Cold Shot (27 page)

“Someone may have taken her life, but it doesn’t erase the person she was—is. She’s alive in heaven. And if she shared all of that with you, it’s because she wanted you to know it. Don’t discount the truth of her words just because she’s no longer here.”

36

A
re you coming back?” Arthur’s voice trailed up through the heating vent.

Ben smiled. “We’ll be right down,” he called back through the vent.

As they made their way downstairs, Arthur said, “I was starting to think you weren’t coming back,”

“Sorry, Arthur. We got to talking,” Ben said.

“Would it be all right if we asked you a few questions about Marley?” Griffin asked with the utmost respect.

Arthur nodded.

“As you know, Marley was found at Gettysburg. Do you have any idea what she was doing up there?”

“No.”

They had to be missing something. “Had she visited it before?”

“We went up last fall,” Ben said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, for the Gettysburg Address Remembrance parade. They had reenactments going on that day too. I thought it’d be a fun thing to see.”

“And Marley?”

“Went along to humor me. History’s really not her thing, but we had a great time until . . .”

Griffin’s voice deepened. “Until?”

Ben shook his head. “I’d forgotten all about it, but something spooked Marley that day.”

“What do you mean ‘spooked’?”

“She saw something or someone that startled her.”

“Did you ask her about it?”

“Yeah. She said it was nothing, but the rest of the day she kept looking around. It was like she’d seen a ghost.”

“Did she ever bring it up again?”

“No. Never spoke about it. I figured it was nothing. Forgot about it.”

“Did she go back up there?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but I guess she must have. I mean, you found her there.”

Griffin looked to Finley. Now they were getting somewhere.

“Any idea why she’d bring a camera with her? I mean if, like you said, she wasn’t into history.”

Had she been looking for someone? Had she been taking pictures of them? Was that what had gotten her killed?

“She brought that thing with her everywhere,” Arthur said.

“The camera?” Finley asked.

“Yes. It was her aunt’s. She gave it to Marley when she started with GJM.”

“Were Marley and her aunt close?”

“Like this.” Arthur linked his gnarled fingers. “After Sally—
Marley’s mom—passed,” he explained, “Marley and Sally’s brother’s wife, Andrea, became close. I did the best I could, but Marley was only nine when her mom died. A girl needs a woman in her life, and Andrea tried to help fill the gap.”

“We should speak with Andrea,” Griffin said. “She may be able to offer some further insights.” Especially if they were that close.

“I’m afraid Andrea passed last year. Lung cancer.”

“Smoker?” Finley automatically asked. It was the usual cause.

“No. Chemical weapons during the war.”

She hadn’t seen that coming. “Which war?”

“Bosnian. Andrea was from Sarajevo. Jim met her when she immigrated after the war.”

“She must have had some stories to tell,” Finley said. “I can’t imagine living in the midst of something like that.” She’d helped identify victims of mass graves in the Sudan the spring before last. It was something she’d never forget. She couldn’t imagine actually living through something like that.

“I believe she played a significant role in spurring Marley to become a social justice lawyer,” Arthur said.

“Because of the injustices her aunt witnessed?” Finley asked.

“Not just witnessed. Photographed. Andrea was frustrated by the world’s lack of action while genocide was happening right in front of her. General Rativik used chemical weapons as well as traditional ones. So she began photographing his atrocities. She passed them on to a CNN war correspondent and they went viral.”

“Wow. So she fought back against injustice just like Marley spent her life doing,” Finley said, highly impressed.

“Yes.” Arthur smiled with pride. “They were two extraordinary women.”

“And this camera Andrea gave her . . . ?” Griffin asked, tracking back.

“Wasn’t among Marley’s possessions, according to her friend Paul who collected her things and shipped the majority of them down here,” Ben said.

Because it had been with her at the time of her death.

“Can you describe the camera?” Griffin asked.

“Sure, but why?” Ben asked.

“We think she had it with her at the time of her death.”

“Why would you think that? I mean, she had it on her most of the time, but you sound certain she had it with her?”

“There was evidence she did,” Finley said without going into detail.

“Okay,” Ben said.

Finley was thankful he didn’t press. She didn’t want to have to explain that camera fragments had been embedded in Marley’s skull.

“It was a Canon EOS-1.”

They’d pass the info along to Avery and let her research it.

“As for the rest of Marley’s belongings . . .” Finley began. They deserved to know what Paul had done. “You said you’d received the majority of Marley’s belongings from Paul?”

“Yes.”

Griffin rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry to say Paul didn’t send you the majority.”

“What he sent seemed like too little, but he said he donated a good portion, and that seemed like what Marley would have wanted.”

“I’m afraid that’s not true.”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Griffin explained.

“Well, that’s disturbing.”

“I don’t want that man having Marley Bear’s things,” Arthur said, wringing his hands.

“Don’t worry. We’ll see everything is delivered to you. I will see to it personally,” Griffin promised.

Arthur’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, both. You’ve been very helpful,” Griffin said.

“Here’s my card.” Finley handed it to them.

“My cell is on the back,” Griffin said, handing them his. “Call if you need anything.”

He sat two tables back, watching them eat their fries as the stupid birds squawked and circled overhead.
Blasted birds.
He was trying to calculate his next move. One to counter Perera’s. And they bloody wouldn’t shut up.

It had been a bold move showing up in the woman’s car. Brilliant, really. Cunning.

He was clearly a worthy adversary.

Highly connected.

But he wasn’t going to win this one.

Taking a sip of his soda, he studied Ranger McCray and the woman he clearly loved, planning the pain he was about to inflict.

37

I
t took Parker and Avery a handful of hours and hotels before someone recognized Marley’s photograph.

“Yeah. I remember her,” the friendly lady who’d introduced herself as Linda Jo said.

“Do you remember when you saw her? Ballpark time period?”

“Ah . . . had to have been last winter. Toward the end of it.”

“March, by chance?”

“I’d say that sounds about right. We don’t get a ton of folks during that time of year so those that do come tend to stick better. I remember things were slow the night she checked in, so we chatted for a while. Sweet lady.”

“Any chance you remember what you talked about?”

“Oh, sheesh. Like I said, it’s been a while. . . . Most folks visiting like to learn all they can about the battlefield, history of the area, that sort of thing.”

“But Marley was different?” Parker asked, sensing it in her tone. “Marley Trent.” He held her picture up.

“That’s funny.” She shook her head, her brown curls bobbing. “It seems like she gave me a different name, but then again, it’s been a while.”

Unless Marley used an alias.

“So her questions were different than most tourists’?” Avery asked.

“Yeah. Like I said, folks generally like to talk about history of the battlefield, but she seemed more interested in the reenactments, if I recall right.”

“Reenactments?” Parker said.

“We’re famous for our three-day battle reenactment. We’re booked out years in advance. She asked so many questions, I figured she was actually interested in participating, so I’m pretty sure I gave her Bob’s contact info.”

“Bob?”

“Bob Wade. Coordinates the entire reenactment. Oh, I mean he has help, lots of it. All of us locals pitch in, but he’s the head honcho. Nobody participates without Bob knowing about it.”

“And did she talk to Bob?”

“No idea.”

“Could we have Bob’s number?”

“I don’t see why not.” She looked it up and gave Parker the number, which he directly entered into his cell, knowing he’d be dialing it the minute they stepped out of Linda Jo’s lobby.

“Any chance you remember how many nights she was here for? Do you keep records that far back?”

“Of course I do. What do you think, this is the Stone Age?” She slipped on her reading glasses and stepped to her computer. She typed and scrolled and then looked up. “Here she is.” Her face soured. “She did give me a different name—Andrea Doug
las. Hmm. Well, whatever her name is, it says she stayed two nights, but as I recall she only stayed one night.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. Saw her, or rather her gentleman friend, carrying out her things Friday night. I remember thinking it was odd to pay in advance for two nights and to only stay one.”

Parker tried to contain his excitement, and he could see Avery was struggling to do the same. “Her gentleman friend?”

“Yes. I saw Andrea’s car pull up. Went out to say hi and found him instead. He waved back. Friendly sort. Handsome from what little I could see, but that wasn’t much. It was dark. He went into the room and came out carrying Andrea’s things a little while later. I was surprised he didn’t drop the key off, but maybe he didn’t think to. A lot of hotels let you leave those key card things in the room.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Like I said, I didn’t see him clearly. He was tall, broad, sturdy. Well-built sort.”

“Hair color?”

“Can’t say that I saw. He might have been wearing a hat.”

“And his face? Eye color?”

“Handsome, but couldn’t tell you eye color. Again—”

“It was too dark.”

“He had a nice smile. I’m sorry I can’t give you more.”

“It’s okay. You’ve been a great help, but could we go back just a step? You said you saw him carry Andrea’s things out. Did you see Andrea leave with him?”

“Well, no, but a call came in just after I saw him put the bag in her trunk. I just assumed she stepped out after him. Her car pulled out while I was still on the call.”

“Could we see the room she stayed in?”

“Sure, but a lot of other folks have used it since.”

“It’d still be helpful.”

“Sure. As long as it’s not rented out.” She looked back at her computer. “Room 112.” She glanced back at the key cubby. “You’re in luck. It’s vacant.” She handed him the key.

He clutched it in his hand. Now they were getting somewhere. “Thanks. We’ll bring it back when we’re done.”

“All right.” She linked her arms across her chest. “I don’t like to pry, but what’s this all about, anyway? She in some kind of trouble?”

“Afraid not. She was murdered.”

“Murdered?”

“Last March.”

“You don’t mean . . .” Her eyes widened. “Please tell me that wasn’t her body you all dug up at the battlefield?”

Avery nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Oh dear. You two take all the time you need.”

“Thank you.”

They stepped outside. “I think we finally hit our stride. If anyone can find a trace of her, it’s us. But even if we find nothing, we’ve got a timeline and our first witness sighting of our man.”

Parker placed a call directly to Bob Wade, but it went straight to voicemail, so he left a message.

They entered Room 112. It was small but clean. Done in Civil War fashion.

“You really think it’s possible to find something after so much time and”—Avery scoped out the room—“people moving through.”

“In my line of work,” Parker said, opening his kit and pulling on a pair of gloves, “I’ve discovered time cements things
in place. It moves forward but a person’s life print, as I like to call it, remains.”

Avery pulled out her camera, a skeptical frown on her face. “Life print?”

Parker walked the perimeter of the room, inspecting every nook and crevice. “The residual effect of a person’s life that continues on both physically and emotionally in the lives of those they loved.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Avery said, snapping the first of what would be numerous pictures.

“Take Marley, for instance. Her physical remains told us a lot about her. Hair color, stature, gender . . . Each detail helps paint a picture of the woman she was, then you add in the trace evidence and personal effects—her class ring, baseball hat . . .” He started his work-up of the room in earnest, talking as he went. “Then you look at the effect she had on people and the picture becomes richer. We know Marley was an idealistic fighter. She was passionate and she loathed bullies. We all leave these life prints behind when we go.”