Debby Giusti - Plain Danger

In the glare of the pulsing lights, she looked pale and drawn. A stiff breeze tugged at her hair. She turned her face into the wind while her gaze remained locked on Tyler.

Warmth stirred within him, and a tightness hitched his chest. The woman’s hollow stare struck a chord deep within him. Maybe it was the resignation on her face. Or fatigue, mixed with a hint of fear. Death was never pretty. Especially for a newcomer far from home and surrounded by strangers.

He dipped his chin in acknowledgment before he and Phillips rounded the corner of the house and headed toward the field of tall grass that stretched before them.

“How well did you know your neighbor?” Phillips fixed his gaze on the crime scene ahead.

“Not well. I’m new to the area. We exchanged pleasantries a few times. The sergeant major seemed like a nice guy, quiet, stayed to himself.”

Tyler had spent the last month and a half focused on his job, leaving his house early each morning and returning after dark. Being new to post and getting acclimated into his assignment didn’t leave time for socializing with the neighbors.

The cop glanced left and pointed to the Amish farm house on the adjoining property. “What about the other neighbors?”

“Isaac Lapp’s a farmer. He and his wife and their eight-year-old son are visiting relatives in Florida.”

“Probably for the best, especially so for the boy’s sake. No kid should witness a violent death.”

Tyler’s chest constricted. Without bidding, the memory returned. His father’s lifeless body, the mangled car, the stench of gasoline and spilled blood. He blew out a stiff breath and worked his way back to the present. Why were the memories returning tonight?

Two officers had already cordoned off an area near the rear of the field and stood aside as Ty and Phillips approached. Ducking under the crime scene tape, they headed to where battery-operated lights illuminated the body. The victim lay on his side, his back to them. No mistaking the digital pattern of the Army Combat Uniform or the desert boots spattered with blood.

Grass had been trampled down as if there’d been a struggle. The earth was saturated with blood. The acrid smell of copper and the stench of death filled the night.

Ty circled the body until he could see the guy’s face and the gaping wound to his neck. He paused for a long moment, taking in the ghastly sight of man’s inhumanity. What kind of person would slice another man’s throat?

The victim’s hands were scraped. His left index finger was bare, but then not all married guys wore rings. Blood had pooled around his head.

Ty hunched down to get a closer view. Fellows, the military name tag read. The 101st Airborne patch on his right sleeve indicated he had served with the Screaming Eagles in combat. The rank of corporal was velcroed on his chest. The patch on his left arm identified that he was currently assigned to the engineer battalion at Fort Rickman.

“Looks like he’s one of ours.” Tyler stood and glanced at Phillips. “I’ll contact the CID on post as well as his unit.”

Pulling his business card from his pocket, Tyler handed it to the cop. “Let me know what your crime scene folks find. I’d like a moment with Ms. York as soon as Officers Inman and Reynolds end their questioning.”

“No problem. Tell them you talked to me.” Phillips pocketed the business card. “I’ll keep you abreast of what we find.”

Tyler retraced his steps to the house, climbed to the porch and tapped lightly on the door before he turned the knob and stepped inside. A young officer glanced at the identification he held up and motioned him forward.

Inman and Reynolds stood near the fireplace in the living room. Ms. York sat, arms crossed, in a high-back chair.

Inman excused himself and quickly walked to where Tyler waited in the foyer. “Was the victim military?”

Tyler nodded. “From Fort Rickman. I’ll notify his unit.” He handed the cop his business card. “The CID’s resources are at your disposal. Let me know what you need.”

“Glad we can work together.” Glancing into the living room, Inman kept his voice low as he added, “I presume you want to talk to her.”

“Whenever you’re done. Has she provided anything of value thus far?”

“Only that she works as a speechwriter for a US senator in DC. Probably a big-city girl, with big-city ideas.” Inman smirked. “She asked whether the FBI would be notified.”

“And you told her—”

“That we’d handle the initial investigation.”

Noting the agitation in the cop’s voice, Tyler was grateful for the good relationship between the Freemont Police Department and the Fort Rickman CID, which hadn’t always been the case from the stories he’d heard around the office. Things could change again, but currently the two law enforcement agencies worked well together. A plus for Tyler. Getting in at the onset of a case made his job easier and pointed to a faster resolution, especially on a death investigation.

“Maybe there’s a reason she requested the feds,” he suggested. “If she works for a senator, there might be something she’s not telling you.”

“Could be. We can check it out. She claims to have heard footsteps as she ran back to the house.”

“Did she get a visual?”

“Unfortunately, no. She didn’t see anyone. Could be an overanxious imagination, especially after finding the body. Still, you never know. People have been known to fake grief and shock.”

“Did you get her boss’s name?”

Inman glanced down at his open notebook. “It’s here somewhere.”

Tyler turned his gaze to the living area, feeling an emotional pull deep within him. Usually he didn’t allow his feelings to come into play during an investigation. This case seemed different. Perhaps because her father had been a neighbor. The close proximity might have triggered a familiarity of sorts. Or maybe because she’d lost her father. Tyler could relate. Still, he hadn’t expected the swell of empathy he felt for her.

“Here it is.” Inman stepped closer and pointed to his notebook. “Ms. York works as a speechwriter for Senator Kingsley.”

Any warmth Tyler had sensed disappeared, replaced with a chilling memory of a man from his past.

“Senator Drake Kingsley?” Ty asked.

Inman nodded. “That’s right. You know the name?”

Worse than that, Tyler knew the man—a man he would never forget and never forgive. Drake Kingsley had killed his father, yet he’d never been charged for the crime.

TWO

Carrie’s head throbbed and her mouth felt dry as cotton. Officer Reynolds appeared oblivious of her discomfort and continued to ask questions that seemed to have no bearing on the terrible crime that had happened tonight.

“Has Senator Kingsley had attacks against his person?” he asked. “Or have there been attacks on anyone with whom you work?”

“Not that I know of, but I don’t see how what happens in Washington could have bearing on a soldier’s murder in rural Georgia.”

“Yes, ma’am, but I just want to cover every base.”

“Bases as in baseball, Officer Reynolds, or the investigation?”

He looked peeved, which was exactly how she felt. Peeved and tired and more than a little frightened to think of what had occurred just outside her window while she slept. She’d never expected following the trail to her estranged father would hurl her into a murder investigation.

If she wasn’t so confused, she would cry, but that wouldn’t solve the problem at hand, namely to answer the officer’s questions. Plus, she didn’t want to appear weak. She’d been living alone long enough to know she had to rely on her own wherewithal. A lesson that had been one of the few good things she’d learned from her mother.