the metal front.

“Look at all this.” Eric kept his voice low. “Do you think he’d have put it under her name? Or stuck it in anywhere?”

Clare drew the cabinet drawer out slowly. It didn’t look any different than the others. Lots of manila folders, color tabbed, hanging on rails.

“Mom kept everything.” Olivia looked up from where she was going through the top left drawer. “That’s the reason there were so many boxes. Everything and copies of everything.”

Clare unlatched the metal tab holding it in place and lifted it from the cabinet. She tilted the drawer one way, then another. Thunk. Thunk. “There’s something in here.”

Russ took the drawer from her. “See if you can get it out.”

Clare shoved the folders back. A hefty envelope file had been wedged into the bottom of the drawer. She grabbed it and wiggled it free. It was more than an inch thick, its flap held in place by two thick rubber bands. She showed it to Trip.

“I’ve never seen it before.” His mouth twisted. “That I can remember.”

“What is it?” Will asked.

Russ let the drawer thunk onto the carpet. “Let’s see.” He removed the rubber bands and opened the flap. The folder was stuffed with papers.

“Here.” Flora toted a card table through the door and kicked its legs into place. “You can put it here.”

Russ dumped the documents onto the surface. Clare picked one up: three sheets stapled together. The first two pages were an accounting, directed to the financial administration of the coalition, for thirty metric tons of steel rebar. It was detailed enough to make her eyes swim-cost of transport inter- and intracountry, cost of labor, percentage cost of insurance, interim and final disposition. The sheet stapled to it was much simpler: an invoice from Birmingham Steel to BWI Opperman for five metric tons of rebar. She flipped back to the second page. There was a string of signatures: one from the Secretary of Finance (Coalition), one from the Quartermaster General’s Office, one from the Field Director of Operations (BWI Opperman), and one from the CID Compliance Officer attached to 10th Financial Support. That signature was neat, firm, and recognizable. Lt. Col. Arlene Seelye.

“Russ.” Clare held the document out for him to see.

“I know.” He read the signature. He showed her the papers in his own hand. “This one’s for insulation. Five thousand square feet billed to the coalition, with an invoice for seven hundred and fifty square feet from a distributor in Kentucky.”

“Are they all bills?” Eric asked.

“This isn’t. This is a copy of a legal document.” Will had parked his chair at the edge of the card table and was flipping through a hole-punched collation of thirty or more pages. “I think it’s a contract for services between BWI Opperman and the coalition government.”

Olivia looked over his shoulder, her forehead creased. “My mom didn’t have anything to do with the legal department.”

Clare picked up another paper. Rubberized tiles. She read another. Ductwork. And another. Sewage piping. All of them billing for five or six or seven times the attached invoices to BWI. All of them signed Lt. Col. Arlene Seelye.

“I just noticed this.” Eric pointed to the bottom corner of one of the elaborate coalition accounting forms. There was a small slash, followed by MM.

“Mary McNabb.” Clare handed the form to Russ. “That was Tally’s real first name.”

“She prepared these,” Russ said, “and Arlene Seelye signed off on them. Every one.”

Clare leaned against the paper-strewn card table. “There must be fifty of these paired-off invoices.”

“More, I think,” Will said.

Trip ran his fingers over one. “These are all copies, not originals. Ellen must have spotted the discrepancies early on and started keeping track.”

“I don’t understand,” Flora said. “ Was Ellen involved in some sort of criminal activity?”

“No. It looks like she was documenting someone else’s fraud.” Russ pointed to the legal document in Will’s hand. “Can I see that?” Will handed it over. Russ scanned the first page. Flipped through a few more pages. Stopped and folded the sheet over. He held it out to Trip. “Double-check me. What’s this contract worth?”

Trip pulled a pair of reading glasses on and examined the page. “Sixty million dollars.”

Clare breathed in.

“BWI Opperman signed a contract in which it was paid sixty million for construction in occupied Iraq,” Russ said. “Your sister was the accounts-payable bookkeeper for that part of the business. It was her job to keep track of and pay the bills BWI Opperman’s special projects department generated.”