Sighing, she turned away from the depressing scene and went back to the files stacked neatly on the conference table. She'd been through them numerous times... the initial reports from the military police who'd responded to the scene; the follow-up investigation by agents from the Air Force Office of Special Investigations; the medical examiner's and forensics reports; the field personnel records of Lieutenant Colonels Michael Smith and Elaine Dawson-Smith; a special file put together by the Air War College, where both the victim and her husband were students.
She drew that file forward, flipping it open again to the color photo taken of Elaine Dawson-Smith for the War College year book. It was a studio shot, in uniform, with the American flag as a backdrop. Colonel Dawson-Smith didn't need that dramatic splash of color to set her off, however. Her stunning violet eyes, classic features, and sleekly cropped white-gold hair would have caught anyone's attention even without that Mona Lisa smile.
The smile belonged to a woman on the way up and supremely confident that she'd make it ahead of everyone else. She almost had. She'd racked up all the right punches on her ticket: a distinguished graduate from the Air Force Academy; outstanding fitness reports as a maintenance and logistics officer; early promotions to major and to lieutenant colonel. She'd more than proved herself her father's daughter, and made no secret of the fact that she intended to wear all four of his stars someday.
Carly slid another photo out, this one from the crime scene investigation, and held it next to the studio shot. The stark, black-and-white print showed another Elaine Dawson-Smith, eyes staring vacantly at the sky, hands outflung. This was the woman who kept her horse at the base stables, who rode every afternoon, who got home late, when she came home at all, according to the husband accused of killing her.
Carly had spent hours reviewing the evidence that led to Smith's arrest and formal charging with the murder of his wife. Statements from a number of witnesses detailed Smith's vocal and increasingly violent arguments with his wife over the affair he suspected she was having. None of the faculty or fellow students at the Air War College could verify either the affair or Smith's claim that he'd been holed up in the library, working on his research paper, at the time of his wife's murder.
On the day of the shooting, Elaine Smith had driven from the couple's on-base residence to the stables. Her car was still parked there and her Thoroughbred was still in his stall when her body was discovered in the woods a half mile away. She'd been shot once through the heart. Ballistics tests confirmed the bullet was fired at close range from the .38 caliber Smith & Wesson "Ladies' Special" found under a layer of pine needles some yards from the body. Police records showed that the gun had been purchased by the victim's husband a year ago, reportedly for his wife's use. The weapon had been wiped, clean of prints.
The evidence, although damning in its cumulative effect, was circumstantial to this point. Only one witness actually placed Michael Smith in the vicinity of the murder at the time it occurred. The same witness who now waited in the corridor outside.
Carly shot another glance at the clock. Ten-eighteen. She'd waited long enough. A quick adjustment straightened the alignment of the shiny silver-plated belt buckle at the waistband of her navy skirt. Her shoulders squared. Taking a deep breath, she walked to the conference room door.
"Mr. McMann?"
The individual leaning against the wall some yards away turned his head. Carly formed a swift impression of a ruggedly masculine face that wore the marks of his brutal sport under its deep tan. Of curly black hair tamed by a severe cut. Of a muscular body molded by tight jeans, and a white shirt that stretched taut across wide shoulders.
"I'm Major Samuels."
He didn't acknowledge the introduction by so much as a nod. Carly wasn't surprised. She'd had plenty of time to study the background file on Ryan McMann, too. There was no dearth of material. His arrest and sensational trial had grabbed the headlines for months. Sex, drugs, a tragic death, a superstar athlete who fell from grace with a crash. The media ate it up. The fact that McMann's wife had filed for divorce less than a week after his conviction had added another juicy postscript to his case.
Carly knew her key witness had gone through his own personal hell, and that he had little reason to cooperate in the investigation of another crime. Even with that insight into his background, however, she wasn't prepared for the stinging contempt in his ice-blue eyes... or for the sheer, animal magnetism of the man.
To her surprise, she realized that she'd forgotten to breathe. Injecting a quick pull of air into her lungs and a professional calm into her voice, she gestured to the open door.
"Would you come in, please?"
He didn't move, except to flick a glance at his watch. "Our appointment was for ten o'clock."
The deep, rough voice carried the unmistakable clip of his New England background.
"Yes, I know." She forced an apology. "I'm sorry for the delay. If you'll come in, we'll get started." Still he didn't budge.
Carly kept her face impassive while she considered her next move. She couldn't order him to cooperate. He was a civilian, not subject to the military code that governed this pretrial investigation. When she'd called to request his presence here this afternoon, he'd flatly refused. He'd given a sworn statement to the police, he reminded her brusquely. If subpoenaed, he'd testify in court. Anything else the air force wanted from him, they could damn well put it in writing and mail it to him.
Ryan McMann hadn't liked her unsubtle hint that she'd be more than happy to work through his probation officer to gain his cooperation, if necessary. Any more than he obviously liked being here now.
Tough. The sleazoid was still paying the penalty for the crimes he'd committed. Carly wasn't particularly concerned about his likes or dislikes. She slid a touch of steel into her voice.
"The stenographer is waiting, Mr. McMann. As soon as I swear you in, we can proceed."
His blue gaze narrowed. Measured her. Then he squared his shoulders and strolled toward her. Absurdly, Carly had to fight the impulse to step back, to keep some distance between them.
He carried himself with the innate grace of a born athlete, but there was no mistaking the aura of controlled violence that came with him. He was a hockey player, she reminded herself. He made his living in what had become almost a blood sport. Or he had, until his conviction barred him from professional sports for life.
Carly had never watched a hockey game, either at an ice rink or on TV. She'd barely made it to the football games that formed the heart and soul of the University of Alabama's athletic program. To be honest, she didn't have a lot of respect for the hulking bruisers who'd butted heads on the fields of play every Saturday afternoon.
She didn't make the mistake of categorizing Ryan McMann as a mere jock, however. The Mann, as his fans called him, had graduated with top honors from the University of Vermont before turning pro, where his skill on the ice and undeniable sex appeal had elevated him to the status of cult hero. His last contract had netted him a reputed seven figures. He'd pulled down millions more in lucrative endorsement deals and had been riding the crest of near adulation until one night with a seventeen-year-old girl destroyed his career and his marriage.
He'd risen too high and fallen too hard to have relied on physical prowess alone. Carly wouldn't let herself forget that fact.
With the width of the conference table between them, she picked up a printed form. She'd administered the oath often enough to know it by heart, but reading words made the process more official and impersonal.
"Please raise your right hand, Mr. McMann."
He complied, but the sardonic gleam in his blue eyes told Carly he knew exactly how much the sworn oath of a convicted felon was worth.
She got the swearing-in and the preliminary identification of the witness out of the way with cool efficiency. Waving him to a chair, she waited until he'd seated himself before taking the armchair opposite.
"Would you please describe in your own
words—"
"I hadn't planned on using anyone else's."
"—your activities on the afternoon of Tuesday,
April twelfth," she finished calmly, ignoring his sarcasm.
He sprawled back in his chair. Those icy eyes drifted to the stenographer, to the framed pen and ink sketch of Air University's campus on the conference room wall, back to Carly.
"I left work at one-thirty and drove to the prison for a meeting with the education director. I left the prison at four-ten and drove home."
So he intended to make her dig for every detail. Fine. She'd handled more than one recalcitrant witness in her time.
"Did you see anyone or anything when you drove along River Road?"
"On the way in, I passed a dark green vehicle. On the way out, I almost ran over one of your officers."
"Captain West. I'm going to interview her after we finish."
His eyes mocked her, her investigation, and the judicial system that spawned them both. "We're finished, Major."
"Not quite, Mr. McMann. Describe the vehicle, please."
"I said it was green."
"Did you note the make and model?"
"You know I did. They're in the police report. So why are we going through this farce?"
"The air force doesn't consider the Article 32 investigation a farce, Mr. McMann. As I explained on the phone, this is similar to a civilian grand jury, which considers the evi—"
His mouth hardened. "I'm familiar with the grand jury process."
"Then you should understand that what I'm doing is separate and distinct from the police investigation that led to the arrest of Lieutenant Colonel Smith. My task is to determine whether the evidence provides reasonable grounds to support the crime he's charged with. To do that, I want to hear a description of the vehicle you saw, in the words you would use if called to testify at a court-martial."
"And you think my testimony is going to carry any weight with a court-martial? Get real, lady."
"Describe the vehicle, Mr. McMann."
"Green."
"The make?"
"It's in the police report."
Carly knew any appeal to his sense of fairness would be totally useless, but she gave it a shot.
"From what I've read about your trial, Mr. McMann, it was a world-class media circus. Some people believe the networks convicted you before the facts in the case were fully investigated. Surely you can't want another man to go through the same—"
"Give it a rest. I don't care one way or another about your investigation or your accused."
"You should."
"Yeah? You want to tell me why?"
Shamelessly, she played the only trump card she had. "Because cooperating with authorities is a condition of your probation. I happen to know several members of the parole board personally, and I don't think they'd be happy to hear you've withheld information in a murder investigation."
The stinging contempt she'd glimpsed earlier returned with a vengeance. Blue eyes clashed with brown.
"Nothing like resorting to a little legal blackmail, is there, Major? And here I thought my lawyers had scraped the bottom of the barrel when it came to ethics."
"What was the make of the vehicle, Mr. McMann?"
He contemplated her for so long and with such open derision that Carry's temper sparked under her facade of professional detachment. Without changing her expression, she doused the brief flare. She'd never yet lost her cool when dealing with a witness and certainly didn't intend to start now.
She came close, though, when he rose, planted both palms flat on the table and looked her straight in the eye.
"It's in the police report, doll face."
Before Carly could respond, he turned and strode from the conference room.
Chapter Two
"Bastard," Carly muttered as the door swung shut behind McMann. Collecting herself, she turned to the paralegal. "That comment was off the record."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Why don't you take a break, Hendricks? It looks like we've got some time to kill until our next witness shows."
The sergeant clicked off his computer and stretched. Even in this age of minicams and videos, the court stenographer served a necessary purpose as a witness as well as a recorder.
"I'll go hunt down some coffee. Want a cup, Major?"
"No thanks."
When the legal tech strolled out, Carly straightened the stack of thick files and willed herself to calm. Despite her best efforts, McMann had gotten to her. Big time. It wasn't so much his attitude that irritated her as the contempt behind it. Where did he get off acting as though he owed his woes to the legal system, instead of to his own actions?
Well, he'd find out soon enough contempt and bullheadedness didn't deter Carly. She wasn't through with Ryan McMann yet. Her mouth tight, she pulled out a copy of the statement he'd given the police the afternoon of Elaine Dawson-Smith's murder. It elaborated on the bald facts he'd just related to Carly.
At one-thirty on Tuesday, April 12, he'd left the construction site where he was working while he served out his probationary period. He drove directly to Maxwell, entering through the Bell Street gate. The gate guard's log confirmed that he issued McMann a temporary visitor's pass at one-forty seven. McMann then drove across base, his route taking him past the Chennault Circle, home to Air University's major schoolhouses. Just after turning onto River Road, he passed a dark green Ford Taurus with its headlights on and a uniformed officer at the wheel.
He couldn't describe the officer's features. The drizzle had misted both McMann's windshield and the other driver's. Only after extensive questioning did he provide the final, damning bit of testimony that had resulted in Lieutenant Colonel Smith's arrest two days later. According to McMann, he'd caught a glimpse, a fleeting glimpse, of a silver oak leaf on a dark blue shoulder tab as the officer drove by.
After passing the Taurus, McMann continued to the prison, consulted briefly with the education director, then tutored inmates as part of the community service portion of his early release. At four-ten, he signed out of the prison. A few moments later, he'd swerved to avoid Captain West, then turned around and drove her back to report her gruesome discovery.
Was it just coincidence that put him on River Road at two such crucial points in time? Had he really passed a dark green Taurus or caught the flash of a silver oak leaf? And why in hell had Elaine Dawson-Smith walked from the stables to that deserted stretch of woods in such a dreary drizzle? Had she gone to that secluded spot to meet someone? Her husband?
The unknown person she was allegedly having an affair with? McMann?
The timing would have been tight, Carly mused, given the logs that tracked McMann onto the base and into the prison, but he could have stopped long enough to shoot Elaine Dawson-Smith. But why? There was no evidence that he knew her, no record of any previous meeting. Was it a chance encounter? An explosion of rage and violence by a hardened criminal? No, that didn't fit. The crimes McMann committed and served time for weren't violent.
The questions dogged Carly, as they had the investigators who'd worked up the case file. A cynical McMann had submitted to a lie detector test and passed. Michael Smith, when confronted with the evidence mounting against him, had submitted to the same test and failed. The results of neither test were admissible in court, of course. Nor did they prove anything conclusively one way or another. Carly had encountered too many false readings during her years as both an ADC and a prosecutor to place any confidence in them.
Blowing out a long breath, she thumped the file shut. Maybe her next witness could answer some of the questions piling up in her mind.
Spit-shined and spiffed-up, Captain Joanna West knocked on the half-open conference room door fifteen minutes later.
"Major Samuels?"
"Yes. Come in."
"Captain West, reporting as ordered." Carly returned the helo pilot's salute, then rose and extended a hand. The younger woman took it in a firm, no-nonsense grip.
"Sorry I had to pull you out of class, Captain. This shouldn't take too long."
"Not a problem. We started a block on rescue and recovery yesterday." A grin split the young woman's lively face. "I do it a whole lot better than I listen to it in a lecture hall."
Carly didn't doubt her for a moment. The honey-haired pilot exuded a breezy confidence that could only have come from hands-on expertise at her profession. With less than five years on active duty, she already sported more rows of colorful ribbons on her uniform jacket than most officers with twice her time in service.
"Why don't I explain the Article 32 investigation process to you? Then I'll swear you in and take your statement for the record."
"Fine by me. Just between us, this is the first murder I've gotten involved in."
"Hopefully, you won't get involved in too many more during your career."
Her grin slipped into a grimace. "If I do, maybe next time I won't go all skittery and nervous. The colonel's eyes kind of got to me, so sightless and empty like that."
Her eyes had gotten to Carly, too, devoid as they were of all the promise, all the pulsing vitality that had carried Elaine Dawson-Smith so far, so fast.
Pushing aside the vivid image from the crime scene photos, she walked the captain through the air force pretrial process, from the initial on-scene investigation to convening a court-martial, should the Article 32 support it and the commanding general so order. ,
West proved a quick study. "Got it. The ground crew got the case ready to fly. You're running the preflight checklist. If all systems are go, we power up for takeoff."
"That's close enough. Any questions before I swear you in?"
"Just one. If this case does go to trial, will I be called back to Maxwell as a witness?"
"That depends on what you have to tell me. Why? Do you have something coming up in the near future that may affect your availability?"
River Rising Page 2