A Deeper Darkness

by J. T. Ellison

  “A Slurpee?”

  “Pure energy, my friend. I think you need one, too. Cheers what ails ya.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Georgetown

  Susan Donovan

  Susan had sobered up by the time Eleanor came home from her bridge game. The girls were playing quietly in their room. Ally seemed less traumatized by her morning, though Susan doubted that would hold true during the overnight hours. Sam Owens was on the computer in the den, tapping away. She was writing up the secondary autopsy notes, making everything she’d seen and heard official.

  Susan wanted to hate her. She wanted to demand that Sam leave and never come back. And yet she found herself, well, liking was too strong a word. Understanding the woman. Feeling sorry for her, even. Losing Eddie was bad enough. If she’d lost the girls, too, she would go completely mad. The simple fact that Sam Owens was walking, talking and somewhat functioning gave her hope that, one day, she might do the same.

  Susan took one last swig of coffee, then sought out Sam. She stood in the door to the den for a minute and watched her type, a pencil in her mouth. She looked like a journalist, not a doctor.

  Susan guessed they must be about the same age, at least within a year or two of each other. Eddie was a year older than she was. Susan had hit thirty-eight on her last birthday, and vowed to stop counting after that. Eddie thought that was hysterically funny.

  Maybe in another world Susan and Sam Owens would have been friends.

  Susan cleared her throat. “Having any luck?”

  Sam looked up, staring through her as if she didn’t recognize her for a moment. “Oh. Yes. Somewhat. I’m done now, I was just proofing the report. What’s up? Are you feeling better?”

  “I am. Listen. I was wondering… I think you should come out to the house and have a look through Eddie’s things. I started thinking about that note that was left for him. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Eddie kept a journal, religiously, every day. But it’s in Latin. You took Latin to prep for med school, didn’t you?”

  “Four years. I double majored in Classics and Biology.”

  “Then you could read it, couldn’t you?”

  “I should be able to, yes.” Sam sat back in the chair, a longing smile on her face. “He used to do that in school, you know. Everyone thought he was being a pretentious jerk. We gave him such a hard time. A journal, sure, that’s cool. But in Latin? He always was a show-off. I can’t believe he kept it up all these years.”

  Susan burst out laughing. The idea of her serious, capable, humble husband being teased for showing off just hit her funny. Sam joined in, the tension from earlier dissipating a bit. They weren’t ever going to be friends, but maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t be constantly at each other’s throats.

  “Eleanor just got home. She can watch the girls for a bit. What do you say? Are you game to take a ride with me?”

  Sam nodded. “Sure. My Latin wasn’t ever as good as Donovan’s, but I can give it a whirl.”

  She stood, and Susan noticed again how thin she was. She thought back over the day and realized that she hadn’t had anything to eat. How easy it was to forget. She had no appetite. She’d gotten the girls fed and off to their respective schools, meaning to stop somewhere and grab a coffee and Danish, and had completely spaced it. All she’d had today was coffee, and for an afternoon treat, quite a bit of scotch.

  She was going to have to make a better effort to take care of herself. If not for her own sake, then for the girls.

  “Do you mind driving?” Susan asked. “Just in case. The last thing I need is to get pulled over.”

  “Of course. Just let me grab my coat.”

  Georgetown

  Dr. Samantha Owens

  Sam was glad Susan finally seemed to be accepting her. They needed to work together to figure out what Donovan was involved with that might have killed him. Sam wanted to get into his office, into his things, but hadn’t known how to approach Susan about it.

  Susan drove a Volvo station wagon, the backseat filled with toys and dolls and books. Sam glanced once, then forced her eyes away. Forced away the nasty thought that followed—this could have been my car—and tried her best to refocus. They got settled in the seats. Sam checked the mirrors, then asked, “What’s the best way to get there?”

  “I normally go GW Parkway, but we’re going to hit traffic this time of night, so let’s go Canal. We’re on Spring Hill Road, so you can get to it from Chain Bridge or Georgetown Pike. Your choice.”

  “That’s a pretty part of town.”

  “Perfect for raising a family.” Sam didn’t miss the bitterness in Susan’s tone. They really were castaways, the two of them. Sam started the car and navigated through the streets of Georgetown to Key Bridge, turning right and following the Potomac River out of town.

  Her cell phone rang a few minutes into the drive. She didn’t recognize the number, but it had a 202 area code, so it was either Fletcher or Nocek. She apologized to Susan and answered it.

  “Dr. Owens? Sam? This is Amado Nocek. I have received the results from the lab about the chemical makeup of the granulomas found in the lungs of both Edward Donovan and Harold Croswell.”

  “Oh, wonderful. What did you find?”

  “The irritant is indeed sand, but it is not from the Arabian Peninsula. It is indigenous to western Maryland. Specifically, to the Savage River. I cannot pinpoint it better than that, unfortunately.”

  “The Savage River. Isn’t there a state park up there?”

  “Yes, there is. It is a beautiful area, if you like to go camping or fishing. Or hunting.”

  The word hung in the air, pregnant with meaning. What was cold-blooded murder, if not the culmination of a hunt?

  “What did Detective Fletcher say about the results?”

  Nocek gave a warm laugh. “I will call him right away.”

  “You told me first?”

  “Yes. You seem to have the victims’ best interests at heart. Not that the detective does not, as well—it just seemed you have a deeper connection to this story.”

  “You’re a very astute man, Amado. I owe you dinner. Maybe not this trip, but sometime soon.”

  “I would enjoy that very much. When do you return to Nashville?”

  When, indeed? She’d gotten drawn into this case, into their lives, so seamlessly that she’d nearly forgotten she needed to go home tonight. “I’m not sure,” she answered. “I was supposed to fly back this evening, but I think I’ll be missing the flight.”

  “Understandable. It is difficult to leave loose threads unraveled. Let me know if I can assist you any further. It has been my great pleasure to work with you. Perhaps one day you will desire to work with us again, under better circumstances.”

  “Perhaps I will. Thank you, Amado. For everything.”

  She hung up and realized Susan was staring at her.

  “The sand we found in Eddie’s lungs was from western Maryland, not Afghanistan. The same for Hal Croswell. Do you have any connections to that area? Know anyone who lives there?”

  “You said the Savage River, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s weird.”

  Sam felt a little thrum in her chest. Her adrenal gland was throwing a party in her brainstem.

  “What’s weird?”

  “We vacation there. It’s great for the girls. We camp, hike, go fishing. It’s one of…was one of Eddie’s favorite places. But we haven’t been since last summer.”

  Susan got quiet and Sam knew she was thinking about something.

  “What. What is it?”

  “One of Eddie’s old Army buddies lives up there. I haven’t met him. According to Eddie, he’s a bit of a recluse. Saw too much in the war. Usu
ally when we go up there, Eddie will take a morning and go fishing with him. I don’t know the last time they spoke, though.”

  Bingo.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Xander. Xander Whitfield. They served together during Eddie’s last tour in Afghanistan.”

  * * *

  Sam left a message for Fletcher, asking him to call when he had a chance, then finished the drive to the Donovans’ house in silence. She didn’t like what the evidence was saying. Someone connected to the Savage River was involved in the murders. She hated the thought that it could be someone from Eddie’s unit, but knew that was the most likely place to look.

  The intersection of Old Dominion and Spring Hill Road appeared ahead. She took the right turn, realizing she wasn’t entirely prepared to roll up on Donovan’s house. She’d never seen where, and how, he lived before. Left. Left again. The final turn came up before she’d fully steeled herself, and then they were there, in a perfect little cul-de-sac, facing an elegant two-story whitewashed redbrick house, with black shutters, a red door and a fenced-in backyard.

  It was so unlike anything she pictured Donovan in, and yet it was exactly right. A perfect place to raise children, away from the hustle and bustle of downtown. Another what if strolled through her mind to poke at her, and she abruptly slammed on the brakes in response. Susan shot her a glance.

  “Sorry. Shall I park out here on the street?”

  “It looks like all the police cars are gone. You can pull right in.”

  Sam drove around the side of the house and left the car in the drive.

  They walked in through the mudroom, which exited into the family room. It was a beautiful space, honey oak floors and built-in bookshelves, with an indoor-outdoor glass conservatory hidden in the back. The family room led to the kitchen, the heart of the house.

  Sam could smell Donovan. God, it was like being thrust back fifteen years. He obviously hadn’t changed his cologne since she’d dated him. She wondered if this was the case in her own house, and she was so used to the way it smelled that she never felt Simon and the twins there.

  “Oh, my God,” Susan said. Sam focused and saw the mess. There was fingerprint powder everywhere, a fine black dust that coated everything like soot after a fire. Susan ran her finger across the kitchen counter, leaving a snail’s trail in the dust.

  “Yeah, crime scene techs aren’t known for their neatness.”

  “I can tell. What’s the best way to get this up?”

  “Clorox wipes work great. Just be thankful you don’t have carpets. Stuff will never come out properly.”

  “I’m going to need a gallon of them. Can I get you something to drink?” Susan asked.

  “Water would be nice, Susan. Thanks.”

  “The refrigerator water is filtered.”

  “That’s great. Tap is fine, too. Good old Potomac never messes me up.”

  Susan got the water from the refrigerator, anyway, then handed it to Sam. “It’s colder this way.”

  Sam took a sip, fortifying herself, then set the glass on the counter. Now or never.

  “Why don’t we take a look at his office, Susan.”

  Susan was delaying, Sam knew that. It was one thing to invite a stranger into your home, but when that stranger used to sleep with your husband, it became a whole different matter. Sam was about to go someplace Susan hadn’t been allowed, into the very private mind of her spouse.

  Sam would be stalling, too.

  Susan took a deep breath.

  “Just promise me one thing, Sam.”

  “Anything within reason, Susan, of course.”

  “If he didn’t love me, but couldn’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  McLean, Virginia

  Dr. Samantha Owens

  Sam’s first impression of Donovan’s office was dark wood, very unlike the surrounding rooms in the rest of the house. It screamed Man. The doors to the office were glass, so the owner could keep an eye on things while still having the privacy of a closed door. There were floor-to-ceiling bookcases to the right stuffed with books of all shapes, sizes and colors, and two windows to the left. The large desk sat in the middle of the room, perpendicular to the bookcases, with a classic leather nailed desk chair behind it.

  Empty.

  So empty. This wasn’t good. Old emotions paraded around her, laughing at her hesitation. Sam could picture Donovan sitting there as clearly as if he’d appeared before her.

  Sam entered his office with trepidation. It didn’t feel right being here. This was Donovan’s world, even more so than the rest of his house. To walk in his footsteps, to see how he’d arranged his life just so—that was profane. She wasn’t meant to be a part of Donovan’s life. She’d known that for years. Hell, he’d known it when he broke things off that night, giving her that damn mix tape with all the songs they’d identified with. On the insert, he’d written a line from a Dire Straits song, “Romeo and Juliet.”

  I love you, Sam. It was just that the time was wrong.

  She’d taken one look at that and allowed her heart to run back to Nashville, back to her previously meted-out life. Followed the path that was expected of her.

  That fucking voice was niggling in the back of her mind again. The voice she’d drowned out all those years ago.

  You could have fought back, Sam. You could have won him over. He wanted you to stay. To accept his decision, support him, wait for him. If you could have just forgiven him, allowed him to do what his honor told him was right. But you let your pride get in the way.

  If she hadn’t listened to him, had fought for him to stay, to love her, then what? Would he still be dead? Would Simon? And what would have happened to Matthew and Madeline? If they’d never been born, how could they die?

  She couldn’t undo any of it now. They were all dead because of the choices she’d made.

  She struggled against the rising tide, but the stress of the past few days finally overwhelmed her. A sob wrenched free from her chest. Here she stood, in the middle of Donovan’s office, his wife a few feet away, crying like a damn schoolgirl over an old lost love. Over all her lost loves.

  Silently, Susan appeared at her elbow. She handed Sam a tissue and looked at her curiously. Sam wiped her eyes and tried for a smile.

  “I’m sorry, Susan. I am a fool. A first-class fool.”

  “I don’t know if I agree with that statement. You loved him, didn’t you?”

  “Once,” Sam whispered. “Yes, once I did. But it wasn’t meant to be. He was meant to find you, and have those two beautiful girls. As they say, everything happens for a reason.”

  “Too bad neither one of us believes that. And now he’s dead. I can’t help but wonder, if he’d stayed with you, would this have happened?”

  Sam shook her head. Those thoughts were meant to be hers alone. Susan wasn’t supposed to be digging into that morass, not when she hadn’t been responsible for her husband’s death.

  The tears stopped, as suddenly as they had started. She felt empty.

  “You can’t do that to yourself, Susan. Trust me, I’ve tried that path, and it’s one better not taken. Besides, Eddie would have never stayed. He was too married to the idea of going back into the military. It was just something he had to do. I hated him for it. I hated him for leaving me. And now I’m never going to have a chance to say I’m sorry.”

  Susan put her hand on Sam’s shoulder. “He knew. It was his way. That was Eddie for you. He always found a way to understand. That’s why I married him in the first place. He never once looked at me as a daughter of a general, but instead, he looked at me as me. I fell for that in the first five seconds.”

  They shared a moment of companionable silence, not friends, but a
cquaintances on a journey neither one could face alone.

  Sam pulled herself together, and moved around the room, seeking. She was able to look at the details now. It was a good office, full of light, even this late in the day, with the windows overlooking the gardens out back by the conservatory. The desk was a wide plank of polished wood, hand-carved by the look of it, with a smaller, thinner credenza behind it. The way it was situated in the room, with his back to the wall, he could see out both the windows and the doors, and have a good view of his books. Typical of the bloody man, wanting to see all the angles.

  On closer examination, Sam could see the appeal of the setup. Squirrels ran up and down the branches outside the window, and a feeder covered in cardinals hung from the nearby tree. There would be hummingbirds in the summer, flowers in full bud. It was quite the bucolic little scene.

  There were a few framed pictures on the wall: Donovan with his army buddies, a recent family portrait—the girls didn’t look too much younger than when Sam had seen them for the first time—and a picture of Donovan with four other men in fatigues, arms around one another, cigarettes dangling from lips, wild-eyed and grinning, under which was a plaque that read The Ranger Creed.

  Sam digested the words, and gained a tiny bit of understanding for the man she’d lost. As she read, she could hear Donovan reciting the pledge, spine straight, shoulders back, forefinger crisply to forehead, believing every single word. More than believing. Becoming.

  Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession, I will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor, and high esprit de corps of my Ranger Regiment.

  Acknowledging the fact that a Ranger is a more elite soldier, who arrives at the cutting edge of battle by land, sea, or air, I accept the fact that as a Ranger, my country expects me to move farther, faster and fight harder than any other soldier.

  Never shall I fail my comrades. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong and morally straight and I will shoulder more than my share of the task whatever it may be, one hundred percent and then some.