For Jim, it was going to be a long day. He yearned for the quiet privacy of his office and having Ellen there with him.
ANN HAWKINS CONCLUDED her testimony. She moistened her lips and added, “Something changed Susan forever at the Ares Conference. I was her best friend. In all the years I’ve known her, she’d never had a migraine headache. Yet she had a horrible migraine there the morning before we left.”
Ellen frowned. “Could Susan have been faking it for some reason?”
“No, I don’t think so. She vomited in the bathroom, and you can’t fake stuff like that.” Ann shrugged. “Susan carried a lot of secrets. If she was feeling bad, I might find out about it after the fact or by the way she looked. She always suffered in silence.”
Cochrane turned off the tape recorder. “You’ve been more than forthcoming, Lieutenant Hawkins. We appreciate your continued help and your detailed information.”
With a slight, wan smile, Ann nodded. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
Ellen waited until the door closed before she turned to Jim. “I feel the behavior of these men at the convention was downright criminal.”
“Reckon we need further proof and actual evidence before we can charge anyone with a crime at the convention,” Jim replied. He knew that Ann’s story accusing the three Top Gun officers from the school—Hodges, Michelson and Bassett—would not be enough. It would be her word against theirs, which wouldn’t hold up in this man’s Navy, let alone in a court-martial proceeding. More hard evidence, provided by other witnesses, was needed.
“Don’t you feel that something terribly traumatic happened there?”
With a shrug, Cochrane looked at the list of interviews lined up on Monday. “I’m not ready to draw such a conclusion.”
“You heard Ann tell how these three were drunk and abusive to women. Could there be something from this abuse associated with Susan’s suicide?”
He glanced up at her. “All this information is preliminary and way too early to form legal conclusions, Ellen.”
Frustration laced her voice. “I see a connection. And look at some of those photos. They certainly prove Ann Hawkins was telling the truth about party animal antics at that conference.”
He smiled briefly. “You don’t pin an investigation on just one person’s testimony if you can help it. We’re looking for corroborating evidence as well, gal.”
Ellen’s heart did a flip-flop over the intimate endearment. His warm gray eyes widened and held hers.
“Do you think Ann was lying?” she asked.
“No, I don’t.” He placed the papers back down on the desk. “I think what we should do is a little strat and tact, though.” Jim was bewitched by the tender look in Ellen’s green eyes.
“What’s that?”
“Strategy and tactics. My pa always said you don’t catch a fox without a chicken hanging around.” He drummed the desk with his fingers, thinking out loud. “We need to arrange the order in which we interview these three guys. They’ll be shocked at being called in by JAG in the first place. That will throw them off balance. We should interview Michelson first and then Bassett. We’ll leave Hodges until much later. I’m going to make Hodges sweat like a hog in the middle of summer. This will make him think his two friends ratted on him.”
“I see.”
Cochrane’s smile deepened. “It’s called ‘baiting the hook,’ Ellen. I have no doubt these three were involved in some of the shenanigans at the seminar. By putting pressure on Hodges, we might get more than the standard aviation line of bull.” When he locked onto her wide green eyes, he felt his heart open. For the rest of the day she was going to be with him working on other cases. That lifted his spirits. Filled him with hope. Real hope. “Come on, we got work to do, gal.”
July 6, Tuesday
COCHRANE HAD JUST SET UP everything for their morning interview at their temporary office in the Giddings Ops building on Tuesday, when Ellen swept in, out of breath.
Though he pretended to be busy, Cochrane looked up at her. “Mornin’, gal.” He saw her cheeks flush over his pet name.
“Hi, Jim,” she said breathlessly. “I had to stop and put down a deposit on my new apartment.”
“Take yore time,” he suggested. “You look like you just ran a marathon.”
Laughing a little, Ellen said, “I was late to begin with. My hotel didn’t ring me. That serves me right—I have to buy an alarm clock.”
“You’re not late, so relax.” Things were going better than expected with the spreadsheet. With the help of the central computer in the Pentagon, they’d cobbled together identification of the people in the photos taken at Ares. He’d also contacted security at the Barstow Hotel, where the conference had been held. The next step was contacting the Reno Nevada police for any official complaints registered at the time. All of this was added to the spreadsheet.
The rest of yesterday had been spent on the Iridium phone. They had interviewed some conference participants not stationed in the San Diego area. Ellen had been no small help in that regard. She was not only much more of a computer geek than he was, she was an excellent interviewer and had a real touch in pulling information out of unwilling participants.
“Jim, you aren’t going to believe what I found out from the phone company yesterday night after I left our office,” she said, setting her laptop down on the desk. Her heart lifted with joy as he held her gaze. Ellen saw longing in Jim’s eyes—for her. No longer did she fight or question his interest in her. It scared her and at the same time thrilled her in some forbidden yet tantalizing way.
“Reckon I have to wave a white flag, Ellen. What stunning surprise did you find? They were supposed to get us the fifth caller identification. Did they?”
She grinned and leaned down to place her briefcase at her feet. “I received the e-mail.” She dug furiously into one of the pockets of her skirt. “I know it’s in here somewhere.”
Cochrane sat and watched. He couldn’t help but smile. “You’re pawing around like a skunk digging through a patch of sweet potatoes, on the hunt for worms and grubs. What are you looking for? Your crystal ball?” His gaze fell on her lips. Ellen never wore makeup, but she didn’t need it. He liked the crazy quilt of freckles across her pale skin. It reminded him of the Milky Way spilling across a night sky—just as beautiful. Ellen was comfortable with how she looked, unlike Jodi, who always wanted to dress up and smack on a layer of foundation to hide her natural beauty. Jim never understood why women did that. He guessed he never would.
Ellen laughed breathily. “Crystal ball? Really, Mr. Cochrane, you surprise me. Today I don’t look like a rainbow child, and all I get from you is grief, anyway.”
“No,” he said dryly, “you certainly don’t look like a hippie today. More like Zelda the Gypsy, who can’t find her trustworthy fortune-telling tools.”
Compressing her lips, Ellen dug into the other pocket. “The only crystal ball I have in my possession is my gut intuition, for your information. Oh, good! Here it is!” After unfolding the paper with exaggerated ceremony, she triumphantly handed it to him. “You were right about Susan’s call going to Ann Hawkins’s phone.”
He studied the numbers and names of the callers. “So the last call went to the Red Cross?” He scowled. “Of all places…”
“Yep.” Ellen opened the lid on her laptop computer and plugged it in.
“Hmm, mighty interesting.” Jim studied the telephone company printout, his brows dipping. “Both calls occurred in the last half hour before her time of death.”
Ellen sat down. “Why the Red Cross, Jim? Did she have a friend there? Someone we don’t know about yet?”
Shrugging, he tucked the printout into the left breast pocket of his tan uniform. “Good question, gal. I don’t know.” Frowning, he put his official papers and the police reports in order. “We’ll be done with interviews by 1500 today. After that, we’re going to drive down to the Red Cross and see what we can find out.” When he saw Ellen blushing again at
his endearment, Jim found himself wanting to reach out and caress that soft cheek. He forced himself to keep his hand on the table.
“Susan volunteered at the zoo. Did she volunteer at the Red Cross?”
“Got me.” He grinned widely. “Do I look like I have a crystal ball tucked away somewhere on me?” He began to pat his shirt and then his pants pockets, pretending to look.
“Oh, stop! Now you’re making fun of me! I find this case just gets more fascinating all the time. Who knew that Susan’s compiled photos would help us maybe understand why she died?”
“Me? Would I ever make fun of you, gal?” Jim held up his hand. “Don’t answer that on the grounds it may incriminate me.”
Laughing softly, Ellen typed her password into her laptop. “You’re so full of it, Mr. Cochrane. You got more names and colorful adjectives for me than I can throw a stick at. And the latest one—gal. Now, what am I supposed to think of that? Is it a compliment? An insult? Or something in between?” How Ellen wanted it to be a special name for her alone.
His brows rose. “Why, that’s a pet name.” He saw her eyes grow merry with humor.
“As in a name for a pet rock, maybe?”
Groaning, Jim shook his head. “Everyone knows ‘gal’ is a compliment.” He snorted softly. “Pet rock. Gimme a break, will you?”
“For all I know,” Ellen said, grinning, “it could be a name for your pet bullfrog!”
He was unable to stop from laughing out loud or watching her every move. Ellen was more than desirable, but when her green eyes became dappled with gold sunlight and her mouth curved wickedly, teasingly, Jim found himself hungry for her in every possible way.
Jodi had always accused him of buttoning up like a proverbial bank vault, unwilling to communicate with her. As a result, Cochrane tried daily to change some of his old habits. Lifting his hands now, he earnestly met Ellen’s dancing gaze. “Gal is a special name. Not a pet rock or a frog’s name. I—well—it just slipped out.” But then Ellen’s smile vanished and her eyes became serious. Unsure if that boded good or bad, he asked almost defensively, “Did I make you uncomfortable or angry when I used it?”
“I thought it was a compliment,” Ellen said in a low voice. “But I wanted to make sure. You know how assuming something can get you in trouble.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jim said, relieved.
“So ‘gal’ is a nickname for a friend?” Ellen wondered. In her heart she hoped it was a more intimate term. She’d had a few days to get over the shock of being attracted to Jim. Her fear was receding and in its place was a raw longing she was unable to ignore.
“It’s a name you’d call someone you feel comfortable around.”
His gaze narrowed on Ellen. In a nervous gesture, she ran her fingers through her unruly hair. Heart thumping with fear, he added, “Hey, I didn’t mean comfortable like an old couch. It meant someone you care about. If you don’t like the term, I won’t use it again. I can see you’re unsettled about it.”
“Oh, Jim. No, I love the endearment!” Ellen reached forward, her fingers brushing his hand. “I—well, gosh. I mean, I kissed you on the cheek the other day. I think it’s nice.” She lifted her hand away. “I like it.” More than he would ever know.
“You do?” The question spilled out of him like that of a gawky teenager asking the girl he had a crush on to go out with him for the first time. Seeing her eyes go tender with warmth, Jim melted inwardly. His skin tingled where she’d unexpectedly brushed his hand. This woman had the most maddening way of turning his mind to mush and his heart into a free-flying kite.
Sighing, Ellen looked toward the door. “I think we deserve to set some time aside to have a serious talk about how we feel toward one another. Not here, for sure, but when we can squeeze out an hour or so…Jim, you look like I just shot you.”
One corner of his mouth hitched upward. “I’m just surprised, is all. But yes, we need to carve out some time outside Navy demands to sit and chat.” That would be something he’d look forward to with trepidation. He knew he wasn’t on solid footing with Ellen—yet. The spontaneous part of him wanted to be. His head, the rational part, called him an idiot for even thinking about love after being burned so badly by the divorce.
“I’d like that.” Fear and joy stirred inside her. She had healed enough to realize her life was moving forward. Here and now, with this Navy officer who had such a soft Missouri accent. Quickly running her fingers through her hair, Ellen refocused herself on work and opened up her file for the coming interview.
Cochrane lost his smile and became much more serious. “Well, whether we like it or not, we gotta stick to the business at hand. Our first interview is with Lieutenant Neil Michelson. If my hound dog nose is twitching right, he’s going to show up with an attorney. I think everyone here is running scared since we issued the order for Ares participants to drop by for an official interview. They know the winds of change are blowing strong and hard. It ought to get a little stiff and formal in here real quick. And since Michelson has been identified in some of those undignified photos, he’ll want to protect his butt.”
Ellen rubbed her hands together, giving him a grin. “Well, let’s find out, shall we, pardner?”
CHAPTER TEN
NO SOONER HAD ELLEN opened her laptop for the forthcoming interview than the office door opened abruptly, almost as if leaping to attention. Cochrane recognized Michelson and his civilian attorney, Douglas Baden, frowning at his side.
Neil Michelson’s broad shoulders were squared, his prominent jaw thrust forward, as if daring them to give him a hard time. He had the swaggering gait of a third generation Navy man. His grandfather had retired as a three-star admiral. His father, Rear Admiral Hugh Michelson, worked in the hallowed halls of the Pentagon. A glint of absolute, unshakable confidence burned in Neil’s eyes as he approached.
Watching him carefully, Cochrane realized the man had a lot more to lose than most other naval officers because his pa was a powerful admiral. If the son’s wrong-doings were aired, the entire family’s honor would be stained. Not only would the young Michelson go down in flames, but the father’s illustrious and prestigious reputation would be tarnished by association.
Cochrane saw the black snake tattoo that Michelson had on his left, inside wrist—no doubt because of his call sign, “Cobra.” Studying him, Jim decided he had “snake eyes,” a term hill folk used for someone not to be trusted.
Jim noticed Ellen staring at the charismatic Michelson. She seemed in awe. And why wouldn’t she be? Aviators had the right stuff, and Jim had yet to see a woman immune to their iconic standing as the ultimate air warriors.
“My client thinks this is a tremendous waste of his valuable time, Lieutenant Cochrane,” Douglas Baden said smoothly.
“So do I,” Cochrane said, smiling like a shark, his gaze pinned on Michelson. “But, I’m just a worker bee on the Susan Kane investigation, so I reckon we’ll just have to persevere through this together, won’t we, Mr. Baden?”
Baden grimaced and glanced at Ellen, then back at Jim.
Cochrane switched on his laptop and double clicked on a particular file. “You see, Mr. Baden, this interview is going to explore what went on at the Ares Conference Lieutenant Michelson attended on May 15th through the 18th.”
“The Ares Conference?” Michelson growled. “It was just one of many conferences I’ve attended this year. This is a waste of my time. I’m an instructor here at Top Gun and I have a mandated flight in two hours.”
“We’ll get you out of here in plenty of time,” Cochrane said dryly, studying the screen on his laptop. “My pa always said if you were up to your boot straps in cow manure, you’d want to be anywhere but in the barn, too.”
“Just what the hell is that Ozarks hillbilly crap supposed to mean?” Michelson demanded tightly.
Cochrane looked over his computer screen at the aviator and then at the attorney. Michelson was a ring knocker—he didn’t like little people like Jim scampering around his sp
it-shined flight boots. “Let me explain something to you, gentlemen.” He patted his laptop affectionately. “We’ve got forty-eight color photographs that were taken at the Ares Conference. The photos show civilian and military people in what I’d term pre-Tailhook shenanigans, all caught on camera. We’re also working closely with the Reno Police Department, who just got done calling in the temporary employees hired for Ares, and taking statements from them. The R.P.D has copies of these photos. The employees were shown them two days ago for positive identification.
“We’re still in the middle of compiling this information. That’s why we want to interview military personnel who attended. Those being asked to come and talk to us were either on the Ares Conference list or were identified in a photograph or by a Barstow Hotel employee who recalled the aviator in question.”
Michelson gasped, his eyes bulging. He seemed to catch himself, then cut a look to Baden and jerked his attention back to Cochrane.
“You see,” Ellen interjected sweetly, deliberately breaking the building tension in the room, “those photos were given to Susan Kane. We discovered them in her condo. We know that the photos were not hers, but gathered from many sources. Maybe the photos were sent by a spouse of an officer who attended the conference, by any number of young women from Reno who were there, or by one of the ‘professional’ help hired to entertain at this particular defense contractors’ convention.” She hesitated, then added in a serious tone, “Or perhaps Navy officers in attendance, properly incensed by what went on, took the photos.”
“But…but…cameras weren’t allowed at Ares,” Michelson croaked.
“Gosh and by golly,” Cochrane drawled, “I guess some folks didn’t follow the rules, did they? But then a lot of rules weren’t followed at Ares, were they, Mr. Michelson? Taking pictures is the least of the offenses, from what we can discern.”
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