Let's Fake a Deal

by Sherry Harris

  “No problem,” he said. His tawny brown hair reached his collar. The lines around his blue-gray eyes made him look older than me even though he was a year younger. But he’d had some rough times in life after he gotten out of the Marines. Probably while he was in the Marines as well, not that he ever talked about it. Even though I was blond and blue-eyed, our faces were shaped the same and we made a lot of the same expressions.

  “Thanks, Luke. It was nice to meet you and sorry about last night,” Michelle said.

  She’d been very sheepish when Luke and I arrived at her house. But considering everything, she looked pretty amazing in her BDU—battle dress uniform or what most civilians would call camouflage—and with her hair back in a bun. In fact, I think Luke had been flirting just a bit as he had glanced at her in the rearview mirror driving over here.

  “No need to apologize. I’ll miss you, too, Sarah.”

  “And you won’t miss me?” Michelle teased.

  Oh boy. This had to be the downside of having Luke around. He’d been popular in high school. The phone had always been ringing, girls dropping by. Some had even brought me gifts trying to butter me up. I hope we weren’t going to relive that part of our lives.

  “Of course I will.” Luke winked at her.

  Ugh, winking. I looked away. My eyes roaming the lot. What the heck? “Michelle, is someone in your car?”

  Michelle turned away from Luke and we all got out of the car.

  “Those jerks,” Michelle said. “There have been plenty of practical jokes. I laughed at the whoopee cushion. The snake thing they rigged to spring out of my desk drawer. But a blowup doll? Breaking into my car? I’ve had it.”

  Luke and I followed her as she steamed across the lot. As we got near her car, I grabbed her arm.

  “I don’t think that’s a blowup doll,” I said. It looked like something far worse even through the dark tinted windows. The earlier gnawing in my stomach became an angry beast. Michelle snatched her arm out of my grasp. She stomped the last few feet and wrenched the door open.

  Michelle screamed and jumped back. Luke and I rushed forward. The major from last night sat there. Dead. Very, very dead. He still wore his BDUs and there were marks around his neck like he’d been strangled. The major looked more like a mannequin than a person, and after an incident a couple of months ago, that didn’t sit well with me. I backed away, bent over, and put my hands on my knees. Luke called 911. I was grateful that it wasn’t me calling this time.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As much as I wanted to run as far away as possible from Michelle’s car, I forced myself to walk around it, being careful not to touch or brush up against anything. Luke had taken Michelle over to his car, put her in the passenger seat, and blasted the heater. They were talking. It looked like Luke was holding her hand. I studied all the locks and didn’t see any signs of scratches. None of the windows were broken. It didn’t mean someone hadn’t broken into the car, because tow truck drivers had those things, what did they call them—slim jims?—that allowed them to open the car without damaging the locks.

  After my circuit around the car, I forced myself to stand near the dead major. I got close enough to get a good look but stood back far enough that none of my hair, which was whipping around in the wind, would land on him or the car. I confirmed my earlier impression that there was bruising around his neck. I didn’t see any blood, and I was grateful his eyes were closed like he was just taking a quick nap.

  I studied his hands. Lord help me, I couldn’t believe I was standing here looking at a dead man’s hands for scratches. They looked sturdy with neatly trimmed nails. There weren’t any scratches on them, and his uniform looked neat. It didn’t look like he’d been in a fight. There weren’t any other bruises. It seemed like he’d somehow willingly sat in Michelle’s car and that someone had surprised him from behind. Sirens sounded in the distance.

  I could be wrong. The police could probably figure out a dozen different scenarios to fit this scene. Maybe he’d been killed somewhere else and put here. But why Michelle’s car?

  * * *

  One hour later, Luke, Michelle, and I were still in Gillganins’ parking lot. Crime scene tape had been strung around Michelle’s car and strained against the breeze to hold on. I felt the same way. Like forces were pulling at me with unseen hands. The parking lot was full of Ellington police cars, the medical examiners’ vehicles, and military police. The OSI was there, too. The Office of Special Investigations was the Air Force’s equivalent of the more famous Navy NCIS. There would be a joint investigation since the crime had occurred in Ellington and the victim was a military officer. The Ellington police and the base had memorandums of agreement, which meant they cooperated when crimes crossed lines. So if a base person committed a crime off base or if a civilian committed a crime on base, both agencies would be involved.

  Michelle, Luke, and I had been separated right after the first Ellington police officer had shown up. I’d been trying to puzzle out how the major had ended up in Michelle’s car. What the heck had happened after Luke and I had dropped Michelle off last night? I’d kept her keys after I tucked her in bed. I should have asked Michelle if she had a second set. She probably did. Didn’t most people?

  By now I’d already had to cancel an appointment with a client, had ignored a phone call from the Billerica police, and had tried to eavesdrop on conversations between the Ellington police and the OSI special agent who had shown up. I recognized him. Special Agent Frank Bristow. I’d met him when my ex-husband had been under a cloud, accused of murder. But even before that we’d known each other. Fitch was a small base, and we’d been seated beside each other at one of the many banquets that are part of military life.

  He looked a little trimmer, a little grayer than the last time I’d seen him as he walked toward me. But no less rumpled. The collar on his shirt was frayed, and a small brown triangle left by an iron held too long in one spot marred a pocket. Grief had etched deep lines around his light brown eyes. His suit looked like he hadn’t taken it to the cleaners in some time, or maybe he just dropped it on the floor when he got home.

  While the base security forces were in charge of law enforcement and protecting the base, the OSI was in charge of serious offenses. They investigated terrorism, fraud, drug rings, as well as violent crimes and computer hacking. They wore suits instead of uniforms and were called special agents instead of by their military rank. Some were DoD employees instead of active duty. I knew that they worked closely with the base security forces.

  “Mrs. Hooker, could we have a word?” Special Agent Bristow asked.

  I could say no, but I was pretty sure we would have many words before the day was out. “It’s Sarah. Winston.” Right after CJ and I’d first split up, I’d never corrected anyone for calling me Mrs. Hooker. But I did now. That was the past. Winston was the present and the future.

  “My apologies. I’d heard you and your husband were back together.”

  “No.” He must not be plugged in to the rumor mill a small base could become. Or a big base for that matter. Secrets and base were as much an oxymoron as the overused military and intelligence jokes. “Things didn’t work out.”

  “I’m sorry for that.”

  Special Agent Bristow’s wife had died a couple of years ago. So he probably really meant what he said. He understood loss. Although loss by choice was different. If what had happened to me, to CJ and I, had been by choice.

  “No worries. But I’m sure that’s not what you want to talk to me about,” I said.

  “No. Of course not. It’s this sad situation.” He gestured toward Michelle’s SUV. “How do you know Major Blade?”

  “I don’t know him. I didn’t even know his name until just now.”

  Agent Bristow looked surprised.

  “I know of him because I saw him here last night.” I explained how he’d been across the bar from Michelle and me but didn’t add any context. “He was there with friends or maybe they were just collea
gues.” I thought about the taunting, the sneering, and how very angry Michelle had been. I didn’t want to say any of that, and sparks of worry for Michelle, what the death of Major Blade meant for her, made me want to wring my hands. But I held them still. Okay, maybe they flinched a little and Agent Bristow noticed.

  “But you recognized him this morning?”

  “I did. He looked peaceful. How did he die? I saw the marks around his neck.” When not wanting to throw a friend under the proverbial bus, try changing the subject. I hoped that Michelle wouldn’t say anything without a lawyer. She could be in a lot of trouble. As soon as I could get free of Agent Bristow, I’d call Vincenzo myself.

  Agent Bristow shook his head, which didn’t surprise me. He wasn’t one to share information, but I had to try.

  “Was he married? Kids? Did he live on base?” I asked.

  A shadow of a smile lifted the corners of Agent Bristow’s face. “You should consider a career in law enforcement.”

  “No thanks. I’ll stick with garage sales.” I heard a car start up and saw Luke pulling away. My phone buzzed in my purse and I assumed it was him. I held my hand near my ear, thumb and pinky out, hoping he’d catch that I’d call him. Luke drove off slowly like he didn’t want to leave but he’d been told to.

  “Can I go?” I asked Agent Bristow.

  “Not yet. You might as well get comfortable. It’s going to be a long day.” Bristow gestured toward his car. “Let’s talk in there.”

  I nodded. Gillganins was open because the crime scene was in the far corner of the parking lot. People had been walking by as they went in for breakfast with curious stares at the crime scene tape and all the vehicles. I’d be happy to be out of the limelight. Bristow held the door open for me, and I slid into the passenger seat. He noticed my shiver, so when he got in, he turned on his car and ran the heater. I settled into the corner, turning toward Bristow. The car was some kind of sedan, four doors, old upholstery now a dingy brown. But neat, no papers or coffee cups or evidence that it was driven often.

  “So you didn’t know Major Blade,” Bristow said.

  Since it was a statement I didn’t answer.

  “But you knew that Colonel Diaz did?”

  Even though Michelle’s rank was lieutenant colonel, when people spoke to or about a lieutenant colonel, they were called “colonel.” “Yes.” Maybe I should call Vincenzo for myself. But at least here, today, I didn’t think I was in any trouble. I’d spent more time talking to the police the past two days than my friends.

  Bristow remained calm. “Look, I’ve already talked to Colonel Diaz. I’m trying to confirm her story. Do you want to help her out or not?”

  I hesitated. Over a year ago Bristow had worked on another case I’d become entangled in. He’d lied to me then, trying to get information. He could be doing that again. On the other hand, knowing Michelle, she’d have told him everything that happened last night already even if she shouldn’t have. So I told him what I’d observed and put as much of the blame as possible on the group of officers who’d been taunting her.

  “Did she mention that Major Blade was going to be frocked?” Blade asked.

  “What?” In the Air Force that meant an officer could pin on the next higher rank before their official promotion date. It didn’t happen very often. “So he’s been selected to be a lieutenant colonel?”

  “Yes.”

  Now it was Bristow’s turn to give frustratingly short answers. “Why frock him?” If Bristow didn’t answer, I would call one of my friends on base to try and find out. Someone would have heard something.

  “He was going to take over for a colonel who deployed.”

  Oh, no. That was a big deal. In the military sometimes officers could do a job one rank above or below them. By being frocked it would give Blade the gravitas in meetings with people on either side of his rank. He would jump two ranks up the chain of command in power and prestige. “So he’d be over Michelle?”

  “She wouldn’t have directly reported to him, but yes.”

  Things were looking worse for Michelle instead of better.

  “Who is taking the lead on this case? The Air Force or the locals?” It wouldn’t exactly be the locals, because small departments in Massachusetts didn’t have detectives who investigated homicides. The state troopers would be called in. I’m surprised they hadn’t arrived yet.

  “That’s being discussed.” Bristow waited. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I didn’t know he was being frocked or anything else about him until last night.” I shrugged. “I think you should take a close look at the group he was with last night. They were all still at Gillganins when we left.” I described them to him as best I could—two butter bars, a captain, and a colonel.

  “Colonel Diaz was mad enough to try to storm over and you had to stop her?” Bristow asked.

  Ugh, this all sounded so bad when it was repeated back to me. “I just tried to keep her from doing anything foolish.”

  “Like killing the major?”

  “No. Don’t twist my words. She might have thrown a drink in his face. One that he would have deserved, but she’s not some raving lunatic. They kept baiting her. It was awful.”

  Bristow put his hands up. “I get that. The military can be pretty misogynistic, but there are lots of good decent men serving, too. I believe your ex-husband was one of them.”

  “I know that. What’s going to happen to Michelle?”

  “We’ll follow the investigation through. She could be charged.”

  I opened my mouth to argue.

  “We’ll explore all evidence.” Bristow looked around at the scene that continued to play out in front of us. Medical people moved around as did the police. Michelle stood with her arms wrapped around her waist. Her hair was coming out of her bun, and pieces draped onto her cheek. “It doesn’t look good for her, though.”

  “I had her keys,” I said.

  “People usually have two sets.”

  I’d had that same thought earlier. The extra set of keys for my Suburban lived in a junk drawer in my kitchen. “She was in a good mood. I tucked her into bed myself.” I wouldn’t mention she had told me she loved me and that I was her best friend in the whole wide world. I doubted she remembered any of that this morning.

  “She wasn’t angry.” Then it hit me. When Michelle had yanked open the door to her SUV the bing, bing, bing sounded that warns you your keys are still in the ignition. No matter. I still didn’t believe she had gotten out of bed in the middle of the night and had come over here and killed Major Blade. She wouldn’t have flirted with Luke on the way over here. Michelle’s anger when she thought a blowup doll was in her car and surprise when she’d found Major Blade were real. I told Bristow just that.

  He listened but didn’t comment. I wanted to shake the man. To make him trust what I had told him was true.

  “I need your contact information, and then you can go,” Bristow said.

  I recited it all and he typed it into his phone.

  “She didn’t kill Major Blade.”

  “Thanks for your help, Sarah. Don’t talk about any of this to anyone.” Bristow opened his car door, so I opened mine. The wind pushed back as I put my leg out. I caught the door just before it slammed onto it.

  Some days everything was a struggle.

  A shiny black sedan pulled into the parking lot and parked by the police tape. My blond hair blew in the wind, momentarily covering my eyes. I brushed it out of the way in time to see Seth and two of his assistants get out of the car. For a moment I was surprised, but then realized that of course, as DA, he would be at the scene of a murder. He took a moment, surveying the scene before he spotted me. I wanted to run over and throw myself in his arms, but of course I couldn’t do that. He gazed at me for a moment until his assistant said something and a police officer held up the crime scene tape for him to duck under.

  After watching Seth for a minute, I looked around for Michelle but didn’t see her. I
knew Michelle didn’t kill Major Blade, but who did?

  CHAPTER TEN

  I turned onto my street at ten thirty. It’s never a good thing to see a police car sitting in front of your house. It’s even worse when you realize they are there for you. But I couldn’t think of any other reason a Billerica police car would be parked at the curb. I’d been ignoring their calls all morning with good reason. I was already stressed after having found a body. Blade’s murder, the implication that Michelle did it, and being grilled by the OSI had added a staggering stack of teetering trouble to my life this morning. I parked my Suburban and decided to ignore the car. Maybe there was some slight chance I was wrong.

  I made it all the way to the second step of the porch before a car door slammed and a voice called out, “Sarah Winston.”

  I stopped and sighed, berating myself for not having tried to just drive on by when I had the chance. But being chased down the street and pulled over was even less appealing than this. I turned toward the voice. Officer Jones stood feet away from me. Glowering.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked. I hoped I sounded helpful and cooperative instead of annoyed.

  “Where did you keep the stolen goods before the garage sale?”

  Since I stood on the porch and Officer Jones was a couple of steps down, we were almost eye to eye. I don’t think he liked that. I’m pretty sure he used his size to intimidate people. Why wouldn’t he?

  “The Greens,” I emphasized Greens, “rented a storage unit at that place on the west side of Billerica. But I told you that yesterday.”

  Jones folded his big, brawny arms over his chest and studied me. I kept eye contact with him as long as I could.

  “What’s this about?” I asked.

  “Why was the storage unit you mentioned and the place you had the sale rented in your name?” Jones asked.

  What? That wasn’t possible. My whole body wavered for a second like it had been hit with the first jolt of an earthquake. I hoped Jones didn’t notice. “It couldn’t have been. You can check my credit history. If they rented these places, it wasn’t with my credit cards. I would have known.” I kept on top of what I placed on my cards and always paid it off at the end of the month. Had I checked my account in the past week or two? Maybe not. However, I certainly wasn’t going to let Officer Jones know that.