Silent Witness (13 page)

“Reckon I have to wave a white flag, Ellen. What stunning surprise did you find? They were supposed to get us the fifth caller identification. Did they?”

She grinned and leaned down to place her briefcase at her feet. “I received the e-mail.” She dug furiously into one of the pockets of her skirt. “I know it's in here somewhere.”

Cochrane sat and watched. He couldn't help but smile. “You're pawing around like a skunk digging through a patch of sweet potatoes, on the hunt for worms and grubs. What are you looking for? Your crystal ball?” His gaze fell on her lips. Ellen never wore
makeup, but she didn't need it. He liked the crazy quilt of freckles across her pale skin. It reminded him of the Milky Way spilling across a night sky—just as beautiful. Ellen was comfortable with how she looked, unlike Jodi, who always wanted to dress up and smack on a layer of foundation to hide her natural beauty. Jim never understood why women did that. He guessed he never would.

Ellen laughed breathily. “Crystal ball? Really, Mr. Cochrane, you surprise me. Today I don't look like a rainbow child, and all I get from you is grief, anyway.”

“No,” he said dryly, “you certainly don't look like a hippie today. More like Zelda the Gypsy, who can't find her trustworthy fortune-telling tools.”

Compressing her lips, Ellen dug into the other pocket. “The only crystal ball I have in my possession is my gut intuition, for your information. Oh, good! Here it is!” After unfolding the paper with exaggerated ceremony, she triumphantly handed it to him. “You were right about Susan's call going to Ann Hawkins's phone.”

He studied the numbers and names of the callers. “So the last call went to the Red Cross?” He scowled. “Of all places…”

“Yep.” Ellen opened the lid on her laptop computer and plugged it in.

“Hmm, mighty interesting.” Jim studied the telephone company printout, his brows dipping. “Both calls occurred in the last half hour before her time of death.”

Ellen sat down. “Why the Red Cross, Jim? Did she have a friend there? Someone we don't know about yet?”

Shrugging, he tucked the printout into the left breast pocket of his tan uniform. “Good question, gal. I don't know.” Frowning, he put his official papers and the police reports in order. “We'll be done with interviews by 1500 today. After that, we're going to drive down to the Red Cross and see what we can find out.” When he saw Ellen blushing again at his endearment, Jim found himself wanting to reach out and caress that soft cheek. He forced himself to keep his hand on the table.

“Susan volunteered at the zoo. Did she volunteer at the Red Cross?”

“Got me.” He grinned widely. “Do I look like I have a crystal ball tucked away somewhere on me?” He began to pat his shirt and then his pants pockets, pretending to look.

“Oh, stop! Now you're making fun of me! I find this case just gets more fascinating all the time. Who knew that Susan's compiled photos would help us maybe understand why she died?”

“Me? Would I ever make fun of you, gal?” Jim held up his hand. “Don't answer that on the grounds it may incriminate me.”

Laughing softly, Ellen typed her password into her laptop. “You're so full of it, Mr. Cochrane. You got more names and colorful adjectives for me than I can throw a stick at. And the latest one—gal. Now, what am
I supposed to think of that? Is it a compliment? An insult? Or something in between?” How Ellen wanted it to be a special name for her alone.

His brows rose. “Why, that's a pet name.” He saw her eyes grow merry with humor.

“As in a name for a pet rock, maybe?”

Groaning, Jim shook his head. “Everyone knows ‘gal' is a compliment.” He snorted softly. “Pet rock. Gimme a break, will you?”

“For all I know,” Ellen said, grinning, “it could be a name for your pet bullfrog!”

He was unable to stop from laughing out loud or watching her every move. Ellen was more than desirable, but when her green eyes became dappled with gold sunlight and her mouth curved wickedly, teasingly, Jim found himself hungry for her in every possible way.

Jodi had always accused him of buttoning up like a proverbial bank vault, unwilling to communicate with her. As a result, Cochrane tried daily to change some of his old habits. Lifting his hands now, he earnestly met Ellen's dancing gaze. “Gal is a special name. Not a pet rock or a frog's name. I—well—it just slipped out.” But then Ellen's smile vanished and her eyes became serious. Unsure if that boded good or bad, he asked almost defensively, “Did I make you uncomfortable or angry when I used it?”

“I thought it was a compliment,” Ellen said in a low voice. “But I wanted to make sure. You know how assuming something can get you in trouble.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jim said, relieved.

“So ‘gal' is a nickname for a
friend?
” Ellen wondered. In her heart she hoped it was a more intimate term. She'd had a few days to get over the shock of being attracted to Jim. Her fear was receding and in its place was a raw longing she was unable to ignore.

“It's a name you'd call someone you feel comfortable around.”

His gaze narrowed on Ellen. In a nervous gesture, she ran her fingers through her unruly hair. Heart thumping with fear, he added, “Hey, I didn't mean comfortable like an old couch. It meant someone you care about. If you don't like the term, I won't use it again. I can see you're unsettled about it.”

“Oh, Jim. No, I
love
the endearment!” Ellen reached forward, her fingers brushing his hand. “I—well, gosh. I mean, I kissed you on the cheek the other day. I think it's nice.” She lifted her hand away. “I like it.” More than he would ever know.

“You do?” The question spilled out of him like that of a gawky teenager asking the girl he had a crush on to go out with him for the first time. Seeing her eyes go tender with warmth, Jim melted inwardly. His skin tingled where she'd unexpectedly brushed his hand. This woman had the most maddening way of turning his mind to mush and his heart into a free-flying kite.

Sighing, Ellen looked toward the door. “I think we deserve to set some time aside to have a serious talk about how we feel toward one another. Not here, for
sure, but when we can squeeze out an hour or so…Jim, you look like I just shot you.”

One corner of his mouth hitched upward. “I'm just surprised, is all. But yes, we need to carve out some time outside Navy demands to sit and chat.” That would be something he'd look forward to with trepidation. He knew he wasn't on solid footing with Ellen—yet. The spontaneous part of him wanted to be. His head, the rational part, called him an idiot for even thinking about love after being burned so badly by the divorce.

“I'd like that.” Fear and joy stirred inside her. She had healed enough to realize her life was moving forward. Here and now, with this Navy officer who had such a soft Missouri accent. Quickly running her fingers through her hair, Ellen refocused herself on work and opened up her file for the coming interview.

Cochrane lost his smile and became much more serious. “Well, whether we like it or not, we gotta stick to the business at hand. Our first interview is with Lieutenant Neil Michelson. If my hound dog nose is twitching right, he's going to show up with an attorney. I think everyone here is running scared since we issued the order for Ares participants to drop by for an official interview. They know the winds of change are blowing strong and hard. It ought to get a little stiff and formal in here real quick. And since Michelson has been identified in some of those undignified photos, he'll want to protect his butt.”

Ellen rubbed her hands together, giving him a grin. “Well, let's find out, shall we, pardner?”

N
O SOONER HAD
E
LLEN
opened her laptop for the forthcoming interview than the office door opened abruptly, almost as if leaping to attention. Cochrane recognized Michelson and his civilian attorney, Douglas Baden, frowning at his side.

Neil Michelson's broad shoulders were squared, his prominent jaw thrust forward, as if daring them to give him a hard time. He had the swaggering gait of a third generation Navy man. His grandfather had retired as a three-star admiral. His father, Rear Admiral Hugh Michelson, worked in the hallowed halls of the Pentagon. A glint of absolute, unshakable confidence burned in Neil's eyes as he approached.

Watching him carefully, Cochrane realized the man had a lot more to lose than most other naval officers because his pa was a powerful admiral. If the son's wrong-doings were aired, the entire family's honor would be stained. Not only would the young Michelson go down in flames, but the father's illustrious and prestigious reputation would be tarnished by association.

Cochrane saw the black snake tattoo that Michelson
had on his left, inside wrist—no doubt because of his call sign, “Cobra.” Studying him, Jim decided he had “snake eyes,” a term hill folk used for someone not to be trusted.

Jim noticed Ellen staring at the charismatic Michelson. She seemed in awe. And why wouldn't she be? Aviators had the right stuff, and Jim had yet to see a woman immune to their iconic standing as the ultimate air warriors.

“My client thinks this is a tremendous waste of his valuable time, Lieutenant Cochrane,” Douglas Baden said smoothly.

“So do I,” Cochrane said, smiling like a shark, his gaze pinned on Michelson. “But, I'm just a worker bee on the Susan Kane investigation, so I reckon we'll just have to persevere through this together, won't we, Mr. Baden?”

Baden grimaced and glanced at Ellen, then back at Jim.

Cochrane switched on his laptop and double clicked on a particular file. “You see, Mr. Baden, this interview is going to explore what went on at the Ares Conference Lieutenant Michelson attended on May 15th through the 18th.”

“The Ares Conference?” Michelson growled. “It was just one of many conferences I've attended this year. This is a waste of my time. I'm an instructor here at Top Gun and I have a mandated flight in two hours.”

“We'll get you out of here in plenty of time,” Coch
rane said dryly, studying the screen on his laptop. “My pa always said if you were up to your boot straps in cow manure, you'd want to be anywhere but in the barn, too.”

“Just what the hell is that Ozarks hillbilly crap supposed to mean?” Michelson demanded tightly.

Cochrane looked over his computer screen at the aviator and then at the attorney. Michelson was a ring knocker—he didn't like little people like Jim scampering around his spit-shined flight boots. “Let me explain something to you, gentlemen.” He patted his laptop affectionately. “We've got forty-eight color photographs that were taken at the Ares Conference. The photos show civilian and military people in what I'd term pre-Tailhook shenanigans, all caught on camera. We're also working closely with the Reno Police Department, who just got done calling in the temporary employees hired for Ares, and taking statements from them. The R.P.D has copies of these photos. The employees were shown them two days ago for positive identification.

“We're still in the middle of compiling this information. That's why we want to interview military personnel who attended. Those being asked to come and talk to us were either on the Ares Conference list or were identified in a photograph or by a Barstow Hotel employee who recalled the aviator in question.”

Michelson gasped, his eyes bulging. He seemed to catch himself, then cut a look to Baden and jerked his attention back to Cochrane.

“You see,” Ellen interjected sweetly, deliberately breaking the building tension in the room, “those photos were given to Susan Kane. We discovered them in her condo. We know that the photos were not hers, but gathered from many sources. Maybe the photos were sent by a spouse of an officer who attended the conference, by any number of young women from Reno who were there, or by one of the ‘professional' help hired to entertain at this particular defense contractors' convention.” She hesitated, then added in a serious tone, “Or perhaps Navy officers in attendance, properly incensed by what went on, took the photos.”

“But…but…cameras weren't allowed at Ares,” Michelson croaked.

“Gosh and by golly,” Cochrane drawled, “I guess some folks didn't follow the rules, did they? But then a lot of rules weren't followed at Ares, were they, Mr. Michelson? Taking pictures is the least of the offenses, from what we can discern.”

Michelson glared at him. “I wouldn't know, Mr. Cochrane.”

“Oh, I reckon you do know,” Cochrane murmured. He saw beads of sweat popping on Michelson's furrowed brow. The aviator sat so rigidly in the chair it seemed he might snap from the strain. Let him. Michelson had done a fair amount of abuse to Ann Hawkins at Ares, according to her interview. It was a matter of getting solid evidence to nail him.

Michelson had a lot to sweat about. It was one thing
to screw up your own career. It was another to soil your father's and grandfather's exemplary careers. That was an unforgivable sin to commit in a military dynasty family.

“Look,” Michelson pleaded, lifting his hands and opening them. “Boys will be boys, Mr. Cochrane.”

“Really?” Ellen goaded, holding the man's startled gaze. “Boys aren't boys when they start assaulting women, or violate their oath of professional conduct,
Lieutenant.
This is the post-Tailhook Navy, in case you had forgotten.” Her words were biting but she didn't care. Michelson pushed her buttons!

“Well, this was a private affair, not a military function, er…I mean, we're military men,” Michelson mumbled. “We risk our lives every day, Agent Tanner. Landing on a carrier is like flying a death wish.”

Ellen frowned. “Your bravado is lost on me, Lieutenant. You chose this line of work.” Damn his arrogance and belittling of women. Ellen would have none of it. She glanced over at Jim, who was trying to suppress a smile.

Michelson gave his lawyer a panicked look. He gulped and sat back, his hands clenched on the arms of the chair.

Cochrane knew he had to get Ellen off the aviator's back for the moment. “Are you telling me you were never in the Leopard Radar Corporation suite any time during the Ares Conference?” Cochrane allowed a good bit of sarcasm to enter his voice. He knew Michelson
had a hot temper and an equally short trigger on anything that needled him. He was one of the more arrogant jocks at Giddings, and Cochrane had to take advantage of that fact to squeeze an ounce of truth out of this lying bastard.

Nostrils flaring, Michelson rapped out, “No, I was never at that goddamn suite! Okay?” Sweat trickled down the sides of his face.

“Reckon it's not okay.” Cochrane pointed to the laptop. “According to one photo, plus an eyewitness account, you were seen with Lieutenant Bassett going into the Leopard Radar suite on—” he looked more closely at the screen “—1700 on Friday, May 15th.” Looking up, he said, “Is that incorrect?”

“Whoever told you that is lying!” Michelson snarled.

“Really?” Jim slowly rubbed his jaw. “I don't know, Lieutenant. This person was an eyewitness and was real close to the situation.”

Michelson's jaw clenched. His eyes became slitted. “I was never at that suite.”

“My client is faithful to his recollection,” Baden said silkily. “What he's saying is that he does not recall visiting the suite in question. These activities took place two and half months ago and at a very busy, crowded conference.”

Michelson eagerly nodded in agreement.

“That's kinda interesting,” Cochrane drawled. “This witness says Lieutenants Michelson and Bassett were present when a female Naval officer was forced down
on her knees to drink from the dildo penis drink dispenser in front of a Leopard mural. What about that incident, Mr. Michelson? Anything to add?”

His face flushed, Michelson sat there for a long moment. “I do not recall.”

“Is that your answer? That you do not recall the incident in the Leopard Radar Corporation suite or that you do not recall ever being in the suite at the time in question?”

“I do not recall visiting the suite in question.”

“Was Lieutenant Bassett with you at any of the seminars at Ares?”

“Hell, yes! We attended every seminar together.”

“How about after the sat-com talk?” Jim saw Michelson's face go a darker red.

“I went to my room.”

“You were seen leaving the seminar with Lieutenant Bassett and you went to the third-floor patio, and later to the Leopard Radar Corporation suite.”

Clenching his teeth, Michelson said softly, “I went to my room. I wasn't feeling good.”

“Really?” Cochrane let the silence build as he held Michelson's outraged glare. If the pilot could have leaped across the table, grabbed him by his collar and punched him out, he'd have done so. However, since this was an official interview, he knew that course of action was foolhardy.

“What was your room number, Lieutenant?”

“I was in room 1562.”

“I again ask you, Lieutenant, where did you go after the sat-com talk?”

“Excuse me,” Baden interjected. “May I have a private consultation with my client?”

Cochrane hesitated but knew he couldn't deny any client-attorney interface. “Reckon you can step outside into the passageway if you'd like,” he invited with equal smoothness.

Both men went out and shut the door behind them. Jim glanced at Ellen, whose outrage was evident. Fortunately, the door and bulkheads weren't very thick, and he could hear every word spoken by Baden. Somehow, this made them feel a lot better.

“Goddammit, Lieutenant. Either tell the truth or say you don't recall. You're not good enough to make these things up on the spot. That legal beagle in there will burn your ass for false testimony if you get confused. Got that?”

“Yeah,” Michelson snarled, “I got it.”

Ellen put her hand over her mouth and Jim could see laughter dancing in her eyes. He would have gladly shared in her amusement, but they weren't done yet. He carefully arranged his face when the door opened and the two men returned. He tried to seem occupied with the laptop while they took their seats again, then he looked up.

Cochrane tapped his pencil slowly once, twice, three times on the table. All the while, he stared unblinking at Michelson. When he spoke, his voice was hard and
uncompromising. “We have a witness who says Lieutenants Michelson and Bassett literally dragged the witness into the Leopard Radar Corporation suite from the third-floor patio area immediately following the sat-com talk.”

Michelson's eyes bulged and he held himself taut, almost at attention.

Cochrane could tell the man realized that Ann Hawkins had fingered him. The officer went from a plum color to a pasty white, and then back to an angry red. Michelson struggled, his sharpened gaze dropping to his hands, which were clenched tightly in his lap. A rivulet of sweat ran down his jaw.

“If you're referring to Lieutenant Hawkins, I'd forgotten all about that.” Michelson scowled, looked to the right and then to the left as he seemed to ponder how much to tell. “We were met by Lieutenant Hawkins. She grabbed us by the arms and asked us to go with her to some of the defense contractor suites. Even though she was insistent, we declined. I went to my room and left her at the doorway of one of the squadron suites. I don't remember which one.”

Cochrane controlled his disgust. “So, you are able to place Lieutenant Hawkins and Lieutenant Bassett, arm in arm, at the doorway of one of the suites. It may or may not have been the Leopard Radar suite, at approximately 1900 on May 15th?”

Michelson's eyes grew wide with fear, as if he was realizing the gravity of his admission. He'd just placed
his best friend at the Leopard Radar suite with Lieutenant Hawkins. Michelson made a croaking sound of terror and turned swiftly to his attorney. The last thing the man wanted to do was identify a fellow aviator.

Baden glared at Michelson and then looked over at Cochrane. “My client stated he didn't recall the name of the suite in question. He then left the parties and went to his hotel room.”

“I told you, I went to my room,” Michelson repeated, wiping sweat off his brow.

Jim didn't speak for a good long minute. He fingered Michelson's personnel file and studied it intently. “You're married, with two children.” He looked up at the tight-jawed aviator. “Third wife? Right?”

“Yes.”

“It's tough being a Navy aviator,” Cochrane said with a sympathetic sigh. “You're gone a lot, the family suffers, the wife gets lonely and has to handle everything by herself.”

“What's this leading up to?” Baden demanded tightly.

With a shrug, Cochrane smiled. “Three wives in eight years makes Lieutenant Michelson look a little rocky in the responsibility department, don't you think?”