Chapter 1

Awake at the first knock, Simon Linn sat upright in his bed as the continuous hard knocking sent the framed photograph on the wall by his bedside crashing to the floor. The glass in the frame exploded, spraying shards across the bare hardwood. Any slumber deeper than a catnap could cost him his life in his business.

“Beat the damn door down, why don’t you,” he yelled. “Hang on! I’m coming, damn it!” He cinched a pair of blue jeans around his waist. “It’s three-thirty in the damn morning.” Who could that be?

With instinctive caution, he cracked open the door, careful not to step onto the broken glass with his bare feet. He left the security chain in place. The bright lights from the hallway stung his dilated eyes as they strained to focus on the man standing at his door. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could distinguish a large man dressed in a dark green trench coat. Simon thought he looked like a cop.

“Whadda ya want?” Simon asked warily.

“You Simon Linn?” the man asked. His voice was deep, surly, and demanding in tone.

“I’m Linn. Who the hell are you?”

“Detective Farmer, Seattle Police Department.” The man displayed his shield. “Open the door.”

Linn focused his eyes on Farmer’s gold badge and sighed. He closed the door, slid the chain latch, and then reopened the door.

With their weapons drawn and pointed directly at Linn, Farmer and two uniformed police officers bullied their way through the doorway.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Linn protested. “What’s this all about?”

Detective Farmer surveyed the room. He seemed satisfied that Linn was alone and motioned to the officers to holster their weapons. “Mr. Linn,” Farmer announced, “I’m arresting you for the murder of Paul Charma.”

“Paul?” Linn was puzzled.

“Hands behind your head,” Farmer ordered. “Legs apart.”

Linn responded without protest but glowered at Farmer while one of the cops searched him. Starting at his ankles, the cop systematically worked his way toward Linn’s waist.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Farmer said. “If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak with an attorney and to have the attorney present during questioning. If you so desire and cannot afford one, an attorney will be appointed for you without charge before questioning. Do you understand each of these rights I have explained to you?”

Linn nodded and continued to stare directly into Farmer’s eyes.

“Do you wish to give up the right to remain silent?” Farmer asked.

“No.”

“Do you wish to give up the right to speak to an attorney and have him present during questioning?”

“No,” Linn responded.

Farmer ordered, “Get dressed.”

Linn grabbed a black sweatshirt off a nearby chair and pulled it over his head. He then sat in the chair and slipped on a pair of black socks and black loafers.

“Cuff him,” Farmer said to one of the cops.

The cop took little care when he clamped the black handcuffs tightly around Linn’s wrists. He was ushered to a waiting police car without a further word spoken.

****

Navy Captain Vern Towsley was cursing his favorite professional basketball team’s ineptitude, as recorded in the morning edition of the Seattle online newspaper. The sharp ring of his telephone interrupted his morning solitude. He reached for the phone.

“Vern Towsley,” he answered.

The caller identified himself as Brandon May. Towsley knew May, an old friend; they had worked together several years prior as agents for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Admiral May was now the Commander of the U.S. Special Operations Command.

“Admiral, good to hear from you,” Towsley said in greeting.

“Vern, I wish I had time to chat. I’d like to ask a favor of you.” Without waiting for a reply, May continued. “Marine Sergeant Simon Linn, one of my men, was arrested this morning. The Seattle police have detained him for additional investigation in the death of a Navy SEAL. I’d like you to get him out of jail.”

“How can I help?” Towsley immediately responded.

“I’m not at liberty to give you a lot of details on this,” May said. “Much of what I’m dealing with right now is top-secret UMBRA. This is a need-to-know matter—classified. I want Sergeant Linn out of jail—ASAP.”

Towsley knew a top-secret UMBRA designation meant that whatever Admiral May was dealing with was only known to the President and a small handful of his military advisors, which obviously included May. Carefully choosing his words, he said, “The Seattle Police Department has the right to hold Linn for seventy-two hours without filing charges. I’m not sure how I can help your man.”

“I can’t wait seventy-two hours, Vern,” May insisted. “I want someone to collect Linn for me—now. We’ll grease the skids for you. It’s an election year, so I’m sure the Seattle District Attorney will cooperate once someone from the Justice Department explains it to her.”

“Have you notified the NCIS?” Towsley asked.

“I’ve talked to the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Their Terminators are tied up. Which brings me to my second request.”

“There’s more?”

“Your office will conduct a preliminary investigation into the death, with Lieutenant Commander Green as lead investigator,” May instructed.

Towsley rubbed pensively at the side of his neck with his free hand. “Green is an exceptional lawyer, Admiral,” he acknowledged, “but lacks experience in death investigations.”

“I’m aware of Green’s background,” May said. “Green will be your lead.”

Towsley glanced at his watch. “Green will have your man in Navy custody by twelve hundred hours, sir.”

“Thanks. And Vern?”

“Yes, sir?”

“This is a need-to-know assignment,” May stated firmly. “Green is not on my need-to-know list.”

****

Lieutenant Commander Faydra Green liked to wake up slowly: hit the snooze alarm a couple of times, shower, and drink one (but more often two) strong cups of “Seattle’s Best Coffee.” Then, her day could start.

But before the sound of her alarm had awakened her entirely, the phone began ringing. Groggy and annoyed, her first impulse was to pick up the cell phone and beat the alarm clock with it.

Blinking at the clock face and noting the time - 06:15 hours - she shut off the alarm. “Good morning,” Fay said, hoping the insincerity of her greeting was not noticeable. She cleared her throat. “Fay Green speaking.”

“Lieutenant Commander,” the voice said. It was the voice of a person who had been awake much longer than she. “This is Vern.”

She sat up in bed. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I have an urgent matter for you to attend to. Can you be at JAG Corps in one hour?”

“Aye, sir. One hour.”

Her curiosity growing, Fay stepped in the bathroom and turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature of the water. Closing the shower curtain behind her with a quick jerk, she stepped into the hot rushing water. The shower was short, but she felt invigorated. Snatching a sizeable fluffy towel from the bar next to the shower stall, she dried the moisture from her skin and brushed her hair.

The tall, athletic blonde brought an almost clinical method to applying her makeup. Appearances mattered in society. It was a fact of life—not necessarily fair, but true. And she tended to her appearance the same way she would research or try a case, with as little personal involvement as possible.

Some mornings, she would look for small lines on her otherwise smooth and spa-tanned complexion. It was now she realized her neck was too long and her cheekbones too high, too strong. Her eyes curved slightly upward at the corners to meet the sweep of gracefully arched brows. “These are proud features,” her mother would say. She sighed. Mom was right, of course. Without rechecking her appearance in the mirror, she dropped the hairbrush into the basket of makeup and walked back to her bedroom.

A short thirty-minute drive brought her to her office. Fay was out of breath when she entered the JAG’s office. A submissive nod conveyed her apology to Captain Towsley for keeping him waiting. She stood at his desk, waiting for permission to sit.

“Good morning, Miss Green.” His greeting was immediate and seemed to express a sense of urgency and concern or irritation; she could not tell which. “At ease, Lieutenant Commander. Please…have a seat.”

Towsley took a file from his desk and handed it to her. “This is a fax copy of Marine Master Sergeant Simon Linn’s service records,” he said. “Early this morning, the Seattle Police Department arrested Linn. He’s being held in the Seattle City jail. I want you to collect him on behalf of the Navy.”

Fay affirmed the request with a quick nod and took the file from him. “Why was he arrested, sir?”

“He’s been implicated in the death of a SEAL.”

“Homicide?” Her eyes widened. “You are assigning me to an investigation involving the death of a sailor? Sir, I don’t—”

“Affirmative, Green.” He nodded toward the file she held in her hands. “I suggest you review Linn’s service record and get to Seattle ASAP.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And before you ask,” Towsley said, “page thirteen of his service records has been censored.”

“Sir, no duty assignment history?”

“Linn is a shadow warrior. Spec/Ops chose not to share his duty status with us.”

Fay’s eyebrows arched. “He is an operator? Need-to-know, sir?”

Towsley nodded. “I want you to retrieve Sergeant Linn from the jail and conduct a preliminary investigation.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Dust off your JAGMAN, and if you run into any trouble, I’m here to help. Any further questions?”

Yes, she had many questions but asked only one. “Will I need a Shore Patrol detail, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary. Sergeant Linn is a suspect, not a convict. All you have to do is escort him back to Bremerton and confine him to quarters.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Fay returned to her office to review Linn’s service records. Bosnia, Desert Storm, Afghanistan—he had served in them all and had been awarded almost every service medal known. He had been wounded in action during one of his three tours of duty in Afghanistan and saved four Marines’ lives. A regular hero, she thought. What reason would a war hero have for killing a SEAL?

Consulting her ferry schedule, she noted the next boat was scheduled to leave in forty minutes. Fay stuffed her Manual of the Judge Advocate General (JAGMAN) and Linn’s service records into her briefcase and dashed for the ferry terminal.

The commute to the Seattle City jail would take almost two hours. The one-hour ferry ride was an excellent time to think; she often took her work with her for her ferry commutes.

Fay bought a cup of strong coffee and moved to one of the upper decks. She knew the wind off Puget Sound in the late fall months was brisk, so she chose a chair on an enclosed deck.

She had a deep appreciation for the Washington State ferry system. Even the smaller ships were huge by any (except perhaps Navy) standards. As with all boats, the ferries had names; many were Native American words for famous Indian chiefs and beautiful places: Walla Walla (place of two rivers), Spokane (children of the sun), Kaleetan (arrow), Chelan (deep water). She pursued an interest in learning the meaning of each name. She liked to find out what things meant; mysteries intrigued her. Any mystery beckoned her, like a clam closed tightly, and she brought a sea otter’s ambition and patience to cracking one open.

The weather was nice. Fay chose to walk the one-mile distance from the ferry terminal to the Public Safety building. After signing in with the jailer, Fay was asked to wait. Thirty minutes later, a man in uniform escorted her to the holding cell containing Sergeant Linn.

The jangle of the jailer’s keys grated on her nerves as he unlocked the heavy, gray steel door. He swung it open, allowing her access to the small and barren cell; it seemed stuffy—the overhead lights far too bright.

Sergeant Linn snapped to attention. When reviewing the service records, Fay had noted he was tall. Yet, she was taken aback when he uncoiled his large torso from the bunk on which he sat. His massive body seemed to occupy the entire cell. True to his strict military discipline, he remained at attention as she crossed the floor to greet him.

“Master Sergeant Linn, I am Faydra Green, JAG Corps.” She flashed him a smile and said, “At ease,” as she extended her hand.

Sergeant Linn’s handshake was firm. He seemed to relax.

“I am sorry I couldn’t get here any sooner,” Fay said apologetically. “It is a long haul from Bremerton to Seattle.” She had been expecting a fierce and surly warrior but instead found a vivacity and radiant ruggedness in his dark eyes. She cleared her throat. “Okay, Master Sergeant, what is going on?”

Tiny beads of perspiration formed on Linn’s brow and shaved head. “They say a man has died and I’m responsible.”

She thought for a moment. “I am here to see if the SPD will release you into military custody. I am meeting with the arresting officer. What is his name?” Fay inquired.

“Detective Farmer.”

“Farmer,” she noted. “Sit tight. I’ll be back, Sergeant Linn.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Fay had little trouble locating Farmer’s office, where she was asked to wait. A woman in uniform showed her to a small room. It, too, felt warm and stuffy.

“Wait here,” the woman said.

She surveyed the room—posters of various wanted criminals decorated the light-gray walls. Several worn vinyl chairs lined the perimeter of the room. A table strewn with an assortment of year-old, dog-eared monthly news and sports magazines, much like those found in hospital waiting rooms, dominated the center of the room. She picked up a magazine, flipped through several pages, and then put the magazine back onto the table.

A water-cooler stood at the far side of the room, although the cup dispenser appeared empty. Condensation glistening on the outside of the bottle caught her attention. The water looked cold and refreshing. She stared at the little chilled rivers forming on the glass. Her throat felt dry, her mouth as if were stuffed with a wad of cotton. Her train of thought was broken when a man entered the room.

“Lieutenant Commander Green?” he asked.

Fay smiled and nodded. “I am she.”

The man returned her smile and extended his hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Detective Frank Farmer.”

“Hello, Detective.” She firmly shook his massive hand, which was warm and smooth. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Farmer wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “The air conditioner must be broken again. Please, Lieutenant Commander, this room seems stuffy. Let’s go down the hall where it’s cooler.” He smiled. “We can talk there.” He glanced at Fay. “Would you like a cup of water?”

“Yes, please,” she said, hoping she did not sound desperate.

Farmer’s smile had genuine warmth. He walked to the cooler and banged the top of the cup dispenser with his hand. A paper cup appeared. “Dang thing sticks.” He filled the cup and handed it to her.

As they walked along the hall, Fay sized Farmer up. She decided she felt comfortable with him. Detective Farmer was a large but not a tall man. His hair was graying, and aside from the detective’s belly, he appeared physically fit. An aura of confidence surrounded him. She was sure, in his day, he had been an exceptional sleuth. But she saw a hint of retirement in his eyes. He most likely carried a well-worn brochure for his dream RV in his jacket pocket, next to his detective shield and police revolver.

It was a short walk. Detective Farmer opened the door, gesturing for her to precede him into the room. Like the other room, this one was decorated with worn vinyl chairs. A wooden table dominated the center of the room. Two straight-back oak chairs faced each other from opposite sides of the table.

He walked to one of the chairs, pulled it away from the table, and said, “Please, have a seat.”

Fay felt too keyed up to sit but sat anyway.

Frank Farmer walked to the other side of the table and sat down. He studied her for a moment. “Let me get right to it,” he finally said. “I’m sure you know we’ve arrested Sergeant Linn for the murder of Paul Charma. Are you Linn’s attorney?”

“Detective Farmer,” she began, “I—”

“Frank.”

“Pardon me?”

“My name is Frank.” He smiled. “Please, call me Frank.”

“Thank you, Frank. My name is Fay.” She could not help but return at least some of his warmth. “As I was about to say, I am not Mr. Linn’s attorney. I am a Judge Advocate…a Navy lawyer.”

“A JAG?”

“In military law, I am an officer assigned to the Judge Advocate General’s Department,” Fay explained. “I serve as legal adviser to Captain Vernon Towsley of the U.S. Navy.”

“I used to watch that program on television,” Farmer replied. “It was called JAG.”

“Fortunately, just like movie cops, JAG is nothing like it is made out to be,” Fay joked.

Frank shook his head and gave her a knowing chuckle, then recapped the sequence of events leading up to the arrest of Simon Linn. “Charma’s body was discovered at ten twenty-five last night,” he recounted. “Charma was stabbed in the neck—we presume with a knife—and left dead in an alley near Jillian’s Pool Club in downtown Seattle. Someone saw Linn in the club earlier that night talking with Charma. The conversation escalated into an argument. About an hour later, a witness saw Linn running from the alley where Charma’s body was found.”

“You have a witness?” Fay interrupted.

“We have a man who places Linn at the scene, and his observation coincides with the time of death.”

“I assume Linn was arrested without a warrant?” Fay knew, without the warrant, Frank would not have been allowed to search Linn’s home for evidence.

“That’s right,” the detective confirmed. “We did make a warrantless search of the immediate area, which, as you know, we are allowed to do.”

“Tell me,” Fay leaned forward, “what about the knife?”

“No physical evidence, if that’s what you’re asking. What I’ve got are a body and a suspect. Our suspect, at this point, doesn’t seem to have an alibi.”

“No alibi… Where did Linn say he was at the time of Mr. Charma’s death?” Fay asked.

“Linn hasn’t said much,” Farmer said.

“Did he waive his right to remain silent?”

“He says he won’t answer any questions until he talks to an attorney.”

“Has he said anything at all?” she inquired.

“He admits he was in the area at the time Charma died. And he denies he had anything to do with it.” Farmer shrugged. “That’s all I’ve gotten out of him so far.”

Fay offered a judicious sigh as her only response.

Frank sounded apologetic when he said, “I’m afraid it doesn’t look good for Sergeant Linn, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Afraid?” Fay repeated.

“In my business, I meet all types of scum and vermin. I think I’ve seen it all, rapists, muggers, murderers.” He clasped his hands behind his head and tipped back in his chair. “I think I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I’ll bet you are too.” Farmer paused as he studied her. There was a quizzical look on his face - that look most people seemed to have as their brain began the recall process leading to the inevitable question, Aren’t you Faydra Green, the daughter of? To her surprise, he instead said, “I don’t see it. Not with Simon Linn anyway.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before Fay spoke again, “Frank, I appreciate your candor. It sounds like you have voluntary manslaughter here. Am I correct?”

“That’s what we’ve determined.” Frank pointed toward her crumpled cup, which she did not recall crumpling. “More water?”

“Yes, thank you,” Fay said as her fingers fumbled with the cup in a pathetic attempt to reconstruct it. “I would like to borrow a minute from y’all to think, if it is okay.”

He rose from his chair without a word and walked to the door. Fay heard the door quietly close. With a sigh of relief, she slumped back in her chair. What now?

Frank was gone for ten minutes. When he returned to the room, he walked over to her with the water. “Forgive me for taking so long,” he apologized. “I ran into my supervisor in the hall. He had a few questions and—”

“I understand. Thank you for the water.” Fay sipped from her cup and then said, “I was wondering…” She felt a stream of perspiration race down from the pit of her right arm and stop at her bra band. She knew the Seattle Police Department had the right to hold Linn for seventy-two hours, but there was no harm in asking. And a good lawyer never asked a question she did not already know the answer to. “Would it be possible to have Sergeant Linn released to military custody? You have my assurance as a naval officer and a lawyer I will be fully responsible.”

Frank gave a hearty laugh. “And as the daughter of a former President of the United States?”

He had recognized her after all. Few Faydra Greens were running around this country. It was a curse, something that had plagued her for most of her life. Never knowing whether she had accomplished something on her own merit or because she was Faydra Green, former President William Green’s daughter.

“No sir, not as my father’s daughter,” Fay replied, “but as an officer of the United States Navy. I will accept full responsibility for Sergeant Linn.”

Farmer was still chuckling as he shook his head. “All right. That’s what I was speaking to my supervisor about. We’ve received word from the District Attorney to release Sergeant Linn to the Navy with discretion. The supervisor and I agree with the DA. We’ll let you have Linn. I recommend he be confined to his quarters at the base, pending our investigation.”

Unusual, Fay thought to herself. “That seems reasonable,” she said. “Thank you.” Without waiting for any further explanation, she gathered up her briefcase and pocketbook. She bolted for the door, intent on clearing the area before Frank changed his mind.

“Lieutenant Commander Green,” Frank called after her. She turned. “Win this one.”

She winked. “I intend to, Frank,” she said and whisked out of the room.

She was escorted back to Linn’s cell. Once again, Sergeant Linn snapped to attention as she approached.

“Mr. Linn, good news!” Fay announced. “They have agreed to release y’all.”