Kill and Run (A Thorny Rose Mystery Book 1) (19 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Murphy was twenty minutes early for his nine o’clock appointment. Per protocol, he was ordered to sit on a wooden bench in the corridor outside the Joint Chiefs of Staff meeting chambers until they were ready to see him.

Murphy felt the beating of his heart quicken with every minute that ticked by. Mentally, he went over every detail of the case from the moment he stepped into Francine Baxter’s home. He even replayed how he ended up there in the first place.

Staff Chief Hillary Koch had sent him.

CO is right. Crotch is a moron. I’m the staff military liaison. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I should have refused to go and went to the Four Seasons to have lunch with Jessica. Why didn’t I?
With a groan, Murphy shifted in his seat on the hard bench.
Because I wanted to go, that’s why. I wanted to be out in the field instead of behind that desk. Now another woman is dead and the military will be blamed for it.

His thoughts turned to Jessica and how she was trembling in his arms when he carried her out of the coffee shop
. She never should have been there. Neither should have Cameron. How could I have been so stupid allowing civilians in on my investigation?

He checked the time on his cell phone. It was ten minutes to nine. His father was most likely on his way to court. He was probably in his office across from the court house. Usually court did not start until ten o’clock.

With a brush of his thumb across the screen, he brought up the speed dial number that was ID’d “Dad.” Another touch on the screen sent the call through. Murphy listened to the call go straight to voice mail. When the beep indicated that he could leave a message, Murphy silently held the phone to his ear while trying to think of what to say.
I screwed up, Dad. I know your worst nightmare was that you’d raise a loser. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be me.

The clatter of dress shoes on the hardwood floor in the corridor warned Murphy of the approach of a group of six Officer in the United States Mariness. Brushing his thumb across the “end” button, he hung up without leaving a message.

Once again, he shifted his position on the wooden bench and wished they were cushioned. He surmised they were uncomfortable on purpose. It was the military version of the hot seat. Directly outside the Joint Chiefs’ chambers, it was a given that anyone sitting on the bench was waiting to be called to the carpet by the highest ranking officials of the United States military.

Talking among themselves, the marines filed into the offices down from the formal chamber. Their quick glances in his direction reminded him of how school children would behave upon spotting a classmate sitting outside the principal’s office.

Curiosity. Amusement. Pity. They may have been grown up and working in the distinguished halls of the Pentagon, but the attitudes remained the same.

The more things change, the more they remain the same. Naval Academy graduate. Officer. Phantom. And I’m still getting time outs.

Alone, Murphy made one last check of his uniform to make sure everything was in order. No wrinkles. The crease in his pants was straight. No dog hair on his legs or sleeves. His white shoes were shiny. No scuff marks.

The elevator doors at the end of the hall opened again. Admiral Clarence Patterson and the Chief of Naval Operations stepped off. Jumping up off the bench, Murphy stood at attention and raised his right hand in a salute.

Without slowing down, the same admiral who had only two days before pinned the Bronze Star to Murphy’s chest and called Jessica charming, barely slowed down to return Murphy’s salute, as did the admiral who served as Chief of Naval Operations.

“Good morning, sirs,” Murphy said after bringing his right arm back down to his side.

They did not even offer a polite nod to acknowledge Murphy’s presence before going into the chamber.

With a quick glance at the time on his cell phone, Murphy noted that it was seven minutes before nine o’clock.

I’m so screwed. Time to say good-bye to the Phantoms.

The Phantoms were hand-picked. It was not a position on a team that anyone knew about—therefore it was not something that a military cadet could strive for like the SEALS.

Comprised of the best of the best from every branch of the military, defense, and law enforcement agency in the government, the Phantoms worked with the top equipment and received the best training. Their sole mission was to protect the United States and its citizens without the influence and intimidation of politicians and deal makers with their own personal and political agendas.

Being the best physically and intellectually was a given to be a candidate for the Phantom team—but that was second to integrity and character. Each chief of staff in the military had seen too many lives lost due to appointed or elected leaders in the government whose lack of character and integrity directly resulted in their making poor decisions for the sole purpose of covering up their own moral flaws.

The Phantoms worked completely off the grid. They only knew and met each other during operations or training. The unit was so covert that he had a special untraceable phone that he received and made calls on which went directly to his commanding officer, whose name he did not know.

When circumstances required her to provide a name as Murphy or another Phantom’s commanding officer, she would introduce herself as “Captain Diana King.” It was an official covert alias, complete with a fictionalized background.

Murphy simply referred to her as “CO.” Because she hid her hair under hats or scarves and her eyes behind sun glasses, he was uncertain what she looked like. All he ever saw of her was her fabulous legs. Her sultry voice was unmistakable.

Being personally recruited by Admiral Clarence Patterson to become a Phantom was a huge honor. It was also a risk. Murphy understood going in that if he was ever caught overseas or domestically while working under the radar for the Joint Chiefs of Staff, it would compromise the whole unit. The Joint Chiefs would deny any connection to him. Most likely, he would end up being arrested … or executed.

But it was a risk Murphy was willing to take to protect his country.

Now, not only was his position of Phantom at stake, but so was his whole military career.

The edge of the wooden bench was digging across the back of his thighs. Shifting again, Murphy checked the time on his phone. It was eighteen minutes after nine o’clock.

“Lieutenant Thornton. They’re ready to see you now.”

Murphy jumped in his seat. He had not noticed the door to the chamber open. A female lieutenant in the dress white uniform was holding one of the double doors open for him. He stood up and made one last check of his uniform. His hat in his hand, he marched into the Joint Chiefs of Staff chamber. Once he was inside, the lieutenant closed the door, with herself out in the hallway.

The meeting chamber was dimly lit. The tall windows at one end of the room provided a view of the Washington Monument on the other side of the Potomac River. Murphy’s footsteps clapped the hardwood floor when he made his way to a single straight-backed chair resting in the middle of the vacant floor—waiting for him.

The chair was facing the long curved table on a raised stage at the other side of the chamber where each chief of staff for every branch of the American military waited for him—all seven members. There were desk lamps in front of each of them.

A second row of tables with chairs at which the chiefs’ assistants would sit, ready to look up information or run to and fro if needed, was empty. The assistants were excluded from this meeting because they would be discussing Phantom business. Even the Joint Chiefs’ assistants had no knowledge about the covert unit.

Off to one side, Murphy’s commanding officer sat next to a table, one long leg crossed over the other. Even still, she concealed her eyes behind dark sun glasses. Bernie stood against the wall directly behind her.

The only ones included in the meeting was the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Phantoms’ commanding officer, Bernie, and Murphy himself.

Stepping over to stand in front of the chair, Murphy stood at attention and raised his hand in a salute. “Lieutenant Murphy Thornton, United States Navy, reporting as ordered, sirs. and ma’am.”

Sitting near middle of the half-circle, Admiral Clarence Patterson returned the salute. “At ease, Lieutenant.”

Murphy stood at parade rest with his hands folded behind his back. The only sound in the chamber was the rustle of papers and the murmur of low voices while the chiefs seemed to compare notes.

Staring straight ahead, he waited while each of the chiefs put on his or her reading glasses and referred to reports in front of them. Murphy assumed it was the statement that he had written up and emailed to his commanding officer in the middle of the night.

In her early sixties, the chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Maxine Raleigh, USAF, Max to her friends, had an attractive face and long white hair that she wore in a French twist. Murphy was aware of her peering at him with her eyes narrowed while Admiral Patterson whispered to her. He was unsure if she was squinting at him with disgust or because she could not see him clearly beyond the glare from the light of the desk lamps.

While the silence stretched on, Murphy was grateful for the years that he had been practicing yoga, which entailed him remaining in one position for long periods of time. While the seven chiefs were conferring, he was standing up straight with his feet at shoulder width with his hands clasped behind his back. Most men would have started to get leg cramps by the time the air force general cleared her throat and checked around the table. Wordlessly, she asked if they were ready to begin.

“Lieutenant Murphy Thornton, thank you for coming,” she said.

“Pleasure to be here, ma’am,” Murphy replied.

General Raleigh responded with silence. She put on her reading glasses and referred to the report before saying, “We have read the statement that you sent to your commanding officer last night about the incident at Starbucks, located at the Seven Corners Shopping Center in Falls Church, Virginia. Would you care to summarize what happened for us now in your own words, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Murphy replied. “During the course of a murder investigation that I was leading for the Naval Criminal Investigation Staff, we discovered a potential witness, Ms. Emily Dolan, who had entered and left the crime scene of the murders of five women in Reston, Virginia, shortly after the murders had occurred. Two members of my team were keeping Dolan under surveillance because we believed that she had information important to our investigation. We also feared that, if her identity was known to the perpetrator, her life could be in danger.”

General Raleigh interrupted, “If you thought Dolan’s life could be in danger, why did you not bring her in?”

“Because Dolan was a civilian, ma’am. As an investigator with the military, my authority is limited,” Murphy said. “She wrote an anti-military and anti-law enforcement blog. It was clear that she had a lack of trust and heavy dislike for both the military and law enforcement. It was a calculated decision on my part to wait until we could get more evidence to use as leverage to get her to willingly cooperate with us. In the meantime, I assigned agents to keep her under protective surveillance. ”

“Obviously you failed, Lieutenant,” General Raleigh said in a blunt tone. “Ms. Dolan is dead. Care to explain to our staff how that happened if you were watching her?”

“Certainly, ma’am and sirs.” Murphy swallowed. “During the course of our investigation it came to our attention that one of the victims in the Reston murders had a sister who had been killed on the Pennsylvania Turnpike several years ago.”

Adjusting his reading glasses, Admiral Patterson referred to his copy of Murphy’s statement. “That’s not in your report.”

“The identity of the sister was only confirmed this morning, sir,” Murphy said. “Yesterday, we received an unofficial identification from the homicide detective investigating that case. This morning, the detective texted me that DNA comparison has identified the Jane Doe as Army Specialist Cecelia Crenshaw, sister to Petty Officer Crenshaw. Last evening, the detective requested my assistance in questioning Dolan to determine if the two murders could be connected. I agreed to go with her.”

“Are these two cases connected, Lieutenant?” General Raleigh asked.

“I am sorry to say we can’t be sure of that at this time,” Murphy replied. “A hit squad entered the establishment and killed Dolan before the homicide detective had a chance to question her.”

General Raleigh put on her reading glasses and referred to her report. “Where were you when the hit squad entered Starbucks, Lieutenant?”

“I was in the parking lot, ma’am,” Murphy answered. “It had come to my attention that Ms. Dolan had been tailing me during her hours off work. Therefore, she knew me. So, I stayed out of sight in the parking lot while monitoring the situation via audio communications. When I saw the hit squad approaching, I called the two NCIS team members stationed inside to warn them and ordered that they protect Dolan and the civilians on the scene.”

“You order them to protect Dolan, who hates the military?” General Raleigh replied with doubt.

“Her feelings toward the military were irrelevant to me, ma’am,” Murphy said. “She was an American citizen and I took an oath to protect my country and her citizens. Nowhere in that oath does it make reference to protecting only those citizens with my same worldview.”

“But she is now dead,” General Raleigh said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If it is your job to protect our country and its citizens, Lieutenant,” General Raleigh’s voice rose, “how it is that Dolan, the only lead you had in this murder case, ended up dead? You said you were in the parking lot. Where were you while this hit squad was gunning down your only witness?”

“I came in directly behind the hit squad, ma’am.”

“But you failed to save Dolan and two members of that hit squad escaped.”