Always Faithful

by Catherine Snodgrass

  "Somehow I’m not surprised." Rowan’s weary voice bordered on tears.

  Phillip followed her gaze. Every tire on her van was slashed. "Son of a…I’m calling the MP’s."

  She laughed without humor. "Why bother?"

  "I’m not about to let this go, Rowan."

  Cynical golden brown eyes looked up at him. "You just don’t get it, do you? All the MP’s care about is getting even. One of their guys is dead. They’re out for their own type of justice and the facts be damned. In addition to that, somebody else doesn’t like my investigating and is threatening me. I’m tired, Phillip. Tired of everything."

  Rowan pivoted on her heel and started down the street.

  "Where are you going?" he shouted at her retreating back.

  "To work…while I still have a job."

  She kept up a steady pace, knowing Phillip would be right behind her.

  The stakes had grown in the last twenty-four hours, and Rowan prayed they did not include her mother and Ian. So far the threats and physical violence had been directed at her. But as Phillip’s investigation into her case continued, she expected whomever was responsible would become more desperate. Nothing would be considered too sacred to keep her silence. Why else would she have been framed for Kemp’s murder?

  "Will you slow down," he snapped from behind her. "It looks like I’m chasing you."

  Rowan kept walking. "I want to call Mom. I need to know that she’s all right." I need to know if Ian is all right.

  He snagged her arm and pulled her to a stop. "If you really want to worry her by telling her what’s been going on, I have a cell phone in my briefcase."

  Rowan’s shoulders sagged. Defeated by his logic once more. "Of course I don’t want to worry her. I need to know that she’s all right. I’ll call from my office."

  They walked on in silence.

  Someone would have to report this latest indignity to Colonel Scott. She let that someone be Phillip. Alone in her office, Rowan picked up the telephone. Her mother answered on the second ring.

  "I…I wanted to see how you were doing this morning, Mom."

  "A lot better than you, or so it sounds. Is everything all right?"

  "Everything’s fine. I was wondering if you had any word from Ian? Is he having a good time?"

  Her mother laughed softly. "Sweetheart, he’s camping. How can he call?"

  "I know. I…I love you, Mom. Have a good day."

  "You too, sweetheart. And, Rowan…" Her voice was warm and steady.

  "Yes, Mom?"

  "It’s going to be all right."

  "I know, Mom," she choked out, then slipped the phone to its cradle.

  Tears previously held back with an iron will were allowed to drift unrestrained down her cheeks. Rowan didn’t know how long she cried, only that when the knock came at her door she wasn’t cried out. Dashing her hand across her cheeks, she invited the person in.

  Captain Connors poked his head though the door. "Captain Stuart wants to see you in his office."

  Rowan gave a quick nod. "I’ll be right there. By the way, I want to thank you for removing that page from my record book."

  "I wasn’t going to. But, frankly, his attitude pissed me off."

  Rowan’s mouth curved upward. "Captain Stuart tends to have that effect on most people."

  He shrugged a shoulder. "Something like that. He’s not a nice person, Staff Sergeant. Better keep that in mind."

  There was no sense arguing with him. "I will." She sucked in a breath to calm her nerves, and walked down the hall to Phillip’s office.

  * * *

  Nothing like a small victory to raise sunken spirits and get the blood pumping. Phillip and Rowan had her colonel’s full support. They had the threats against Rowan to thank for that. Now all he needed was a little back up.

  "Okay, Zach, don’t fail me now."

  He punched in the numbers and waited for Zach to pick up.

  Rowan hesitated at the door to the office when she heard Phillip on the phone. Someone named Zach. He needed his help with the case. There was mention of a woman, too, and Rowan felt an unfamiliar jab of jealousy. She was about to step away when Phillip spied her. With a distracted smile, he motioned her inside and continued speaking.

  "I’ll see you in a couple of days then. Give Oscar a hug from his dad."

  Oscar. Phillip had a child. A son. Strange how badly that hurt.

  "I talked to Colonel Scott. Your preliminary hearing is being moved up to Monday," he told her as he hung up.

  Rowan nodded. Her military arraignment. The hearing that decided if she would be tried for murder.

  "So…you know what that means."

  She slowly shook her head.

  "The prosecutor is on her way up. We’ve got a lot of investigating to do in the next few days."

  "Do you know anything about her? What is her reputation as a prosecutor?"

  Phillip busied himself putting her arraignment papers away in his leather briefcase. "As I mentioned before, she’s good. Good at her job, I mean. Aggressive. I know that from past experience with her." He turned back to face Rowan. "She’s good, Rowan, but I’m better. When my friend Zach arrives from Camp Pendleton, we will have some more legal help with this case. He has some good ideas. Would you like to hear them?"

  But Rowan already knew more than she cared to. No matter how impossible a future was between them, it still wrenched her heart that another woman shared his life and had given him a son.

  Chapter 7

  * * *

  "I understand you had quite a morning."

  Phillip looked up from the base map he was studying when Jess Alderman walked in. It was about time someone came to get him after cooling his heels in the waiting room of the Naval Criminal Investigation Service for well over an hour. What little patience remained was kept in place by an iron will that was rapidly rusting.

  "That certainly is an understatement."

  "I spoke with CID. There were no fingerprints on the paper, except for yours in the corner. Also, no evidence near the van."

  "Now there’s a surprise."

  Phillip didn’t care how sarcastic his voice sounded. It was all too convenient, too pat. Too professional for a bunch of military policemen enraged over the death of a colleague. It had to be someone else. Perhaps the criminal was extremely clever, or someone somewhere covered up evidence.

  Jess swung the door open wide. "You can wait in my office. Malcolm is tied up right now on the phone. Probably the same civilian contractor who was pitching a fit over the theft of some tank targeting equipment from the firing ranges. Jonell devices they’re called."

  Phillip followed him down the hall. "Seems like an odd thing to steal." He heard a voice rise in argument as they passed one room and raised his eyebrows.

  Alderman jerked his thumb toward the closed door. "Collins. With nothing but hundreds of miles of desert in any direction, we’re pretty accessible. Thieves will take anything that’s not nailed down and often those things that are, if they can get away with it. If there’s money in it, they’ll take it—copper, electronics, explosives that didn’t detonate. With a base this size, mostly uninhabited, there isn’t much we can do about security. A while back, thieves broke into a maintenance shed out on one of the ranges and took thousands of dollars worth of tools. Just waited until the military shooting exercise was over, drove up the back way, and cleaned it out."

  "Let me guess," Phillip said. "Same civilian contractor."

  Jess nodded. "He’s furious. The multiple thefts are going to wreak havoc with contract negotiations. He comes in here yelling at us about security, but there isn’t much action to take at the moment and we didn’t find much evidence. All we could do was notify pawn shops in the neighboring towns. Coffee?"

  Phillip declined. He’d had enough to float a ship. "Tools are one thing, but targets? How much money could they be worth?"

  "A small fortune."

  Alderman poured himself what Phillip considered a
small cauldron of coffee and eased into a vinyl chair opposite of where Phillip now sat.

  "It’s not the target they want, Captain. It’s what’s attached to it—the box for pyrotechnics that sits at the base of each target. High-grade aluminum. Heavy as the dickens and worth a pretty penny."

  "How much are we talking about?"

  "Each base weighs about forty-five pounds. That would bring between five hundred to a thousand dollars per stolen device. We know that the thieves steal hundreds of them every time they make a hit, so each successful robbery brings them a big chunk of change."

  "And, let me guess," Phillip rested forearms on knees, "the turnover is good because the aluminum bases have to be replaced for the next series of training missions."

  Alderman nodded. "Right. The Marines can’t stop training while we check each pawnshop for the missing targets. The government has to buy replacements, and so the thieves wait for the chance to steal them again. It’s not a bad living if you can get away with it."

  "Which is apparently what they’ve been doing. Isn’t there something you can do to stake out the place?"

  He shrugged. "Tried once. No luck. With our limited manpower and resources, there isn’t much more we can do."

  Somehow Phillip was beginning to think that was their stand on everything. His disgust must have shown, for Alderman leaned forward.

  "Look, Captain, this main part of the base is small, but you have to remember there’s also nine hundred and thirty-two square miles of desert out there and that doesn’t include the camp areas. There are just a handful of us. What else can we do to cover a military base this size?"

  Phillip leveled a steady stare back his way. "Apparently, as with everything else I’ve seen so far, nothing."

  Alderman tilted his chair back, all rapport washed away by Phillip’s insult. "That’s hardly a fair statement, Captain. You’re judging us on an isolated incident."

  "Attempted murder, vandalism, threats, murder, theft of government property…that’s one hell of an incident, Mr. Alderman."

  The lanky NCIS investigator slugged down some coffee and gave a lazy grin. "Most of it was solved with the arrest of your client, from what I understand."

  Phillip didn’t buy Alderman’s good-old-boy routine for a moment. The man was sharp as a razor. "Awfully convenient, don’t you think?"

  Alderman danced his thumb over the rim of his mug. "Criminals are bound to slip up at some time."

  Phillip cocked his head to one side and gave a single nod. "Maybe. I only hope this one will slip up in time to save Staff Sergeant McKinley."

  He tipped his chair back, digesting the words. "I know you have to defend your client to the utmost, but have you considered that she could have planted that note under your door last night."

  "Now that would have been a good trick. She slept the night through. I know because I watched her."

  "Too bad you weren’t watching to see who left the note."

  Phillip’s jaw twitched. The man had cut right to the core of his guilt. If only he had been more alert.

  The agent took a swig of coffee. "All I’m saying is don’t be too zealous until you read the investigation report."

  "Something which appears as though it will take an act of God to achieve."

  Alderman grinned. "I’ll see what I can do." He set the chair to rights and left the office.

  Phillip rubbed his temples in a slow circle. Why did he get the impression they had played a mental game of chess? Trouble was he wasn’t sure who won the match. But one thing was certain—he was going to have to fight for every piece of evidence in this case. And if Alderman thought another delaying tactic was going to make him give up, he was dead wrong. Phillip would sit here until he got the investigation report he came for or until they physically removed him from the building.

  Minutes ticked by…again. He made a note of it. If push came to shove, Phillip could shove pretty hard. A few well-placed phone calls would do the trick.

  "Good morning, Captain Stuart. Sorry to have kept you waiting." A balding man of slender build eased into the room, one hand extended in greeting while the other absently massaged his mid-section. Each breath he took was an effort.

  Phillip stood and accepted it without hesitation, but that was as cordial as he intended to get.

  "Malcolm Collins. I’m the investigating officer assigned to the Kemp murder case. Sorry I’m late. I was tending to an important personal matter."

  Personal? He’d been biding his time waiting for Collins to handle personal business? "Well, this is pretty damned important, too, Mr. Collins. I’ve been waiting for over an hour. When I make an appointment, I expect it to be kept."

  Alderman eased into the room behind Collins. "What’s more important than a murder investigation?"

  Collins whirled around on him. "Just get off my case. I’ve got you on one side, and my wife and her smart-assed attorney screaming at me to sign divorce papers on the other. Child support is killing me. I don’t know if I’m ever going to see my kids again. And the bitch has the nerve to scream for spousal support. She’s got everything else. I’m surprised she’s not asking for the clothes off my back."

  In the dead silence that followed, a red flush covered Collins’ face. He ran a finger around the inside of his collar, trying to loosen the necktie while he composed himself. Coughing into his hand, he stared at a spot on the far wall.

  "Sorry. I’ve been pretty busy. We’re a little short-handed around here. And this divorce is killing me in more ways than one."

  "I understand." At least he had the decency to admit his mistake. And Phillip couldn’t help but feel a small measure of sympathy for him. The subject was best left to die.

  "I’d like to look at those reports now, Mr. Collins."

  "Got them right here." Collins reached into an enormous file folder and dragged out a thick sheaf of papers, wincing from the effort.

  "Is there a problem, Mr. Collins?"

  "I was doing some work on my roof over the weekend and fell off the ladder. Just bruised some ribs." He held up the papers once more. "I would have made you a copy, but our machine is down."

  "I’m sure you’ll have one for me by the end of the day. In the meantime, if there’s a private place where I can read through this, I would appreciate it."

  "Sure. No problem. Plenty of empty offices around here."

  He led Phillip down the hall, then left him on his own. Still, Phillip couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. Settling at the desk, he started in on the document.

  A lot of the information was missing. Autopsy report on the deceased. Forensics evidence. Bullet trajectory. Photographs of the crime scene. Ballistics report of the weapon. That would all come later. The evidence already there bothered him.

  The pistol was found in Rowan’s hand. Tests showed trace metal there as well, indicating she had fired the weapon. To make matters worse, the weapon was one of the ones listed as having been stolen weeks earlier from the base armory.

  Collins’ notes suggested that Rowan and Kemp were having an affair. Statements from the deceased’s wife and a few of his friends supported the motive for the murder—jealousy because Kemp refused to leave his wife for Rowan.

  Charlie Kemp received two bullet wounds. One that was superficial to the leg. The second, a fatal shot to the head. A rough sketch of the crime scene showed the position of Kemp’s body and where Rowan had been found. There was even a supposition on the investigator’s part. She had shot him in the leg, the two had struggled, Kemp struck her on the head, she shot him a second time, the fatal shot, then passed out.

  Phillip studied the sketch. There was one heck of a distance between the two. Of course, it was hard to tell from a drawing. He needed to get a look at the scene of the crime and wondered if that would be as difficult a process as getting a peak at this initial investigation report.

  Page by page he evaluated the material, noting those items he felt needed more clarification. By the time he finis
hed, it was well beyond lunch.

  "Done?" Alderman asked when he finally left the room.

  Phillip slid the file onto the edge of the agent’s desk. "For now. Where’s Mr. Collins? I’d like to take a look at the crime scene. I presume it was sealed."

  "It was. I’ll get Malcolm and we can leave right now if you’d like. Need a lift or do you have a vehicle?"

  "I’ll follow you out there." He hoped the new government vehicle checked out to him would last the trip.

  * * *

  Out there was the most desolate landscape Phillip had ever seen. Sand. Miles and miles of sand broken only by a sparse sage bush here and there. Even the multi-colored mountains in the distance couldn’t ease the barrenness of the place. Infinite heat drew moisture from his skin. If this car died on him, the only sign he had been on the planet would be his bleached bones buried in the hot desert sands. He tried not to dwell on the possibility.

  After thirty minutes of driving, they reached the airfield. There were the obligatory military buildings. The warehouses, the office spaces, even an attempt at civilization with a small store for visiting troops. Still, nothing could erase the image of a tent city. The canvas shelters dominated every piece of land near the main encampment. Other than these attempts at civilization, all that awaited them was never-ending, scorching desert.

  They stopped before a large metal building. Yellow police tape stretched over the doorway. As soon as they left their cars, a Marine lieutenant trotted toward Alderman.

  "I hope you’ve come to tell me we can go inside now. The commanding officer’s barking left and right about it. It’s really holding up our unit’s work." He waved his arm toward Collins. "Your partner here doesn’t seem to understand."

  Alderman shook his head. "Sorry…not until everyone is satisfied that all the evidence has been collected. Your CO will have to be patient."

  Collins clapped the man on the back. "I’m sure he wants to see justice done as much as the next person. Have him call us if he has any questions."