That was strange.
Why was someone calling only half the team? Callie searched Maura’s report and nothing showed up there. It made Callie curious.
Taking off her glasses, she leaned back in her chair. It was one of those little details that nagged the hell out of her. Finally, she knew that she needed to let it go so that she could focus. For now, Callie would make a note and come back to it.
Yet…it looked familiar.
Callie just couldn’t recall why.
Scribbling the details down on the pad, Callie moved on to the last number. It was only on one person’s papers, but it was the quantity of times it popped up that made her curious. Before Thomas Archer’s death, the number had been calling him over ten times a day, and texting at least two hundred times a day.
That was a lot of contact from that one number.
Going online, Callie searched for more information. She was hoping something would pop up. When that got her nowhere, she leaned back in her seat and started looking at all the pieces of the puzzle.
There had to be something there.
Callie didn't doubt her gut.
Now, it was about finding the truth and making it fit.
Chapter Seventeen
I t didn't take them long to find out that Gunnery Sergeant Bruce Mclead’s old home had been sold. When Nate and Quinn knocked on the door, they found that no one was home. Peeking inside a window, they could see boxes being unpacked.
Well, that took care of this questioning.
There was obviously no roommate to interview.
As they were heading back to their vehicle, they saw an older woman weeding her flower bed along the fence line.
It gave Quinn and idea.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he called, using his best small-town drawl. When he had her attention, Quinn continued, “We were wonderin’ if we could ask you some questions.”
She stood, leaning against the fence. “What do you need to know?” she asked.
“For starters, ma’am, I’m sure you have a name as pretty as your garden of flowers.”
She patted him on the arm. “Aren’t you a charmer?” she stated, fluffing her graying hair. “As a matter of fact, my name’s Rose Wilder.”
“See,” he said, giving her his best smile, “I knew you would. This is my partner, and we were hoping you could answer a few questions about the man who once lived here.”
Rose pointed at the house. “That poor Marine! I’m telling you that after he was killed in his home, none of the neighbors slept for days. I even had an alarm system installed. It was a horrible, horrible thing. I don’t know how they sold that house. I hate to think that new couple bought it not knowing what went on in there.”
He smiled sympathetically. “I bet it was horrible, ma’am.” Quinn could see the glint of gossip in the older woman’s eyes. Rose was going to be a plethora of useful information.
He could already tell.
“He was a good boy and served his country well. For the longest time, I didn't know that he was even a soldier. The man was so respectful of all of us neighbors. There were never any loud parties or noise. In fact, he only had one friend over most of the time. It was the same man who picked him up to carpool.”
Quinn had an idea. “Can I show you some pictures, Rose? Maybe one of them will remind you of who came over?”
She patted his arm. “You sure can, honey. Let me get my glasses on.”
Nate grinned wickedly as she wandered away. “You saw her coming a mile away.”
Quinn pulled up the pictures on his tablet. “It’s like you think this is my first case. I had to question strung out junkies in Atlanta. One nosey neighbor is nothing compared to that.”
When Rose returned, she already had them on her face and was ready to help out. Quinn held out his tablet and slowly flipped through their military pictures.
“Oh! This is him,” she said, pointing at Marcus Westerly. “He used to come over on the weekends and they’d sit out on his porch. The two of them would cut my grass and get my mail. The only reason I know they were both soldiers is that he showed up once when Bruce’s car was in the shop. He was in fatigues and handsome as ever.”
“Do you know if he was dating anyone?” Nate asked.
“I’m sorry. I didn't see anyone, but they did get dressed up and head out on Friday nights. Men that young and handsome had to be seeing someone. I know that after Bruce was killed, I never saw the other man again. In fact, I don’t recall seeing him for a while before either. Maybe they dissolved their friendship. You know how young men fight over the ladies.”
Everything she was saying made sense. Marcus stopped coming around because he was dead, and his friend was the next victim on the list.
“If you see his friend, please tell him to stop by. I gave him an open invitation for cookies and lemonade anytime,” Rose stated. “In fact, would you like some?” she asked Quinn, smiling sweetly at him.
What choice did he have? His momma would slap him for turning down hospitality. He’d been raised a good southern boy and there were rules.
Nate was staring at him like this was a no brainer.
“How about I take some of those cookies to go? We need to get to our next appointment, Rose. Maybe we can come back another time for the lemonade.”
She seemed to buy that.
“Okay, that’s good. I hope you like chocolate chip. It’s my favorite,” she offered, heading toward the house.
Nate shook his head.
“What?” Quinn said. “I couldn’t be rude. Bless my momma’s soul, she’d be spinning in her grave if she knew I didn't oblige her.”
“When you’re done getting your cookies for flirting with an old lady, we have to hit up the climbing club where Christian Bleu used to hang out. Maybe they’ll have more information than Rose did.”
“You’re just bitter that I’m the one getting the cookies,” Quinn stated. “She liked me better.”
“Hell yeah, I am, but I know you’re going to share. That’s what partners do.”
Quinn grinned. “Obviously, you’ve heard lies about me. I don’t ever share my cookies, not even with your sister.”
“Great. I really miss Luke. At least he wasn’t stingy with his baked goods.”
Quinn laughed, covering it with a cough as Rose headed their way. “Behave,” he muttered. They needed to get the cookies and on the road. So far, they didn't have anything that would help them out.
Yet again, they appeared to be at a dead end.
* * * C a r t e r C h r o n i c l e s * * *
His schedule had been memorized.
It was easy to find out what the man liked to do on his weekends. In fact, for someone who called himself a Marine, he made it easy to track him down.
Standing in the trees, it was only a matter of time before he came running down the trail. This was the best place to lie in wait for him.
Then, there would be an ambush.
He wouldn’t know what hit him.
Literally.
With a thick tree branch in hand, the weapon was ready to be used.
Now it was about getting ready to remove him from the list. One more sinner was on his way out. For some reason, there was much doubt that he’d even be missed.
Yes, he served his country.
But was it honorably?
Hardly.
He was just as guilty as the others of being a sinner, and he would have to pay the price.
Then, there was the telltale sound of footsteps down the trail. The quick staccato sent out the warning. There would only be one shot at this.
It would have to be perfect.
Peeking around the corner, the executioner blended in with the surroundings. When the man started his descent toward the killer, it was a matter of counting it down.
Three.
Two.
One.
With one mighty swing, the man was felled with the crunching of branch to face.
He stu
mbled in surprise as blood gushed from his damaged features.
Oh, he wasn’t being so smug now.
As he lay on the ground, writhing in pain, the killer smiled wickedly.
“Oh, Marine, let me help you out.”
With that, the killer used the branch to end his life, brutally beating him to death. No remorse was present as the fallen soldier’s life ebbed away.
By the time the deed was done, the man was unrecognizable, which was only fair. He’d let so many people down, and the wages of sin was death.
Pulling out the black marker, the evil figure lifted the dead man’s sweaty shirt to leave the message.
The game had changed.
The FBI was on the trail and there was no reason to make it look like an accident.
Now, it would look exactly like it should.
A sinner being punished.
Rolling his body off the hill and into the shrubs to the bramble below, it was time to head out of there.
It wouldn’t take long to find him.
And now, it was time to head home and mark him off the list, then sit back to watch them try to figure it out.
If they could…
* * * C a r t e r C h r o n i c l e s * * *
Callie was frustrated.
She’d hit a dead end when it came to the money trail for all the victims. None of them appeared to have any skeletons in their financial closets.
It really sucked.
This was her last shot at finding something to tie the dead Marines together.
Dropping her pen, Callie got up and started pacing the room. She was desperately trying to find anything that would give her a direction.
“They weren’t gamblers,” she muttered to herself. “No one was broke,” she added, all the while pacing. When she stopped and released a pent-up breath, she was definitely out of options.
Damn it!
“None of you were doing anything illegal,” Callie admitted, staring at the faces of the dead Marines. “What the hell got you killed? What did you see or do to die?”
Then, it hit her.
“Wait! Illegal! We never ran that!”
Callie hopped back into her seat and began furiously typing in names. While the military didn't have anything on them, these men still spent half their lives in the civilian sector. She needed to cover all her bases.
As she ran a background check through the databases, she immediately got a hit.
Private Marcus Westerly had been arrested by the local police for drunk and disorderly behavior.
Callie skimmed the details before printing it out. The arresting officer had made notes that he had called the Marine base and transferred the man there. They would handle their own people.
Curious.
If that were the case, why was there nothing in his file? Flipping through the military papers, she opened up the official personnel report for the man.
There was nothing.
Was this like the ME records which had been given to them? Could it be accidental, or was someone trying to make their jobs increasingly difficult?
Callie crossed to the whiteboard and made notes below his picture. This was the first thing she could actually work with. Maybe it would lead her down a different trail.
Moving back to the desk, she entered in the second name. When nothing popped up, that familiar wave of frustration threatened to return. Again, that little hope of being on track began slipping away.
Damn it!
Maybe there was nothing to find.
Entering Christian Bleu’s name, once more there was nothing to be found.
Yeah, here was yet one more dead end. Why did she feel like something was just beyond her reach, eluding her?
With Thomas Archer’s name, she found a DUI right after he had graduated from high school. It dated right before the man had entered the Marines.
Okay, that one they wouldn’t have known about.
Then, she entered Brick Brighton’s name. Immediately, her tablet began beeping. Not only did the man have one report against him, but multiple. One was a PFA from his ex, and the other was an emergency injunction for a divorce. Apparently, a judge had felt that the man was dangerous and opted to set the woman free from marriage.
Pulling out her military file on him, Callie scanned it. It mentioned divorce, but nothing else. Again, she read through the local police report and found that the arresting officer had notified the base and opted to let the man be handled by his peers.
Yet, there was no follow-up.
Callie headed over to the whiteboard and wrote down more details. When she returned to her seat, she stared at it. How had the colonel let it slip past him? She could see brushing a bar fight under the table, but a PFA and emergency injunction from a judge?
That was crazy.
Oh, and very dangerous. It was obvious that the deceased man had some issues and a very bad temper.
Callie made a note to ask the colonel all these questions as soon as she could.
Her initial suspicions appeared to be right.
Something was going on at that military base.
Now, she just had to figure out what.
Callie couldn’t wait to tell her team what she found. Hopefully, they had been just as successful too.
* * * C a r t e r C h r o n i c l e s * * *
The men finally made it to the climbing club to interview some of the people who may have known Gunnery Sergeant Christian Bleu.
At the front desk, they lucked out when they got to speak to someone who climbed with him a few times.
“Can you help us?” Quinn asked, reading the man’s nametag. There was some amusement when he noticed the name, ‘Cliff Buster’. At first it took a second. “Is that for real?” he asked, pointing at the tag. There was no way in hell that anyone’s parents would be that cruel. Then, add the irony that he worked in a building where people climbed faux rocks and it was more amusing.
“It is. I know… I get that all the time,” he said before continuing, “I would be more than happy to help you with anything you need.”
Maybe this wasn’t going to be as tedious as they believed.
They both had hope.
“What can you tell us about this man?” Nate asked, holding out his tablet with the deceased soldier’s picture.
The man hesitated.
“What’s wrong?” Quinn asked.
“We’re really not supposed to talk about the members of our club.”
Nate grinned. “I can understand that.”
Quinn stared at him like he lost his mind. Was Nate going to let him off this easy? Maybe the sugar in the chocolate chip cookies had gone to his brain.
Flipping through the photos, he turned his tablet back toward the man. “How about now?” he asked, showing him the autopsy photo.
It caught him off guard, and Cliff suddenly looked sick to his stomach.
Reaching down, Quinn grabbed the waste paper basket as the guy tossed his lunch. “You’re lucky there was a can, or we would have been wearing puke,” Quinn stated.
Nate smirked. “I’m still fast on my feet. I would have stepped back.”
They waited for the man to stop retching before they began again. “Now, we know the club’s policy, but how about you try a different route? I do have more pictures if you want to see them.”
“NO! I’m good!” Cliff blurted, as people around them stared and whispered. “You didn't have to do that,” he stated.
“Yeah, well when people make us jump through hoops, I get cranky,” Nate offered.
Quinn hid a grin behind his hand.
“Now, how about we start over again?”
The man nodded.
“Tell me everything about Christian Bleu,” Nate said, getting ready to make notes on his tablet.
“Christian was one of the best climbers who came here,” he admitted. “The man was like Spiderman. He could hang off the slightest lip and never fall. We tried to tell him all the time that he should d
o something that required scaling large objects instead of being an accountant for the military.”
Ah, so now they knew his cover story.
Obviously, Christian never told the people he was climbing was what he really did for a living. Well, that and covert operations for a secret military group.
“We loved him,” Cliff added.
Both men heard the tone in his voice. That wasn’t necessarily true. It was more like a person speaking kindly about the dead.
“That was bullshit if ever I heard it,” Quinn objected. “Break out the autopsy pictures. Maybe Cliff here would like to see what a spleen looks like when it falls from eighty feet in the air.”
The man blanched at the mere thought.
“Spill it, Cliff.”
“Okay! I’ll be honest. I hated the man. He was arrogant, cocky, and never let anyone forget that he could beat us all. I couldn’t stand him. It was like revisiting that one irritating high school bully who never let you feel anything but lack of self-worth.”
Well, that was better.
“What else?”
Cliff shrugged. “What else is there to say?” he asked. “The man was the best. If you wanted a climbing partner who could do your riggings and beat your ass to the top to rub it in, he was your man. He was probably better than the men who own this club. The man was a climbing superstar.”
“Was it just his skill that pissed people off?” Nate suggested.
“No. We have a competition every year. It’s an ironman climbing event. Every year, Christian won. He kicked all of our asses by making the climb up and back down in record time. It became so tedious to compete against him that people stopped. It lost money for the club.”
That didn't sound right.
Quinn asked, “They just quit? Why?”
The man looked around and lowered his voice. “People were beginning to believe he cheated. There was no way he could get to the top as fast as he did, plus when we did the event here, Christian always pulled the easy wall. It was luck of the draw. The man must have been kissed by a million leprechauns.”
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