One Was a Soldier

was engaged to the chief of police. Maybe she knew something the rest of them didn’t. “What evidence does this investigator have?”

“I don’t know. She’s here trying to get a warrant to search Tally’s house and all her financial records. Russ- Chief Van Alstyne believes she’ll probably arrest the husband as an accomplice.”

“Where’s the money?” Will asked. Sarah was glad he had said it first.

“I have no idea. The where isn’t the point. It’s that someone-maybe several someones-had a pretty damn good motive to kill her.”

McCrea shook his head. “If the chief is calling it a suicide, the evidence has got to be locked up solid. He doesn’t cut corners.”

“I know that!” Fergusson sounded exasperated. “I’m not saying it doesn’t look an awful lot like she did it. But think, Eric. You were at the scene. Would it have been impossible for another person to have staged it?”

He paused. “Not impossible, no. Although it would’ve required a hell of a lot of fine-tuned planning to carry it off that convincingly.”

“The sort of planning a lot of money could help with?”

He frowned. “Maybe. Provided the perp had enough brains. Most criminals are dumb as dirt.”

Sarah raised her hands. “I’m feeling as if we’re wandering off track here. We were talking about dealing with Tally’s death-”

“You know what we say in the Corps?” Will’s voice was stronger than it had been. “Nobody gets left behind. Alive, dead, it doesn’t matter. Nobody gets left behind.”

“It’s over,” McCrea said. “There’s nothing else we can do for her.”

Will gave the police officer a look that reminded Sarah of how young he really was. “You can. You could at least dig into it some more.”

“No. I can’t.” Eric bent over in his chair and locked his fingers over the back of his head. Hiding his face from the world. “I’ve been suspended. I can’t do jack shit.”

Will and Stillman stared. Fergusson glanced away. She knew. Sarah leaned toward McCrea. “What happened, Eric?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Before she could prod him into revealing more, he said, “I lost it with a suspect. I was mad, and I couldn’t… I lost it.”

Will flopped back onto his pillows. “Oh, God. Look at us. A cripple, a drunk, a washed-up cop, and-” He looked at Stillman. “I don’t even know what you are. An obsessive note-taker with three-generations-old technology.” The doctor drew his PalmPilot closer to his chest.

“I am not a drunk,” Fergusson said.

“Reverend Clare, you’ve been to my house. I’ve seen you putting away wine like it was Kool-Aid. I’ve heard my parents talking about you.”

Clare breathed in. “They were talking? About me?”

“And we’re what Tally left behind. Her squad mates.” Will closed his eyes. “Losers and failures. You wanna know who’s going to give her justice? Nobody. Not a damn soul.”

The silence that followed was painful. It wasn’t thoughtful or contemplative. It was the silence of despair. Of ending. Of surrender. Sarah should remind them of the grief process. She should help them connect their feelings with their experiences. She should offer them something positive. She couldn’t. The echo of Will and Clare’s words were drowning out all her other ideas. Who will give justice to the dead?

She opened her mouth. “We can try.”

“What?” McCrea looked at her.

“I said we can try. There’s no law against asking questions, is there? Talking with her friends or co-workers?” As she said it, Sarah realized she wanted someone to blame as much as the rest of them. She wanted to know she could not have prevented Tally’s death. This is not a therapeutic response, she told herself. “I suppose we could… we could…” She spread her hands. “Actually, I have no idea what we could do.”

“There might be some people I could call,” Stillman said hesitantly. “To find out about her service in the 10th Soldier Support. I can probably get some information on the man she met in Iraq as well.” He smiled vaguely. “The old doctors’ network.”

Sarah made an encouraging noise.

“I’ve met the officer who’s investigating the theft,” Fergusson said. “I can see if she’ll tell me anything about what they’ve discovered so far.”

“Why don’t you just pump the chief for information?” McCrea asked.

“Euw.” Will made a face. “She’s my priest, remember? TMI.”

“What? It’s okay if she drinks, but it’s not okay if she-”

“That’s enough.” Fergusson sounded every inch the officer. “I know you’re angry with Russ. I’m pretty pissed off at him myself. But don’t take it out on me, Eric.”

McCrea couldn’t meet her gaze. He dropped his head and mumbled something.

“I don’t have any special contacts or anything,” Will said. “I don’t think any of the marines I knew can help us out.”

“She was closer to your age than to any of us,” Fergusson said. “Maybe you can spread the word among your friends. You never know what somebody may have heard on the grapevine.”

Will looked skeptical. “Most of my friends left for college.”

“So e-mail them. Pick up the phone. They’ll be so happy to hear from you, they’ll tell you anything.”

“Well…” He kneaded his thighs. “I guess. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to anybody. Maybe I can call a few guys. Okay.”

If Sarah hadn’t been watching Fergusson instead of Will, she would have missed the flare of triumph on the priest’s face. Doing well by doing good, Reverend? One way or another, something positive might come from this folly. Which made her think. “What about you, Eric?”

McCrea glared at her. “I told you. I’m suspended. I can’t help you.”

“Maybe you should try helping yourself. A structured, goal-oriented activity with no pressure from your work or your family? It could be a good place to work on containing your anger.”

“C’mon, Eric.” Fergusson leaned forward. “We need you.”

“In the first place, I don’t have either my badge or my service piece. In the second, pursuing an active investigation while suspended is grounds for termination.”

Fergusson snorted. “You don’t need a badge to be good at asking questions and figuring things out.”

“Besides, if Tally’s death has been ruled a suicide, you can hardly call it an active investigation.” Stillman didn’t lift his eyes from his PalmPilot while speaking.

“That’s right,” Fergusson agreed.

“Barracks law,” McCrea said.

“Join us, Eric.” Fergusson looked far too sly for someone professing to be religious. “You know you want to.”

“Oh, my God.” McCrea snorted. “This is how you got the chief to do all that crazy stuff with you, isn’t it? You just badgered him until he gave in.”

“Yup.”

“Okay. Okay.” He sighed. “I can question her co-workers. Lyle took statements over the phone from a couple people, but we were looking for evidence of suicidal intent at that point. I’ll see if I can get an idea as to how she might have laundered the money.” He huffed a laugh. “I think you’re all freaking crazy, though.” Then his breath broke, and he bent over again. “I think I’m freaking crazy,” he said in a cracked voice.