Silent Witness

by Lindsay McKenna

  With a snort, he muttered, “If she’s lucky, she’ll put in her twenty and get the rank of commander. Jillson has no great career opportunities like the men, so in effect, she has nothing to lose by telling us. Her husband is another story, though.”

  “I didn’t realize how rough it got in that hallway outside the Leopard suite. According to her, women were running a gauntlet between drunken civilians and some pilots. Just like the Tailhook scandal. I thought that was done and over with.”

  “Yep, Tailhook, or a mini version of it, was alive and well at Ares. If that’s so, some of these Top Gun aviators are in a lot of trouble. Like riding on the back of a wild razorback boar naked, my pa would say. And that’s rough.” Jim shut down the program and closed the laptop. “I found Susan’s wrist injury to be interesting, too, didn’t you?”

  With a shrug, Ellen went back to her chair and slid her sandals on. “I think so. She was in a melee the night before in that same hallway outside the Leopard suite. I think it’s quite possible she got hurt then, don’t you?”

  Standing, Cochrane picked up his cap and settled it on his head. “I don’t know. For me a red flag went up over the wrist.”

  “Come on, Cochrane, I’m going to start gnawing on your arm if you don’t take me over to O’Learys. My gut is waving a red flag, too. It’s hungry and so am I.”

  At O’LEARY’S RESTAURANT, on base, Jim sat across from Ellen. He’d ordered his favorite—corned beef on rye—and she had a chicken breast salad. Today, she wore a short-sleeved white blouse and a long, purple cotton skirt. And those ever-present Birkenstock sandals. He tried to keep the smile off his face as he watched her pick through her greens.

  “What is it about women and salads?” he wondered, biting into his thick, sauerkraut filled sandwich. Thousand Island dressing dripped between his fingers.

  “What is it about men and their corned beef sandwiches?”

  Wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, he noted the challenging gleam in her eyes. “I thought you were going to say you were watching your weight.”

  Ellen arched an eyebrow. “Give me a break, Jim. I don’t go for this ‘thin is in’ stuff. Women shouldn’t be starving themselves into being paper dolls, with an eighteen-inch waist. I’m curvy and I’m staying that way.”

  “I knew you’d say something like that,” he said, picking up his large glass of cola. After a sip, he set his drink aside. “I like your curves.” And he wanted to explore them. Seeing her green eyes go soft, he whispered, “That was a compliment.”

  Cutting into the salad, she smiled at him. “Thank you. I took it as one.” Ellen fantasized that his hands would linger here and there over her needy body. Never had she been so sexually hungry. Two years of celibacy was letting her know how much she missed good loving and sex with the right man.

  “That one kiss sure brought my world to a halt.” Jim saw her cheeks turn a bright red. Knowing he was in uniform and there were eyes everywhere, he did not reach out to touch her hand, but satisfied himself with holding her gaze. “Are you sorry it happened, gal?”

  Ellen put down her fork. “No,” she admitted in a low voice. Other patrons were sitting around them and she didn’t want them to overhear.

  “You’re hesitant.” Jim motioned with his hand. “You have dark circles under your eyes. What happened? Did you lie awake all night incriminating yourself over kissing me?” He grinned wolfishly at her. Ellen touched her hair, which he was learning was a sign of nervousness. He hoped their mutual kiss was a good thing, but she appeared unsettled by it.

  After pushing the salad aside, Ellen folded her hands and leaned forward. “I didn’t sleep much last night,” she confessed.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Oh, don’t go there! Can you put yourself in my place?”

  Nodding, he lowered his voice even more. “Yeah, I can. You lost the man you loved two years ago, and here you’ve just kissed a frog that didn’t turn into a prince. That is a bummer.”

  Shaking her head, Ellen laughed. “You are such a master of misstatement, Cochrane!”

  Jim set his sandwich aside. This conversation was a helluva lot more important than eating. Wiping his hands on the napkin again, he said, “Maybe I did get a little dramatic on that one. I know there are folks who view me as a warty ole frog, but you’re not one of them.” He saw Ellen relax, some of the tension dissolving from around her lovely mouth. A mouth he wanted to claim again—and again. “I didn’t get to sleep for a long time either, gal.”

  “I didn’t think you would,” Ellen said sympathetically. “Probably rehashing the divorce and swearing not to get involved with anyone after that. Right?”

  “Say, you’re good.”

  “I’m an analyst. My life is about understanding people’s motives and problems. Even my own.”

  “So, are you sorry you kissed me?” Cochrane’s heart skipped a beat as fear snaked through him. What if she said yes? He couldn’t stand the thought of that, now that he’d tasted her, felt the softness of her hungry mouth against his.

  “No. Just wrestling with a lot of stuff, Jim. For the life of me, I never entertained the possibility of running into another man that I’d be interested in.” Ellen gave him a glittering smile and touched her hair. “After all, I’m a red-haired throwback to Irish warrior. There aren’t many men willing to take me on.”

  “They can’t appreciate you. But I like what I see. I like what you do in the investigation. You gain people’s trust immediately and they give you good intel.”

  “I guess,” Ellen said, folding her arms on the table, “I’m learning to trust you, Jim. I was awake until 3:00 a.m. thinking and feeling through that kiss we shared. I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted a lot more than that from you, but I’m afraid to go there. At least so far.”

  “I felt the same way.”

  “Thanks for not rushing it.”

  “I’m trying to learn to read signals,” he told her wryly. “Men aren’t very good at things like that. I’m trying to clean up my Neanderthal act.”

  Ellen laughed and gave him a broad smile. Those gold flecks were dancing in the depths of her green eyes, he noted. Jim wanted to drown in her gaze like a lovesick puppy, but knew he couldn’t.

  “You’ve never been a Neanderthal.”

  “Phew! That’s a relief.”

  Ellen smiled gently. “I’m not sorry, Jim.”

  He picked up his Reuben sandwich and gave her a twisted grin. Cochrane was going to enjoy this moment alone with her. There was an interview that afternoon, and another scheduled tomorrow afternoon with Lieutenant Chuck Daily, a Top Gun instructor. Would this investigation never end? He wanted desperately to figure out why Susan had killed herself. And then he wanted time alone with Ellen to explore this whole new world that had suddenly opened up for them.

  July 11

  “WHAT DO TEDDY BEARS MEAN?” Cochrane asked Ellen as they waited for their next interviewee, Lieutenant Chuck Daily.

  “In a symbolic sense?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “What’s this? The pragmatic attorney is actually going to look at something outside his own lens of reality?” She glowed inwardly over his asking her such a question. This was her bread and butter.

  “Come on, Ellen, be kind to this poor ole country bumpkin, will you?” For a second night Cochrane hadn’t slept—this time due to torrid dreams of making long, slow, delicious love to Ellen. He woke up more than once, finally took a cold shower at 3:00 a.m. and then finally fell asleep.

  With a laugh, Ellen said, “Bears can represent many things. From a Jungian standpoint, it’s important to ask what it meant to the person.”

  “Oh.”

  “Every archetypal symbol has a general meaning, Jim, but it may have some unusual or unique meaning to the individual. For instance, you love pizza.”

  His smile broadened. “No secret there.”

  “Really. Pizza means something to you.”

  “A full stomach.”

&n
bsp; “What else does it mean?”

  He sat back in the chair and laced his fingers across his belly. “Okay, I’ll get serious. It’s food. It’s salty and it tastes good. I love the cheese.”

  “And what if I handed a creature from outer space that same pizza? What do you think his reaction would be?” Ellen asked.

  “He might think it wasn’t food, perhaps.”

  “Exactly. That maybe it was a sacred object, or a pretty symbol that certainly shouldn’t be eaten. Or a god or goddess that had suddenly appeared in front of him. If it was a pepperoni pizza, he might think the little round pieces of meat were eyes.”

  “I see your point. And here I thought this was going to be easy.”

  “Nice try, Mr. Cochrane. Therapy and psychology aren’t simple. And Susan Kane was complex, although on the surface she seems to present a consistent pattern of behavior.”

  “Reckon you’re right,” Cochrane said grimly, sitting up and tinkering with the pens and pencils near his laptop. “Miss Perfect Role Model. Miss Perfect.”

  “Why the sudden interest in teddy bear symbology?” Ellen prodded.

  His brow furrowed. “I woke up dreaming about Susan again yesterday morning. After our kiss, I wasn’t sleeping too well. I got up, took a cold shower and went to bed. It was then that I had this dream.” He wasn’t going to tell her about the other dreams he’d had. Not a chance.

  “A second dream about Susan?” Ellen turned in her chair, alert.

  “I knew you’d jump on this like a duck jumps on a june bug. Certain word combinations are triggers for a therapist. ‘I had a dream’ is like manna from heaven for you.” He held up his hand and laughed.

  She grinned. “Guilty as charged. Spill it, Jim. In your first dream, she came to you and asked for help without being able to speak.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell you about it in the first place,” he said, his tone grumpy. “In this second dream, I saw Susan appear out of a light mist or fog. She was wearing chains around her shoulders and upper arms. They were wrapped around her neck, too. She wore a flowing lavender gown. The chains were so tight around her throat I reckon she couldn’t speak. All I could hear was her rasping and trying to say something. Then she raised her hands in front of her so I could look at them. I saw red marks on her right wrist, the same ones that Jillson told us about yesterday morning.” He raised his brows and held Ellen’s gaze. “That was it. I woke up.”

  “Wow! That’s synchronicity! You dreamed of those red marks before Jillson told us about them! That is really interesting.”

  He held up one hand. “Calm down, gal, will you? I knew you’d be over the moon about this.”

  “Those red marks on her wrist really do mean something, then. Oh, don’t go giving me that look of yours. I know you think I’m not being rational.”

  “Oh, you’re rational,” he said, suppressing a smile. “But what does it mean? The dream didn’t give me any answers. Just more questions.”

  “Chains around her throat and upper body. What would that mean to you?”

  “She’s tied up or trapped in some situation?”

  “And they were wrapped around her throat to stop her from talking.”

  “Yeah, real tight.”

  “Did the chains look old or new?”

  “I didn’t really notice.” Jim sat back and closed his eyes. After a few seconds, he opened them and said, “I think they were old and rusty. Maybe even antique looking.”

  “Hmm, it could mean the chains were from some event earlier in her life. Rust could equate with the past. If the chains had a shiny metallic look that would suggest they were from the present, possibly, not from her childhood.”

  “I’m more interested in that red mark I saw on her wrist. To hell with how old the chains were.”

  Ignoring his sarcasm, Ellen said, “What was Susan’s expression when she appeared in your dream?”

  “Desperate. Her mouth was contorted—in fact, her whole face was. Sort of like The Scream by that painter in Norway? Everything about her seemed misshapen and pulled out of proportion.”

  With a shake of her head, Ellen said, “Let me feel my way through this dream in a symbolic sense. Maybe something will jump out at me later.”

  “All I got out of it was a bad night’s sleep.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  July 11

  ELLEN LOOKED OVER AT JIM. They had just finished interviewing Lieutenant Daily. It seemed to her that Giddings was in fast-forward today. More jets landed and took off than usual, causing the building to shake and growl continuously. She dusted off her hands and closed her laptop. “How about I take some time to go through Susan’s effects in her office before they’re taken down to storage?”

  Cochrane looked up. “That stuff is going to be shipped to Robert Kane in a day or two. NCIS has been through her office and personal items. They didn’t find spit. We looked yesterday between interview appointments and didn’t find anything. What do you think you’ll find today?”

  “We got to half of the twelve boxes. I want to look through the last six. Besides, I reread the underlined passages in Susan’s book Don Quixote, last night. I’m drawn to her as a person. She had so many facets,” Ellen said, picking up her knapsack. “I just feel we’re missing something, that’s all. I want to do one last check.”

  “Go for it. But I doubt you’ll find anything, gal.” He frowned and typed the last of his notes on his laptop.

  Grinning as she slung the pack across her right shoulder, Ellen said, “With my background in psychology, I’m fascinated by how each person involved sees Susan a little differently.”

  “And somewhere among all their statements lies the truth?”

  “Perhaps.” She stopped at the door, her fingers resting on the polished brass doorknob. “I’m intrigued by what Daily said about her just now.”

  “Which part?” Cochrane closed the lid on his computer.

  “About Susan’s reaction to his children when she babysat for them. Daily saw her military mask slip at those times.”

  “If you think her office is going to reflect the personal part of her, you’re barking up the wrong tree. If anything, her office here at Giddings was the model of military expectation.”

  “You’re probably right. But those boxes contain her personal effects and I want to check them out more closely.”

  Jim nodded. He dug in his pocket, producing a key to open the NCIS padlock, and gave it to Ellen. Glancing at his watch, he added, “I’ve got to pick Merry up from ballet class at 1730. I’ll finish up here and call the office for messages. Can you be ready to leave in about fifteen minutes?”

  “You bet.” Ellen waved as she stepped through the doorway and hurried down the hall.

  It was five minutes before the last class of the day ended at Giddings. Susan Kane’s office was closed, with an official-looking sign posted at the door, which was secured with a large, sturdy lock. After quickly opening it, Ellen stepped inside. Twelve cardboard boxes sat in one corner of the room. In the center was a dark gray metal desk, once Susan’s work center. Ellen placed the knapsack on the desk and sat down in the chair, which squealed loudly in protest. The American military industry could build some of the most technologically advanced fighter planes in the world, but they couldn’t produce a chair that didn’t squeak.

  Her lips pulling into a smile, Ellen leaned forward and lifted the cardboard box marked seven of twelve. She opened the lid and peered inside. There was a small gray clock, plus a pen and pencil set with a marble base. Numerous items from the officer’s desk drawers included stacks of colored index cards, a stapler and staples, plus a small gold bear on a key chain. Was this all that remained of a person’s life? Who was the real Susan Kane? Ellen quickly riffled through the contents, asking herself that question over and over again. Susan was a woman who bought teddy bears for Becky Jillson’s children. She volunteered her few free hours at the San Diego Zoo. And she doted on Daily’s children, as well.

&n
bsp; Taking the bear key ring out of the box, Ellen studied it. Had Susan used this key chain? Had someone given it to her as a gift, someone who knew she loved bears? After touching the electroplated figure with her fingertips, Ellen gently placed the key ring back in the box. She closed the lid and returned the carton to the floor.

  In the eighth box, Ellen found a variety of certificates of accomplishment, duplicates of the originals Susan had hanging on the walls of her condo. Why had she killed herself? A woman like Susan could have made it much more easily out in the civilian world. Ellen found another copy of Don Quixote and quickly paged through the book. Some different passages were underlined, and that caught her immediate interest.

  The first passage said: “She be honored and esteemed by all the good men of the world; for she shows in it, that it is only she alone that lives therein with honest intention.” The words rang strongly in Ellen’s heart. Tears jammed into her eyes and she grimaced. “Thou art a bad Christian…for thou never forget test the injuries that are once done to thee: know that it is the duty of noble and generous minds not to make any account….” Did Susan see herself as a “bad Christian” here at Top Gun? Had something happened to make her feel that way about herself?

  The final highlighted portion of text said, “…and I begin to suspect, by your words, that all that which you have said to me of chivalry, and of gaining kingdoms and empires, of bestowing islands and other gifts and great things, as knights-errant are wont; are all matters of air and lies….”

  Wiping away her tears, Ellen knew in her gut something awful had happened, either of Susan’s, or of someone else’s making. Something unspeakable. She quickly went through the other boxes, until only one was left: box twelve.

  It contained some writing paper and, apart from Don Quixote, the only personal, nontechnical books Susan had kept at the office. Ellen ran her hand tentatively across the spines, then hefted one of the tomes to read the title. Settling into the box again, she noticed a tiny gray book barely visible between two others. The title, The Little Red Bear, was a child’s book from all appearances.