Chief Warrant Officer Nathaniel Patterson, U.S. Army Criminal Investigation Division, got the call at 0315. Possible suicide at Quarters 1448 Hunter Road.
Arriving fifteen minutes later, he parked behind two MP sedans and stepped from his car, adjusting his weapon on his hip. Although Nate hadn’t known Major Bennett, the death of an officer was significant, and tonight, the combined resources of the military police and the army’s major crime unit, the CID, had been called in to investigate the case.
Headlights signaled an approaching vehicle. Nate waited as his friend and fellow agent, Jamison Steele, crawled from his late-model sports car. Dressed in a tweed sports coat and gray trousers, he looked like a fashionable young executive in contrast to Nate’s run-of-the-mill navy blazer and khaki slacks.
With a hasty nod, Jamison fell into step beside Nate and followed him up the front steps in silence. Before either man could knock, Corporal Robert Mills opened the door. The young MP had the makings of a future CID special agent if he learned to keep his somewhat self-centered ego in check. Nate chalked it up to youth. Hopefully over time, his impetuous nature would mellow.
Raising his right hand to his forehead, Mills saluted the two warrant officers. “Evening, Mr. Patterson. Mr. Steele.”
The agents returned the salute and stepped into the brightly lit foyer. Nate glanced into the living room where a woman sat huddled in a high-backed chair. Blue-green eyes looked up with the hollow stare of shock he’d seen too many times at crime scenes. The raw emotion written so clearly on her face brought home the tragic reality of what had happened tonight.
Their eyes met and held for an instant, causing an unexpected warmth to curl through Nate’s gut. Then, tugging on a strand of her auburn hair, she dropped her gaze, breaking their momentary connection and leaving Nate with an emptiness he couldn’t explain. Probably the middle-of-the-night phone call and his attempt to respond as quickly as possible that had thrown him slightly out of sync.
Or maybe it was the woman—a family member, perhaps.
Putting a human face on the tragedy—a very pretty face—intensified his desire to learn the truth about what had happened tonight. Nate was good at what he did. Tonight he wanted to be even better. The woman deserved as much. So did the victim waiting for him upstairs.
Bottom line, the army took care of its own in life and especially so in death. He motioned Corporal Mills into the kitchen as Jamison headed upstairs. Nate pulled out a small notebook and ballpoint pen from his breast pocket then, lowering his voice, he nodded toward the living room. “So who’s the woman?”
“She’s the sister of the deceased, sir. Name’s Margaret Bennett, but she goes by Maggie. She found the major’s body in the attic.”
Nate knew how tough it was to lose a sibling. He thought of his own brother. Although eight years had separated them in age, they’d always been close.
He scribbled Maggie’s name on a blank page of his notebook. “Apparent suicide?”
“Roger that, sir. Major Bennett hung herself from a rafter. Sergeant Thorndike’s upstairs. He wanted me to check for prints.”
A half-empty bottle of cabernet sat on the counter. Nate pointed to a wineglass, stained with residue. “Be sure to send off a toxicology sample on whatever’s in the bottom of that glass.”
“Yes, sir.”
Opening the dishwasher, Nate used a latex glove he pulled from his pocket and lifted a second wineglass onto the counter. “Check the bottle and both glasses for prints. Let me know what you find.”
“Will do, sir.”
Nate nodded his thanks to Mills, returned the notebook to his pocket and grabbed a water glass from the cabinet, which he filled from the tap. Leaving the kitchen, he approached the woman in the living room.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I thought you might be thirsty.”
Maggie Bennett glanced up with tear-filled eyes and a drawn face that expressed the heartbreak of a deeply personal loss. The two sisters must have been close. His heart went out to her, understanding all too well the pain she must be feeling.
“I’m Special Agent Nate Patterson, U.S. Army Criminal Investigation Division.” With his free hand, he pulled out his CID identification, although he doubted Ms. Bennett would question his credentials. At the moment, she looked like a frightened stray caught in a trap. A beautiful stray, he decided, noting her high cheekbones, arched brows and full lips. But her strikingly good looks were overshadowed by a blanket of grief that lay like a black veil over her alabaster skin.
“I’m the lead investigator on this case, ma’am. Please accept my condolences as well as the heartfelt sympathy of the CID and the Military Police Corps here at Fort Rickman.”
She bit her lip, then mumbled a broken, “Thank…thank you.”
“I’ll be upstairs for a few minutes. When I return I’d like to talk to you about your sister.” He placed the water on the end table.
She gave a brief, pained smile of thanks at the offered glass and then looked back at him. “Yes, of course. Whatever you need to know.”
Nate climbed the stairs to the second floor, feeling the weight of Maggie’s grief resting on his shoulders. He’d give her a few minutes to gather strength before he saddled her with the endless questions that any death investigation required.
Reaching the second landing, Nate glanced into the home office on the right where Corporal Raynard Otis attempted to access the victim’s laptop computer files. The soldier looked up, a full smile spreading across his honey-brown face. “Hey, sir. How’s it going?”
“You tell me, Ray.”
“Should have something for you shortly.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
Nate continued on to the open attic door. Rapid flashes of light confirmed the military photographer was already on the job. Within the hour, photos would appear on Nate’s computer, systematically capturing every detail of the attic scene.
On the opposite side of the hallway, Jamison questioned a military policewoman and jotted down pertinent information she shared, information the CID team would review over and over again until all the facts were in and a determination could be made about the actual cause of death. Foul play needed to be ruled out. Hopefully, the case would be open and shut.
Climbing the stairs to the attic, Nate eyed the rafter and the thick hemp rope wrapped around the sturdy crossbeam. Without forethought, he touched his breast pocket where he had tucked the notebook, containing Maggie’s name, as if to shield her from the grim reality of her sister’s death. Lowering his gaze, he took in the victim’s black hair and swollen face.
God rest her soul. The prayer surfaced from his past. His mother’s influence, no doubt. She had raised him to be a believer, although his faith had never been strong, and for the past eight months, he had tuned God out of his life completely.
Once again, his hand sought the notebook as his eyes refocused on the body.
Death by strangulation was never pretty, yet despite the victim’s contorted features, he recognized the same classic beauty that the very much alive sister sitting downstairs possessed. The deceased, with her low-cut silk blouse and snug-fitting leggings, appeared to be the more flamboyant sibling in contrast to Maggie’s modest jeans and sweater, but appearances could lie, and more than anything else, Nate needed the truth.
A chair lay at Major Bennett’s feet. Classic suicide scenario. In all probability, the victim had stood on the chair to secure the rope around the crossbeam and the noose around her neck. Kicking over the chair would leave her hanging and preclude the major from saving herself, should she have second thoughts about taking her own life.
Staff Sergeant Larry Thorndike stepped forward. The military policeman was mid-fifties with a receding hairline and an extra twenty pounds