Silent Witness (5 page)

“O-okay, thanks.” Ellen's heart twisted violently in her chest. The past was overlaying the present. Clinically, she knew her reaction was caused by PTSD, posttraumatic stress disorder. When a person witnessed something horrible, it would come back to haunt him.
The body and brain remembered such shocks for a long, long time. Cochrane's kindness was exactly what she needed. She watched as he turned and left the bathroom.

Ellen finally forced herself to her feet and filled the sink. The water refreshed her as she splashed it repeatedly against her face. More than anything, she'd desperately craved another human's tenderness and care.

Somehow, Jim had known what she needed, and it gave her a bit of solace as she continued to tremble. Him calling her “gal” had soothed her anxious state. Had he used the endearment on purpose? Or had the word just slipped out unbidden? Reeling, Ellen knew she couldn't afford to think about him and his offhanded remark for too long. She had to find a way to keep the past from tarnishing the present.

Jim felt out of place standing in the living room with its Victorian furniture. Lieutenant Kane's condo was tastefully decorated, nothing like the cluttered apartment he now called home. The deceased's worn teddy bear was a stark contrast to her surroundings—another point that aroused his suspicion. Looking into the paper bag, Cochrane thought the stuffed animal seemed even more lonely since it had been separated from its owner.

A painful wave of recognition passed through him. How many nights had he arrived home late from the office and silently stolen into Merry's bedroom to watch her sleep the sleep of the innocent? She would be holding Pooh Bear tightly against her tiny body. All the
hogwash of the workplace would roll off his tense shoulders and neck. No matter how badly his day had gone, just standing in Merry's room and absorbing her vulnerable features as she slept was enough to heal him, enough to help him handle whatever the world threw at him.

In death, Susan Kane reminded him of his six-year-old daughter. Shaking his head, Cochrane rationalized that the pressure of the divorce and the drastic change in his lifestyle were the real reason for his strong response to the teddy bear. He turned away.

“She new?” Detective Gardella asked as he ambled into the living room and gestured toward the bathroom.

Glad for the distraction, Cochrane roused himself from his reverie, his heart aching because he missed his daughter. “Oh, Agent Tanner?”

“Yeah.”

“Afraid so. This is her first day and first case.”

“Thought so. She was looking a little green around the gills. I think I saw some saltine crackers in a cupboard above the kitchen stove earlier when I was doing the evidence search.”

“I'll give her a couple. Thanks.” By the time he'd located them and opened the box, Ellen had reappeared. From across the kitchen, he saw how pale she looked, but at least the green tinge was gone from her waxen features. Her hair looked even more frizzy as she blotted her lips with a damp cloth. “Here,” he said, holding out a couple of crackers, “eat these. They'll help settle your stomach.”

Ellen reached for them. “Thanks.” Again, Cochrane was surprising her with his sensitivity.

He placed the cracker box on the tile counter and turned to her. Right now, Ellen looked frail, just like Susan Kane did. Like Merry did. He figured he knew what had spooked the agent. It wasn't every day a person saw a dead body. But what had made Susan Kane take her life? Had someone killed her?

“I've got more questions than answers on this case,” he said, looking around, hoping to snag her interest. Ellen's green eyes lightened a little, possibly because of his far more civil tone.

Ellen nibbled the cracker cautiously. “Oh?” Her stomach was settling down now, though her heart was still overwhelmed by memories. Somehow, Jim's soft, Southern accent was a healing balm washing old wounds, making her feel better. Like a starving beggar, she absorbed the tender look of concern in his gray eyes.

“Yeah. There's lots of crazy inconsistencies here.”

“What do you mean?”

With a shrug, Cochrane gestured around the kitchen. “Stepping into Kane's condo is like stepping back in time.”

“The Victorian furniture?”

“Right.” He glanced at her. Ellen was getting a little color in her wan cheeks and her eyes didn't look quite as glazed as before. “What I know about jet jocks is that they're ultramodern, not into old furniture and
history. Not into the past like this. They're on the cutting edge of technology, not holed up with antiques.”

“Maybe,” Ellen ventured, her voice still wobbly, “she lived two different lives, a professional one and a personal one.”

“Reckon so,” Cochrane said, then shook his head. “Something bothers me about this case and I can't put my finger on it. Consarnit, I hate when this happens. I was hoping this would be cut-and-dried, but there are too many loose ends.”

“Was it murder?”

“It's possible. If it wasn't, I'd like to understand what made her commit suicide. So far this case doesn't have rhyme nor reason.” He gazed around the kitchen. “I think we'll check this out again, even though they've already gone over the scene. How are you feeling now?”

“Better. The crackers helped. Thanks for caring.” Ellen looked up into his narrowed gray eyes, his pupils huge and black. There was such intelligence there. Such warmth and concern. Jim Cochrane wasn't the nasty bastard he'd like her to believe he was. No, he'd showed a lot of tenderness toward her in the bathroom. For that, Ellen was grateful.

Cochrane frowned. “We need to go back into her bedroom. You up to it?”

“I'll try to be.” Ellen didn't want to go, but she had to learn the elements of a good investigation.

“If you can't handle it, it's okay,” Jim said gently as
he moved down the hallway. “We'll work around it this time.”

Nodding, Ellen whispered, “I feel like an interloper here. Susan's still so beautiful, as if she's not really dead, just sleeping. I keep thinking she's going to wake up and ask us what we're doing in her home.”

“It takes some getting used to,” Jim agreed, his voice soft.

Ellen turned and saw Cochrane studying her. “Death is, well, so terribly personal and private.” She opened her hands in a helpless gesture.

“Yeah, it is.”

“I just wonder how many tears Susan cried into that handkerchief before she died?”

Shaking his head, he growled, “Don't even go there, Ellen. You have to protect yourself from all of this. Now, let's go to work.”

She stood off to one side and watched as Cochrane searched the room with slow deliberation, missing no detail. Despite how she felt emotionally, she committed his movements and lessons to memory.

“Nothing,” he said flatly as he finished. “Not a piddling thing to give us a clue as to why she took those pills.
If
she took pills. We don't know that yet. The autopsy will tell us what she died of and what time she expired, but no answer as to why.”

“You're saying that someone might have forced her into taking them?”

“It could be a professional hit.”

Ellen's eyes rounded. “Who on earth would put a contract out on Susan?” The thought was so foreign to her. Murder wasn't something she would ever comprehend.

Shrugging, Cochrane muttered, “Could be she knew something? Maybe someone bought the services of a professional to shut her up? Or maybe it was someone in her personal life? All good questions, but no answers.”

“But, there's no sign of violence,” Ellen protested. “Didn't you say in order for it to be a homicide, there had to be signs of a struggle?”

“Usually there is.” Jim pointed toward Kane's head. “Professional hit men have a lot of ways of killing that don't seem obvious. That's why I was looking real close around her mouth to see if I could detect any signs of bruising.”

“I was wondering why you were studying at her so closely.” Ellen shivered and avoided looking at Susan Kane's body. She simply couldn't handle all the emotions that were surging up within her. It took every ounce of strength she had right now just to look and sound professional.

“I was searching for even the slightest marks on her neck, jaw or mouth. Professionals know just where to put pressure on nerve points to make a person open their mouth out of pain. Once they got their mouth open, it's real easy to dump a bottle of tranks down them.”

“What a horrible way to die.”

“The coroner will tell us more. They're trained to look for such things.” Cochrane studied Kane's mouth. “They also have a means of detecting fingerprints on the victim's flesh.”

Ellen shook her head. “I never realized that.”

“It's not exactly public knowledge. Gardella was telling me that the tech people will look in case it's a professional hit.” He rubbed his chin as he stared down at Susan Kane. “What a crying shame. Did you see her certificate out in the passageway?”

“Which one? There are so many.”

He laughed a little. “Yeah, she was hell on wheels when it came to her career, wasn't she? Kane's a ring knocker from the Naval Academy, and she graduated at the top of her flight class from Pensacola, which is no small feat, believe me. She was an F-18 Super Hornet Top Gun flight instructor. Those are pretty darn impressive credentials for a woman
or
a man. Talk about having smarts. And somewhere, in her spare time, she was able to get a Ph.D. in aeronautics from MIT. Lieutenant Kane was obviously a go-getter, a real Type A personality. No grass grew under her feet, as my ma would say. Pride of the Navy, for sure.”

Ellen kept her hand pressed to her stomach. “She's so beautiful. I have this crazy desire to go over and touch her shoulder, lean over and tell her, ‘Wake up.'”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Cochrane shook his head. “Nothing fits. I mean, why was she clutching a teddy bear, of all things? And look at this bedroom. It
reminds me of something Walt Disney would decorate for
Beauty and the Beast
or
Cinderella.
Yet every other part of her condo is filled with antique furniture. There are some pictures on the television set and her accomplishments are displayed on the bulkhead. Normal things. You come in here, and it's like Hollywood la-la-land.”

“Maybe there
were
two very different sides to her,” Ellen said. Then she grimaced. “I'm sorry, but I have to leave this room. My stomach—”

“That's fine. Meet me out in the living room,” Cochrane said, feeling for her. Seeing the relief on Ellen's face, he added, “I'll be out in a few minutes. There's just a couple of details I want to check out. I can talk to you about them later.”

Ellen closed her eyes and clutched her stomach. “Okay. This is so upsetting to me. I just, well, I've had a couple of rough years with death.”

Jim sized her up and saw devastation clearly marked on her pale features. He wanted to ask what she meant, but that was too personal. And right now was not the time. “I'll be out in a little bit,” he stated. “Go eat a few more crackers.”

Nodding, Ellen quickly left.

Cochrane shook his head and went about cataloging the scene by shooting photos of even smaller items. Ten minutes later he sauntered into the living room, where Ellen was studying a set of framed pictures.

“Did you look at these photos?” she asked. She
wanted desperately to show him she could contribute to this investigation.

He ambled over to the television set. “Yes. What about them?”

“Look at them, Lieutenant Cochrane. This one shows Susan with two men about her own age. They're all smiling and happy. Family?”

“Significant others?”

Ellen gave him a dirty look. “Why is it a man's mind always runs in that direction first?”

“You must be feeling better, Agent Tanner.” Cochrane grinned lopsidedly. “I'm not thinking in that particular direction. Doesn't it strike you that Susan Kane doesn't have a photo of her pa or ma here? Was she an orphan? Adopted? This other photo is of a woman, and they're smiling and happy. And they have their arms around one another.”

Ellen looked up at him. “Maybe her sister?”

“Maybe she was a lesbian, and that's her lover.”

Ellen stared over at him. “You think?”

“Anything is possible. There are gays and lesbians in the service no matter how much the military wants to deny it.” He bent over to look at the photos. “I'm going to ask the police to take these along as evidence. Maybe they'll help us crack this case.”

“Do you think it was murder?”

“I reckon I don't know,” Jim answered slowly. “That autopsy report will help supply the answer.”

Ellen looked around the condo. “Susan did such a
beautiful job of decorating. Everything is so clean, so neat.” She laughed shortly. “If you could see my old apartment back in Washington, D.C….! It looks like a hurricane zone in comparison to this one.”