To her credit, Barbara didn’t question or object to his plan. Since Marsh had been pulled from the case, he couldn’t access official Air Force files. He could, however, call non-Air Force sources. The distinction was a fine one, but neither of them worried about it.
Barbara strolled into his office a half hour later, her gold bracelets clanking as she held up a single typed sheet. “Staff Sergeant Scott Forbes separated from the Air Force two years after his tour in Vietnam. I plugged his social security number into a couple of credit bureaus and tracked him down to Salina, Kansas. He bought a big screen TV last month,” she reported with a smug smile. “A Christmas present for his wife and five children.”
“Did you get a phone number?”
She looked offended. “Of course. No one was home when I tried it, though. What about you?”
“I struck out.”
“You couldn’t find D’Agustino?”
“Oh, I found him.” Marsh tossed his pencil into the morass of paperwork on his desk. “It took half a dozen phone calls to the National Press Association, the International Society of Photographers, and the Italian Consulate, but I found him. He’s buried in a village churchyard a few miles north of Florence.”
“Ouch.”
“It was a long shot. So is this Sergeant Forbes, but I’m asking you to follow up on him, Barbara.”
“You know I will.”
“Good.” Pushing away from his desk, he lifted his suit coat from the back of his chair. “Call me on my beeper if you get anything.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m heading over to FAA headquarters to give Lassiter’s PanAm flight one more shot. Then...” Common sense waged a short, fierce battle with a deeped seated instinct he didn't try to analyze. “I might go buy some mushrooms.”
Julia caught the phone on the fifth ring. Tossing her car keys and her Air Force purse onto the kitchen counter with one hand, she snatched up the receiver with the other.
“Colonel Endicott,” she answered breathlessly.
“Is this a bad time?”
She sagged against the counter, surprised at the pleasure that percolated through her at the sound of Marsh’s voice. “Bad is a relative term these days, but on the whole, I’d say this is a pretty good time.”
“Good enough for a picnic?”
“A picnic?”
“You know, as in tables in the park and containers of food.”
Her eyes flew to the darkened kitchen window. “Isn’t it a little late in the day and a little early in the year for park benches?”
“We need to talk, Julia, and you need fresh air. I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes. Oh, and bring the cat.”
“Henry? You expect him to go out in the cold?”
“I need him for back-up,” Marsh muttered. “In case these mushrooms taste as awful as they look.”
Julia hung up, laughing. The sound surprised her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. No, that wasn’t true. She could remember. She’d giggled like a silly schoolgirl in Marsh’s office the day he’d surprised them both by inviting her for a meatball sub.
She folded her arms, staring at the light reflecting off the darkened kitchen window. Her strange relationship with Ted Marsh was like the window, she decided. In the darkest moment of her life, he’d provided her a glimmer of light. He’d interrogated her, pulled secrets out of her she’d never intended to reveal, comforted her, and made her laugh.
Shrinks could probably put a precise clinical term to the complex, convoluted association between them. Cops probably experienced it every day. Criminal co-dependency, or something. A nervous, frightened suspect. A skilled interrogator by turns brutally efficient and surprisingly gentle.
Julia chewed on her lower lip. She had to remember Marsh’s duty put him on the opposite side of the table. She couldn’t let her laughter or his sympathy blind her to that fact. Nor could he.
She kept that sobering thought in mind as she changed out of her uniform and into a warm sweater, slacks, and boots. Stuffing a pair of gloves and some earmuffs into the pocket of her fleece-lined down jacket, she gingerly scooped Henry the Cat from his boneless position on the leather sofa. He eyed her narrowly, suspicious of this sudden attention, but allowed himself to be carried to the front door.
Marsh drove up just as she stepped outside. Depositing Henry on the back seat, Julia lifted a shopping bag filled with cartons out of his reach and slid into the passenger seat.
“Interesting car,” she commented, placing the shopping bag on the floor beside her feet. “Does it come with a heater?”
“It did originally. I disassembled the blower when I reworked the engine and haven’t gotten around to reconnecting it yet.”
“I hope we’re not driving far."
“Just down to Founders Point.”
"Wonderful. Darkness, cold, and the wind off the Potomac. You really know how to pick your picnic spots."
To her surprise, the chill night air gave her appetite a sharp edge, and the view from the picnic table they perched side-by-side on proved spectacular. Lights twinkled on the Maryland shore across the broad, black Potomac. An occasional barge cut through the inky waters, and, once, a dinner boat strung with lights. The Woodrow Wilson Bridge formed another string of lights against the night sky to the south. To the north, the tip of the Washington Monument flashed a red warning to aircraft approaching National Airport.
Ear-muffed and gloved, Julia dug a plastic spoon into the deli cartons Marsh passed her. He tucked the disgruntled Henry inside his sheepskin jacket and fed him the leftovers, eating little himself. From Marsh’s lack of appetite, Julia guessed what had brought them to the park. She waited until he’d poured them both some coffee into a foam cup before broaching the subject.
“You’ve finalized the investigation, haven’t you?”
“Barbara Lyles finalized it. I’m off the case as of this morning.”
"Because...?
He rubbed a knuckle absently over the cat’s head. Henry hissed at the rough caress and pulled his head inside the jacket. "Because I told my boss about Saturday night.”
"I...see."
“I wasn’t covering my ass, Julia. I was trying to cover yours. And now that I'm off the investigation, I’m not caught in a conflict of interest anymore.”
Reason finally penetrated. Marsh had taken himself off the case and put his own career on the line to help her. The street lamps scattered through the park cast enough light for her to see the dead seriousness in his eyes.
“I don’t believe you killed Hunter,” he told her, “but I’m not the one who’ll make that determination. You’re going to need someone in your corner.”
God knew he had that right.
"Why would you risk your career like that, Ted? What do you want from me?”
She knew she’d said the wrong thing the moment the words were out. His face went hard for a moment, and Julia felt as though the temperature around her had dropped another ten degrees.
“I don’t remember asking for anything from you, Colonel.”
Despite the cold, she felt a flush climb up her neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you or impugn your motives.”
The stiffness left his shoulders. “And I’m sorry I threw your question back in your face. It’s a legitimate question, and I’ll give you an answer as soon as I figure one out. Then we’ll talk about what we want from each other. For now, why don’t we just concentrate on the immediate future.”
Biting back the observation that she might not have any other kind of a future, Julia listened while he related the dead end at the FAA and Barbara Lyles’ brief conversation with former Air Force Staff Sergeant Scott Forbes.
“Forbes remembers that night at DaNang in exact detail. He’s promised to jot down his thoughts and fax them within a day or two. In the meantime, you can expect the case file to be forwarded through the 11th Wing Commander to the court martial convening authority. The general will...”<
br />
“I know the process,” she reminded him gently.
“I guess you do.” He hesitated, then slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a small black case the size of a matchbox. “Carry this with you for the next few weeks.”
She turned the case over in her hands. “What is it?”
“A miniaturized transponder. It sends out a steady, low frequency signal. If you need help at any time, just close your fist around it. The pressure and heat will activate an emergency signal.”
She stared down at the small black box, both relieved and repelled. The idea that she might need help worried her, but having help at hand was infinitely reassuring. She glanced up to find Marsh’s eyes on her face.
“I’ll come if you need me, Julia. Any time you need me.”
His words echoed in her mind when she received the call two days later to report to the Vice Chief’s office. For a half a heartbeat, her hand hovered over the phone. Resolutely, she pulled it back. She couldn’t rely on Marsh or anyone else for moral support. She had to face this session with the General Titus on her own.
Pulling on her dark blue service dress jacket, she informed the chief of the Issues Group of her call to General Titus’s office. He nodded, his face as solemn as Julia knew hers must be.
Her heels echoed hollowly on the marble floors as she took the bisecting corridor to E-Ring. She made the turn and stopped abruptly. Her jaw set, she retraced her steps to the Ladies Room. General Titus could wait. Julia refused to face him looking pale and frightened.
She pushed open the door to the Ladies Room. Originally conceived and designed as a hospital, the Pentagon boasted cavernous bathrooms with long rows of stalls and equally long rows of sinks topped by stainless steel mirrors. The harsh light above the mirrors leached what little color was left from Julia’s face. Grimacing, she pinched some color into her cheeks and slicked her tongue over her lips.
Squaring her shoulders, she checked the fit of her uniform. The U.S.’s were perfectly aligned on her jacket lapels. Her shiny silver eagles sat at ninety-degree angles to her shoulder seams. The nickel-and-gold badge earned during a tour on the Joint Staff years ago gleamed above her right breast pocket. Above the left, she wore six rows of ribbons, legacy of her years of service and outstanding performance.
Her eyes lingered on the blue-striped longevity ribbon with its row of oak leaf clusters. The basic ribbon represented four years of service. Each cluster represented another four. She’d served more than half her life in the military. All her life, really, since she’d grown up as an Air Force brat. In another few months, she would have added another oak leaf cluster to the row.
Now, Julia knew she’d never add that cluster. Whatever happened in the next few minutes, her career had ended the day General Titus had informed her she was under investigation. She was innocent but unless Gabe's real killer was uncovered, the cloud of suspicion would hang over her for the rest of her life.
She’d come to terms with that fact, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Iron Man Endicott’s daughter didn’t intend to walk meekly to her fate. If and when she went before a court martial board, she’d give the prosecutors one hell of a run for their money. If she didn’t go before a court-martial...
Her gaze lifted and locked on the image in the mirror. Maybe, just maybe, she’d take Ted Marsh up on his offer to call him. Any time.
Moments later she stood at rigid attention before General Titus. Chin high, shoulders back, hands curled into loose fists at her sides, she listened impassively as he summarized the evidence against her. Then his frosty blue eyes locked with hers.
“Based on this preliminary report, I'm appointing an officer to conduct a formal inquiry under Article 32 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. The inquiry will determine whether the facts as presented in the OSI report warrant a formal charge of murder, a lesser charge of wrongful death, or no charge at all. The report is due to me within seventy-two hours. I'll decide at that time how to proceed."
Having braced herself for the worst, Julia only nodded.
“Do you have any questions, Colonel?”
“No, Sir.”
“That’s all.”
Her arm whipped up in a smart salute. Spinning on one heel, she headed for the door.
“Julia.”
Surprised, she turned to face the general. He regarded her steadily for a moment before getting up and walking from behind his desk. In the bright overhead lighting, his face showed tired creases around the mouth and eyes.
“When I learned that Special Agent Marsh had been removed from the investigation, I called him in. I wanted to hear from him what the hell happened.”
Julia’s stomach knotted. She’d accepted that her career was done, but guilt riddled her at the thought that she might have ruined Ted’s, too.
“I don’t trust myself to tell you what I think about this business of you two spending the night together, but I will tell you this. That idiocy aside, Marsh is a good man. One of our best. He asked for more time. Those seventy-two hours are all I can give him, or you.”
The general’s gruff concession eased a small weight from Julia’s heart. She’d always respected this man, and had felt his coldness more than she wanted to admit.
“I understand, Sir.”
She left the Vice Chief’s office and tipped a nod to his exec and the secretary. Her walk brisk, she headed back to her temporary office.
Seventy-two hours. Three more days. She didn’t know what, if anything, she could accomplish in three days, but she didn’t plan on wasting them. Nor, it appeared from the general’s comment, did Marsh. He hadn’t left any doubt that he and Julia were on the same side of the table now.
Full anticipation and energy for the first time in weeks, Julia didn’t even blink at the new set of claw hole in her living room sofa arm. Tossing her purse onto the cushions beside an indolent Henry, she slipped out of her heels and crossed to the entertainment center.
“It’s been too gloomy around here,” she told the disinterested cat. “We need something joyous to liven this place up.”
Flipping through the plastic CD cases, she pulled out her favorite recording of gospel classics. The soaring strains of the Athenium Church Choir’s rendition of Take My Hand, Precious Lord filled the room.
“Now, Cat, I’m going to grab a quick shower. Then we’ll see what gourmet delicacies we can scrounge up for your supper tonight.”
Some twenty minutes later, she pulled on her terry cloth robe and started back down the stairs. Hungry for a few gourmet delicacies herself, she decided to call the deli. Her hand slid along the smooth, oak railing as she joined in the choir’s rhythmic, wall-shaking, pulse-pounding version of When I Walk This Way Again.
She was halfway down the stairs when her front door crashed open. Choking off the refrain, Julia gaped at the figure that burst in and dropped into a crouch, his snub-nosed revolver aimed directly at her mid-section.
Chapter Twenty
“Get down!”
With the gospel classic thundering in her ears, Julia barely heard Marsh’s shouted command. She stood rooted in surprise as he pounded up the stairs. Her breath left with a whoosh as he flattened her against the wall with his body. Holding his weapon double-fisted in his hands, he swept the living room below and the stairs above.
“Where is he?” Marsh yelled over his shoulder.
Breathless from the force of his weight jamming her to the wall, Julia could only shout back stupidly, “Who?”
For several, tense seconds, he didn’t reply or lessen his rigid stance. Julia’s heart thumped in her ears, even more loudly than the music. Finally, he eased the pressure that held her pinned to the wall. His face taut and his gun at the ready, he edged down a half step.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
He threw her a sharp glance. “Why did you signal?”
“I didn’t!”
Frowning, he lowered the weapon. “We got a signal a
nd... Damn, can’t you turn off that noise?”
“I could, if you’d get out of my way!”
He detoured to the downstairs landing and kicked the splintered front door shut, then followed her into the living room. Julia punched the off button on the CD player. Instant silence descended. Her heart still hammering, she turned to face Marsh.
He looked like he’d just run a marathon, literally. Sweat glistened on arms left bare by a sweatshirt with gaping, ragged armholes. A pair of yellow gym shorts skimmed hard, corded thighs. His damp hair fell across forehead, showing red tints in its brown depths, and his chest rose and fell as rapidly as Julia’s.
“What’s this all about?” she demanded.
He fingered the safety catch on his weapon. “We got an emergency signal from your transponder. When you didn’t answer the phone, the guys on the desk called me.”
“I didn’t hear the phone.”
He sent her a disgusted look. “No kidding! You didn’t hear the doorbell, either. When I saw all your lights blazing and got no answer, I could only assume you were in distress.”
“Hey, don’t lay this one on me.” Her adrenaline was still pumping as hard and as fast as his. “It was your little piece of electronic gadgetry that malfunctioned.”
“Those transponders went through rigorous field tests,” he snapped. “They don’t malfunction.”
“Oh, yeah?” Still shaken, Julia pointed out the obvious. “This one did.”
“Where is it?”
She had to think. “Attached to my purse strap. The purse is on the couch.”
“Smart, lady. Real smart. The damn thing’s going to do you a lot of good if you’re upstairs and it’s...” He broke off, his mouth twisting downward. “Well, the mystery’s solved.”
“What?” she demanded, moving to peer around him. “Oh.”
Her purse lay where she’d tossed it on the sofa cushion. Henry the Cat occupied the same cushion, his tough, wiry body planted solidly on the purse strap. Marsh’s precipitate entrance had brought him into a wide-eyed crouch, but he must have been sprawled in his usual indolent state across the unit earlier. His weight and body heat had set off the emergency signal.
Duty and Dishonor Page 23