Yellow Ribbons

by Caitlyn Willows

  A search of the floor near where Kenyon’s body had been, under the other furniture, and in the sofa cushions revealed nothing. They opened every cabinet and door in the main rooms. All the trash had been emptied, including the outside bin, and there wasn’t a dirty dish in sight. No computer anywhere.

  “Maybe he got rid of it after his wife left.” Jordan glowered at the room, as if demanding it give up its secrets. “He wouldn’t want anyone to discover what she had.”

  “What had she discovered?” Juarez asked.

  “Porn. Gay from the sound of it.”

  Juarez grunted. “He might have switched over to his cell phone for everything.”

  If Kenyon was downloading porn when his family lived here, he’d need a private place to do so. The desk in the corner of the living room wasn’t it. “I think we’re looking for a laptop, possibly the master bedroom. He’d want a large screen. A cell phone wouldn’t do it for him.” With Nerine and the kids gone, Kenyon could indulge himself in his viewing pleasure.

  “Bedroom’s next.” Greg led the way, then stopped short when he reached the master bedroom.

  “Now that’s rage,” Juarez said.

  It sure as hell is. Someone had taken a butcher knife to the queen-size mattress. Stuffing spilled out. Sheets, bedspread, pillows, and the blanket were in shreds.

  Jordan whistled. “I’d say Nerine Kenyon did more than search for a laptop and computer.”

  “That would be my guess.” There had been nothing amiss the day they’d discovered Kenyon’s body.

  “Odd she didn’t mention it,” Juarez muttered.

  “She doesn’t know we’re here. She expected us to go to the station to look at personal effects and evidence. I can’t say I blame her.”

  Juarez opened the walk-in closet. “I found a gun safe bolted to the floor. It looks secure. Either of you know what weapons he had?”

  “Not a clue,” Greg absentmindedly replied. Nerine would know. She’d also have the combination and a key to the house. A scorned wife, filled with rage. I could so use a little peace. The thought chilled him. Surely she wouldn’t be considering the same route her husband had taken. What about their kids? Yet, she’d left them in San Diego, found a motel room in town rather than stay with the Seabergs.

  “I need to call Lani.” He ducked into the hallway as he dialed.

  “What did you find?” she answered with no other preliminary greeting.

  Greg scuffed the backs of his fingers along his jaw. “Not a hell of a lot. Kenyon’s bed is ripped to shreds. I’m concerned about Nerine’s state of mind. There’s a gun safe. She’d have the combination.”

  “Shit. I’ll call the Seabergs. She might contact them. They might be able to calm her down before she does something stupid—if that’s where her mind’s going. Then I’ll call the local motels and head into town. You didn’t find a computer or cell phone?”

  “Nothing. We came right to the house. Juarez was here with the keys to take a look himself. There’s nothing in Kenyon’s personal effects, nothing in evidence.”

  “If Kenyon killed Tipton and Whittaker, it’s possible he dropped his phone at the scene. It might have been collected.”

  She had a point. “We’ll check. Let me know when you find Nerine.”

  “Will do.”

  Greg ended the call and turned to find Jordan and Juarez eavesdropping behind him. “Were any cell phones collected at the first scene?” he asked Juarez.

  “Only cell phones belonging to the victims. There was nothing on them to speak of.”

  Jordan nodded. “That’s what I recall as well, but we weren’t the only ones collecting evidence.”

  Pattison, the common denominator. Greg pulled in a hard breath. “The last thing I want is to upset those little girls. At this point, I don’t think we have a choice. The best bet is to try to have them ID this man their mother was having an affair with. In addition to what’s on file, the three of us took a lot of photos with our cell phones that night. We’ll have what we need for a preliminary ID.”

  “Agreed.” Jordan peeled off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket.

  Greg reached for his phone. “I’ve got a contact number for Captain Whittaker. I’ll call now and set it up.”

  Whittaker barked a hello after the third ring.

  “Captain Whittaker, this is Master Gunnery Sergeant Landess from the Provost Marshal’s Office.”

  “So they sloughed me off to PMO now? Typical local bullshit.” Anger underscored every word.

  “Sir, is there something wrong?” That brought Jordan’s and Juarez’s heads up. They edged closer. Greg put the call on speaker.

  “A hell of a lot of something. Detective Pattison released the house today. I went over to get the girls’ bikes from the storage shed and found blood all over the place.”

  “That shed was locked,” Jordan and Juarez both mumbled at the same time and started scrolling through the photos on their phones.

  “I called the detective back, and he told me it was probably a rat. A rat? That’s one hell of a big rat. And where the hell did it go? I want someone over here now to look at this.”

  Jordan flashed a photo of the shed taken the night of the murders. Greg remembered it well—locked.

  “I’ll be glad to come over there to take a look. It’s not PMO jurisdiction, but—”

  “I don’t give a damn! I want it looked at! I want my house back! I want my life back!”

  “Yes, sir, I understand. Trust me, we’re doing all we can, but we need your help. I’m going to be sending you a photo of someone. It’s a lot to ask, but we need your daughters to see if they recognize him.”

  “Fine. Do it.” He called for the girls while Greg, Jordan, and Juarez scrolled through their pictures to find one of Pattison. Juarez sent one to Greg; Greg sent it on.

  “It’s sent, sir. I’ll wait.”

  Precious seconds ticked by, seconds where none of them moved and barely breathed.

  “That’s the policeman,” Susie’s voice filtered from the background.

  Greg had thought the girls were gone by the time Pattison showed up that night. Otherwise they would have pointed him out at the scene if he was their mother’s lover. Now what?

  “You heard?” Whittaker snapped.

  “I did. Bear with me, sir.” Greg searched his pictures for something, anything of Kenyon, and finally found one from last year’s unit Christmas party. “I just sent another.”

  Whittaker issued a put-upon sigh. More seconds passed, then:

  “That’s the man who hates Santa!” Susie yelled.

  “He’s got mean eyes!” Amber shouted.

  “Well?” Captain Whittaker asked.

  “Thank you, sir. Someone will be at your house shortly.”

  “I’ll be there waiting, and I expect a detailed explanation of what the fu… Of what’s going on.”

  “I would highly advise against doing that. We’re trying to catch…” The kids’ voices were still in the background. He didn’t want to throw the killer word out there within possible earshot. “We’re trying to help you.”

  “It’s my house. I have every right—”

  “Fine, sir. As long as you stay out of the way and let us do our jobs.”

  Whittaker mumbled assent and hung up.

  Juarez tucked his phone into his pocket. “You realize this is yet another thing that ties Kenyon to those murders.”

  “It also means Nerine lied. Kenyon wasn’t gay. He was having an affair with Regina Whittaker,” Jordan said.

  “Or maybe she was lied to, or made assumptions based on what she found on his computer when she found his porn.” Or a thousand other things. Like she had a key to the Kenyon house and could have slipped pills into his booze. Or that she had motive and rage to kill Regina. But Tipton and Shepard? None of it discounted the fact that the woman was most likely armed and intent on doing harm to herself or someone else.

  “I’m curious about the blood in the shed
,” Juarez said. “It might mean someone helped Kenyon hide there.”

  “Agreed. Lani’s closer. She can get there first and calm Whittaker down.”

  Juarez cocked an eyebrow. “Lani?”

  Yeah, he’d screwed up twice, calling her by her first name. Greg didn’t give a shit. “Yeah…Lani.”

  “Didn’t see that one,” he muttered.

  “You weren’t supposed to.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lani was almost out the door when she saw Lieutenant Colonel Seaberg pull up in front of Greg’s house.

  “You suck as a watchdog, Mita.”

  She thought about hiding inside until he drove away, but her car in front of the garage had already given her away. The subterfuge of gathering here to talk about the case wouldn’t work with a roast on low in the oven and Greg and Jordan gone. There was nothing to do but face the man.

  Warning bells clanged in her head. He was on Jordan’s list of suspects in Shepard’s murder. Maybe hiding was the best option. They could tell him later that they’d left her car here and gone somewhere together. Lani sighed. She couldn’t make the lie work. Her wits and the weapon at her back would have to protect her.

  Lani met Seaberg just outside the door. The front porch was as far as she intended to let him go.

  “Sir, this is a surprise.”

  He didn’t look happy. “I know the feeling well, Captain. Greg here?”

  She debated the response. Telling him Greg was asleep or in the bathroom would be unearthed as lies very quickly. “No, he and Jordan are checking out a lead.”

  “Very well.” He grasped his wrist in one hand and stared at her. “Lieutenant Cornwall briefed me this morning on Shepard’s murder.”

  She frowned. “This morning, sir? Not last night?”

  “No.” His lips thinned to a harsh line, white around the edges. “Saturday night is date night. My wife and I went to Palm Springs for dinner with the Turners.”

  A solid alibi. Greg would be relieved…or not.

  “Then the ladies decided they wanted to go dancing at Pizazz,” Seaberg added.

  Dread crawled down Lani’s spine.

  “So where were all of you that Cornwall took the call?” he asked.

  Lani braced her shoulder against the side of the house. This might be salvageable after all. “Sir, I think you know we were at Pizazz too. I went there for dinner and dancing with Captains Boyer, Vitale, and Leopold. Captain Leopold became physically aggressive, and I didn’t appreciate it. Special Agent Beck escorted me from the club while Master Gunnery Sergeant Landess dealt with the issue inside.” She wouldn’t comment on why Greg and Jordan had been there. “We learned about the murder when we returned home. Lieutenant Cornwall had responded and had things well under control.”

  “That he did.” Seaberg cocked his head. “You realize the general’s going to chop you up into little pieces, don’t you?”

  There it was, all laid out. There was no getting around this one. Seaberg had seen enough to connect her and Greg.

  Was he friend or foe? Yes, he’d had it with the violation of rules and by general decree was determined to see the lapse rectified. Did that mean he was willing to take down a man he’d known and worked with for twenty years? He’d helped Greg once. Would he do it again?

  “As long as Greg doesn’t go down with me.” She mustered her best I-mean-business stare. It probably meant shit to Seaberg, but it gave Lani the courage she needed right now. “He’s putting in retirement papers. You let him retire, and you can do whatever the hell you want to me, sir.”

  A sigh slumped his shoulders. She’d never seen the man look so defeated. “Aw, Lani, if this gets out, there’s not a thing I can do to help you.”

  “I’m not asking you to help me. I’m asking you to help him.”

  He studied the dark clouds and didn’t commit either way. “Weatherman predicted snow down to the five hundred foot level.” Seaberg jingled his keys and watched the clouds creep over the sun. “That’ll be a nice treat. Kids will have a ball. Of course, it might not wind up being so nice in this little fortress of solitude. There’s been a time or two over the years he’s owned the place that Greg’s been snowed in here. It’s rare, but it happens.”

  Which meant that if she didn’t leave at the first sign of snowfall, she’d be trapped in here with him. They’d have a hell of a time explaining that.

  “He’s well stocked for food,” she said. “I doubt he’ll starve.”

  He laughed lightly. “Maybe I should stick around and pray I get snowed in with him. It’d be so much better than having to deal with everything else.” Seaberg clicked his key fob over his shoulder to unlock his car door. “The wife and kids would kill me, though, for not making sure they were trapped here too.” He turned and walked away.

  Hugging herself against the growing chill, Lani followed him to the end of the sidewalk. “If I see a snowflake, I’ll call. You can all dash back here and hope.”

  Seaberg’s eyes brightened. “Wouldn’t Greg love to come home and find it filled to bursting with company?”

  “Somehow I doubt he’d care.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that one.” Seaberg shot Lani a glance that held more affection than accusation.

  She didn’t get her hopes up. Lieutenant Colonel Seaberg would only go so far to protect them—if he decided to protect them at all. She’d known high-ranking officers in the past who’d smile to your face, then get someone else to do their dirty work for them.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, Captain. Bright and early.”

  No, he wasn’t her friend. Maybe he was still Greg’s, though.

  Lani watched him drive away, realizing too late she’d forgotten to ask him about Nerine. She ducked inside to grab a jacket and found Mita standing vigil at the oven.

  “You’ve got a long wait, pup.” She scratched her behind the ears. “I’m not so sure I trust you alone, little girl. You’re coming with me.”

  Mita dashed for the door like her greatest wish had come true. Lani had been played by a master. She retrieved Mita’s leash and was trying to get her to stop wiggling long enough to be hooked up when Greg called.

  She parked the phone on her shoulder. “Hey, I was just getting ready to leave.”

  “I need you to make a side trip to the Whittaker house. Whittaker claims he found blood all over the inside of the shed. We also got the girls to do a photo ID. They nailed Major Kenyon as the Santa-hating man.”

  “So he was having an affair with Regina Whittaker.” It screamed motive once more for Nerine. But did she have the means and opportunity? She could have easily left the kids with family and made a round-trip from San Diego up here the night her husband died.

  “It would be case closed if not for this new blood evidence. That shed was locked from the outside the night we were there. If Kenyon was in there, someone helped hide him. Plus, there’s still the issue of the missing cell phone and laptop.”

  Which meant Kenyon had an accomplice. Someone willing to do anything and everything to keep him from the police. Someone willing to kill him? Proving that and catching that elusive person would be tricky. When tied to the murder on base, all other leads flew south.

  The murders aren’t related. No matter how much a sleep-deprived Jordan wanted to pin the base murder on someone familiar with the list, it made no sense. By Jordan’s assessment, there was only one person who hadn’t checked out—Ron Pattison. Was it a coincidence that same person was also directly responsible for the investigation of the other deaths? Motive?

  “Are you still there?” Greg asked.

  Lani jerked her musings to a halt. “Sorry, mind spinning. I’m on my way.”

  “Tread lightly. Whittaker’s on the edge, rightfully so.”

  Greg had a point. This wasn’t a normal power play between captains. Whittaker’s life and emotions were in turmoil.

  “I’m taking Mita with me. She can act as a buffer.”

  “Or a distraction y
ou can’t afford.”

  True, and if Whittaker didn’t like dogs, Mita’s presence would only create antagonism.

  “I’ll leave her in the car. I don’t know how long either of us will be, and I don’t want to leave her in the house alone. It’s getting too cold to leave her outside.”

  “Sounds good. We’re leaving here in a few minutes and will meet you there.”

  After a final check of the weapon still holstered against her back, Lani managed to leash Mita, and they left. The dog curled into the backseat, fell asleep, and stayed in that position when Lani pulled to a stop outside the Whittaker house.

  A rain shower had swept through town during her drive in. Short, sweet, and just enough to spot vehicles—and slick the streets into accidents waiting to happen.

  Captain Whittaker leaned against the rear of the family van, his arms and ankles crossed and eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses he didn’t need. He’d flipped the collar of his leather jacket up to ward off the cold. Jeans and boots topped off the badass image. This was a man emotionally geared for battle, something he’d been living with for the last six months overseas in a war zone.

  Lani retrieved her evidence collection kit from the trunk. Whittaker didn’t budge. She didn’t make an issue of it, not because they were of equal rank, but because of what he’d been through, what he’d yet to face in getting himself and his daughters through the time to come.

  “Good afternoon, Captain. I’m Captain Elaine Hollister, the acting provost marshal.” She presented her ID and badge.

  Whittaker’s head barely moved. The glasses hid his eyes well. “You’re not in uniform.”