“Oh, my God. What’s going on back there?”
“We’re not quite certain yet, Dad, but it’s not good—whatever it is. Don’t worry about George Roberts bringing pressure to bear. He’s in no real position to carry out his threats. I’m sorry he bothered you, Dad. Really.”
“Not your fault, Son. You’re just doing your job—tell me you aren’t in danger again, like last year! Your mother will have my hide if you get hurt again! You know how she feels about this police business.”
Yeah, like Dad feels any differently. Oh, my God…would they never accept my choice of careers? “I’m fine, Dad. Tell Mother I love her and not to worry. If the bad guys come after me, I’ve got Jones to protect me.”
Press heard his father’s rarely heard laughter. “Oh, that will put her mind to rest, I’m sure. Has he yet to pass an obedience class?” There was a pause, “No. I didn’t think so.” Changing tones again, “Stay safe, Press,” his father said quietly, and the connection went dead.
I love you, too, Dad.
* * *
Press, Rachel and Jones had a long run, then dinner on the deck. Press and Jones got in another sprint as Jones swiped Press’s sirloin off his plate while he was pouring wine into Rachel’s glass.
Once they had Jones corralled again, they sat back down and Rachel divided her steak to share it with Press.
“Damned dog’s a bottomless pit,” Press laughed. “If he wasn’t so good at keeping burglars away, I’d get rid of him.”
“Who are you kidding? You’re a cop and you carry a loaded gun. You keep burglars away. You just love that huge beast,” Rachel threw back at him while laughing until her sides ached.
“Yeah, you’re right. He’s like a big, unruly kid,” he laughed. “Have you any pets? Kids? Anything?” He was fishing, and her smile told him she knew it.
“No. Things like pets, kids—anything—require attention to home and hearth. I’m on the road too much,” she sighed. “When I first started with the Bureau it was enough, but, after a few years, life begins to feel a little empty. You know?”
“Yeah, I do. Come on,” he said, as he stood and held a hand out toward her.
She rose and took his hand. He led her down to the sand, and then toward the surf. They walked slowly, hand-in-hand for the next half-hour, stopping from time-to-time to pick up a shell or to savor each other.
Press knew he was in trouble. He was going to get his heart broken when she headed back to DC—and DC was the very last place he wanted to be.
28
VBPD Headquarters
Day 5
9:15 AM
“Rachel, how’s it going down there?”
It was Bob calling from DC.
“We’ve just received the Navy’s report on David Olivette. I’ll fax you a copy after our meeting. How’s it going in DC?”
“Same old same old! Damn it, Rachel, we have to get this guy. Another girl disappeared—this time from Maine. She meets all the traits of the others. No body found; little or no family to miss her. Fortunately for us, she had just accepted the proposal of a young man she met at college. They were supposed to go shopping for a ring last weekend, but she never showed. That raised a flag much earlier in her case than with our other victims.”
“Damn! Send me the photo and details. I’ll add her to the board.”
“Will do. I’m coming down in a day or two. Where are you staying?”
Oops.
“Rachel?”
“I’ll explain that to you when you get here. Why don’t you just get a room at the Sheraton near HQ, and I’ll meet you at HQ when you get here?”
* * *
“Okay. See you then?” Bob hung up and wondered what the heck she was up to. Well, he didn’t work for the FBI for no reason. He’d figure it out.
While it wouldn’t be at all like Rachel—and he’d known her…worked with her on several cases over the last six or seven years—she just did not get her personal and professional lines blurred. Nevertheless, unless he was terribly mistaken, Preston Andrews had something to do with her hedging. The sparks all but flew off the two of them when they met.
* * *
As she hung up the phone, Press came into the conference room and saw her sitting with her face in her hands. Stepping beside her, he pulled her head towards his hip and just held onto her. “You alright?”
“Oh, damn it, Press. I will be—but will these girls? Any of them? Bob just called. We’ve got another possible victim.”
“Damn!” He squatted down beside her chair so they were eye-to-eye. “We’re going to get him Rachel! We are!” he said softly, as he tucked a fly-away tendril of her hair behind her ear.
“I know, but how many more will get taken before we do?”
The pain in those gorgeous eyes nearly broke his heart. She’s upset about more than ‘missing’ girls. What is it the FBI is really investigating?
“Rachel, all we can do is to keep working the case.”
“I know,” she sighed. “You’re right, Press. Let’s take a look at this report on David Olivette.”
Press straightened up and moved to his chair. He opened the file and starting scanning the information.
“We’ve talked to his friends…if you can call them friends. He has many acquaintances—few, if any, real friends. No one seems too terribly fond of David Olivette, and yet he has a broad base of contacts here and overseas. One sailor reported that Olivette had close ties in Motor Pool and the supply distribution chain. Yet he doesn’t seem to socialize with anyone from the Navy when he’s off-base.”
“No romantic ties that anyone is aware of…no one knew he was seeing Macy or anyone else, for that matter. One female ensign said she thought he was batting for the other side—she’d made several almost-overt attempts to get him interested, but he never bit at any of them.”
“Well,” Rachel shrugged, “we know that’s probably wrong, although…no, something about that’s not right.”
Rachel noticed the look on his face as he concentrated on Olivette’s file. “What is it?”
“Each time the Navy is on the verge of moving him up, David Olivette has gotten into just enough trouble or slacked off just enough to prevent promotion.” Press looked up at her. “One has to wonder if that is intentional, don’t you think?”
“After his third offense kept him from promotion, a psych work-up was ordered by his superior officer. Says he has problems with daddy. Mother was dead by the time he was three years old. Daddy never remarried but there has been a string of girlfriends. Nothing permanent—every time they moved, there was a new woman in daddy’s life.”
“Not exactly a stable childhood. David enlisted at seventeen. Clean record since except for the minor scrapes just as he seemed to be getting ready for promotion.”
“The doctor thought he might have a fear of success or competition with the old man—purposely sabotaging his career—or perhaps rebelling against daddy’s desire for him to succeed. The typical perverse child—personally, I think he’s a lot worse than perverse.”
“There was never anything bad enough to have charges brought—just the loss of promotion.” Press stared across the room as if in a trance.
Rachel took the file and continued reading. “He’s a very ‘social’ guy when you consider what you reported after meeting with him. Doesn’t jive, does it? He has contacts in all sorts of places, despite the fact that he’s never been deployed overseas. There’s nothing to recommend discharge, but nothing to recommend him either. He’s a definite underachiever.”
“We know he’s unlikable, has a piss-poor attitude, lies at the drop of a hat and can make up a story quickly when needed. He’s manipulating his career for some reason, dislikes daddy, and apparently has no respect for women. He has no qualms about using people. Sounds like a sociopath in the making from an early age, and yet the Navy doctors don’t raise that issue in their evaluations.”
Press turned toward her, “Daddy’s covering for him—us
ing his authority to keep certain things about his little angel from getting into his records. He wants the kid to have a career in the Navy, and he’s going to see to it that he gets it—whether it’s what David wants or not. I’d bet you on it!”
Rachel smiled. “It’s easy enough to find out. Let’s go see the Admiral.”
Press returned the smile, and they quickly left HQ and headed to Norfolk.
29
Norfolk Naval Station
Day 5
10:30 AM
As they were escorted to Foster’s office, Rachel decided to step back and let Press take the lead, since he knew the Admiral.
“Detective Andrews, what can I do for you today?” Foster stood and greeted them as they entered.
“Foster, this is FBI Special Agent Rachel Wilding.” He stepped aside while Rachel showed her badge.
Rachel and Foster shook hands as Press made the introductions. Then they all moved to the same conference room where Press and Trace had met with Olivette just days before.
“We’ve reviewed the information provided on Ensign Olivette, and we have some questions that we’d like to ask of some others here on the base,” Press explained.
“Such as?” Foster asked.
“Olivette’s father and the psychologist who did the work-up on Olivette last year…” Press look at his notes, “Dr. Jacobson. At some point while we’re here, we’d like to speak with the Admiral.”
“Give me a few minutes to make some inquiries. Would you like some coffee while you wait?”
“No, thank you. We’re fine,” Press said, without consulting Rachel.
After Foster left the room, he turned to Rachel. “You don’t want what the military passes off as coffee.”
She laughed and then asked, “Do you really think the doctor is going to talk to us?”
“Talk, yes; give us anything to go on, maybe; give us access to his private records, no. We may need to use your Pentagon contacts to get anything more, but I want to give the Admiral’s staff the opportunity first.”
The door opened, and Admiral Poindexter came walking into the room. Rachel and Press stood up, Press introduced Rachel, and they all sat down around the table.
“Well, Preston, what can I do for you today?” he asked.
“Sir, we reviewed David Olivette’s service record. Thank you for providing the information, by the way.”
“Something in it that might link him to the girl’s murder?” Admiral Poindexter asked.
Press was certain that the Admiral had been dreading the answer to that question. “Frankly, sir, Olivette was less than forthcoming. That, in itself, isn’t particularly unusual. However, his record seems to indicate that each time he gets near to a promotion, he manages to sabotage it.”
“Yes, I noticed that, too.” He smiled at the pair. “I reviewed the file before I had Foster fax it to you.” The smile disappeared. “Something’s not right with Olivette. I’m afraid his father has been preventing the full details of his son’s behavior from getting into his record. As much as I hate to cause his father any distress, I think it’s time we brought JAG into the investigation.”
“I understand that VBPD, and the FBI, of course,” the Admiral said, nodding at Rachel, “would like to run with this investigation, but he is one of ours, and we need to follow procedure since it does appear that he’s up to something you young folks call ‘hinky’.” The Admiral smiled and then added, “While the FBI and VBPD handle the investigation, our man must be given a JAG attorney.”
“Admiral,” Rachel spoke up, “we do understand, and, frankly, I agree with you. I think it’s time JAG joined the case. However, would you also agree that we should be allowed to bring the JAG prosecution team into our investigatory side?”
The Admiral hesitated, obviously thinking this through before responding. “As I explained to Press when he first approached me about Olivette, if he is involved in this murder, the Navy wants him punished. I see no problem with JAG working with both sides of the issue. They are well-equipped to work both sides, and you may find them very useful.”
“I agree,” Rachel answered and then looked at Press.
“So do I,” he answered.
“Very well, I’ll have someone from JAG contact you later this afternoon to set up an appointment.” The Admiral stood, shook hands with both investigators and, before leaving, said, “I hate that our man may be involved in this. If he killed that girl, I hope you hang him high. If not, I’ll expect that his name will be cleared by JAG, as well as the FBI and VBPD.”
“Yes, sir, you have our word on it,” Press replied.
After the door closed, Rachel and Press looked at each other. Neither believed Olivette was going to be cleared of all charges, whether he killed Macy or not.
30
Virginia Beach
Day 5
2:30 PM
George Roberts was not a kind man—he’d never tried to fool anyone into thinking he was. Well, except for Moira. She’d been a pleasant enough girl—even though of lesser intelligence than he—even when she was young. Now the years had made her just another matronly member of the social set.
After twenty-five years of marriage, he hated her with a passion that was also difficult to hide.
It certainly wasn’t that she hadn’t made every effort to keep herself from aging badly. Between her personal trainer, the spa treatments, beauty salon and that damned plastic surgeon, she cost him a small fortune in ‘maintenance’ every year—and he resented it. She would never be twenty again—why she tried, he couldn’t imagine.
He’d been having her followed for weeks now. He had enough on her now that he would be able to convince her that it was to her benefit to let him divorce her.
She had been a liability for some time, and that was before she made the mistake of preventing the police from looking at Macy’s room. He knew damned good and well there was nothing incriminating in Macy’s room—paid damned good money to have it searched often enough to make certain of it. That had been a damned stupid mistake, and he would get the message through to Moira in his own way.
She knew more about his business than he liked, and he knew he couldn’t afford to piss her off. What he’d wanted to do for years was break her neck, but he’d waited. The right time would come—probably sooner rather than later.
As he poured himself a scotch, she entered the room, and George wished himself anywhere but there.
“George, we need to make funeral arrangements for Macy. They called today to say that they are releasing her…her body tomorrow.”
“Take care of it.” He downed the scotch without coming up for air and poured another.
“Take…?” She caught herself before finishing her complaint about having this laid on her doorstep. “Alright. I’ll call Winters & Sons. They can make the arrangements. I’ll call the club and ask them to notify the members when I know the details.”
He finished his second drink without acknowledging anything she had said.
“Put something in the DC and New York obits.”
“Alright.”
“I’m heading back to DC tonight. I’ll be gone for a week or two.”
“Aren’t you going to be here for the funeral?”
George turned and glared at her. “Moira, my business buys you all your trinkets, keeps your body as fit as it can be for your age.” He watched her flinch and a feeling of satisfaction went through his body that was almost as good as sex. “I pay for your plastic surgery and this fine house and your membership in the ‘club’ where you can flaunt your wealth. Perhaps you should shut up about what it takes to keep it that way.”
Refusing to let fall the tears she felt welling, Moira just turned and left the room.
Get your mind off the old bitch, George. Go find something more satisfying and enjoyable.
The next sound in the Roberts house was the front door closing behind George as he went in search of the evening’s entertainment.
* * *
The first thing on his agenda was to stop at the Police Department to harass the cops. He loved watching them step all over themselves to calm him—toadies that they were!
Then he’d find himself a hot young number to use for the evening. By midnight he’d be on a plane to DC.
31
Norfolk Naval Station
Day 6
9:45 AM
As they entered the JAG building, Lieutenant Richards, a rather stern-looking woman with dark-framed glasses and a uniform so tidy it should have cracked when she sat down, greeted them.
“Agent Wilding, Detective Andrews,” she greeted them. “Welcome to JAG. Follow me, please,” she turned sharply and led them to a small, crowded but neat office with her name on the door. She closed the door behind them. “Please have a seat.”
“Admiral Poindexter has explained the reason for your visit. I’ll be working with you on the prosecution side, should any prosecution become necessary. I may also be of some assistance in the investigatory issues, as well.” She smiled briefly.
“I’ve pulled Ensign Olivette’s service record. While I agree that there does seem to be a pattern here, just how do you believe he may have been involved in Macy Roberts’ murder?”
Press and Rachel took turns bringing Lieutenant Richards up-to-date.
The Lieutenant briefly went silent as she digested what she’d heard. “I can see that Olivette has been less than forthcoming; also that he seems to be an underachiever.” She paused as she thought things through. “I just don’t see…”
Rachel interrupted her, “Lieutenant, may I speak to you privately?”
Press almost jumped out of his chair. “What…?”
“Detective Andrews, I apologize, but I need to talk to Lieutenant Richards about something that involves security. I’m afraid I cannot share this right now.”
Press wanted to smash something, but he rose from his chair and left the room. Okay, perhaps he closed the door with a little more enthusiasm than was absolutely necessary—causing a few heads to turn in the outer office.
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