Code 13 (29 page)

The police captain turned to Paul, Caroline, and Mark. “Okay, so what happened here? Agent Romanov? I believe you said you called 911?”

“That's right, Captain. I got a call from Lieutenant Commander McCormick here, who was first on the scene.”

The police captain turned to Caroline.

“And you say you were first on the scene?”

“I'd say the killer was first on the scene. But I was the first one of any of us here.”

“And when did you get here?”

“I don't know. It's all a blur. Maybe ten minutes?”

“Maybe ten minutes? You're not sure?”

“It wasn't long. I didn't check my watch.”

“And what did you find when you arrived?”

“The door was open.”

“The door? What door?”

“The front door. It was wide open.”

“What did you do next?”

Caroline didn't like anything about this guy. Why did she feel like a criminal suspect? Perhaps she should stop this interrogation and demand her right to counsel. She dismissed that thought. For now.

“The sound of music was coming out of the residence. So I hesitated.”

“What kind of music?”

“Classical music. Beethoven's Ninth.”

“And you hesitated because music was playing?”

“I hesitated because I thought someone was home.”

“What did you do next?”

“I called out to Ross, but there was no answer.”

“Is that the victim's name? Ross?”

“Yes, Lieutenant Ross Simmons, U.S. Navy.”

“You knew him?”

“I had met him, yes.”

“You have anything against him?”

“Of course not! I don't know what you're insinuating. I only just met him.”

“Okay. Calm down, ma'am. Just doing my job. What happened next?”

“Sorry, Officer.”

“Captain! I worked a long time to get these bars, ma'am. The guys going in and out of this crime scene are officers.”

“Sorry, Captain. It's been a rough day.”

“What happened next?”

“Next, after I called out several times and didn't hear anybody, I decided to go inside. I walked through the house, toward the source of the music. That's when I found P.J. Excuse me. That's when I found Ross.”

“Who's P.J.?”

Mark Romanov spoke up. “A little background, Captain. P.J. was Lieutenant Commander P.J. MacDonald. He was the JAG officer who was gunned down on the Mall a few days ago.”

“I saw that on the news.”

“Lieutenant Commander McCormick was jogging with Commander MacDonald when he was shot. We all just came from Commander MacDonald's funeral, which finished two hours ago. Commander MacDonald, Commander McCormick, and Lieutenant Simmons, the deceased, all worked in the same division of Navy JAG at the Pentagon.”

“So let me get this straight. We've got two JAG officers working in the same section of the Pentagon murdered within a seventy-two-hour span?”

“You're reading that correctly, Captain. NCIS has already opened an investigation into the murder of the first officer. That's why I'm here. As you may know, we get involved in investigating criminal matters in which United States naval personnel are victims.”

“Well, as you may know, Special Agent Romanov, we exercise jurisdiction for crimes committed in the city of Alexandria outside of federal property, which this is.”

“And as you know, Captain, I am a federal agent, and to the extent that there is a conflict between federal and state matters, federal jurisdiction controls. Having said that, we're always happy to work with local law enforcement on matters like this.”

The police captain looked half irritated and half miffed. Just then a large, dark-blue van rolled up with “Alexandria Police—Mobile Crime Forensics Lab” on its side.

“I'm going to go inside and have a look,” Mark said. “Since we will be cooperating on this, Captain, you're free to join me.”

“Sure,” the police captain said, even as his men were erecting yellow crime-scene tape all around the house. Mark turned to Caroline and Paul. “Captain Kriete? Commander? Would you mind waiting just a few more minutes? I'd like to chat with you just a second, and the captain here might have another question too.”

“Not a problem,” Paul said.

“Sure,” Caroline said.

As Mark and the police captain turned to walk into the house, Victoria stepped forward, held open her arms, and, without saying a word, hugged Caroline. She held her for a few seconds, then with her hands on Caroline's arms, she stepped back and looked into her face. “Are you okay?”

“I'm so stunned that I can't even answer that question, to be honest.”

“You don't have to answer it. We're all in this together.” Victoria released her.

What a transformation Caroline had seen in Victoria in the days since P.J.'s death, from the catty stares and snotty remarks of a jealous woman to warm and genuine affection.

Death sometimes had a way of changing people. Sometimes for the best. Sometimes for the worst. Whatever Victoria's motivation, Caroline was grateful.

“Thank you for being here. I'll get it together. What a blessing that your friend Mark is here. Having NCIS get here so quickly makes it seem a little safer, anyway.”

“Yes, well,” Victoria said, “Mark's a good guy.”

“I take it you two know each other well?”

“Yes. We dated when I was at RLSO Norfolk.”

“I see. Was it serious?”

“I'd say so. He took it hard when I left for DC. But you know how it is in the Navy. Here today, gone tomorrow.”

Caroline nodded. “Yes. Do I ever know.”

“I'm sorry,” Victoria said. “That was a horrible comment.”

“It's okay. I know what you mean.”

Two more police cars rolled up, followed by a television crew. Caroline looked over and saw Mark Romanov and the police captain walking in their direction. The police captain spoke up first. “Okay. As far as I'm concerned, you're free to leave. But, Commander”—he eyed Caroline—“our detectives will need a statement and will probably want to interview you. You may want to consult with an attorney.”

“What?”

“Just precautionary. You're not a suspect at this point.”

“At this point?”

“Here's my card. If you see a call coming through from this number, please answer.”

She exchanged glances with Paul.

“Now, if you'll excuse me,” the police captain said, “I've got to get back inside to check on the forensics team.”

He tipped his cap and walked off.

“He's treating me like a suspect!”

“I wouldn't worry about it,” Paul said. “You've got an alibi. You were with us.”

“I agree,” Mark said. “Plus, you have no motive for shooting Simmons.”

“Of course I don't.”

“But somebody did,” Mark said. “And somebody also had a motive for shooting P.J. And somehow I have a feeling there's a linkage.”

“Makes sense,” Paul said.

“Look,” Mark said. “Victoria, you were working with P.J. last. Caroline, you went back a long way with him. Why don't we all get together, maybe for dinner, and brainstorm to see if we can figure all this out. Are you all okay with that?”

Victoria nodded. “We were planning to have dinner anyway. So why not?”

Caroline didn't feel like going out. Not when they had just buried P.J.

On the other hand, P.J. was a fighter, and so was she. And whoever killed him would not get away with it. “Whatever it takes to bring P.J.'s killer to justice,” Caroline added.

“Captain, would you care to join us?”

“Sure. Why not?” Paul said. “When and where?”

“How about the Sequoia over in Georgetown? Say, eight o'clock? Might be a nice change of scenery.”

“Okay. I'll be there.”

“Good,” Mark said. “Then let's get out of here. I'll see everybody then.”

CHAPTER 22

AIRFLITE CORP

U.S. DOMESTIC HEADQUARTERS

OVERLOOKING THE SAVANNAH RIVER

SAVANNAH, GEORGIA

SATURDAY EVENING

At this time of night, with the warm breeze whipping in from the east, from the direction of the Atlantic, the moonlit ripples on the surface of the Savannah River created a ghostly foreground against the silhouette of miles of uninhabited marsh fields at the edge of the opposite bank. To the untrained eye, or to a Northerner or Midwesterner not accustomed to the marshes of the low country, the moonlit tips of the marshes across the way, swaying in the wind, might resemble a sea of rolling cornstalks.

But down to the left, the vibrant lights of downtown Savannah proved a colorful contrast of modern southern civilization abutting a salt-marsh habitat of snakes and alligators.

Standing on his office balcony, and now distracted by the wisp of wind tossing a strand of Ivana's blonde hair, Richardson pulled her to him and kissed her. The extra shot of champagne he had just gulped down made the kiss more pleasurable. They disengaged, only for a moment, then turned, arm in arm, to relish the romantic vista and ambience.

“Richardson, what would Harold say?” She spoke in that velvety Eastern European accent that he found so delectable.

“No need to worry about Harold.” He pulled her into him and kissed her again. “I've made sure he's working so hard that he will be too tired to notice. Besides, you know these engineering types. They're oblivious to anything beyond the end of their noses and their mathematical theorems.”

She giggled. “Yes. My husband was my ticket to America. But it is true. He is boring with all of this math and engineering talk. Totally opposite of my powerful, charming, brilliant, and exciting boss.”

“Perhaps you will find this somewhat exciting.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, and she cooperated. But when the cell phone in his pocket rang, he pushed her away and cursed. Business before pleasure.

He pulled out his cell phone.

Jack Patterson.

“Excuse me, my dear. I have to take this.”

“Certainly, Richardson.”

“Hang on, Jack.” He waved Ivana back into the office. She stepped through the glass doors and strutted over to his desk, going straight for the champagne bottle. He closed the sliding glass doors, insulating his conversation from earshot. “Sorry about that. I had to shoo off Ivana. Your timing is impeccable.”

“I hope you're making sure nobody sees you with her up there.”

“So what if they do? She's my secretary. And corporate executives cannot stay ahead by working nine to five.”

“Okay, Richardson. I suppose you have lots of dictation to take care of after hours.”

“I hope you're not charging me for this little mini-lecture of yours.”

“Don't worry. You're not on the clock until I get to the point.”

“Okay. Let's get to the point. Has my drone bill been introduced in Congress yet?”

A pause.

“Are you still there, Jack?”

“I'm here.”

“Well?”

“On the bill, there's been a slight delay.”

“What now?”

“Well, you know how you wanted the problem with the JAG officer, MacDonald, taken care of?”

“Yes. He was threatening a negative legal opinion.”

“Well, this is one of those cases of being careful what you ask for.”

“Does that mean I'm closer to getting my bill passed?”

“Should be a bit easier now, Richardson. We've just got to remove one impediment at a time.”

“Get it done, Jack. Right now I'm preoccupied with other things.” He hung up.

SEQUOIA RESTAURANT

3000 K STREET NW

GEORGETOWN

WASHINGTON, DC

The modern-looking restaurant, with a full two-story glass front wrapping around the building, sat on the banks of the Potomac River. The lights surrounding the restaurant proved vibrant. The shoreline, with a clear view of the Kennedy Center, Roosevelt Island, the Key Bridge, and the red, white, and green lights of the Virginia skyline across the way, proved spectacular.