Somehow, he’d have to find a way to apologize for his boorish behavior earlier. A naval officer was a gentleman, not an angry boar running around hooking people with its deadly tusks.
A trim, tanned man, wearing stone-washed Levis and a red polo shirt, came out and shut the door to the condo behind him.
“Ah, the cavalry has arrived.” The man extended his hand. “Detective Jerry Gardella, La Mesa P.D. You Navy types from Giddings?”
Cochrane shook the detective’s hand. “No, sir. JAG legal officer Lieutenant Jim Cochrane.” He glanced to his right where Tanner stood, still white-faced. “This is my new partner, Agent Tanner, DOD, OIG.” They both showed him their IDs.
They exchanged business cards and Jim made a quick assessment of the detective. Gardella was fifty-something, five feet eight inches tall, with that famous California tan and trim physique that seemed to go with the state’s image. He had dark brown eyes to match the short brown hair with silver at the temples. His mouth was thin, like the rest of him, and his demeanor low-key yet commanding.
“We’re performing a witness check right now,” Gardella told him. “We’ll give you anything we find.”
Jim nodded. “I’m appreciative, Detective. We’ll do the same if we stumble upon anything.”
Gardella rubbed his hands together. “That’s what I like—cooperation and teamwork. We’re gonna get along just fine. Let’s go in.”
Cochrane pulled out two sets of latex gloves from his pocket and instructed Ellen to put on a pair before entering. He did the same.
As they moved into the condo, Gardella motioned toward the hall. “The body’s in the bedroom down at the end, on the left. The tech boys have done their work. We did a generalized search of the bedroom, and the other detectives are in the kitchen right now. The bottle she took the pills from is still on the bedstand. There’s also one capsule on the carpet next to her bed, which we left in place.”
“We’ll take some photos, measure a couple of things and keep out of your way. Did you find out anything else about that anonymous call that tipped you off to Kane’s death?” Cochrane asked.
“The L.M.P.D. dispatcher received the 911 call at 3:10 a.m. The caller gave Susan Kane’s name and address, said to get an ambulance over here in a hurry, and then hung up. I just sent the backup unit to that convenience store where the call originated. I’ll talk to the person on duty to see if they saw anyone at their pay phone at that time.” Stifling a yawn, he continued, “I got here just after 6:00 a.m.”
“I see.” Cochrane slowly looked around the living room of the condo. The walls were painted a nondescript beige. The furniture was antique, obviously old and well cared for. The drapes at the front window were lacy—the only indication that a woman lived here and not a man. Jim glanced down at Ellen and observed her gazing around the room, her eyes wide with anxiety. Her hands were clasped and she seemed nervous. Again, he wanted to put his arm around her and give her solace. Maybe he should tell her to leave? But she had to learn the procedures.
“You any good with photography, Ellen?” he asked, still torn over what to do. Maybe putting her to work would get her mind off the fact she was going to see a dead body for the first time in her life.
Ellen jumped at the sound of his voice. “Me? No. I’m not very good with a camera. Why?” She could feel snakes thrashing around in her gut. This was the last place she wanted to be. Her instinct was to run—as far away as she could. There was a dead body in the bedroom. How would she ever handle it? When she saw Jim giving her an odd look as he pulled out a compact camera, she knew she had to explain. Her voice came out raspy and tense. “I can’t do it. At least…not today. Maybe on another case?”
“Sure, no problem. Let’s check out the body of Lieutenant Kane.” Moving down the passageway toward the bedroom, Cochrane eyed all the impressive diplomas and awards hanging on one bulkhead.
“Well, she was neat and clean,” he noted, glancing back at Ellen. The Queen Anne cherry desk was not only highly polished and dust free, but not a scrap of paper cluttered it. At the end of the passageway, he discovered the master bedroom. He knew Ellen was watching him for a reaction when they entered, but he donned his usual expressionless mask.
The medical examiner, a man in his late fifties with graying hair and wire-rim glasses, stood in the corner of the room writing notes on a clipboard. A police officer was on his hands and knees on the opposite side of the bed, obviously still looking for evidence. By law, there had to be an officer in the room with the body until it was removed to the morgue on the M.E.’s order.
Jim introduced themselves to both officials. The M.E., John Williams, grunted his name and gave a perfunctory smile, then continued with his notes. The police officer gave them permission to examine the crime scene.
Lieutenant Susan Kane lay on a flowery print comforter on a canopy bed, on her right side. She was in her dress white uniform. Her dark brown hair was regulation short. What struck Cochrane the most was that Kane looked like a perfect wax museum replica of a human being—not a dead body. Her uniform was spotless and pressed to perfection. She wore white heels, her slender, nylon-clad legs drawn up toward her body in a semifetal position. As his gaze ranged upward, he shook his head. In her arms was a large brown teddy bear. Of all things.
Something didn’t jibe in Jim’s mind. Here was a hotshot Navy pilot and instructor at Top Gun, the cream of the naval fighter community, dead, with a teddy bear tightly pressed to her breast, her arms wrapped around it as if she had been clinging to the bear for dear life.
Susan Kane was prettier than most. She was tall and slender, her face oval with a slightly stubborn chin, full lips now parted in death, and thick brown lashes that fanned out across her cheeks. The M.E. had placed tape across her eyelids. People died with their eyes open, not shut, Jim knew.
He heard Ellen give a strangled croak, and glanced over at her. “You okay?”
She touched her throat with her fingertips and stared at the dead officer. She opened her mouth, but when no sound issued forth she shut it again. Obviously wanting to cry, she turned away and tried to take several deep, steadying breaths. It was obvious to Jim that his new partner was not going to get through this today.
Lifting the D-70 Nikon, Cochrane took several shots from different angles, careful where he stepped in the bedroom. “You get used to it after a while,” he growled softly, taking the barb out of his tone. The bedroom reminded him of some fantasy land of long ago. Certainly not the bedroom of a modern-day jet jock.
Rubbing her moist brow, Ellen muttered, “I’ll never get used to this. It’s awful….” She pressed her hand to her stomach, unable to watch what Jim was doing. She heard a number of clicks of the camera as he continued to take photos. How could he be so calm?
Bothered by Ellen’s frozen-deer-in-the-headlights response, Jim took a photo of the Queen Anne table that served as a bedstand. He noted a white handkerchief edged with delicate lace in Kane’s right hand. Had she used it while crying? He was sure she had, and anguish tugged in the region of his heart.
Susan Kane looked peaceful in repose, and Cochrane thought what a shame it was to waste such a young life. The tragedy shook him. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Was it her ethereal look, even in death? The fact that she was holding that ridiculous teddy bear? The bedroom’s decor, too, hinted at a bygone era, and perhaps a romantic side she probably hid from the prying eyes of the military.
He heard Ellen gulp noisily and make another attempt to speak. Bothered that she was upset, he tightened his lips to hold back emotions of his own he hadn’t expected to feel. It simply wasn’t a professional reaction.
Keeping his voice gentle, he turned to her. “Why don’t you join Detective Gardella out in the living room?”
“Thank you. I will….” Ellen said, then quickly left.
Cochrane moved to the bed. He knelt down and took a close-up photo of Susan Kane, from the waist up, then several more of her face and neck. Something was badly
out of kilter with this scenario. Was it a suicide? A homicide made to look like a suicide? Why the hell was she clutching a very old, obviously very worn, much-loved teddy bear in her arms?
His daughter, Merry, had a teddy bear that was her “blanky,” a source of security. She went nowhere without her beloved Pooh Bear, which he’d brought to the hospital two days after she was born. Merry had grown up with that now-ragged bear. Had this old stuffed animal that Susan Kane held meant the same thing to her? What was the story behind the bear? Was there a story at all?
Sometime later, he heard footsteps enter the bedroom.
“Uhh…” Ellen stood unsteadily, her hands gripping the door frame. “Sorry to bother you….”
Cochrane turned to find she was now a pale green. “Yes?”
“Detective Gardella said the search in the kitchen turned up nothing.” Ellen gulped loudly again and pressed one hand across her mouth.
“Okay. Do yourself a favor, Ellen—go heave your guts out and then come back in here and help me?” He wanted to tell her to just leave and not come back at all, but she was supposed to learn procedures, not be missing in action. Internally, Jim hurt for her, and it nagged him he couldn’t give her the solace she needed.
Ellen blanched even more, turned on her heel and disappeared. Nearly running down the hall, she barely made it to the bathroom in time.
Cochrane felt a twinge of conscience. Why was he so het up, so angry? It wasn’t Ellen’s fault that she’d been sent out here from D.C. She’d lost her husband. Maybe she’d found him dead? And maybe that’s why she was so upset having to see a body today? Jim didn’t know. Muttering a curse, he finished taking necessary photos.
The M.E. closed his notebook and came around the bed. The pathetically gaunt man introduced himself and pointed to the body. “You done?”
“Yes, sir.”
With another grunt, the M.E. walked closer to the bed. Gently, he grasped one of the teddy bear’s ears and eased the toy from Kane’s arms. He would place the bear in a brown paper evidence bag for Gardella, although Cochrane was sure it was an extraneous piece of evidence that would just gather dust in the L.M.P.D. holding locker. The M.E. left the room, and Jim followed. As he passed a closed door, he heard Ellen retching, and felt like hell for her. He wanted to do something to help her.
The past two years since the divorce had been grim ones, with him acting like a polecat more times than he wanted to admit. He wasn’t the fun person he once was in the JAG office. The country boy from Missouri, who used to always have an easy smile to cheer up the gloomiest comrade-at-arms, had been missing in action. He’d gone from a joker to a joke. Most of the people in his office avoided him now, and Jim didn’t blame them. The divorce had been hell. His love for Jodi had died like a vine cut off at its root. Not seeing Merry every day broke his heart. He could hardly stand being away from his daughter.
To hell with it. He walked quickly back to the bathroom. After knocking on the door, Jim eased it open. Ellen Tanner was on her knees, hugging the commode, her face pale, the coppery freckles across her cheeks standing out in sharp relief.
“Hold on,” he murmured, touching her shoulder gently as he moved past her. He grabbed a washcloth, wet it in the sink and squeezed it out. “Here, wipe your mouth.” His fingers tingled as her shaking, clammy hand met his. Jim found a glass and filled it with tepid water.
Ellen sat there, sniffing and coughing. Huge tears rolled down her face. Setting the glass aside, Jim took the cloth from her and rinsed it beneath a stream of warm water. After wringing it out again, he pressed it against her dark, anguished eyes, then gently wiped her face. Just that little contact sent a frisson of yearning across his heart. It had been a long time since he’d touched a woman, and it sent an ache through him, one so acute he didn’t know how to react.
“Th-thanks…” Ellen murmured. Oh! How she needed this kind of care and attention right now. She was starved for a little humanity from Cochrane. And he wasn’t disappointing her.
“Dress you up, can’t take you anywhere, gal,” Jim teased huskily. Damn! Where had that endearment come from? To him, “gal” was a term for one’s sweetheart. Flustered, he muttered, “Stay where you are.”
He handed her the glass and she took it in a shaky hand. Tears continued to spill from her eyes. She took a gulp of the water and rinsed out her mouth. Jim leaned down and patted her shoulder awkwardly.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothed. “Sorry I’ve been acting like a bear with a toothache toward you. Just take your time coming out. First time you see a body, you see a lot of the bathroom, too.” So much for hearts and flowers, Cochrane. That sounded real understanding.
“O-okay, thanks.” Ellen’s heart twisted violently in her chest. The past was overlaying the present. Clinically, she knew her reaction was caused by PTSD, posttraumatic stress disorder. When a person witnessed something horrible, it would come back to haunt him. The body and brain remembered such shocks for a long, long time. Cochrane’s kindness was exactly what she needed. She watched as he turned and left the bathroom.
Ellen finally forced herself to her feet and filled the sink. The water refreshed her as she splashed it repeatedly against her face. More than anything, she’d desperately craved another human’s tenderness and care.
Somehow, Jim had known what she needed, and it gave her a bit of solace as she continued to tremble. Him calling her “gal” had soothed her anxious state. Had he used the endearment on purpose? Or had the word just slipped out unbidden? Reeling, Ellen knew she couldn’t afford to think about him and his offhanded remark for too long. She had to find a way to keep the past from tarnishing the present.
Jim felt out of place standing in the living room with its Victorian furniture. Lieutenant Kane’s condo was tastefully decorated, nothing like the cluttered apartment he now called home. The deceased’s worn teddy bear was a stark contrast to her surroundings—another point that aroused his suspicion. Looking into the paper bag, Cochrane thought the stuffed animal seemed even more lonely since it had been separated from its owner.
A painful wave of recognition passed through him. How many nights had he arrived home late from the office and silently stolen into Merry’s bedroom to watch her sleep the sleep of the innocent? She would be holding Pooh Bear tightly against her tiny body. All the hogwash of the workplace would roll off his tense shoulders and neck. No matter how badly his day had gone, just standing in Merry’s room and absorbing her vulnerable features as she slept was enough to heal him, enough to help him handle whatever the world threw at him.
In death, Susan Kane reminded him of his six-year-old daughter. Shaking his head, Cochrane rationalized that the pressure of the divorce and the drastic change in his lifestyle were the real reason for his strong response to the teddy bear. He turned away.
“She new?” Detective Gardella asked as he ambled into the living room and gestured toward the bathroom.
Glad for the distraction, Cochrane roused himself from his reverie, his heart aching because he missed his daughter. “Oh, Agent Tanner?”
“Yeah.”
“Afraid so. This is her first day and first case.”
“Thought so. She was looking a little green around the gills. I think I saw some saltine crackers in a cupboard above the kitchen stove earlier when I was doing the evidence search.”
“I’ll give her a couple. Thanks.” By the time he’d located them and opened the box, Ellen had reappeared. From across the kitchen, he saw how pale she looked, but at least the green tinge was gone from her waxen features. Her hair looked even more frizzy as she blotted her lips with a damp cloth. “Here,” he said, holding out a couple of crackers, “eat these. They’ll help settle your stomach.”
Ellen reached for them. “Thanks.” Again, Cochrane was surprising her with his sensitivity.
He placed the cracker box on the tile counter and turned to her. Right now, Ellen looked frail, just like Susan Kane did. Like Merry did. He figured he knew what had
spooked the agent. It wasn’t every day a person saw a dead body. But what had made Susan Kane take her life? Had someone killed her?
“I’ve got more questions than answers on this case,” he said, looking around, hoping to snag her interest. Ellen’s green eyes lightened a little, possibly because of his far more civil tone.
Ellen nibbled the cracker cautiously. “Oh?” Her stomach was settling down now, though her heart was still overwhelmed by memories. Somehow, Jim’s soft, Southern accent was a healing balm washing old wounds, making her feel better. Like a starving beggar, she absorbed the tender look of concern in his gray eyes.
“Yeah. There’s lots of crazy inconsistencies here.”
“What do you mean?”
With a shrug, Cochrane gestured around the kitchen. “Stepping into Kane’s condo is like stepping back in time.”
“The Victorian furniture?”
“Right.” He glanced at her. Ellen was getting a little color in her wan cheeks and her eyes didn’t look quite as glazed as before. “What I know about jet jocks is that they’re ultramodern, not into old furniture and history. Not into the past like this. They’re on the cutting edge of technology, not holed up with antiques.”
“Maybe,” Ellen ventured, her voice still wobbly, “she lived two different lives, a professional one and a personal one.”
“Reckon so,” Cochrane said, then shook his head. “Something bothers me about this case and I can’t put my finger on it. Consarnit, I hate when this happens. I was hoping this would be cut-and-dried, but there are too many loose ends.”
“Was it murder?”
“It’s possible. If it wasn’t, I’d like to understand what made her commit suicide. So far this case doesn’t have rhyme nor reason.” He gazed around the kitchen. “I think we’ll check this out again, even though they’ve already gone over the scene. How are you feeling now?”
Silent Witness Page 4