Vickie York - The Eyes Of Derek Archer

“This won’t take long,” he went on, “but it’s vital that I see you right away.”

A few minutes later he appeared in her open doorway, a somber expression on his hawklike face. Behind him was a heavyset colonel Susan recognized as the senior base chaplain. Standing to greet them, she felt the blood drain from her face. Why was the chaplain here? Had somebody died?

Major Savage, whose beak of a nose and sharp-sighted eyes matched his wiry appearance, took the empty seat beside her desk. The chaplain pulled one of her spare chairs near her desk and settled himself on it.

“Colonel Ratigan, this is Lieutenant Susan Wade,” Major Savage said.

The colonel reached out and clasped her hand between both of his. “I’m one of the chaplains here at Fairchild.”

“I know,” she blurted, scarcely aware of her own voice. “What’s happened?”

“Please sit down,” the colonel said.

Numbly, Susan sat.

The chaplain eyed her, his brow furrowed. “There’s been an…accident, Susan.”

“My husband?” She could hardly force the words out.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” Major Savage began, “but Brian’s been shot.”

She jumped to her feet. “Is he in the base hospital?”

“No, he’s not.” The chaplain rose and put his hand on her arm. “Captain Wade—well—he’s no longer with us.”

“You mean he’s dead? That’s impossible.” For a moment Susan wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Shaking her head, she sank back into her chair. “You’ve made a mistake. Brian had an inspection scheduled for his ground crew this afternoon.” She heard her voice rising and knew she was on the verge of losing control. But she couldn’t help herself.

The major leaned toward her, lines of worry between his sharp-sighted blue eyes. “He must have left the base after his inspection, Susan.”

You’re wrong, she wanted to scream. He had a date with me. Why would he leave the base? Instead, she looked down at her hands twisted nervously in her lap. “It wasn’t him,” she said. “It couldn’t be. Someone’s made a terrible mistake.”

The chaplain shook his head. “There was no mistake, Susan. His ID card and driver’s license were in his wallet. The man they found was Brian.”

Waves of disbelief swept over her, and she struggled to keep from screaming. “I want to see the body.”

“Of course,” the chaplain said, glancing at Major Savage. He nodded slightly.

The room swam around her as tears blinded her eyes and choked her voice. Until now Susan had been able to fight this awful lie. But she couldn’t any longer. Unable to see clearly, she fumbled in her purse for a tissue. In front of her, a clean linen handkerchief appeared in the chaplain’s hand.

“Take it,” he urged gently.

He and Major Savage got up, and the two men turned away while she wiped her cheeks dry and blew her nose. Thank God they knew enough to give her some privacy. She heard the low murmur of their voices as from a great distance, though they were only a few feet away.

Finally she gained a measure of control over herself. But even then she couldn’t seem to function properly. When she tried to stand, her knees buckled. Leaning on her desk, she sank back to her seat.

An instant later, the chaplain pulled his chair closer and sat down. “Are you certain you’re up to seeing Brian right now, Susan?”

She nodded, swallowing her sobs.

“Come with us,” Major Savage said.

THE MORGUE WAS COLD and silent. An attendant ushered them into the sterile white room where the identification would be made.

Please let it be someone else, Susan prayed as she approached the gurney where the body lay. Holding her breath, she watched the attendant fold back the sheet. Brian’s face stared up at her, still and white.

All the breath seemed to leave her as she stood there rooted to the floor. Stepping closer, she touched his face with her fingertips. His skin felt cool and smooth, like old silk. Though he hadn’t lived up to her expectations, she couldn’t bear to see him like this. Standing there beside his body, she felt tears slipping down her cheeks.

“It’s him,” she said, unable to speak above a whisper. “It is Brian.” Finally the chaplain took her arm and eased her away from the table.

Shivering, she hugged her wool coat around herself. Though still inside the building, she felt cold, so terribly cold. Would she ever be warm again?

Not until she was in the car with Major Savage and Colonel Ratigan, headed back to the base, did she think to ask who fired the shot that killed him.

“Do the police know what happened?”

“They’ve already identified a person of interest,” Major Savage announced, glancing at her beside him in the front seat. “A taxi driver described a bald, middle-aged man who was in that area about the same time your husband got there.”

“An eyewitness?” Her mind was still too full of the horror of Brian’s cold, pallid face to digest the importance of what she was hearing. “Do the police know who he is?” She heard herself ask the question, but it was as if she were on autopilot and her intelligence training had kicked in.

“No, but they’re trying to track him down. It’s been only a couple of hours since…” He glanced at Susan. She stared rigidly ahead, willing herself not to break down.

She forced the stark image of Brian’s dead face out of her mind. “Do the police have a motive for the eyewitness?”

Major Savage didn’t answer right away. When he did, his words were halting. “Nothing was stolen. So maybe this terrible tragedy is tied into that murder last year of the major I replaced as squadron commander.”

In the back seat, the chaplain cleared his throat. “I don’t think this is a good time to talk about that.”

Susan jerked bolt upright on the seat. “What was his name? That air force captain who was convicted of the murder?”

“Don Albright,” Major Savage supplied.

Mulling over the case in her mind, she reached into her memory for bits of information. “Wasn’t there some doubt about his suicide?”

“There’s been speculation that he faked the leap from the Tacoma Narrows Bridge so he could jump bail and escape.” The major’s voice was cold and exact.

Susan clenched her hands together so tightly the knuckles cracked. “If Don Albright’s alive, he must be the one who killed Brian.” Anger released some of her grief, and she didn’t try to fight it. “I’ll see he pays if it’s the last thing I do.”

San Francisco

SEATED AT THE TABLE in his cramped room, Archer stared in disbelief at the picture on the front page of the Spokane Daily Chronicle. Though the focus was a little hazy, he easily recognized the man facing the camera.

It was himself, in the disguise he’d worn in Spokane. Stiff with shock, he read the news item under the picture.

Have you seen this man? the caption read. Eyewitness wanted for questioning in the Wade killing. The article went on to say that the picture was taken by a tourist visiting the cathedral. He’d sent the photo to the paper anonymously because he didn’t want to get involved.

Though only the back of the other man in the photograph was visible, the newspaper identified him as Air Force Captain Brian Wade, the officer who’d been murdered two weeks ago.

Archer crumpled the newspaper in his sweaty fists. Were the police trying to find the eyewitness because they thought he was the murderer? Lord knows, he’d dreamed of strangling Wade with his bare hands.

But the police couldn’t possibly suspect the man in the picture. With the sophisticated techniques available today, they had to know the bullet was fired from the street, not a foot away. But maybe they thought he’d moved from his photographed position and then committed the murder.