Kill and Run (A Thorny Rose Mystery Book 1) Page 21

  “Clark doesn’t want people to find out that his wife was having an affair with General Graham.” Now awake, Jessica sat up. “But would that be enough motivation to commit murder? To kill all of those women?”

  “Depends on the circumstances. If the killer felt he had too much to lose ….”

  In response to a whine from Spencer, who had her head draped across Jessica’s stomach, begging for Murphy to acknowledge her, he patted the top of the dog’s head. “Take care of Mommy for me, Candi.” He bent over to kiss Jessica on the lips. “I gotta go.”

  “Yeah, you don’t want to keep the Joint Chiefs of Staff waiting,” she said with sarcasm about the early hour.

  “Go back to sleep, Buttercup.” He went to the door.

  Throwing the comforter aside, Jessica swung her legs around to get up. “Like that’s going to happen. Call me after the meeting to let me know what happens.”

  Seeing a possible means of escape to check out the cat in the guest room down the hall, Spencer flew off the bed and waited with her nose pressed up against the crack of the door, ready to shoot out at the least opportunity.

  As soon as Murphy opened the door, Spencer shot out and down the hallway to the guest bedroom.

  “Leave Irving alone,” Murphy said before starting down the stairs.

  “Hey, Murph.” Cameron surprised Murphy by coming out of the guest bedroom. In response to his puzzled expression, she explained, “I heard Izzy crying last night, so I slept with her.”

  Murphy came back up the stairs. “Is she okay now?”

  Cameron shrugged her shoulders. “She lost the only family she has.”

  “I know,” he replied. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  “You’re doing it.” She reached out to touch his arm. “Don’t underestimate the comfort that can come from answers. She and I both need them.” She took her cell phone out of her bathrobe pocket. “Have you talked to your father?”

  “No.” The last person he wanted to talk to after the failure of the night before was his father, the great navy commander who was a legend for successfully prosecuting an admiral for murder.

  Cameron explained, “I wasn’t able to get ahold of him last night. Finally, a little bit ago, he called to say he got my voice mail but was really short with me.” Her forehead wrinkled in a sign of confusion and concern.

  “What did he say?”

  “That he couldn’t talk and he’d see me later.” She cocked her head at him. “It sounded to me like something was going on.”

  “Sounds to me like his court case isn’t going well,” Murphy said. “When things go bad in court, Dad gets real distracted. He’s completely focused on the case and can’t think about anything else.” Thinking about how he was the night before, a slight grin came to his lips. “It runs in the family.” He gave her a quick hug. “Don’t worry about it, Cameron. You did talk to him this morning. That’s means he’s alive and well. He just needs to concentrate on this case. He’ll call and tell you all about it after it goes to the jury.”

  Cameron felt both reassured and foolish. Yes, she had heard from Joshua, which meant he was okay. The resurrection of Nick’s murder was bringing back all the old insecurities that had driven her to the bottle years before. She thought she had gotten rid of all that baggage when she made it through her recovery.

  It’s true. You never completely recover from something like this.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll call when he’s through with this case he’s working on.”

  “You have nothing to worry about.” After kissing her on the cheek, Murphy took her into another warm hug. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to him since Mom, Cameron.”

  “Does he know that?” she joked into Murphy’s chest.

  Pulling away, Murphy flashed his wide grin, complete with dimples in both cheeks. “We Thornton men know a good thing when we see her.” Placing his hat on his head, he trotted down the stairs.

  Kicking herself for worrying about Joshua, Cameron went back into the bedroom to find that Spencer had taken her place in the bed. With Izzy sleeping in the middle, and Irving on the other side, the bed was too full for her.

  Guess it’s time for me to go to work.

  Sometimes, Murphy felt guilty about enjoying a cup of green tea, organic unsweetened orange juice, fruit, and a bowl of steel cut oatmeal at the Ritz-Carlton while catching up on the news on his computer tablet. He was well aware that most of his peers and colleagues were still navigating the morning commute while downing a greasy egg sandwich from a fast food drive-through.

  Not only did the Ritz provide a delicious oatmeal and the freshest of fruit, but it also provided Murphy with an active environment to hone his observation skills. He prided himself on being able to figure out each dining patron’s story by the time he finished his breakfast. Taking a seat in the corner of the lounge, out of the way, he watched people without being noticed. Over the months, he had come to spot the Ritz’s regular breakfast customers. Many were movers and shakers on the political scene. Often the regular patrons would be holding breakfast meetings with other big fishes in the Washington, D.C., pond.

  Often, Murphy would spot one or more members of the Joint Chiefs. Even though each one knew he was one of their hand-picked, elite Phantoms, Murphy would never dare to approach them. To do so would risk blowing his public image of being simply one of thousands upon thousands of the military officers who worked under them.

  Rarely, Murphy would notice couples eating together after an illicit rendezvous. Usually, they would breakfast in their rooms and then leave separately. But, occasionally, he would spot a couple who would dine out in the open after pretending to bump into each other.

  It was something that took a trained eye to spot. Luckily, Murphy’s father had taught him what to look for. The body language was always the giveaway. The familiarity resulting from intimacy would make the couple more inclined to enter each other’s space to sneak a touch. The furtive glances—even expressions of guilt for those who had a stronger conscience.

  Such couples were always entertaining to watch.

  With a flirtatious smile, the server delivered Murphy’s oatmeal and another pitcher of hot water for a second green tea when his phone chimed to indicate that a text came in. Half-expecting a romantic greeting from Jessica, he brushed his finger across the screen to see that it was from Cameron.

  DNA is a match. Jane Doe is Cecelia Crenshaw.

  With a sigh of relief, Murphy brought the hot cup of tea to his lips while surveying the restaurant for any new faces.

  There was something in the rhythm of her walk when she entered the lounge that told Murphy that she was not going to be having your average breakfast meeting. Under her blue suit with red silk blouse, the brunette had the figure of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover, complete with the cleavage. Falling to her mid-thigh, the pencil skirt hugged every curve of her sensuous body.

  Carrying a women’s briefcase, she followed the host to the table that was only two tables away from where Murphy was sitting. While the host pulled out her chair to seat her, she gave the smart looking navy lieutenant a quick once over before flashing him a grin of approval. While setting down her briefcase next to the table, she bent over to allow him a quick view down the deep neckline of her blouse to see the edges of her red lace bra.

  Uncertain if the display was on purpose or not, Murphy offered her a polite smile before returning to his oatmeal. Checking the time on his phone, he saw that he had one full hour left before his meeting on the seventh floor of the Pentagon. Plenty of time to finish reading an article on his tablet about Jeff Bezos’ latest endeavors in space travel.

  “Dolly, I am so sorry I’m late.”

  Recognizing the voice, Murphy glanced up from the article with his hand on the hot tea cup to see the uniformed army general hurrying acros
s the restaurant to where the server was delivering two cups of coffee to the brunette.

  “No problem at all, General,” she said in a business like tone. “I ordered our coffee.”

  “Thank you, Dolly.” He slipped into the empty seat across from her.

  Murphy instantly spotted the four stars on his shoulder straps. He didn’t need to look for them. While they had never been formally introduced, Murphy had seen the commander of the army’s Central Command Center on more than one occasion. He was a regular face around the Pentagon.

  General Sebastian Graham was hard to forget. At four inches over six feet tall and with broad shoulders, combined with his military bearing, he was larger than life. With dark hair silvering at the temples, he was an attractive man who knew how to use his charisma to get anything he wanted from anyone.

  “I’ve directed Sandra to reschedule your two o’clock today,” Dolly said. “My sources on Capitol Hill think the Senate committee will be wanting to meet with you tomorrow morning and we should spend this afternoon going over what questions they are likely to ask and how best for you to answer them.”

  “Really, Dolly,” General Graham said with a chuckle. “Everyone knows the Senate is simply going to rubber stamp my nomination to Chief of Staff for the Army. My record has been and is as clean as a whistle. Far cry from when the FBI tried to reject my security clearance after I got back from the Gulf War—and that was after I saved my people from an ambush. Guess they learned their lesson. My record and career have been impeccable. We have nothing to worry about.”

  The server delivered a basket of breakfast breads. While the general was placing his order for a country breakfast, Dolly took a roll out of the basket, broke it in half, and buttered both halves. She then placed one half on his plate while proceeding to eat hers.

  Murphy’s brow furrowed at the act of familiarity.

  While taking up his half of the roll, General Graham reached across the table with his other hand to touch hers. “Thank you,” he said in a low voice. With a cock of his head, he winked at her.

  “No problem.” She offered him a smile before withdrawing her hand. “About that problem that came up yesterday …”

  “What about it?”

  “NCIS backed down on requesting Tommy’s DNA.” She took a second roll from the basket and tore it in half before buttering both halves.

  Hearing the reference to NCIS, Murphy’s ears perked up.

  “That’s good,” Sebastian said. “Very good.”

  “My source tells me there was an altercation with a blogger at Seven Corner’s last night,” Dolly set the second half of the roll on his plate. “The blogger was killed.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Not really,” she said. “It could be enough of a catalyst for you to ask Johnston to have the case sent over to CID where you can control the investigation. The assassins wore military uniforms. This blogger was claiming to have information about a conspiracy within the—”

  “Murphy! There you are.”

  It was only due to his quick reflexes that Murphy was able to catch the tea cup after knocking his hand into it to keep it from spilling all over the table. While mopping up the tea that did spill onto the white table cloth, Murphy saw a slightly built man in a white shirt with red suspenders and a red bow tie rushing toward him. On top of his head, he wore a brown tweed driving cap reminiscent of the ones worn about Europe during Victorian times.

  “You must have gotten my text.”

  “Text?”

  “You hung up last night without us setting a time for our meeting.” While Dean pumped Murphy’s hand, his handle-bar mustache curled upward to tickle the outer corners of his nostrils. “I took a stab at what time you reported for work and texted you to meet me here at eight o’clock. Sorry, I’m late. I’m not used to driving morning rush hour. How you do this every morning, I don’t know.” Forming an imaginary gun with his hand, he held his index finger to his temple and pulled the trigger.

  “Sorry, Dean, but … what meeting are you talking about?” Murphy asked while trying to keep an eye on General Graham and Dolly, who was now bent over across the table to wipe something off the edge of the general’s mouth with her cloth napkin. He could see that she was giving the general quite a show down the front of her blouse.

  Dean gestured at the server. “Can you bring another place setting?” After dropping his hat down in the middle of Murphy’s table, he pulled out the chair across from him. “I’ve got so many questions for you.”

  “What kind of questions?” Murphy shifted his seat to the side to keep the general and Dolly in his line of vision. With Dean droning on about the plotline of his book, Murphy could forget about hearing what they knew about the shooting the night before and why they wanted to control the investigation.

  “—then my protagonist, a SEAL, breaks into the terrorists’ warehouse and single-handedly takes out seven terrorists before setting up the bomb on the crate filled with explosives—which he sees by the packing slip had been sent from an American company—and escaping right before the whole place is blown sky-high.”

  Waiting for his reaction, Dean stared at Murphy, who was noticing that Dolly had slipped her foot out of one of her pumps to brush up the general’s pant leg.

  What ever happened to being discrete?

  “What do you think?” Dean snapped his fingers to snatch his attention from the cheating couple. “Do you like it?”

  “Too unbelievable,” Murphy muttered while trying to keep some focus on the other table.

  When the server arrived with his coffee, Dean placed his order for breakfast. Before she could leave, Dean stopped her. “Hey, Murphy, let me pay for your breakfast. Amy got me a brand new American Express card. You have to help me break it in.” When Murphy tried to object, he held up his hand. “I insist.”

  “Thank you Dean, you’re so generous,” Murphy said while checking the time on his tablet. “Damn it! Look at the time.” He scrambled out of his seat. “I’ve got a meeting to go to.” Anxious to get away from Dean, he practically broke into a run out into the mall and down to the metro.

  Once he was certain he was sure he had made his escape, he dialed Boris’ phone number.

  “Murphy, where are you?”

  “I’m on my way to the Pentagon’s seventh floor for a meeting,” Murphy explained.

  “Well, not to ruin a potentially already bad day,” Boris said in a low voice, “but Perry Latimore is in Koch’s office giving her a full briefing about last night and our status on the case. I’m anticipating being called in as soon as he leaves and her ordering the case go to CID or the FBI.”

  Murphy grit his teeth to keep from expressing his full thoughts on the matter. “Hey, Boris, what is the name of Colonel Lincoln Clark’s son?”

  “Tommy? Why?”

  “Can you do me a favor?” Murphy asked.

  “Sure, Murphy, what do you need?”

  “Ask Archer to make some phone calls to Maureen Clark’s friends and or relatives to check on how happy she really was being married to the colonel.”

  “Do you see him as a suspect?” Boris asked.

  “I’m bothered by him not wanting us to take his son’s DNA,” Murphy said. “It makes me want to take a closer look at it. I feel like I did when Dad told me not to smoke his pipe. Then I was more determined than anything to smoke it. I got sick and threw up all over his recliner, but hey, live and learn.”

  “Are you saying we should or should not press harder to get Tommy Clark’s DNA?”

  “There’s only one way to find out if Colonel Clark is hiding information important to this case,” Murphy said.

  “I have a contact at Walter Reed,” Boris said. “We might be able to get a look at Tommy Clark’s hospital records.”

  “Thanks, Boris.”

  “Even as you are about to
go down in flames, you’re still working this case,” Boris laughed.

  “They’ll have to pry this case out of my cold, dead hands.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Murphy was twenty minutes early for his nine o’clock appointment. Per protocol, he was ordered to sit on a wooden bench in the corridor outside the Joint Chiefs of Staff meeting chambers until they were ready to see him.

  Murphy felt the beating of his heart quicken with every minute that ticked by. Mentally, he went over every detail of the case from the moment he stepped into Francine Baxter’s home. He even replayed how he ended up there in the first place.

  Staff Chief Hillary Koch had sent him.

  CO is right. Crotch is a moron. I’m the staff military liaison. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I should have refused to go and went to the Four Seasons to have lunch with Jessica. Why didn’t I? With a groan, Murphy shifted in his seat on the hard bench. Because I wanted to go, that’s why. I wanted to be out in the field instead of behind that desk. Now another woman is dead and the military will be blamed for it.

  His thoughts turned to Jessica and how she was trembling in his arms when he carried her out of the coffee shop. She never should have been there. Neither should have Cameron. How could I have been so stupid allowing civilians in on my investigation?

  He checked the time on his cell phone. It was ten minutes to nine. His father was most likely on his way to court. He was probably in his office across from the court house. Usually court did not start until ten o’clock.

  With a brush of his thumb across the screen, he brought up the speed dial number that was ID’d “Dad.” Another touch on the screen sent the call through. Murphy listened to the call go straight to voice mail. When the beep indicated that he could leave a message, Murphy silently held the phone to his ear while trying to think of what to say. I screwed up, Dad. I know your worst nightmare was that you’d raise a loser. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be me.