by Debby Giusti
“Take care of the crime scene. I want to question Mrs. Logan and her daughter and get them out of here as soon as possible. The victim was hosting a potluck for the brigade wives. The guests should be arriving soon. Talk to them individually to see if they have information pertinent to the case.”
“How many ladies are we expecting?”
“Eighteen plates were stacked on a table in the dining room.”
Dawson glanced at the unit insignia plaque on the front door. “First Brigade, Fifth Infantry Division should be home next week.”
Jamison nodded. “Contact Lieutenant Colonel Grayson, the unit’s executive officer, in Afghanistan. Tell him I need to talk to Colonel Logan. Once the other wives arrive, word about the murder will get out. I don’t want Major Hughes to learn what happened to his wife via Twitter or Facebook.”
As Dawson placed the call, Jamison reentered the house. Huge battery-operated floodlights illuminated the earlier darkened interior. The medics had moved Mrs. Logan and Michele to the kitchen, where the women sat at the small breakfast table.
Mrs. Logan sported a bandage on her forehead and stared up at one of the EMTs. “If my blood pressure is okay after all that, young man, I’m not going to the hospital. But I appreciate your advice and the excellent care you’ve provided tonight.”
“I still think you and Miss Logan should have a doctor check you, ma’am.”
Michele stood and stepped toward Jamison, her voice low when she spoke. “Mother insists she’s okay, although I’d feel better if a doctor looked her over.”
“Are you planning to take your own advice?” Frustrated by Michele’s attempt to slip back into their old familiarity, Jamison realized his tone was sharp.
She stared at him for a long moment, then turned and walked back to her seat. “If Mother has any problems, we’ll reconsider her decision.”
She was closing herself off from him. Again. He shouldn’t be surprised. Being with Michele drove home the point Jamison had known for months. The colonel’s daughter wasn’t for him. She had left him high and dry without as much as a so long, see you later. He thought he had healed, but tonight the memory festered like an open wound.
“Jamison, any clue who the murderer might be?” Mrs. Logan asked once the medics had cleared the room. Her face was blotched, but she seemed more in control than she had been earlier.
“No, ma’am. But I ordered a post lockdown on the way over here. No one goes on or off Fort Rickman until the military police search the garrison. Right now they’re crisscrossing the post in an attempt to find the perpetrator.”
“Curtis Hughes needs to be told.”
“We’re placing a call to your husband so he can personally notify Major Hughes.”
Mrs. Logan nodded her approval. “I want to talk to Stanley after you do.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Michele’s cheeks had more color than when he’d first spotted her in the hallway, but her jaw was tight and her eyes guarded.
He pulled a small notebook and a U.S. government pen from his coat pocket and kept his face impassive as he thought of questions that begged to be answered. Why’d you leave me, Michele? What happened that made you run away?
Shoving them aside, he asked instead, “Did you see anything out of place, Miss Logan, before you noticed the body?”
“Miss Logan?” She narrowed her gaze and squared her shoulders in an attempt to cover the flash of confusion that clouded her face. Evidently, she didn’t understand his decision to forgo first names.
No matter how alluring Michele might be, Jamison refused to expose his own inner conflict. He needed to remain professional and aloof, firmly grounded in the present.
Michele tugged at a wayward strand of hair and glanced down as if struggling to find the right words to express what had happened.
“I...I heard a noise and decided to investigate.” She pulled in a deep breath. “A lamp...the room was dark...the smell of blood. Wh...when I stepped closer, I...I saw Yolanda.”
“What happened next?”
“Someone shoved me into the couch.”
Jamison tensed. His mouth went dry. He swallowed, knowing all too well what the killer could have done to Michele. “Can you describe the person?”
She shook her head. “He struck from behind. I never saw him.”
Jamison turned to Mrs. Logan. “Did you see him, ma’am?”
“I’m afraid not. My eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness, and everything happened so fast.”
“Before entering the quarters, did either of you notice anyone outside? Or anything that seemed out of the ordinary?”
“Mother and I were talking as we drove up. I’m afraid we weren’t being observant, Agent Steele.”
Jamison almost smiled at her attempt to play hardball. Evidently, she didn’t realize he’d built a wall around his heart and added armor for protection. Michele wouldn’t hurt him again. He’d learned his lesson and had the scars to prove it.
“You’re still working for that insurance company?” he asked.
“That’s right. Patriotic Life.”
“Doing risk management?”
“And working from home, if that’s your next question.” She crossed her legs and braced her spine, confrontation evident as she shifted positions.
The pulse in his neck throbbed. “Do you have a list of tonight’s guests?”
“Mother does on her computer. I can print a copy for you.”
“How many people, other than the eighteen women who were invited, may have known about the potluck?”
Michele glanced at her mother for help. “I’m not sure.”
“Seventeen women and one man,” Mrs. Logan corrected Jamison. “Major Shirley Yates is in charge of logistics for the brigade. Her husband, Greg, usually attends the events when we get together.”
“Has he been to Mrs. Hughes’s home previously?” Jamison asked.
Mrs. Logan nodded. “Yes, of course. Yolanda entertains often.”
“Mr. Yates lives on post?”
“In Freemont. Greg has a son from a previous marriage, but I believe he’s in college. No telling who else knew about the potluck. Yolanda probably shared the information with some of her neighbors. She scrapbooks with a group of women in her housing area. Those wives might have known.”
“Had she mentioned anyone acting strangely in the neighborhood? Or had she reconnected with anyone from her past recently?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Is she on Facebook or Twitter?”
“Yolanda emailed her husband and kept up with the brigade news on our wives’ loop. She never mentioned being on any social media sites.”
“How about her marriage?” Jamison glanced at both women. “Were there problems?”
Michele forced a sad smile. “They seemed to be the perfect couple. Devoted to each other and to their children.”
“Any other men in her life? An old friend?”
Mrs. Logan held up her hand. “You can stop that line of questioning, Jamison. Yolanda was a devoted wife. She adored her husband. I’ll vouch for their love and their marriage.”
“What about Greg Yates, the major’s husband? Were he and Mrs. Hughes friendly?”
“Friends but that’s all.”
“And his marriage?”
Mrs. Logan dropped her gaze and thought for a moment before she spoke. “Deployments are tough, Jamison. There’s been some talk, but only that.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Shirley and Greg plan to separate once she returns home with the unit.”
“How’s Mr. Yates handling the situation?”
“In my opinion, he’s in denial.”
“And Major Yates?”
“Stanley’s said she seems withdrawn.”
Jamison made note of the information. “Major Yates asked for the separation?”
“Evidently Shirley told Greg she was leaving him. He suggested they go through a period of separation first.�
� Mrs. Logan pursed her lips momentarily. “A few wives thought Shirley was interested in someone else.”
“Someone in the brigade?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could she be involved with Major Hughes?”
Mrs. Logan’s eyes widened in protest. “Absolutely not.”
“Is there anything about Major Hughes that seems questionable, ma’am? As far as you know, does he get along with the other officers in the brigade? Is there anyone who might hold a grudge against him?”
“My husband has always given Curtis high praise. He went to Iraq with Stanley, when my husband commanded his battalion some years ago. Stanley was thrilled when Curtis was assigned to the First of the Fifth shortly before the brigade deployed to Afghanistan.”
Jamison turned to Michele. “You’ve known Major and Mrs. Hughes since he worked for your father in the battalion?”
She nodded. “I used to babysit their kids. But if you think either Yolanda or her husband were involved in something that led to her death, you’re wrong.”
“I don’t suspect anything at this point.” Although he wanted to question Greg Yates. A spurned husband might retaliate against the man he perceived had stolen his wife. Even though Mrs. Logan vouched for Major Hughes’s fidelity, things happened, especially during a deployment.
Jamison closed his notebook and tucked it into his sports coat pocket. “What about the children, ma’am? Does Major Hughes have family in the area?”
“No one close by. Yolanda and Curtis are both from Missouri. I’m sure Benjamin and Natalie can stay at Erica Grayson’s house until relatives arrive.”
Dawson entered the kitchen. He handed the phone to Jamison. “Lieutenant Colonel Grayson is on the line.”
Jamison quickly explained the reason he had phoned. Grayson relayed the information to the commander. Colonel Logan knew Jamison from when he and Michele had dated, but there would be nothing personal about tonight’s call.
The commander’s voice was husky with emotion when he came on the line. “Was Roberta hurt? What about Michele?”
“They’re okay, sir.” As much as he hated giving Colonel Logan bad news, Jamison had to be forthright. Being deployed half a world away meant the colonel couldn’t protect his wife and daughter. Jamison could relate. Once upon a time, he had wanted to be the man keeping Michele safe.
“The perpetrator was in the house when Mrs. Logan and Michele arrived on the scene. Both women were shoved to the floor, sir. The medics checked them out. At this point, I don’t believe they’re going to need further medical care.”
“Thank God.”
“My sentiments exactly, sir.”
“How did it happen, Agent Steele? Aren’t the military police patrolling the housing areas? I’ve got a brigade of soldiers over here fighting to ensure that our world remains safe. Their families need to be protected, yet a killer gets on post and attacks my S-3’s wife.”
“Sir, we’ll use every resource available to apprehend the perpetrator and bring him to justice.”
“I want more than that. I want your assurance no one else will be injured.”
“That’s our goal, sir.”
The colonel let out a sigh. “I know you’re not to blame, but it’s hard to believe something like this could have occurred.”
Jamison filled him in on the few remaining details he knew, although he didn’t mention his concern about Greg Yates and his wife’s rumored infidelity. That could wait until the CID had more information.
“How’s Roberta taking it?” the colonel asked.
“As well as can be expected, sir. She wants to speak to you.” Jamison glanced at Michele before handing the phone to Mrs. Logan.
“I’m fine, Stanley,” she said immediately.
Jamison left the kitchen. Major Bret Hansen, the medical examiner, had arrived and was examining the body. The major looked up as Jamison entered the living room.
“Appears the perp used neuromuscular incapacitation to subdue her,” Hansen said.
“A stun gun?”
“More than likely.”
“That explains how he got in. Mrs. Hughes probably thought one of the wives had arrived early when she opened the door. The killer incapacitated her with the stun gun and was able to walk in without confrontation.”
“I’ll do the autopsy in the morning and let you know the results.”
“Sounds good, sir.”
Returning to the kitchen, Jamison caught Mrs. Logan’s eye. She raised her hand as if ready to finish her conversation.
“Erica should be able to keep the children until
Yolanda’s sister arrives. Have Curtis call me when he feels like talking.” Mrs. Logan nodded. “I love you, too, dear.”
Handing the phone to Michele, she said, “Your father wants to speak to you.”
Taking the cell from her mother, Michele walked to the corner of the kitchen to talk privately with her father.
Jamison helped Mrs. Logan to her feet.
“I’m sure Stan’s telling our daughter to take me home and keep me there. The man has enough to do without being concerned about my safety.”
“He loves you, ma’am.”
She nodded. “I’m lucky, Jamison. God gave me a wonderful husband and a good daughter, although she has an independent streak that worries me at times.”
“She knows what she wants.”
Mrs. Logan cocked her head and stared up at Jamison. “I’m not so sure about that.”
Hearing noise outside, Jamison headed to the front of the house. Opening the door, he saw three women standing on the sidewalk, their faces twisted in disbelief.
“Excuse me, Jamison. Those are some of the brigade wives.” Mrs. Logan shoved past him onto the porch. Pulling up the crime scene tape, she hurried toward the women.
Knowing her determination and desire to help the others, Jamison let her go. Any questions he still needed answered could wait.
Michele stepped onto the porch and handed him the phone. Her blue eyes had lost their brilliance, but they still had the power to draw him in just as they had done the first night they’d met at the club on post.
He turned from her, remembering the bitter taste of betrayal when Michele had left without explaining why. Usually he wasn’t prone to hold a grudge, but in this case, he couldn’t get past the sting of rejection. Maybe if she had told him what he had done wrong, Jamison might have been able to move on.
A beige van bearing the post maintenance company’s logo pulled into the cul-de-sac. A tall, lanky fellow, mid-forties, eased to the pavement, toting a toolbox and a flashlight. “Someone called in an emergency request?”
One of the military policemen motioned for him to follow. “Right this way.”
The tall guy smiled at Jamison. “Sir.” His gaze took in Michele. “Evening, ma’am.”
She nodded and, once again, wrapped her arms across her chest.
Extricating Mrs. Logan from the other brigade wives took longer than Jamison had expected. The women huddled around her like chicks surrounding a mother hen. She tried to assuage their fears, while Jamison cautioned them to remain vigilant until the killer was apprehended.
Michele knew most of the women and seemed as much a part of the group as her mother. She had the makings of a good army wife. Not that she seemed interested in marrying into the military. Her hasty departure from Fort Rickman had been ample proof she wanted nothing to do with Jamison or the army.
When the questioning had been completed and all the wives had left the area, Jamison drove Michele and her mother back to their home. A military policeman followed in Jamison’s car.
“We’re increasing patrols, especially in the housing areas, Mrs. Logan. I don’t want to alarm you, but as I told the other women, you need to be careful and cautious.”
“We will be, Jamison.”
“Did you hear from Greg Yates? I didn’t see him tonight.”
Mrs. Logan checked her phone. “He didn’t call. Maybe the weat
her kept him away.”
Maybe. Or maybe not.
After saying good-night, Mrs. Logan hurried inside, leaving Michele to linger on the front steps. Gazing down at the cement, she chewed her lower lip.
Finally, she glanced up. “Thanks for responding to my call for help.”
Jamison gave her a halfhearted smile that revealed nothing. “It’s my job.”
“Right.” She looked away but not fast enough to hide the frown that tightened her brow.
He glanced at the street where the military policeman had parked his car. Memories of other times they had said good-night on this very same porch flashed through his mind.
Pushing aside the thoughts, Jamison squared his shoulders. “You had best get inside. Be sure to lock the door behind you.”
She let out a frustrated breath. “Can’t we, at least, go back to first names?”
“All right.” He waited to see if she had anything else to say.
Michele tapped her hand against the wrought-iron banister and stared into the darkness, the silence heavy between them.
Finally, she broke the standoff. “How many military policemen will be in the area, Jamison?”
Her need for reassurance touched a chord in his heart. “Enough to keep you safe.”
“I guess—” She raised her chin and regarded him with questioning eyes. “That’s all we have to discuss.”
“Michele—”
Before he could say anything else, she opened the front door. “Good night, Jamison.”
The door closed, and the lock clicked into place.
If only we could go back in time. The thought came unbidden. Jamison slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand to dispel the temptation.
He was finished with Michele. End of story. Going back would only cause more pain.
Jamison double-timed back to his car, slid behind the wheel and pulled onto the roadway. He needed to distance himself from the colonel’s daughter.
He had been hurt once.
Michele would never break his heart again.
TWO
Post security was imperative when a killer was on the loose. Jamison drove around Fort Rickman to ensure that the roadblocks were in place and the gates were well guarded. Heading back to his office, he realized, too late, that he had passed the turnoff to the CID headquarters and ended up in the area where the ranking officers lived.