Yellow Ribbons (22 page)

“I suppose you intend to pick the lock?” Jordan asked.

“I could.” Although he didn’t have his tools with him. “I know where Major Kenyon keeps the spare key. I saw it hanging behind one of the eaves on their back porch last summer during a barbecue.”

“You and probably a dozen other people.” Jordan drew a deep breath and pulled onto the road once more. “That opened up a host of possibilities. I feel like I’ve screwed up right and left lately.”

For a perfectionist, it was a hard reality to swallow. Greg knew that all too well. “Best you can do is chalk it up to a learning experience and move on.” A thought occurred to him. He doubted Jordan would appreciate him mentioning it, but… “All bullshit aside, what was the very first thought that ran through your mind when Pattison called for your help that night? Quick answer. Now.”

A grimace twitched his mouth. “That I’d get the chance to see Lani that night, work with her, be with her, maybe get her alone for once. Second thought was that I’d finally have something more interesting to work on than the latest rash of government property thefts. So, I called you to cover my tracks, thinking you lived too far out to come all the way in and would pass it off to her. I’d been dancing around her for months, trying to find the courage and a break in our schedules.”

Greg felt for the guy. “I’ve been told—though I don’t like it—that we males can only truly focus on one goal at a time. We see what we want and go after it, putting everything else on the back burner. Maybe you were so focused on Lani, you neglected to notice anything else.” He lifted his hand when Jordan drew breath to deny it. “I say that because I’ve been so focused these last few days on the fear of losing her, I’ve neglected to notice much else.”

“Well, that path’s clear now.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “All the good ones…”

“You’ll find someone. Probably where you least expect it.”

“So I’ve heard.”

They passed the remainder of the drive in silence. Greg tried to focus on solving the murders, but his thoughts kept wandering to his future with Lani. She hadn’t said yes to his marriage proposal. Greg couldn’t blame her caution. What he’d proposed was risky, and she stood to lose a lot for him. He’d wait as long as it took to have them together without repercussions. First thing tomorrow morning, he was going to start the ball rolling on his retirement package. It was time. He was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life, tired of bullshit politics, tired of living his life on hold awaiting orders. Though his love for Lani prompted the decision, Greg knew it’d been a long time coming. He needed this for them. More importantly, he needed this for himself. For his own peace of mind.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

Greg blinked into awareness. They’d arrived at the Kenyon home to find Juarez exiting his vehicle. The miles had fallen away while he’d been lost in thought.

The detective walked up to the driver’s side when Jordan pulled to a stop in the driveway. “What are you doing here?”

“We were wondering the same thing of you.” Jordan cut the engine and pushed open the door.

Greg exited the passenger side and braced his hands on his hips. It gave him quick access to the handgun holstered to his lower back if it came to that. Juarez was, after all, one of their three remaining suspects for the moment. Greg wasn’t willing to take any chances.

Juarez cast a puzzled frown toward the house. “Something doesn’t add up. Pattison and I went back to the primary murder scene yesterday afternoon and couldn’t find anything to substantiate Lance Corporal Owens’s statement. Pattison said there were no footprints up against the side of the Whittaker house. From the amount of yard debris piled up, I’d say it hasn’t been touched since Captain Whittaker deployed. Pattison released the scene. Told me he was doing the same with this place. That there was no sense wasting more time on what was a cut-and-dried case, especially since you’d determined it wasn’t related to the murder on base.”

Juarez shoved his hand into his pocket. Greg slipped his hand to the gun grip, then relaxed when Juarez pulled a ring of keys from his pocket.

“I pulled these from Kenyon’s personal effects. I’ve pretty much been a fuckup since I transferred up here. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. My wife left me. My kids hate me. My reputation is shit. I’ve had it. All this crap opened my eyes. I tried to not care, but I do. I can’t let this go. Pattison didn’t investigate this scene at all. He’s relying on Owens’s statement and circumstantial evidence. Not on my watch.” He jingled the keys. “And you?”

Greg relaxed his stance. “Mrs. Kenyon was here earlier, looking for his laptop and cell phone. She couldn’t find either, so we thought we’d take a look. Unless they’re among his personal effects?”

“No. All that was logged in was the wallet, keys, and pocket change, and that’s all I saw. Only evidence collected was the bloody clothes, an empty vodka bottle, and the empty bottle of sleeping pills.”

The image of Kenyon sprawled on his living room floor played across Greg’s mind. He should have looked closer, despite the shock. Now nothing made sense. “He was found in his boxers. What personal effects could he possibly have had on him? The man never took a piss without his cell phone, though, and it’s not in his things?” Like percent of the people Greg knew, Major Kenyon had been surgically attached to his cell phone. It was always a hand’s grasp away.

“I checked out the coroner’s photos. All his pocket junk was on the coffee table. Maybe the phone’s in the couch or under it.” Juarez frowned at the house. “Let’s glove up and take a look.”

They slipped on nitrile gloves from Jordan’s stash in the trunk, then Juarez led the way to the front door.

Greg aimed for the backyard. “I’m going to make sure the spare key is where it should be.” It was, neatly woven in place by a fat black widow spider. No one had touched the key in months. Another possibility gone. If Kenyon’s death wasn’t suicide, he knew his killer and had let that person in. Greg left the key alone and hurried around front to catch up with the others.

Jordan and Juarez stood inside the front door, adjusting to the smell. Kenyon’s remains were gone, but the stench of eliminated bodily fluids lingered. He hated that Nerine had walked in to this.

Juarez scanned the open living area from where they stood at the conjunction of the living room, dining room, and kitchen. “It’s pretty clear nothing’s been checked in this house. There’s nothing in evidence, and not a speck of fingerprint dust anywhere. There’s no
dust
anywhere. I’ve never seen a house so meticulous.”

“Major Kenyon was obsessively neat, somewhat anal retentive.”
A place for everything and everything in its place.

“Everything always lined up in his office.” Jordan’s eyes scrunched. “I don’t understand. What in the world could have set him off so much that he hacked two people to death? It seems out of character.”

“So does suicide,” Greg muttered. “I can’t imagine that someone like Kenyon would willingly allow himself to be found dead in a puddle of his own waste. A man like Kenyon doesn’t dump his pockets on the coffee table.”

“Listen to us. A man like Kenyon isn’t messy. A man like Kenyon doesn’t murder two people. A man like Kenyon wouldn’t commit suicide. And yet…” Jordan waved his arms to encompass the room. “He’s distraught. He’d just killed two people. Out of character, yes, but not impossible. He’d dumped the bloody clothes on the laundry room floor. There’s nothing tidy about that.”

Juarez’s gaze swept the room. For the first time in his experience with the man, Greg could see the wheels turning in his head. He didn’t know if he appreciated Jordan’s insight or resented it. Coming here was a mistake. Seeing where Kenyon died, remembering the sight of his body sprawled on the floor…

Greg closed his eyes. Thinking about it still made him sick inside.

“We’ll start from where he was discovered and work our way out.” Greg wanted to be anywhere but there, just like he hadn’t wanted to be there the day they’d found him. He tried to distance himself emotionally, tried to keep himself objective and logical. But each place they looked, his mind churned to what might have been in Kenyon’s head those last hours, the anger that had propelled him to kill two people, the desperation that made him kill himself, or the fear and helplessness when he realized he’d been framed and he’d let a murderer into his home. Somewhere in all that, they’d find the truth. Or maybe it had always been staring Greg in the face, and he didn’t want to see it.

A search of the floor near where Kenyon’s body had been, under the other furniture, and in the sofa cushions revealed nothing. They opened every cabinet and door in the main rooms. All the trash had been emptied, including the outside bin, and there wasn’t a dirty dish in sight. No computer anywhere.

“Maybe he got rid of it after his wife left.” Jordan glowered at the room, as if demanding it give up its secrets. “He wouldn’t want anyone to discover what she had.”

“What had she discovered?” Juarez asked.

“Porn. Gay from the sound of it.”

Juarez grunted. “He might have switched over to his cell phone for everything.”

If Kenyon was downloading porn when his family lived here, he’d need a private place to do so. The desk in the corner of the living room wasn’t it. “I think we’re looking for a laptop, possibly the master bedroom. He’d want a large screen. A cell phone wouldn’t do it for him.” With Nerine and the kids gone, Kenyon could
indulge
himself in his viewing pleasure.

“Bedroom’s next.” Greg led the way, then stopped short when he reached the master bedroom.

“Now
that’s
rage,” Juarez said.

It sure as hell is
. Someone had taken a butcher knife to the queen-size mattress. Stuffing spilled out. Sheets, bedspread, pillows, and the blanket were in shreds.

Jordan whistled. “I’d say Nerine Kenyon did more than search for a laptop and computer.”

“That would be my guess.” There had been nothing amiss the day they’d discovered Kenyon’s body.

“Odd she didn’t mention it,” Juarez muttered.

“She doesn’t know we’re here. She expected us to go to the station to look at personal effects and evidence. I can’t say I blame her.”

Juarez opened the walk-in closet. “I found a gun safe bolted to the floor. It looks secure. Either of you know what weapons he had?”

“Not a clue,” Greg absentmindedly replied. Nerine would know. She’d also have the combination and a key to the house. A scorned wife, filled with rage.
I could so use a little peace
. The thought chilled him. Surely she wouldn’t be considering the same route her husband had taken. What about their kids? Yet, she’d left them in San Diego, found a motel room in town rather than stay with the Seabergs.

“I need to call Lani.” He ducked into the hallway as he dialed.

“What did you find?” she answered with no other preliminary greeting.

Greg scuffed the backs of his fingers along his jaw. “Not a hell of a lot. Kenyon’s bed is ripped to shreds. I’m concerned about Nerine’s state of mind. There’s a gun safe. She’d have the combination.”

“Shit. I’ll call the Seabergs. She might contact them. They might be able to calm her down before she does something stupid—if that’s where her mind’s going. Then I’ll call the local motels and head into town. You didn’t find a computer or cell phone?”

“Nothing. We came right to the house. Juarez was here with the keys to take a look himself. There’s nothing in Kenyon’s personal effects, nothing in evidence.”

“If Kenyon killed Tipton and Whittaker, it’s possible he dropped his phone at the scene. It might have been collected.”

She had a point. “We’ll check. Let me know when you find Nerine.”

“Will do.”

Greg ended the call and turned to find Jordan and Juarez eavesdropping behind him. “Were any cell phones collected at the first scene?” he asked Juarez.

“Only cell phones belonging to the victims. There was nothing on them to speak of.”

Jordan nodded. “That’s what I recall as well, but we weren’t the only ones collecting evidence.”

Pattison, the common denominator
. Greg pulled in a hard breath. “The last thing I want is to upset those little girls. At this point, I don’t think we have a choice. The best bet is to try to have them ID this man their mother was having an affair with. In addition to what’s on file, the three of us took a lot of photos with our cell phones that night. We’ll have what we need for a preliminary ID.”

“Agreed.” Jordan peeled off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket.

Greg reached for his phone. “I’ve got a contact number for Captain Whittaker. I’ll call now and set it up.”

Whittaker barked a
hello
after the third ring.

“Captain Whittaker, this is Master Gunnery Sergeant Landess from the Provost Marshal’s Office.”

“So they sloughed me off to PMO now? Typical local bullshit.” Anger underscored every word.

“Sir, is there something wrong?” That brought Jordan’s and Juarez’s heads up. They edged closer. Greg put the call on speaker.

“A hell of a lot of something. Detective Pattison released the house today. I went over to get the girls’ bikes from the storage shed and found blood all over the place.”

“That shed was locked,” Jordan and Juarez both mumbled at the same time and started scrolling through the photos on their phones.

“I called the detective back, and he told me it was probably a rat. A rat? That’s one hell of a big rat. And where the hell did it go? I want someone over here
now
to look at this.”

Jordan flashed a photo of the shed taken the night of the murders. Greg remembered it well—locked.

“I’ll be glad to come over there to take a look. It’s not PMO jurisdiction, but—”

“I don’t give a damn! I want it looked at! I want my house back! I want my
life
back!”

“Yes, sir, I understand. Trust me, we’re doing all we can, but we need your help. I’m going to be sending you a photo of someone. It’s a lot to ask, but we need your daughters to see if they recognize him.”