Yellow Ribbons (23 page)

“Fine. Do it.” He called for the girls while Greg, Jordan, and Juarez scrolled through their pictures to find one of Pattison. Juarez sent one to Greg; Greg sent it on.

“It’s sent, sir. I’ll wait.”

Precious seconds ticked by, seconds where none of them moved and barely breathed.

“That’s the policeman,” Susie’s voice filtered from the background.

Greg had thought the girls were gone by the time Pattison showed up that night. Otherwise they would have pointed him out at the scene if he was their mother’s lover.
Now what?

“You heard?” Whittaker snapped.

“I did. Bear with me, sir.” Greg searched his pictures for something, anything of Kenyon, and finally found one from last year’s unit Christmas party. “I just sent another.”

Whittaker issued a put-upon sigh. More seconds passed, then:

“That’s the man who hates Santa!” Susie yelled.

“He’s got mean eyes!” Amber shouted.

“Well?” Captain Whittaker asked.

“Thank you, sir. Someone will be at your house shortly.”

“I’ll be there waiting, and I expect a detailed explanation of what the fu… Of what’s going on.”

“I would highly advise against doing that. We’re trying to catch…” The kids’ voices were still in the background. He didn’t want to throw the
killer
word out there within possible earshot. “We’re trying to help you.”

“It’s my house. I have every right—”

“Fine, sir. As long as you stay out of the way and let us do our jobs.”

Whittaker mumbled assent and hung up.

Juarez tucked his phone into his pocket. “You realize this is yet another thing that ties Kenyon to those murders.”

“It also means Nerine lied. Kenyon wasn’t gay. He was having an affair with Regina Whittaker,” Jordan said.

“Or maybe she was lied to, or made assumptions based on what she found on his computer when she found his porn.” Or a thousand other things. Like she had a key to the Kenyon house and could have slipped pills into his booze. Or that she had motive and rage to kill Regina. But Tipton and Shepard? None of it discounted the fact that the woman was most likely armed and intent on doing harm to herself or someone else.

“I’m curious about the blood in the shed,” Juarez said. “It might mean someone helped Kenyon hide there.”

“Agreed. Lani’s closer. She can get there first and calm Whittaker down.”

Juarez cocked an eyebrow. “Lani?”

Yeah, he’d screwed up twice, calling her by her first name. Greg didn’t give a shit. “Yeah…
Lani
.”

“Didn’t see that one,” he muttered.

“You weren’t supposed to.”

Lani was almost out the door when she saw Lieutenant Colonel Seaberg pull up in front of Greg’s house.

“You suck as a watchdog, Mita.”

She thought about hiding inside until he drove away, but her car in front of the garage had already given her away. The subterfuge of gathering here to talk about the case wouldn’t work with a roast on low in the oven and Greg and Jordan gone. There was nothing to do but face the man.

Warning bells clanged in her head. He was on Jordan’s list of suspects in Shepard’s murder. Maybe hiding was the best option. They could tell him later that they’d left her car here and gone somewhere together. Lani sighed. She couldn’t make the lie work. Her wits and the weapon at her back would have to protect her.

Lani met Seaberg just outside the door. The front porch was as far as she intended to let him go.

“Sir, this is a surprise.”

He didn’t look happy. “I know the feeling well, Captain. Greg here?”

She debated the response. Telling him Greg was asleep or in the bathroom would be unearthed as lies very quickly. “No, he and Jordan are checking out a lead.”

“Very well.” He grasped his wrist in one hand and stared at her. “Lieutenant Cornwall briefed me this morning on Shepard’s murder.”

She frowned. “This morning, sir? Not last night?”

“No.” His lips thinned to a harsh line, white around the edges. “Saturday night is date night. My wife and I went to Palm Springs for dinner with the Turners.”

A solid alibi. Greg would be relieved…or not.

“Then the ladies decided they wanted to go dancing at Pizazz,” Seaberg added.

Dread crawled down Lani’s spine.

“So where were all of you that Cornwall took the call?” he asked.

Lani braced her shoulder against the side of the house. This might be salvageable after all. “Sir, I think you know we were at Pizazz too. I went there for dinner and dancing with Captains Boyer, Vitale, and Leopold. Captain Leopold became physically aggressive, and I didn’t appreciate it. Special Agent Beck escorted me from the club while Master Gunnery Sergeant Landess dealt with the issue inside.” She wouldn’t comment on why Greg and Jordan had been there. “We learned about the murder when we returned home. Lieutenant Cornwall had responded and had things well under control.”

“That he did.” Seaberg cocked his head. “You realize the general’s going to chop you up into little pieces, don’t you?”

There it was, all laid out. There was no getting around this one. Seaberg had seen enough to connect her and Greg.

Was he friend or foe? Yes, he’d had it with the violation of rules and by general decree was determined to see the lapse rectified. Did that mean he was willing to take down a man he’d known and worked with for twenty years? He’d helped Greg once. Would he do it again?

“As long as Greg doesn’t go down with me.” She mustered her best I-mean-business stare. It probably meant shit to Seaberg, but it gave Lani the courage she needed right now. “He’s putting in retirement papers. You let him retire, and you can do whatever the hell you want to me, sir.”

A sigh slumped his shoulders. She’d never seen the man look so defeated. “Aw, Lani, if this gets out, there’s not a thing I can do to help you.”

“I’m not asking you to help me. I’m asking you to help him.”

He studied the dark clouds and didn’t commit either way. “Weatherman predicted snow down to the five hundred foot level.” Seaberg jingled his keys and watched the clouds creep over the sun. “That’ll be a nice treat. Kids will have a ball. Of course, it might not wind up being so nice in this little fortress of solitude. There’s been a time or two over the years he’s owned the place that Greg’s been snowed in here. It’s rare, but it happens.”

Which meant that if she didn’t leave at the first sign of snowfall, she’d be trapped in here with him. They’d have a hell of a time explaining that.

“He’s well stocked for food,” she said. “I doubt he’ll starve.”

He laughed lightly. “Maybe I should stick around and pray I get snowed in with him. It’d be so much better than having to deal with everything else.” Seaberg clicked his key fob over his shoulder to unlock his car door. “The wife and kids would kill me, though, for not making sure they were trapped here too.” He turned and walked away.

Hugging herself against the growing chill, Lani followed him to the end of the sidewalk. “If I see a snowflake, I’ll call. You can all dash back here and hope.”

Seaberg’s eyes brightened. “Wouldn’t Greg love to come home and find it filled to bursting with company?”

“Somehow I doubt he’d care.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that one.” Seaberg shot Lani a glance that held more affection than accusation.

She didn’t get her hopes up. Lieutenant Colonel Seaberg would only go so far to protect them—if he decided to protect them at all. She’d known high-ranking officers in the past who’d smile to your face, then get someone else to do their dirty work for them.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Captain. Bright and early.”

No, he wasn’t her friend. Maybe he was still Greg’s, though.

Lani watched him drive away, realizing too late she’d forgotten to ask him about Nerine. She ducked inside to grab a jacket and found Mita standing vigil at the oven.

“You’ve got a long wait, pup.” She scratched her behind the ears. “I’m not so sure I trust you alone, little girl. You’re coming with me.”

Mita dashed for the door like her greatest wish had come true. Lani had been played by a master. She retrieved Mita’s leash and was trying to get her to stop wiggling long enough to be hooked up when Greg called.

She parked the phone on her shoulder. “Hey, I was just getting ready to leave.”

“I need you to make a side trip to the Whittaker house. Whittaker claims he found blood all over the inside of the shed. We also got the girls to do a photo ID. They nailed Major Kenyon as the Santa-hating man.”

“So he
was
having an affair with Regina Whittaker.” It screamed motive once more for Nerine. But did she have the means and opportunity? She could have easily left the kids with family and made a round-trip from San Diego up here the night her husband died.

“It would be case closed if not for this new blood evidence. That shed was locked from the outside the night we were there. If Kenyon was in there, someone helped hide him. Plus, there’s still the issue of the missing cell phone and laptop.”

Which meant Kenyon had an accomplice. Someone willing to do anything and everything to keep him from the police. Someone willing to kill him? Proving that and catching that elusive person would be tricky. When tied to the murder on base, all other leads flew south.

The murders aren’t related
. No matter how much a sleep-deprived Jordan wanted to pin the base murder on someone familiar with the list, it made no sense. By Jordan’s assessment, there was only one person who hadn’t checked out—Ron Pattison. Was it a coincidence that same person was also directly responsible for the investigation of the other deaths?
Motive?

“Are you still there?” Greg asked.

Lani jerked her musings to a halt. “Sorry, mind spinning. I’m on my way.”

“Tread lightly. Whittaker’s on the edge, rightfully so.”

Greg had a point. This wasn’t a normal power play between captains. Whittaker’s life and emotions were in turmoil.

“I’m taking Mita with me. She can act as a buffer.”

“Or a distraction you can’t afford.”

True, and if Whittaker didn’t like dogs, Mita’s presence would only create antagonism.

“I’ll leave her in the car. I don’t know how long either of us will be, and I don’t want to leave her in the house alone. It’s getting too cold to leave her outside.”

“Sounds good. We’re leaving here in a few minutes and will meet you there.”

After a final check of the weapon still holstered against her back, Lani managed to leash Mita, and they left. The dog curled into the backseat, fell asleep, and stayed in that position when Lani pulled to a stop outside the Whittaker house.

A rain shower had swept through town during her drive in. Short, sweet, and just enough to spot vehicles—and slick the streets into accidents waiting to happen.

Captain Whittaker leaned against the rear of the family van, his arms and ankles crossed and eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses he didn’t need. He’d flipped the collar of his leather jacket up to ward off the cold. Jeans and boots topped off the badass image. This was a man emotionally geared for battle, something he’d been living with for the last six months overseas in a war zone.

Lani retrieved her evidence collection kit from the trunk. Whittaker didn’t budge. She didn’t make an issue of it, not because they were of equal rank, but because of what he’d been through, what he’d yet to face in getting himself and his daughters through the time to come.

“Good afternoon, Captain. I’m Captain Elaine Hollister, the acting provost marshal.” She presented her ID and badge.

Whittaker’s head barely moved. The glasses hid his eyes well. “You’re not in uniform.”

“I thought it best not to bring too much attention to the fact that PMO is investigating a scene already processed by the sheriff’s department.” Lani started for the backyard shed, expecting him to follow. He did.

“What happens if you find something?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“That guy in the picture… He was the one fucking my wife. Don’t deny it. My girls told me they’d seen him hurting their mother. If it hadn’t been for the deputy who came to the house that night, she might have died then instead of a few nights ago. He killed her, didn’t he? The man in the picture?”

What policeman
? This was news to her. “When did that incident occur?”

“Christmas. The guy went off about Santa. The deputy made him go away.”

“What deputy? Did he have a badge or a name tag?” Not that the kids could read, but they could pick out a color, letter, and number.

He smacked his fingertips on his chest. “Why the fuck are you asking me? Your master gunnery sergeant sent me the pictures. The girls told him it was a nice man with a badge. Don’t you people talk?”

Pattison.

Lani mulled over her response, debating on how much information to give the man. “Calm down, Captain, I’m merely trying to ascertain I have the facts in a logical order. We’re still trying to put things together.”

“He’s your fucking boss, isn’t he? The guy who offed himself. I heard about it. You’ve got some nerve coming here. You’re trying to cover shit up.”

The information shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. It proved nothing was much of a secret in a community as small as this one, no matter how hard they’d tried to keep the cases under the radar. People talked.

“Trust me, Captain. I want to find this killer as much, if not more, than you do. I
do
my job the same as you. I search for the truth, even if I don’t much like what I find. Now I can look in your shed, or we can call the detective in charge—who clearly thinks it’s nothing.” Another nail in Pattison’s coffin. Lani hoped she’d find a few more in the shed. “What’ll it be?”

A sneer lifted his lip. He looked down his nose at her. “I should call your CO and report you.”

Lani tried not to laugh. “For what? Stepping over the line? Trespassing on the locals’ turf? Going outside my jurisdiction? None of which will help you know what’s in your shed.” Although all might help support her request for resignation. God, it was tempting to call Seaberg herself and let Whittaker make an official complaint.