visit from the SecDef to the base this morning, and I’ve just been buried.”
“Sir, do you consider yourself unburied now?”
A cold pause. “I don’t think I appreciate that question, Special Agent.”
“Sorry, sir, I meant no disrespect.” As if, she thinks. “Right now I’m in the beginning stages of a very important investigation involving the death of a civilian in Army custody in Afghanistan, under the command of Captain Cornwall. Is she still ill?”
“I…believe so.”
“Sir?”
The cold voice changes its tone. “Special Agent, she’s not reported to work, and it appears she’s not at home.”
“Do you know where she is, sir?”
“No, I don’t.”
Out in the terminal lobby two soldiers in ACUs stride by, coming from one of the four concourses, carrying knapsacks and wearing tan boots, and Rosaria feels a stir, looking at the strong young men. Her brothers. Her family. She doesn’t know their names but doesn’t have to. They are still family.
“Sir,” she says. “Right now, with Captain Cornwall’s absence, I don’t have much to go on. Can you think of any officer at your base who might be able to give me insight into her and her service in Afghanistan?”
“Well, I, uh, I did serve with the captain for a while in the ’stan.”
“Major, no disrespect, but I’m looking for someone of her rank or lower. Sir.”
Another pause. “No names readily come to mind.”
Rosaria watches the two soldiers walk up to a group of civilians, who start applauding and cheering as they approach. The civilians are holding balloons and handmade signs with bright markings.
She says, “Major, as previously noted, this investigation is in its preliminary stages here in the states, but I have no doubt how this case goes will get lots of attention, both within the Army and without, as we proceed. Do you understand what I’m saying, sir?”
“I think so,” comes the cautious reply.
“So far, the section of my report concerning the cooperation I’m receiving from senior officers is blank. How and when I fill out this section, and what I will say about you and Colonel Denton, well, that remains to be seen.”
The major doesn’t reply.
The two soldiers are being surrounded by their family members, their loved ones.
Rosaria says, “Are you sure you can’t come up with a name?”
“Lieutenant Baker,” he says. “Lieutenant Preston Baker. He was with her during her entire deployment in Afghanistan. If you give me your email address, I’ll send you his contact information within the hour.”
She gives him her email address and says, “Thank you so much, Major, for your cooperation.”
He hangs up without another word.
So what? she thinks. She’s got another lead.
Rosaria should feel good, should feel triumphant, but she doesn’t.
The sight of those two soldiers over there being welcomed back by their families is gnawing at her. Ever since she enlisted in the Army, she has always considered the Army her family, the ones who would back her up, who would befriend her, and who would even love her.
Now those thoughts are like old dust in her mouth.
Over there, in that happy little crowd, that is a true family.
Her Army?
Her phone chimes and she brings up the device. Her boss, Senior Warrant Officer Fred McCarthy, is calling her.
She brings the phone up and checks the departure board. Her flight leaves in under an hour. Time to get through the checkpoints and to her gate.
“Special Agent Vasquez,” she says. “What’s up, sir?”
“Where are you?”
“At the Nashville Airport.”
“What the hell are you doing in Nashville?”
“Looking for Graceland.”
“That’s in Memphis,” he says.
“I was misinformed, boss,” she says. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m working on the Amy Cornwall case.”
“What’s your current plan?”
“Heading back to Reagan International, on the way to return to Fort Belvoir.”
“You’ve got a lead?”
“I do, boss.”
“At Fort Belvoir?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad,” he says. “You’re not going back there.”
CHAPTER 34
I’M WIRED and ready for whatever comes my way, but I’m also trying not to get sick to my stomach. The polite and impressive-looking state trooper has come back to my parked Wrangler, has passed over my paperwork, engaged in a bit of idle chitchat, and I’m hoping that he’s about to send me along. Each minute delayed here means another mile lost in my travel to Texas.
Then the trooper starts asking me questions.
“Mind telling me where you’re going, ma’am?”
Excellent question, and recalling a highway sign I had seen ten minutes back, I say, “Chattanooga.”
“Really? I didn’t know there was an Army base in Chattanooga.”
“There isn’t,” I say, trying to sound calm and relaxed. “I’m taking a few days’ leave, meeting up