SORRY CAN'T SAVE YOU: A Mystery Novel

by Willow Rose

  “Isabella,” I say, groaning, trying to get out of his grip. I can’t. He’s not letting go. “Call the police.”

  Hearing this, Ryan suddenly eases up on my arm and finally lets go. I pull away with a loud gasp, then touch my arm in pain. Isabella closes the door and disappears back inside. Ryan is shaking as he turns to face me. I fear he’s gonna reach out and grab me once again, so I take another step back.

  “You’d actually do that to me?” he says, panting. Disbelief has replaced the darkness in his eyes. He is shaking his head slowly. “You’d really call the cops on me?”

  I nod my head, barely able to breathe. “You better believe it, Ryan. Don’t come around here anymore, do you hear me?”

  He points his finger at me, snorting angrily.

  “This is not over yet.”

  Then he runs to the door, opens it, and disappears, slamming it shut behind him. I stay behind inside my living room, heart pounding, body shaking. Then I fall to my knees, crying.

  Chapter 39

  The local law enforcement comes to my apartment, and I tell them about Ryan coming there and threatening me. They promise me they’ll have a talk with Ryan, then leave. I see them out, not feeling very safe or even convinced it’s going to help me. I then call Frank, and he comes over as fast as he can. I hear him running up the stairs after I buzz him in. He holds me by the shoulders.

  “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  I shake my head, then hug him tightly. Damian and Isabella are both sitting in the living room, and they see it. As I turn around, I realize it is the first time Frank and I have been openly physical with one another in front of them.

  “How about some ice cream, huh?” Frank says, clasping his hands. He walks to the kitchen and grabs the Moose Tracks ice cream from the freezer. He puts some in four bowls and hands them to us. I am not hungry at all, but I eat it anyway. The kids aren’t talking. Isabella is pushing her ice cream around inside the bowl and not eating any.

  “Why was he here?” she suddenly asks without looking up from the bowl. “Why did he come?”

  I swallow the knot in my throat. “He was angry with me because I wrote an article about the Air Force and his friends.”

  “So, he didn’t come for me?” she asks.

  My heart drops. Is that what she thinks? That her dad came to hurt her? “No, sweetie. He is angry with me, not you.”

  She finally looks up, and our eyes meet. “He was grabbing you. Did he hurt you?”

  I shake my head and lift my arm to show her it’s fine. “Not really. But it was kind of scary.”

  “Daddy is mean,” Damian says, chewing a piece of chocolate. “I don’t want to see him ever again.”

  We finish the ice cream in silence, and I tuck both of them in, then go back to Frank, who has poured two glasses of Chardonnay for us. I sit on the couch with a deep sigh, then hold out my hands so he can see them.

  “Still shaking. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

  He exhales deeply. “I’m so sorry. I should have been here to protect you.”

  “It’s not your job,” I say and lift the glass to my mouth. I stare into the liquid afterward, spinning it.

  He places a hand on top of mine. “I’m just happy nothing happened to any of you, not like last time.”

  “You and me both,” I say and drink. I think about the day Isabella got shot and shiver. I think for a second about moving again, moving far away so he won’t find us. But I know he will find us; somehow, he will.

  We sit in silence for a few seconds while I worry about Ryan coming back now that he knows where we are. I remind myself that I have the gun in my bedroom and to sleep with the phone within reach so I can call the cops if he does come back. Then I look at Frank. His eyes are so worried as they linger on me. He looks like a big puppy.

  “There is something I have been thinking about, though,” I say. “Something I have meant to talk to you about.”

  “And that is?”

  I put the glass down on the table, then face him. “I did some research the other day for my article on suicides in the military and was thinking a lot about Clarice. I then called your dad and had him send me the death report that was sent to him after her death. The official one.”

  Frank sips his wine and looks at me, an eyebrow lifted. “You did?”

  “Yes. And guess what I found?”

  He lifts his hands. “I give up. You tell me.”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about a motive for these murders that look like suicides, but I haven’t been able to find any. For a while, I believed it was random. That was before I took a closer look at the report.”

  “Really? You mean to tell me you have a motive?”

  “Well, a connection, at least. Besides the fact that they were all from the same unit and deployed to the same base. All of the names are also in the report, in Clarice’s death report,” I say. “Sandra, Ted, and Duke are all witnesses that the OSI investigators spoke to after her death. They all testified to how depressed she was leading up to the suicide, and all claim to have seen her on the night she allegedly shot herself, and they all say she seemed out of it on that night…like she was in distress. Sandra even says she was worried about her.” I grab my laptop and open the lid. I click the mouse on the link, and it opens. “Here, let me show you.”

  Frank looks at the screen as I show him the names and statements. Then he looks up and smiles.

  “You’re right. I can’t believe I hadn’t even thought about that. That’s amazing.”

  “I don’t quite know what to do with this information yet, but it is quite interesting to me.”

  He clears his throat, then lifts his glass. “Here’s to our own Nancy Drew.”

  “Hercule Poirot,” I say.

  That makes him laugh.

  We clink glasses and drink. Then I look at him seriously. “There is one last name left, though. One more person that testifies in the report.”

  The media coverage of my story is massive. The next morning, I have the TV running while packing Damian’s lunch. I watch Frank’s parents as they are on Good Morning America and tell their story, then once they’re done, I flip through the news stations and see my story mentioned both on CNN and NBC. I feel satisfied, even though I know this will only make Ryan even angrier with me. The heat is on the Air Force right now, and people are demanding answers. Was Clarice killed, and if so, are they covering up a murder, and maybe not just this one, but maybe more?

  So far, no one from the Air Force wants to talk to the media, but at some point, they’ll have to. I turn off the TV as Damian comes out of his room, dressed and ready to go. I grab his backpack, then open the trash to throw out a piece of paper when my eye catches something inside of it. I put his backpack down, then look at Damian.

  “Why is your fighter jet in the trash can?” I ask and pull it out.

  Damian stares at it, then bites his cheek. “I don’t want it anymore.”

  A frown grows between my eyes. I place the plane on the floor. “Why not? What’s wrong with it? Do I have to remind you how expensive it was, and how we can’t afford it?”

  “I just don’t want to play with it anymore,” he says and walks to his backpack, then puts it on, shoulders slumped, head down. “It’s stupid.”

  “Hey, buddy. What’s going on?” I ask, putting my hand on his shoulder.

  He looks up at me. “I don’t like it anymore.”

  I exhale. “I see. And why is that?”

  He looks down like he’s embarrassed. “Because he liked it.”

  And that’s when it hits me. “Because your dad liked it?”

  Damian nods. “He was so mean to you.”

  I sigh and hug him. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, buddy. Your dad isn’t well; we’ve talked about that.”

  Damian nods again, still biting the inside of his cheek. “Can we go now? I don’t want to be late.”

  “Of course,” I say.

&nb
sp; Damian picks up the plane, then places it back in the trash. He puts his hand in mine and pulls me toward the door.

  “I would like a police car next time. Like the one those guys drove, the ones that were here after Dad…” he trails off like he doesn’t want to say anymore, and I squeeze his hand.

  “Of course, sweetie. We’ll find one.”

  His eyes grow hopeful as he runs toward the elevator and presses the button, yelling, “A big one.”

  Chapter 40

  I drive Damian to school, then go back to the condo and sit down at my computer. Isabella doesn’t have physical therapy today, which I am pleased about since I have no desire to show my face at the base today. She stays in her room, doing online school work, sweating over her math problems.

  I sit down in the living room, coffee mug in my hands, then open my computer and go through my emails. I can’t stop thinking about what Frank and I talked about the night before, so I read through Clarice’s death report once again. The names keep popping up to me, and I know there is no avoiding it anymore. I call Frank and ask him to take an early lunch break. I need his help.

  “His name is George Richards,” I tell him when he picks me up. “I’ve met him a ton of times at barbecues and other social gatherings where they would allow them to bring spouses. I always liked George. And he likes me. He would often seek me out in the crowd, and we could talk for hours. He didn’t enjoy playing ball or hanging out by the grill, as most of the others did. He went through a bad divorce some years ago, and I was sort of a shoulder for him through those months. He liked that he could tell me everything, he often said. When he was with the boys, he felt like he needed to play the tough guy, to pretend like he was okay. But the fact was, he was hurting, and he missed his ex and the life they used to have. She cheated on him on his first deployment, and he could never understand how she could just leave him. He talked to me about those things, about the deep pain of being left behind. I was his confidante, and I think he’ll talk to me, at least I hope so. The only problem is that he lives on base.”

  “Of course, he does,” Frank says.

  “Not exactly the place I wanted to go today, as I have made a lot of people angry,” I say as we drive down A1A toward the base. “But I thought if we went there in your car, then maybe no one will see me. You work there, at the Medical Examiner’s facility. Nothing strange about you coming and going.”

  “And you’re sure you want to do this?” he asks as we reach an intersection and he slows to a stop.

  “I have to,” I say. “Don’t you agree? I have to tell him about what I know. He needs to know. I can’t live with myself if I haven’t told him.”

  “I’m just not sure what you expect to get out of it. He’s probably not going to believe you,” Frank says as the light turns green and he takes off again.

  “But at least I’ll have done what I could,” I say. “That’s all that matters right now.”

  Frank chuckles. “You really are relentless, aren’t you? You don’t care what they think; you don’t care that they call you the crazy lady.”

  “Not if it means saving a life,” I say just as he turns off and drives into the security check. We both show our IDs, and the guy looks at us both. I smile, hoping he doesn’t know I wrote that article. He can’t refuse to let me in since technically I am still married to Ryan and still live on base, but he can give me a hard time. He can take us aside for a thorough inspection. I feel like his eyes are on me…like he hates me as he stares at my face, comparing it to the ID. His eyes feel like knives to my skin, and I struggle to sit still.

  Finally, he lets us go. I sigh, relieved, as the gate goes up, and we drive through, passing the guardhouse. I feel like all eyes are on me as we drive across the base, passing first the landing strips and later the on-base department store, called The Exchange. I keep my head down inside the car. I keep thinking I see Ryan every time we pass someone. I pray he won’t know I am here.

  “George works in Air Traffic Control,” I say. “He works in Radar. Now, I don’t have access to that since they don’t let just anybody in, but I was thinking we could park over there by the tower and then wait for him. They work in shifts of a few hours at a time, and I am hoping we might catch him as he goes out for lunch.”

  “As you wish,” Frank says and parks the car. I lean back in the seat and keep my eyes on the front door. Frank is on his phone, scrolling through social media, while I don’t want to take my eyes off the building in case George comes out. I don’t know if this is the best idea or if we should have gone to his home instead, but then I see the door open, and I recognize him as he exits along with two others in uniform.

  “This is it,” I say and open the door. “Wish me luck.”

  Frank says something, but I don’t hear it. I’m already out of the car, rushing toward him.

  I approach him, then take off my sunglasses and say, “George?”

  He turns to look at me. Immediately, his smile is gone.

  “Laurie? Laurie Davis?”

  He says it in a disappointed tone. I nod. I try to smile but fail.

  “Hi, George.”

  He looks at me, anger growing in his eyes. Needless to say, it’s not the reaction I had hoped for. He’s almost spitting as he speaks.

  “What the heck are you doing? You have some nerve coming here. Do you have any idea how unpopular you are?”

  “I have a feeling,” I say, forcing a smile. The way he looks at me makes me feel very uncomfortable and unwelcome. This is not the George I know; this is not the same man I used to hug and chat with about his pain going through the divorce. “But I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

  I can tell by the look in his eyes that he has no desire to talk to me. He shakes his head and narrows his lips. His two colleagues, a young woman probably no more than twenty, and a guy who also looks like he’s in training, stare at me from behind George.

  George shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk to you. No one wants to talk to you. Don’t you understand? I think you should leave. It’ll be best for all of us.”

  “Please, George. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important,” I say and grab his arm gently. I remind myself about the George I used to care about. He’s got to be in there somewhere. “It’s not exactly my favorite place right now. Believe me. I know I’m not welcome.”

  He exhales and looks at me like I am a child he needs to scold. I have never seen him like this, never seen this coldness in his eyes. Like we never shared our deepest fears and hurts. “Just leave, Laurie. Give up. There is nothing for you here. If you’re writing another article, no one is going to talk to you. You can forget all about that. You have no friends here anymore.”

  “It’s not for an article,” I say insistently. “Please. Just listen to me, dang it. Don’t be so stubborn. I will only take one minute of your time. Don’t tell me you don’t have at least one minute. I need you to listen to me. I am not asking you to say anything. I’ll talk, and then you can see what you want to do about what I tell you. You don’t have to say a single word if you’re so afraid to.”

  He’s about to leave but hesitates and looks at me from the corner of his eye. “And nothing will be in any papers? You promise me this?”

  “No, that is not what this is about. Not at all.”

  He sighs. “I really don’t want to.”

  “Please?”

  Another sigh. “All right. One minute and then I’m off to eat lunch, understood?”

  I nod. We step to the side where his colleagues can’t hear us. I don’t want them listening in. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. He makes it very clear to me that he’s highly uncomfortable with the situation. I choose to ignore it.

  “You know what they call you around here, don’t you?” he says.

  I throw out my hands resignedly. “What? Crazy Laurie? Laurie, the lunatic?”

  He scoffs. “Blue Falcon.”

  I send him a phony smile. I know he is just say
ing this to make me feel bad. In the eyes of an airman, Blue Falcons suck. If someone is a Blue Falcon, it usually means they’re letting someone take the heat for something. Blue Falcons are the snitches of the Air Force world. They throw others under the bus, and they have no problem ruining you to save themselves. It’s pretty much the worst you can be in this world.

  I don’t really care.

  “So, what did you want to tell me?” he asks. “And please, hurry up. I’m on the clock here.”

  I tell him everything I know. That I believe the three others were killed because their names were on the death report, and that I think he might be in danger. George listens and seems genuinely interested, which is all I can ask for at this point. When I’m done, he shakes his head and grins.

  “And you expect me to believe all this?”

  I shrug. “I know it’s hard to, but…”

  “You’re damn right it’s hard to. You’re telling me one of my colleagues is some murderer and that he’s out to kill me because I testified in some report? It sure sounds like you should be writing mystery novels instead of articles, Laurie. Are you certain you’re not related to Vera? Because you sound just as crazy as she does. She ran around babbling about her sister being murdered too, and we tried to tell her what we saw. We were there; she wasn’t, and neither were you.”

  “Now, I know it sounds insane. But I can’t just sit on this knowledge and not at least warn you. No one seems to want to listen to…”

  “And just why is that do you think?” he asks.

  “Because it sounds crazy, I know…”

  “No, Laurie. No one wants to listen because it’s not true. I was there. I saw Clarice grab that weapon and walk away with it. I know she killed herself. It’s not something I’m making up or saying to cover for someone else. I heard the noise it made when she did it, right after I had seen her. I looked her in the eyes just minutes before. I could have stopped it. I could have said something or done something, and I didn’t. I have to live with that guilt every day because I didn’t stop her…because I didn’t realize what she was up to in time. Somehow, I can’t escape the feeling that I could have done something or said something. No matter how many people tell me I couldn’t, that it was her decision, and there was nothing I could have done. I still wonder every day if it’s true. It hurts me deeply that you’re ripping up these old wounds and questioning all of us. You’re basically saying that we all lied when they did the investigation. We didn’t. We told the truth, and I suggest you leave it alone. Don’t come back here with all your crazy talk about murders and someone covering it up. I know what I saw.”