it is.” Inman stepped closer and pointed to his notebook. “Ms. York works as a speechwriter for Senator Kingsley.”
Any warmth Tyler had sensed disappeared, replaced with a chilling memory of a man from his past.
“Senator Drake Kingsley?” Ty asked.
Inman nodded. “That’s right. You know the name?”
Worse than that, Tyler knew the man—a man he would never forget and never forgive. Drake Kingsley had killed his father, yet he’d never been charged for the crime.
Carrie’s head throbbed and her mouth felt dry as cotton. Officer Reynolds appeared oblivious of her discomfort and continued to ask questions that seemed to have no bearing on the terrible crime that had happened tonight.
“Has Senator Kingsley had attacks against his person?” he asked. “Or have there been attacks on anyone with whom you work?”
“Not that I know of, but I don’t see how what happens in Washington could have bearing on a soldier’s murder in rural Georgia.”
“Yes, ma’am, but I just want to cover every base.”
“Bases as in baseball, Officer Reynolds, or the investigation?”
He looked peeved, which was exactly how she felt. Peeved and tired and more than a little frightened to think of what had occurred just outside her window while she slept. She’d never expected following the trail to her estranged father would hurl her into a murder investigation.
If she wasn’t so confused, she would cry, but that wouldn’t solve the problem at hand, namely to answer the officer’s questions. Plus, she didn’t want to appear weak. She’d been living alone long enough to know she had to rely on her own wherewithal. A lesson that had been one of the few good things she’d learned from her mother.
Not what she wanted to bring the memory of her deceased mother into the upheaval tonight.
“I’m sorry,” Carrie said with a sigh. “My rudeness was uncalled for, to say the least.”
“I know this must be hard for you, ma’am, but if you can endure a few more questions.”
Which she did until her head felt as if it were ready to explode. She glanced at the leather-bound Bible on the side table, the stack of devotionals and religious texts on a nearby shelf and a plaque that read As for Me and My House, We Will Serve the Lord. All of which made her wonder if she had stumbled into the wrong house. How could she be so closely related to a man she didn’t even know?
Exhausted and exasperated, she finally held up both hands as if in submission. “If you don’t mind, I need a glass of water.”
“Certainly. Why don’t we take a break?” Officer Reynolds acted as if pausing had been his idea. “Officer Phillips will probably want to talk to you later.”
She sighed. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll pass that on, but I’m fairly confident he’ll have additional questions.”
“Of course, he will.” She stood, her gaze flicking to the man in the foyer wearing the navy jacket. He and Officer Inman were whispering as if they were talking about her.
Turning back to Reynolds, she asked, “May I bring you something? Water? Coffee?”
“No, thank you, ma’am. I’m fine.” He closed his notebook and pointed to the door. “I’ll step outside for a bit while you relax.”
As if she could with so many police officers swarming over her father’s property. Hurrying into the kitchen, she ran water in a tall glass and drank greedily, hoping to slake her thirst as well as the headache. She arched her shoulders to ease the tension climbing up her neck and glanced out the window at the neighboring brick ranch.
George Gates, her father’s lawyer, had mentioned the army man who lived next door. She’d seen him come home earlier, when she fixed a cup of tea and nibbled on the chicken salad croissant the lawyer had been kind enough to have waiting in the fridge for her.
Tall and well built with short dark hair and a thick neck, the neighbor had US Army written all over him. Hard to mistake a guy who looked that all-American. She hadn’t expected to see him walking across the front lawn earlier in his CID windbreaker. Now he was waiting for her in the foyer.
Did he even have jurisdiction this far from post? As much as she didn’t want to answer any more questions, she didn’t have a choice. Placing the glass on the counter with a sigh, she then returned to the living room.
Reynolds and Inman had left the house, leaving the younger cop guarding the door and the army guy standing in the entryway. She extended her hand and walked to meet him. “Carolyn York. My friends call me Carrie.”
“Tyler Zimmerman. I’m a special agent with the Criminal Investigation Division at Fort Rickman. The CID is involved because the victim was military.”
His handshake was firm and confident.
“Fort Rickman is where my father was last stationed,” she stated in case he wasn’t aware of her father’s military past.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand you just arrived in Freemont.”
She nodded. “A little before five and in time to talk to my father’s lawyer briefly. Mr. Gates asked me to return to his office in the morning to discuss my father’s estate, but—” She spread her hands and looked out the window. “I’m not sure if everything will settle down by then.”
“I understand your concern, Ms. York.”
She tried to smile. “Carrie, please. Since we’re neighbors.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
Had she revealed too much? “The lawyer mentioned that someone from the CID was my father’s neighbor,” she quickly explained. “I put two and two together. You do live next door?”
“That’s correct.” He motioned toward the living room. “Shall we sit down? I know you’ve answered a lot of questions already, but I’d like to hear your take on what happened.”
She settled onto the couch while he pulled a straight-back chair close. Mr. Zimmerman seemed to be a man of few words with no interest in social niceties that could take the edge off the tension hovering in the air. She wouldn’t make another mistake by trying to be neighborly.
As much as she struggled to remain stoic, a picture of what she’d seen played through her mind again.
The gaping wound, the bloody ground—
She dropped her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, but I...I can’t get the image—”
“The man in the field?” the special agent filled in.
Pulling in a ragged breath, she glanced up and nodded. “The memory keeps flashing through my mind.”
“Which is understandable.” He hesitated a long moment, before asking, “What alerted you to go outside, ma’am?”
“It was Bailey.” The dog lay by the chair where she had sat earlier. Hearing his name, he trotted to her side.
“I had let him out a little before midnight,” she explained. “When he hadn’t returned, I must have fallen back to sleep.”
She rubbed the dog’s neck, finding comfort in his nearness. “At some point, Bailey started barking. I went outside to get him, thinking he’d found an animal.”
Mentally she retraced her steps, seeing again the mound that had turned into a man. “I never expected to find a dead body.”
“Did you see anyone else or hear anything?”
“Footsteps