A Deeper Darkness (17 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Georgetown
Susan Donovan

Susan was reading a book to Ally and Vicky when she heard the door chimes. Muted footfalls followed, then the bell-like voice of her mother-in-law, Eleanor, drifted up from the foyer, followed by the deeper tones of Detective Fletcher. Susan sighed and handed the book to Ally, who took it self-importantly and turned to her little sister, more than happy to take over.

“I’ll be back in a bit, ladies. If you need anything, call from the landing. I bet Grammy will be up shortly.”

“Okay, Mommy,” they chimed in unison.

She watched them from the doorway for a moment, her perfect little angels, then took the stairs down. The terrible threesome, as she’d started thinking of them, were lined up in the kitchen, ready to dissect her words yet again.

God, she just wanted this over. Hiding out at Eleanor’s house, dreading the funeral tomorrow, trying to keep the girls entertained and sheltered from the reality of their father’s murder, wondering who had broken into her house, and why, was starting to take its toll. And the girls… Tomorrow was going to wrench all of them apart, but especially the children. It would tear asunder the basting stitches she’d put into their little psyches.

Susan had actually entertained the thought of not allowing them to attend, but Eleanor had talked her out of that. She made the entirely valid point that it was important for them to have some finality to the situation or else they might think he was coming back. Apparently Eleanor had lost her father at a young age and was never told the whole story, only that he’d gone away, and figuring out the truth when she was old enough to be cognizant of the realities of life and death had caused a permanent rift between her and her mother.

Susan thought the girls had a handle on things, albeit on a small scale—they’d lost multiple goldfish and a hamster and seemed to grasp the concept of death—but she wasn’t altogether sure they would understand that their daddy was never, ever coming back. This wasn’t like a deployment, when he’d go a few days without word, then show up in their Skype, smiling and freshly sunburned, with new shadows behind his eyes. For now, being away from home was causing more consternation than anything. They were both out of their routine, and that made for difficulties.

After tomorrow, things would have to go back to normal.

Her new normal.

At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

She entered the kitchen and the conversation stopped. The detective stepped forward and shook her hand. His was warm and dry, like he had a fever. She pulled away abruptly; she didn’t need to get sick, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“Thanks for letting me come over, Mrs. Donovan.”

“You’re welcome. Do you have news?”

“Some. I’ve just gotten back from New Castle, Virginia. We found William Everett. It looks like he committed suicide last week, prior to Major Donovan’s death.”

Susan rubbed her eyebrow, where a sudden headache had sprouted. Panicked confusion ran through her mind. What did that mean?

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” she managed. “But, Detective, please. Is that going to help solve Eddie’s case? What’s happening? Why was Eddie killed? Why were any of them killed?”

He held up his hands to placate her, which made her even more uneasy.

“Mrs. Donovan, that’s exactly what we’re trying to figure out. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to run through everything again. And have you tell me a bit more about the last man in the picture, Alexander Whitfield.”

“God, Xander’s not dead, too, is he?”

“We have no way of telling. We don’t know where he is. He has no address on record.”

Sam looked at Susan. “You didn’t tell him? About the Savage River?”

Fletcher straightened. “Where the sand came from? What about it?”

Susan shook her head. “No. We haven’t talked. I…I’m sorry, Detective. It slipped my mind. Xander lives somewhere near the Savage River.”

The detective’s face tightened. “Where, exactly?”

“I don’t know. We used to go up to the park to camp, and Eddie would go off and meet Xander somewhere to have coffee and talk. He never invited us along, said it was man time. So I’ve never met him, only seen the pictures.”

Susan saw Sam staring at her again. “What, Sam? What is it?”

“The nicknames. All the men in the picture went by nicknames, right?” Sam asked.

Fletcher perked up, too.

“Yes, they did. Nothing unusual there. Why?”

“‘BS.’ Remember? The little doodle in Eddie’s calendar that I thought looked like a cross? Didn’t you say William Everett was called Billy Shakes?”

Susan nodded. “Yes. But if he committed suicide, and Eddie knew about it, wouldn’t he tell me that one of his good friends had died?”

Fletcher passed his hands over his face as if scrubbing away his frustration. “That’s one helluva good question, Mrs. Donovan. Can you ladies clue me in to what you’re talking about?”

“I’ll show you,” Susan said. The journals and Eddie’s nearly empty day runner were sitting on the kitchen table. She retrieved them and pointed out the spot on the calendar, then showed him Eddie’s journal.

“I see,” Fletcher said. “That’s very interesting. Was William Everett in touch with your husband?”

Susan shook head. “Not that I know of. But, Detective, he was a grown man. He didn’t tell me about everything. Certainly not about who called him on any given day, unless it related to the family.”

“Well, in a way, he did,” Sam said. “The journal. May I see it again?”

Susan handed it to Sam, who flipped back to the corresponding date. “I think I figured out what I was overlooking… .”

The detective was obviously lost. Susan explained it to him quickly. “My husband keeps a journal, but it’s in Latin. Sam has been translating. So far she hasn’t found anything relevant to the case.”

Sam shook her head. “Until now. Look. Last Tuesday has a notation that’s out of the ordinary. Remember I told you Eddie had slipped in words that looked out of place? I realized earlier today that they’re memories. It’s his own brand of shorthand. And using the nicknames as a guide…” Her eyes skimmed the page, and even Susan felt her eagerness.

“Here it is. He’s crushed by the news of a close friend’s death. He’s talking about them. About the day the five of them met. They were all in the same unit on his last tour. He was confident they’d work well together. When I first read it I thought it said that he was shaky about remembering the details, but I misinterpreted. He’s talking about his memories of Shakes, and how much Billy Shakes’s death upset him. And the section starts with ‘Mutant in touch.’”

“Mutant in touch?” Fletcher asked.

“That was Xander’s nickname,” Susan replied.

“Yes, I know. And he lives somewhere near the Savage River?” Fletcher asked.

“Yes,” Susan answered. “But there’s no way he’d be involved in this.”

Fletcher’s eyes grew bright. “I need everything you know about this man, Mrs. Donovan. Everything. I’m afraid he’s our last viable option.”

“Option for what?” Susan asked.

“Mrs. Donovan, sometimes logic trumps everything else in a murder case. It’s becoming rather clear that Alexander Whitfield is involved in your husband’s death.”

“There’s no way. Xander is a good man. The way Eddie talked about him… No. I can’t believe that.”

Susan hated this. Jesus God, she hated this. All of Eddie’s friends dead, and the one left was the one Eddie had the utmost respect for.

“Mrs. Donovan, I’m sorry. I’m not accusing him of anything, not yet. I just need to know what his connection is to the past few weeks of your husband’s life. So if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to start at the beginning. Let’s go over it all again. Tell me about that phone call he received, the one that came on the day he was murdered.”

Susan thought back, as painful as it was. Admitting to Sam that she’d been upset with Donovan, that their last words had been slung in anger, made her feel better temporarily, but the guilt was crawling back in. Having to share this with the detective, and Eddie’s mother, was making it even worse.

“I thought it was work calling. He answered, said, ‘Now?’ then hung up and said he had to go.”

“Who from work? Did he say? The last call to his cell was from a blocked number. Everyone I talked to at the Raptor offices said they hadn’t been in touch. They all check out—no call was made to your husband’s phone from their offices. So why did you think it was work related?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. I…I was upset with him, asked him to blow it off, and he just shut down. He did that sometimes. Especially when we talked about work. Just got cold and turned off. ”

“So the call could have been from anyone. You just assumed it was from work.”

“Yes, but…I’m so confused. He was killed near his office, right? Where else would he have been going?”

“These are all valid questions, Mrs. Donovan, and I’m doing my best to find out the answers. Did your husband like his job?”

“I think so. He seemed to. I wanted him to quit, but I already told you that.”

“Tell me again,” Fletcher said.

Susan leaned against the granite counter. She wasn’t terribly proud of how she felt, but she was trying to do what was best for her family.

“He’d done his time. Three tours. And he was finally out. But then he went to work for Raptor, with a bunch of his ex-Army buddies. I felt like Raptor was too close to the military, and I wanted him all the way out. But working there, that kept his hand in the game. They send contractors over to the war zones to manage transitional training for the Iraqi and Afghan governments. Even if the war was over tomorrow and all the troops came home, Raptor’s operators would still be there to help train people, rebuild the infrastructure, all of that.”

“But he didn’t travel overseas.”

“Not to the Middle East, no. Eddie was responsible for security for the people who came over here. Allan Culpepper kept him jumping all the time. He’s the heart of Raptor. That’s who I’d assumed called. It would take a lot for Eddie to be pulled away. He’d promised us the afternoon. It had been arranged for weeks.”

“I spoke with Allan Culpepper. He thought the world of your husband.” Fletcher was getting a little red in the face, frustration setting in.

“I know. He came by as soon as he got back from Iraq. He’s crushed. He’s the man who brought Eddie into Raptor in the first place. He doesn’t work for him directly, his boss is Rod Deter. But Allan’s been his mentor for a while. They were together in Afghanistan.”

Susan felt the wheels spinning in her head as something clicked. “They all served with Allan. Xander, William, Hal, King—Perry Fisher—and Eddie. He was their commander. He took care of them.”

Fletcher was taking notes, and Susan shook her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention this before. Does this help?”

Fletcher looked eager to be away. “I don’t know yet, Mrs. Donovan. But I’ve got a few more places to look, thanks to you. Just one more thing. Did he say he had to go to work? Or that he had to meet someone? Be as specific as you can.”

Susan thought about it, mind tuned to that morning. “Honestly, he didn’t say. He got the call, and I just assumed they’d called him in. He wasn’t specific.”

“Are you sure the phone he answered was his regular phone? What did it look like?”

That brought her up short.

“A separate phone?”

“I’m just trying to look at all the angles. The last call to his BlackBerry was a blocked number, but if he had another phone… I’ve been doing this a long time, and this pops up more often than you’d think. We’ve interviewed a lot of people, all who worked directly and indirectly with your husband. They swear up and down they didn’t call. He could have had a separate phone that we’re missing, and the call that caused him to leave came in on that cell. If that’s the case, we need to be looking for another.”

She thought back. She hadn’t looked at the phone. She’d just assumed it was his BlackBerry. They’d all been assuming.

“Honestly, no. I think it was his regular phone. Eddie wasn’t the secretive type. And I’ve been going through the bills with a fine-tooth comb. I haven’t seen money going anywhere unusual.”

Fletcher looked disappointed.

“We didn’t see anything unusual in your financials, either. Well, it was worth a shot. Thank you for your time. I, uh, my partner and I will be at the funeral tomorrow. We know it’s going to be a hard day.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“We want to.”

“I appreciate it,” Susan said.

He stood and shook hands all around. “If you think of anything else,” he said.

Eleanor gave him a tremulous smile. Susan felt horrible for her—she’d lost her only son, and sometimes Susan’s own grief got in the way of remembering that.

“Of course. We’ll be in touch immediately. Eleanor, I’ll see the detective out. You stay here.”

Eleanor didn’t move, and out of the corner of her eye, Susan saw Sam touch the woman’s hand.

Three women, all tied together through one man. All widows. All torn apart like ragged dolls by their loss. Susan just hoped, between the three of them, they could pick up all the pieces again. She shut the door behind the detective and went back to the kitchen.