Person of Interest

Ignoring the deluge, she raced next door and climbed the steps to the neighbor’s porch. In her haste, she slipped, then steadied herself and pounded on the door.

“Is someone hurt?”

Feeling exposed, she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see the neighbors spilling from the quarters across the street. As loud as the woman’s scream had been, they should have heard her, as well. Another clap of thunder made her realize the woman’s cries had been masked by the storm.

Again, Natalie knocked and raised her voice. “Do you need help?”

The door remained closed.

Envisioning a tragic scene inside, she hurried back to the Joneses’ quarters, wiped the rain from her face and reached for the phone. Her hands shook as she searched through the list of emergency numbers Wanda had left. Finding the military police, she tapped in the digits and waited impatiently for someone to answer, then explained the situation.

“I’ll send a squad car,” the MP said.

“Hurry.”

* * *

Everett Kohl shoved his travel toiletry kit into his duffel and zipped it shut with a smile. Tomorrow he’d be heading to North Georgia for two weeks of R&R and a chance to help Uncle Harry get his mountain cabin ready to put on the market to sell. Everett had half a notion to buy the place himself. But, first, he wanted to assess the structure and tend to the repairs that needed to be done.

Much as he loved his uncle, Harry’s age and stubbornness could be a problem, especially since he was trading the North Georgia mountains for an assisted-living complex in the metro Atlanta area. The timing was right, but his uncle saw it as losing his independence and a way of life he had enjoyed for over eighty years. Everett hoped to soothe the transition and ease his uncle’s concerns about the change.

Grateful the rain had stopped and the storm subsided, Everett whistled as he hurried to his SUV and threw his duffel in the rear. Nothing would delay him in the morning. He’d packed, filled his gas tank and was ready to lock up his bachelor officer’s quarters and drive north.

Retracing his steps, he checked his watch. Almost midnight. He’d catch some shut-eye and rise before dawn to skirt the morning traffic in Atlanta, two hours north, on his way to the mountains.

He entered his BOQ apartment just as his cell rang. Glancing at the screen, he saw Special Agent Frank Gallagher’s name displayed. The chief was out of town and Frank was in charge.

“I’ve already signed out on leave,” Everett said in lieu of a greeting.

“We’ve got an incident that needs your finesse.”

“You say the nicest things, but buttering me up won’t work. The next trip I take will be out the front gate in the morning. I’ll wave as I pass CID Headquarters on my way off post.”

“The military police just called with a heads-up. Someone reported hearing a domestic squabble at Mason Yates’s quarters.”

Everett groaned inwardly and shoved the cell closer to his ear. Domestic violence was never pretty and especially troublesome when a fellow agent was involved. “I’m listening.”

“A woman named Natalie Frazier heard arguing coming from the other side of her duplex and called in the report. I told the MP we’d check it out, but I can’t believe Mason would hurt his wife. If it’s bogus, we go home relieved that his name doesn’t end up on the commanding general’s desk tomorrow morning.”

“We owe the MPs for contacting us.”

“Exactly. Call me optimistic, but I’m hoping the neighbor’s imagination was working overtime due to the storm. If it’s a mistaken call, you’ll be home sawing logs before you can say ‘take care of our own’ three times.”

“Give me the address, I’ll meet you there.”

Frank provided the street and quarters number.

“Didn’t Mason move into military housing a few weeks ago?” Everett remembered the newcomer talking about signing for quarters.

“Three weeks to be exact. As I recall, his wife stayed with his sister in Decatur, Georgia, until quarters were available.”

Everett had arrived at Fort Rickman six months earlier, so he wasn’t an old-timer on post. He and Frank had been stationed together years earlier, along with Special Agent Colby Voss, which had made his transition to Fort Rickman an easy one.

Mason reported to post eight weeks ago. Since then, he had seemed withdrawn and less than willing to join in the office camaraderie that often relieved the stress of working long hours on felony cases for the military. Probably a loner by nature or maybe a bit aloof. That he outranked the other special agents might have bearing on his attitude, especially if he hoped to step into the chief’s shoes. Chief Agent-in-Charge Craig Wilson had led the CID office at Fort Rickman for nearly three years. Even if Uncle Sam considered him ready for a new assignment, no one wanted the chief to be reassigned.

Mason was an unknown, which gave Everett pause.

“I’m trusting this ends well,” he said in closing.

“Agreed,” Frank added. “I’ll meet you there.”

The housing area wasn’t far, and Everett was the first to arrive. He pulled to the curb and spotted headlights in his rearview mirror, then stepped out and waited for Frank.

“The report came from that side of the duplex,” Frank pointed to Quarters A. “Let’s talk to Mason before we question the neighbor.” Frank was the lead on this call, with Everett along as another set of eyes if need be.

Both agents climbed the front steps. Frank knocked on the door. “Special Agent Frank Gallagher, CID.” He glanced at Everett before adding. “Mason, it’s Frank. Everett’s with me. Everything okay?”

He tapped the door again.

Everett glanced at the duplex across the street. A light went on in an upstairs window.

“I’ll check the rear.” Starting down the steps, he heard a door creak open and turned to find the neighbor in Quarters A standing backlit in her doorway.

Long, shoulder-length black hair, slender build. Probably 110 to 115 pounds and five-four or five-five.

She stepped onto the porch. Oval face, big eyes drawn with concern, her mouth angled downward in a frown.

“We’re with the CID, ma’am. I’m Special Agent Kohl,” he said as introduction. “You called in the report?”

She glanced at her watch. “About fifteen minutes ago. I haven’t heard anything since then.”

“What did you hear earlier?”

“Raised voices and two screams, followed by thumping, as if someone had fallen down the stairs.”

Everett nodded. “Wait inside, ma’am. I’ll need more information after we make contact with the residents.”

Walking through the wet grass, he rounded the house, flicking his gaze over the large side yard and the rear access road. Headlights signaled an approaching vehicle. A dark blue sedan screeched to a stop.

Mason lunged from the car, wearing running shorts and a gray Army T-shirt damp with sweat. Eyes wide, he glanced at Everett, then turned his focus to his quarters.

“It’s Tammy, isn’t it? What happened? Is she hurt?” Breathless, he raced to the back door.

“A neighbor heard screams.” Everett hated being the bearer of bad news.

“She called me, distraught. I heard a voice in the background.” Mason pushed open the door and charged into the kitchen.

Everett followed. Unwashed dishes sat in the sink.