Solemn Duty (1997)

by Leonard B Scott

  In that, you want me to dance? He smiled and took her into his arms. "You look super, Cynthia, you must work out a lot to keep in such good shape?"

  She winked. "Wait till I get you upstairs, honey, then you'll see a workout"

  So much for sweet Cynthia who talked about her flowers while at the dinner table, he thought I'm dancing with Lady Godiva and Madonna all rolled into one.

  "M0000n river, wider than a mile. I'm . ." Cynthia sang, pressing closer to him.

  Eli sneaked a glance at his watch and wished he'd told Jerome three minutes, not five.

  At the end of the song he felt as if she'd become a second skin. He might have actually enjoyed the belly rubbing, but her perfume was too strong and made him feel nauseous. As she stepped back, lifted an eyebrow and said, "Come on, let's go upstairs," he knew it was not the perfume, or the music. It was him. He wasn't ready for this, and wondered if he ever would be.

  He still played it right, kissed her lightly on the lips and backed away slowly. "Let me get the wine for us," he said. He picked up the two glasses and stepped forward, kissing her again, and said, "You're wonderful."

  They got all the way to the bedroom when his cell phone beeped and he set the glasses on the nightstand. Taking his phone out, he whispered to her, "It's probably nothing, but I have to take it." He put the phone to his ear and said, "Special Agent Tanner . . . When? . . . How many were hurt? . . . I see, sure I'll be there in twenty minutes, get me a crime scene unit and contact the GBI. Right, out here."

  He looked into Cynthia's disappointed but understanding eyes. "I'm truly sorry about this, but I have to go." He pulled her to him and kissed her passionately, liking the way she kissed, but finally backed away. "I'll call you tomorrow and tell you how things went," he said, then reached up and touched her face. Slowly, he let his hand drop and walked for the hallway.

  He felt tremors of guilt quaking in his stomach, and the first eruption when he heard her say, "Be careful, Eli, I won't be able to sleep until you call."

  He picked up his pace and held his breath until he shut the door and was outside. The sticky night air smelled of lilacs as he breathed in deeply and headed for the Lincoln. She deserved a helluva lot better than him, he thought as he slid in behind the wheel.

  Fifteen minutes later he pulled into a roadhouse he'd spotted as he was driving her home. It was just what he needed.

  The smell of smoke hit him first, then the loud twang of guitars. He walked on past the crowded tables and bellied up to the bar. A cute barmaid smiled. "What ya havin'?"

  "Bud Light with a twist of lime, please, ma'am."

  Eli turned, looked at all the people and didn't feel so lonely.

  He knew after a few beers the guilt would be gone, and tomorrow he'd call Cynthia and apologize. But he'd never go back to her place. His gut told him it wasn't right, and his gut never lied. Cynthia deserved someone who liked to dance to Old Blue Eyes.

  Chapter 7.

  Wednesday, June 6.

  Ashley walked into the office and saw Eli seated behind Regina's desk, typing on her computer keypad.

  She walked past him, put her purse on her desk and turned around, facing him. He kept on typing. She cleared her throat.

  He kept on typing. She sighed. "Good morning, Agent Tanner."

  He nodded but kept typing as he spoke: "Good morning."

  "What are you working on?" she asked.

  "I'm doing the tutorial on Word Seven. It's not that different from WordPerfect, the one I used in Quantico. Actually, it's better--easier."

  Ashley stepped closer. "Thank you. I ordered it for the office and just picked it up last week. So, how did chimer go? Was the lady nice?"

  Eli stopped typing, pushed the chair back, picked up his coffee and walked to the worktable. "Dinner was fine. She was okay." He sat down and picked up a case file.

  Ashley followed. "How did you two get along?"

  "Fine."

  Ashley nodded, seeing she was getting nowhere, and walked back to her desk. Regina entered from the back room holding a stack of printouts. "Boss, you was right as rain. The Puerto Rican is the dirty one. This sure 'nough proves it."

  Eli lifted his eyes from the file and looked at her. "What do you think of Frank Sinatra, Regina?'

  She shrugged. "I think he's old. Why?'

  Eli looked back at the file. "Yeah, that's what I think, too. I like that white guy that sounds black, long hair, real popular, what's his name?"

  "Michael Bolton?'

  "'That's him. He's still popular, isn't he?'

  "To white folks he is. My sister don't like the man. Says he don't have soul, but I think the man is cool. Why you askin' about Frank, boss? You takin' up ballroom dancin' or somethin ' ?"

  Eli shrugged "A lady I met last night liked him a lot. I thought maybe his stuff was on the comeback and I was out of touch. I was just checkin'."

  Regina grinned and stepped closer to him. "Well now, you meetin' ladies already? That's cool. How'd it go? You two click and dance to Frank?'

  "Now, I had to go . . . I was pooped."

  "Didn't click, huh? That's all right, boss, hang in there. That right lady goin' to come along and ring your chimes for sure.

  You'll know when ya wanna dance and there ain't no music."

  Ashley couldn't take it anymore and walked over to the table. "What was all that about a Puerto Rican being dirty?'

  Regina motioned to the printouts she'd set out "The boss had me get the bank records of the four sergeants involved in the loss of the M-16s on post He was right The dirty one showed up."

  Ashley shifted her gaze to Eli. He picked up the case file beside him. "This is the one you told me about the night before last. The five missing weapons and four sergeants who were the only suspects?'

  "Yes, I was scheduled to interview them this afternoon,"

  Ashley said Eli handed her the printout& "Sergeant Jose Gonzales is your man. Look at his bank statements for the past four months and then look at the current one."

  It took her several minutes to examine the records before she gave Eli a questioning stare. "So?"

  "So, he hasn't made any withdrawals this month and hasn't written any checks. Jose and his wife are obviously paying for everything in cash. Jose is not too smart . . . he'll roll if we get the D. A. to agree to a reduction provided he names who he sold the weapons to. Ten years versus five in Leavenworth will sound good to him."

  Ashley shrugged. "I had him anyway," she said and walked back to her desk.

  Eli stood. "What'd'ya mean, ya had him?"

  Ashley reached in a drawer and pulled out a notebook. She opened it and motioned to a page. "Jose's wife left for Puerto Rico two days after the weapons were reported missing. She paid cash for a first-class ticket, which was big bucks. I had him without the bank records, but thank you for getting them for me."

  Eli's jaw muscles rippled. "When we discussed the case, you didn't tell me you checked out the wife, Agent Sutton."

  "And you didn't tell me you were going to begin working the case, or I would have told you not to bother, Agent Tanner."

  Eli counted mentally to three, drew in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. He nodded. "You're right, my mistake. I should have asked you about the case before jumping in. I'll remember next time."

  Ashley sat down and put away her notebook, not sure what to do; her victory was ruined by his admitting his mistake. She glanced at him, but he'd already picked up another case file.

  Damn, now I'll have to show him I can accept victory graciously . . . except I've never done it before. Damn. "Eh .. .

  Agent Tanner."

  He looked at her, and she frowned. "My fault, too. I should have given you all the information when we discussed the case. Okay?"

  Eli smiled. "Okay."

  Regina glanced at Ashley then Eli and shook her head.

  "Well, how 'bout me? Is anybody goin' to say, hey Regina, thanks for nothin'?"

  Eli reached up and patted her arm. "T
hanks for runnin' the printouts. I couldn't have made a fool of myself without ya."

  Regina leaned over and whispered, "We'll get her next time, boss."

  Millie Tanner walked into the empty living room and saw Ashley standing just outside the sliding glass doors on the balcony, staring out at the Chattahoochee River. She joined her, leaning on the balcony railing. "What'd'ya think?"

  Ashley turned and looked back inside. "He'll like it because of this view."

  Millie smiled. "That's what I think, too. Thanks for coming over during your lunch hour and taking a look. The rent isn't too bad for a two bedroom, and the kitchen is functional, though small, and the blue rugs aren't too ugly. Now I won't have to worry about him living in a damn trailer. Seven Brothers says his things should be here in another week. I don't even want to think about what he's got coming to furnish these moms with. By the looks of that old pickup of his, I can imagine, though-Salvation Army rejects, I bet"

  Ashley looked back at the tranquil river. "I bet it will surprise you. I'd think he'd want things that meant something to him. Won't be fancy, but they'll all have purpose and meaning."

  Millie gave Ashley a side glance. "Don't get me wrong when I say this, but are you getting along all right with him?

  He's mellowed some with age, but his temper can get the best of him sometimes . . . that, and he usually says what's on his mind. It kinds puts women off when they get to know him."

  Shrugging, Ashley took a step back from the railing. "We're doing okay. I'm not the easiest person to get along with myself, but he seems to know when to stop pushing. He's . . . he's more sensitive than I would have thought. Kind of rare for guys in the boo. He's got a good sense of humor too .. . although most of the time it's at my expense. We're going to do fine for the next eighty-seven days . . . I think."

  "That's right, you're leaving for Atlanta. I'd forgotten.

  You're going to miss out on me finding Miss Right for him.

  'Course, the way the search is going, it might take ten years to find her. Do you know what he did the other night? Don't breathe a word of this, but that lug called Jerome from Cynthia's house and told Jerome to call him back on his cell phone in five minutes. After all my work, and he wants Jer to give him an excuse to leave. I don't know if I can face Cynthia again.

  She'll ask about him, and what do I say? See what he's done to me? He's getting me into trouble with my friends, and all I'm trying to do is help him."

  "Maybe what you want for him isn't what he wants,"

  Ashley said. "He's a big boy. I'm sure he can find places to meet a friend."

  "I'll tell you, Ashley, I'm out of it, I don't know where singles go to meet people. You find any interesting places since you've been here?"

  "I don't go out, Millie. I did a while back, but it was the same old thing-the lines got old very fast, and when I did find somebody interesting, sooner or later they turned out to be jerks. It burned me out and I gave up."

  Millie gave her new friend a look of concern. "Come on, that's just temporary, right? I mean how can you stand being alone all the time?"

  "You get used to it. . . . It's not as bad as most people think, you just don't think or worry about it and just accept that's the way it's going to be."

  "No way, not you, Ashley. If you were overweight or homely then I might feel sorry for you, but I'm not buyin' you can't find a little happiness; you look great. You've got all the tools; looks to me like you just need to put them to work?'

  Ashley smiled and patted Millie's shoulder. "You and my dad would have gotten along great He was like you--thought hard work could get you anything. He was right about most of it, but when it comes to relationships, I always seem to strike out. I got hit by the ball from my ex . . . he hurt me and I guess it's made me shy of the plate. I stay too far back in the box to do any good."

  Millie smiled. "Then find yourself a slow pitcher. Whatever he throws can't hurt you, and you still make it to first base. My brother always told me ya can't score unless you're on base.

  And it sounds to me like you need to do some scoring. Come on, I'll buy you lunch. Together we're going to get you back in the game. I know a few bachelors your age that . . ."

  Ashley followed Millie toward the door, glad to have found a friend. Millie's intentions were good, and that was enough. It was nice to talk to another woman about things other than work. She would probably allow Millie to set her up on a couple of dates, but Ashley knew it wouldn't help; the game didn't mean anything to her anymore.

  .

  12:03 A. M. Fort Smith, Arkansas.

  Amos Blevins looked up at the cloudless night and took in a deep breath of the fresh air. He felt something brush up against his leg and looked down with a frown. "Go on, damn ya, you wanted out to piss, didn't ya? Do it on old man Jenkins's lawn.

  He needs it fertilized anyway. Go on, I'm not goin' anywhere."

  Amos smiled as his terrier ran toward Jenkins's lawn. "Good boy."

  "Sergeant Blevins."

  "Christ!" Amos blurted, spinning around. "You scared the B-Jesus outta me. Who the hell are you?'

  A man approached wearing black. "Do you not remember me, Sergeant?"

  "That's close enough, buster. Don't come any closer or I'll floor ya."

  "Look at me, Sergeant. Do you remember?'

  "Goddamn you, I said stay where you are. It's too damn dark to see who you are. Get the fuck off my property right now or I'm callin' the cops."

  The dark figure lifted his hand and Amos heard a strange buzzing noise at the same instant an excruciating pain lanced his chest. Immediately, it spread through his body. He tried to scream, but his throat muscles had contracted and he couldn't breathe. He sank to his knees as the man stepped up to the porch and leaned over him.

  "How's his wife doing?" the detective asked.

  The paramedic stepped off the porch holding a black case.

  "She's still in shock. Says there's no way he would shoot himself, though. Says he didn't even own a pistol."

  The detective turned and panned his flashlight across the body on the driveway. "No sign of foul play. He must have kept his problems to himself?'

  "Pretty big problems, to put a pistol to his head and rearrange his brains, Detective," the medic said.

  "Yeah, a helluva way to check out Get away, dog! Damn it, Doug, I thought I told ya to catch that mutt and put him inside. Christ, damn dog keeps lickin' his face."

  Another detective materialized out of the darkness.

  "Checked the house and didn't find a note. I asked the wife about the cross we found in his mouth. She said he wasn't a religious man and didn't wear one."

  "Well, he's got one now. What do you think? This guy kill himself or not?"

  "Nothing here to say different. No signs of a struggle, and the weapon is in his hand. The lab boys will tell us for sure once they run tests on his hand for residue. If he fired the weapon, then it looks to me like the case is closed."

  "No note, a .22 from nowhere, and the cross . . . none of that bothers you?'

  "Yeah, it bothers me, so does him doing it with his old lady in bed forty feet away. I can't get in the guy's head and tell ya why he decided to up and off himself. What ya want me to say?"

  "Something brilliant, maybe? Shit, I don't like it I'm callin' in the crime scene boys."

  "Captain ain't goin' to let ya. It's almost one-thirty in the fuckin' mornin', and you goin' to wake him up and request he send out the C. S.? Good luck, Joe. You know what it costs in overtime to bring out C. S.? I don't know, either-but you can bet your ass the captain knows. And what are you going to tell him? The wife says he didn't own a pistol, but he shot himself with one. He didn't write a note, at least one we could find tonight. . . . Oh, and he had a cross in his mouth hangin' from a gold chain that the wife said he didn't own. Like we all don't hide shit from our wives?"

  "Come on, Charley, this stinks and you know it"

  "No, I don't know it I do know there are no signs of a str
uggle, and the dead man has the pistol in his hand. I know that once he's bagged, tagged, and in the morgue, tomorrow the lab boys can check his right hand and they'll probably find residue, proving he pulled the trigger on himself. That's what I know. You asked, so I told ya."

  The detective turned to the coroner, leaning on his station wagon at the curb. "Bag him, Bill. The lab boys will come over tomorrow and run a residue test For now we're writing it up as a suicide."

  Chapter 8.