by Debby Giusti
Using large battery-operated spotlights, the crime-scene team searched the wooded area where the prowler had been hunkered down.
“The perp didn’t leave much to go on,” one of the men told Becca.
A soldier approached her, holding something in his hand. “These were on the grass, ma’am. Special Agent Voss said they belong to you.”
She took the bouquet of flowers, yellow roses, each flower a perfect bud almost ready to open. The flowers Colby had probably purchased at the Shopette on post and planned to give her as he walked toward her BOQ. Had they been a way to make right their earlier disagreement? Now there was no hope of rectifying the situation.
A lump filled Becca’s throat. She was tired and cold and upset that she hadn’t handled the situation correctly. Once again, she’d tried to do everything herself instead of calling in backup.
With a heavy heart, she walked into her apartment. The military police and crime-scene techs could continue to work outside, but she wanted to put the flowers in water and then sit by herself in the dark.
She never should have come to Fort Rickman. She had allowed her attraction for Colby to get in the way of the investigation, and that could prove deadly.
EIGHTEEN
Colby arrived at work early the next morning, hoping to talk to Becca before he briefed Wilson on what had happened. She wasn’t in her cubicle, and Wilson saw him in the hallway and motioned Colby into his office.
“Tell me about last night,” Wilson said as he slipped into the chair behind his desk.
“Agent Miller noticed someone outside her BOQ, sir. She rigged a dummy in a chair in her living room, left her apartment through the front door and circled around trying to spot the perp when he approached her window.”
“Seems her plan backfired.”
“I’m probably to blame for that, sir. He saw me exit my BOQ and fled. Agent Miller followed in pursuit. I did, as well. We lost him in the training area.”
“Did Agent Miller call you for help?”
“Yes, sir, she did. Unfortunately, I didn’t hear my phone.”
“What about the military police?”
“I don’t believe she contacted them.”
“So she attempted to capture the assailant without calling for backup?” Wilson’s tone was stern.
“In all fairness, sir, Agent Miller was hoping to get a positive ID on the prowler. The Harmony, Alabama, sheriff still hasn’t gotten a court order to exhume the body in Jacob Yoder’s grave. Becca needs proof he’s alive, which is only complicated by the Amish avoidance of photos. As you know, we don’t have a snapshot of the guy.”
“Do you think Yoder is alive?”
“I’m not sure, sir, but someone is out to do her harm.”
“I told Becca to remain at her desk. That means she shouldn’t be staging booby traps in her backyard.”
“Yes, sir. But she probably didn’t want the opportunity to pass her by.”
“Hauling an Amish man in for murder before the first farmers’ market and craft fair on Fort Rickman could put a damper on the festivities.”
“I understand your concern, sir.”
“Which has no bearing on us bringing him in, no matter what activity the commanding general’s wife has planned.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll call the Harmony sheriff and see if I can’t encourage them to exhume the body. You mentioned having a DNA specimen that can be traced to Yoder?”
“Yes, sir. An envelope he sealed.”
“Someone was lucky. Any idea how they uncovered the envelope?”
“Ah....” Colby wanted to tell Wilson the truth, but he also wanted to protect Becca. “I believe it was retrieved in one of the old Amish homes.”
“Someone was saying their prayers.”
“I’m sure they were, sir.”
Wilson pursed his lips and lowered his gaze, signaling the meeting was over.
“Thank you, sir.” Before Colby could do an about-face, a tap sounded at the door.
The chief glanced up. “Enter.”
Becca stepped into the office. Her eyes widened when she saw Colby.
“I was just leaving,” he assured her.
“Hold up, Colby,” Wilson said. “You and Becca have been working together. You need to stay.”
“Uh, sir, I’ve got some calls to make.”
“This shouldn’t take long,” Wilson insisted.
Inwardly, Colby groaned. Last night, his relationship with Becca had hit rock bottom. Being present when she faced the boss would only do more harm.
Becca didn’t want to believe him or trust him. She had her own ideas about how an investigation should be run, and Colby wasn’t the top man on her go-to list. As far as he knew, she probably wanted to team up with one of the other agents.
Becca was a problem.
Not to the investigation but to his heart.
* * *
Finding Colby in the chief’s office made Becca’s day go from bad to worse, and it was only 7:00 a.m.
“Ray said you wanted to see me, sir.”
“A lot happened last night.”
“A prowler, sir, outside my BOQ.”
“You think it’s the same man who caused the explosion?”
She glanced at Colby who stood to the side, hands clasped behind his back in a typical army, parade-rest stance with his eyes lowered.
“That might be putting too many pieces together and getting the wrong picture, sir. I didn’t get close enough to ID the Peeping Tom.”
“But it could have been Jacob Yoder?”
“That’s a possibility.”
“What did I tell you about this case, Becca?”
She swallowed. “That I should handle things from my desk and let Special Agent Voss do the legwork”
Wilson nodded. “Did you comply with my request?”
“As best I could, sir.”
“Did that include setting a decoy to catch the man last night?”
Evidently Colby had been very forthright with the chief. “I merely wanted to distract him. The danger to me was minimal.”
Colby cleared his throat.
Even more anxiety bubbled up within her.
Wilson steepled his fingers. “I hardly think going outside to surprise an assailant is a protective measure. In my mind, you were putting yourself in danger.”
“I planned to call law enforcement.”
“But did you?” His brow arched.
She hesitated. “I tried to contact Agent Voss. The call went to voice mail.”
“Did you leave a message?”
“I—I, uh, ran out of time.”
Again the raised brow. “What does that mean?”
“It means I needed to move closer to the prowler while his attention was focused on my back door.”
“Actually, his focus was trained on the dummy inside that he thought was you.”
Another detail Colby had shared with Wilson. “Yes, sir.”
“You drew your weapon?”
“When he started to flee.”
“Yet you weren’t in danger?”
Heat warmed her neck. “I had hoped to apprehend him before any exchange of gunfire.”
“Therefore the situation you walked into could have been life threatening.”
“In hindsight, that might be the case.”
Wilson cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his chair as he seemingly mulled over his next comment. “You were fortunate this time, Becca. But I don’t like agents who strike out on their own. Everyone in this organization needs to follow the rules and my directions. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to work o
n the security plans for the farmers’ market and craft fair. Nothing else. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Under no circumstances are you to knowingly put yourself or anyone else in danger.”
“Sir, I didn’t think—”
Wilson held up his hand to cut her off. “That’s it exactly, Becca. You didn’t think.”
He handed her a piece of paper containing a phone number. “Call the general’s wife. Mrs. Cameron had a request to make concerning the market.”
She took the paper and nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
Unwilling to even glance in Colby’s direction, she hurried from the office and let out a lungful of air she had been holding too long. Her cheeks burned as she recalled the scoldings her father had given her of old. Today, she felt like a wayward child who had done something wrong. Colby’s presence only compounded her humiliation.
She should have contacted law enforcement immediately after seeing the man in her backyard. Of course, she’d thought she could take care of it herself.
Why did she always have to be so headstrong and self-sufficient? Maybe because no one had ever been there for her in the past.
She hurried along the hallway to her cubicle, dropped the message from Mrs. Cameron on her desk and grabbed her purse. Tension pounded through her head, and she blinked back tears. The last thing she wanted to do was cry or let anyone in the office see her agitation. Especially not Colby.
She raced out the back door and ran to her car, not sure where she was headed until she turned onto Eisenhower Drive. Pulling to a stop, she stared at the burned wreckage of her BOQ.
Looking back, she wished she had handled things differently. But what was done, was done.
Sitting in her parked car with no one around, she started to cry, feeling the entire struggle from the last week well up within her. She’d tried to keep her secrets buried, but Colby had pushed his way into her life, and now he knew too much about the mistakes she had made.
All she’d ever wanted in life was to be loved, but it always eluded her. Maybe she didn’t know how to accept love, and if she couldn’t accept love how could she return it to someone else? Today, she realized “that someone else” had a name.
Colby.
* * *
Colby sat in his cubicle, wondering when Becca would return to CID Headquarters. She’d been away from her desk a long time, and that worried him. He wanted her to know they were in this together.
In hindsight, Colby should have run after her when she left Wilson’s office. Instead, he had tried to ease Wilson’s frustration by mentioning his own regret at walking headlong into a situation Becca seemed to have had under control. Whether Wilson bought into what Colby shared was debatable, and by the time he left the chief, Becca was nowhere to be found.
Surely she wouldn’t be gone long.
To kill time, he pulled the list of Amish communities from the folder on his desk and did a computer search, working his way into Ohio.
None of the police departments he called had information about any violent crimes in their local areas. He was relieved as well as discouraged. Everything was still so nebulous when it came to Jacob Yoder. They weren’t even sure he was alive.
Going back and forth between search engines, he tried various key words and finally pulled up information about a small Amish community just across the Ohio River from Kentucky. He called the closest police department in Ohio, found nothing of interest and, on a whim, contacted law enforcement on the Kentucky side. Although Colby doubted the call would be productive, the name of the town was Harmony, and the coincidence of two towns with the same name wasn’t lost on him.
He tapped in the digits for the local sheriff.
“Harmony Sheriff’s Office. This is Deputy Oaks.”
Colby quickly introduced himself and asked about any nearby Amish communities.
“Not on this side of the Ohio. Cross over the bridge and you’ll find a number of Amish farms.”
“I’m looking for an Amish drifter who preys on lonely widows. He helps with handy work and farm chores and often ends up moving in with them.”
“What’s the bottom line?”
“A string of older women who become ill or infirmed and die within a year or two of meeting him.”
“Nice guy, eh?”
“You got that right.” Colby pushed back in his chair, ready to disconnect. “Just wanted to check. Thanks for your time.”
“What about non-Amish?” the deputy asked.
“Pardon?”
“We had a widow by the name of Lucy Reynolds who took up with a drifter. She needed help. He was a willing worker. Six months later, she ends up dead.”
Colby straightened in his chair. “I’m listening.”
“The widow told a friend he’d asked her to marry him but she refused. Still she kept him on as a hired hand. He stayed in a room in the back of the garage until he eventually left town.”
“What happened to Mrs. Reynolds?”
“She died two weeks later. Fell down an old well on her property. A friend of hers said she’d taken money out of her savings account a few days earlier. The cash was never found. Plus, her car was gone.”
“What make and model?”
“A 2005 Crown Vic, metallic blue in color.”
The car they’d seen in the barn. “Are you sure the guy wasn’t Amish?”
“He wasn’t dressed like the Amish and he drove a car, although he did have a beard.”
“Do you have a description?”
“I can do better than that. I’ve got a picture. That friend of the widow’s was an amateur photographer. She snapped a photograph of Lucy and captured the drifter in the background of the shot. I can fax a copy to you. It’s attached to a rundown of the widow’s estate, which I’ll include, as well.”
“Perfect. Thanks.” Colby relayed the CID fax number.
“I’ve got a city council meeting that will tie me up for the next few hours,” Deputy Oaks continued. “I’ll try to send the fax before I leave the office. Otherwise, it’ll get to you by the end of the day.”
Colby disconnected, feeling that the tide was changing. Hopefully, the photo would confirm the drifter was Jacob Yoder.
His phone rang and he heard the Alabama sheriff’s voice on the other end of the line. “Hey, Lewis, what can I do for you?”
“Just wanted you to know we’re expecting to get the go-ahead for exhuming Jacob Yoder’s body. Also his wife’s. The DNA from the envelope is being tested. Two exhumed bodies might speed the process and ensure everyone knows this case has priority.”
Colby appreciated the chief’s interest in getting to the bottom of the investigation.
“I thought you might want to be here when we open the graves,” Lewis added.
“Looks like the investigation is taking a turn in the right direction. I may have a photograph of Jacob Yoder, although it won’t get to my desk until later today. I’d like you to see the picture and then distribute it to your folks so they can be on the lookout for him. I’ll have someone from here scan it and send it to me.”
Colby looked at his watch. He was still worried about Becca, but he had to get to Harmony as soon as possible. “I’ll meet you at the gravesite in two hours.”
“Sounds good. The Amish cemetery sits back from the main road, on the right, not far from Hershberger’s farm and Yoder’s old property. You should be able to spot us from the road.”
Despite Becca’s hasty departure, Colby wanted her to know about the exhumation. He peered into her cubicle, surprised she hadn’t returned.
He found Ray Otis at his desk. “Any idea where Special Agent Miller went?”
“I’m not sure, sir. Maybe Quarters One. Mrs. Cameron called earlier and left a message. She wan
ted Becca to pick up some papers concerning the farmers’ market.”
“Do you know when she plans to be back in the office?”
“Negative, sir.”
“I’m expecting a fax, Ray, sometime in the next few hours. It’s from a sheriff’s office in Kentucky. When it arrives, scan a copy and send it to my email.”
“Will do, sir.”
Colby hurried outside. Becca had pushed for the disinterment and would, no doubt, be relieved to know it was in the works. Maybe the news would help soften the struggle between them.
On the way to his car, he tried her cell, but she didn’t answer. No reason to leave a voice mail. If she wanted to talk to him, she’d return his call. Otherwise, he’d see her when he returned later this afternoon. He wanted to discuss everything that had happened and ensure she knew nothing had changed in their relationship, at least as far as he was concerned.
Maybe he’d invite her over for dinner tonight so they could get back on better footing. On his return from Alabama, he’d stop at the commissary for a couple steaks to grill.
Things would be better by evening.
At least that’s what he hoped.
* * *
Becca hoped no one noticed her blotched cheeks or puffy eyes when she returned to CID Headquarters through the rear entrance. She walked the long way around the office skirting Colby’s cubicle only to run into Sergeant Otis standing near the fax machine.
“I have to make a phone call, and then I’ll stop by Quarters One, Ray, in case anyone asks.”
“Anyone like Special Agent Voss, ma’am?”
The sergeant had a knack for putting things together.
“In case you’re interested, ma’am, he’s driving to Alabama.”
“What?”
“Yes, ma’am. Two bodies are being exhumed. He wanted to be there.”
Of course he did, without her.
She pushed past Ray, her eyes burning almost as much as her anger.
“Wait up, ma’am. I know you and Agent Voss were working on the explosion investigation. He probably wants you to see this photograph he received from up north. I made a copy for you.”
Becca took the file and opened it at her desk. Her heart stopped for a long moment when she looked at the photo. Not of the older woman with the short gray hair and a wide smile, but the man standing behind her.