July 11
ELLEN LOOKED OVER AT JIM. They had just finished interviewing Lieutenant Daily. It seemed to her that Giddings was in fast-forward today. More jets landed and took off than usual, causing the building to shake and growl continuously. She dusted off her hands and closed her laptop. “How about I take some time to go through Susan’s effects in her office before they’re taken down to storage?”
Cochrane looked up. “That stuff is going to be shipped to Robert Kane in a day or two. NCIS has been through her office and personal items. They didn’t find spit. We looked yesterday between interview appointments and didn’t find anything. What do you think you’ll find today?”
“We got to half of the twelve boxes. I want to look through the last six. Besides, I reread the underlined passages in Susan’s book Don Quixote, last night. I’m drawn to her as a person. She had so many facets,” Ellen said, picking up her knapsack. “I just feel we’re missing something, that’s all. I want to do one last check.”
“Go for it. But I doubt you’ll find anything, gal.” He frowned and typed the last of his notes on his laptop.
Grinning as she slung the pack across her right shoulder, Ellen said, “With my background in psychology, I’m fascinated by how each person involved sees Susan a little differently.”
“And somewhere among all their statements lies the truth?”
“Perhaps.” She stopped at the door, her fingers resting on the polished brass doorknob. “I’m intrigued by what Daily said about her just now.”
“Which part?” Cochrane closed the lid on his computer.
“About Susan’s reaction to his children when she babysat for them. Daily saw her military mask slip at those times.”
“If you think her office is going to reflect the personal part of her, you’re barking up the wrong tree. If anything, her office here at Giddings was the model of military expectation.”
“You’re probably right. But those boxes contain her personal effects and I want to check them out more closely.”
Jim nodded. He dug in his pocket, producing a key to open the NCIS padlock, and gave it to Ellen. Glancing at his watch, he added, “I’ve got to pick Merry up from ballet class at 1730. I’ll finish up here and call the office for messages. Can you be ready to leave in about fifteen minutes?”
“You bet.” Ellen waved as she stepped through the doorway and hurried down the hall.
It was five minutes before the last class of the day ended at Giddings. Susan Kane’s office was closed, with an official-looking sign posted at the door, which was secured with a large, sturdy lock. After quickly opening it, Ellen stepped inside. Twelve cardboard boxes sat in one corner of the room. In the center was a dark gray metal desk, once Susan’s work center. Ellen placed the knapsack on the desk and sat down in the chair, which squealed loudly in protest. The American military industry could build some of the most technologically advanced fighter planes in the world, but they couldn’t produce a chair that didn’t squeak.
Her lips pulling into a smile, Ellen leaned forward and lifted the cardboard box marked seven of twelve. She opened the lid and peered inside. There was a small gray clock, plus a pen and pencil set with a marble base. Numerous items from the officer’s desk drawers included stacks of colored index cards, a stapler and staples, plus a small gold bear on a key chain. Was this all that remained of a person’s life? Who was the real Susan Kane? Ellen quickly riffled through the contents, asking herself that question over and over again. Susan was a woman who bought teddy bears for Becky Jillson’s children. She volunteered her few free hours at the San Diego Zoo. And she doted on Daily’s children, as well.
Taking the bear key ring out of the box, Ellen studied it. Had Susan used this key chain? Had someone given it to her as a gift, someone who knew she loved bears? After touching the electroplated figure with her fingertips, Ellen gently placed the key ring back in the box. She closed the lid and returned the carton to the floor.
In the eighth box, Ellen found a variety of certificates of accomplishment, duplicates of the originals Susan had hanging on the walls of her condo. Why had she killed herself? A woman like Susan could have made it much more easily out in the civilian world. Ellen found another copy of Don Quixote and quickly paged through the book. Some different passages were underlined, and that caught her immediate interest.
The first passage said: “She be honored and esteemed by all the good men of the world; for she shows in it, that it is only she alone that lives therein with honest intention.” The words rang strongly in Ellen’s heart. Tears jammed into her eyes and she grimaced. “Thou art a bad Christian…for thou never forget test the injuries that are once done to thee: know that it is the duty of noble and generous minds not to make any account….” Did Susan see herself as a “bad Christian” here at Top Gun? Had something happened to make her feel that way about herself?
The final highlighted portion of text said, “…and I begin to suspect, by your words, that all that which you have said to me of chivalry, and of gaining kingdoms and empires, of bestowing islands and other gifts and great things, as knights-errant are wont; are all matters of air and lies….”
Wiping away her tears, Ellen knew in her gut something awful had happened, either of Susan’s, or of someone else’s making. Something unspeakable. She quickly went through the other boxes, until only one was left: box twelve.
It contained some writing paper and, apart from Don Quixote, the only personal, nontechnical books Susan had kept at the office. Ellen ran her hand tentatively across the spines, then hefted one of the tomes to read the title. Settling into the box again, she noticed a tiny gray book barely visible between two others. The title, The Little Red Bear, was a child’s book from all appearances.
“Oww!” The nail on her index finger snapped and broke, a piece of it flying onto the green-and-white-tile floor. “Darn,” Ellen muttered, looking at the ragged nail. She’d broken it down to the flesh and a small drop of blood oozed out. Sucking on the injured finger, Ellen reached with her other hand to try and ease the gray book from the box.
“Come on,” she muttered, struggling to get a firm hold. Whoever had packed this box had crammed it too tightly. NCIS personnel certainly wouldn’t make good movers. There! Ellen held the gray book in the palm of her left hand. A smile touched her mouth.
“The Little Red Bear…” Oddly, the book had been recovered in a plain gray paper jacket. Ellen set the book in her lap to leaf through its pages. As she opened the front cover she saw printed in huge, shaky letters “SUSIE.” The last name was covered by the gray paper, so Ellen eased the book out of the cover to get a full view of the name. SUSIE KANE. The book was very old, obviously much read and loved.
The pages were dog-eared from age as well as use. Susan had probably pulled this book from the shelf and read it to Daily’s children when they had visited Top Gun. Commander Daily told her that groups of school children would come to Top Gun and it was always Susan who took the awed students through the facility. Ellen’s eyes teared up again as she realized that the remnants of Susan’s life would be shipped to her father. Ellen could only guess what he would do with these boxes. He’d destroy them immediately, not wanting to be reminded of his badly behaved daughter who had brought only shame to the family’s good name. Out of sight, out of mind.
As Ellen turned to pick up the book’s gray covering, something caught her eye. She wondered why she hadn’t seen it before, but she’d been entranced with discovering one of Susan’s own books. The gray covering was much too large for such a small book, so it had been neatly reshaped, leaving a two-inch double fold on the inside front and back. The object that had caught Ellen’s attention was tucked into the back.
It was a digital photo. Ellen put the book aside and reached for the cover. The picture was taped to the jacket so it wouldn’t accidentally fall out.
Devoting her attention to getting it loose, Ellen eased the tape from first one edge, then another. When all the adhesive was removed, she turned the photo over.
“Oh, my God!” Her heart slammed into her rib cage and fluttered wildly in her breast. Her fingers tightened on the print as she stared down at it in horror.
Ellen leaped out of the chair, tore around the desk and jerked the door open. Luckily, classes had let out for the day and very few aviators seemed to be left in the facility. She quickly locked the door, even though her knapsack was still inside. Ellen ran, winded, clutching the photo.
“Jim!” Her voice carried down the passageway as she turned the corner. “Jim! Wait!” He was just leaving the room where they’d done the interviewing.
He halted, a puzzled look on his face as she came racing up to him.
“What’s wrong?”
Ellen gulped for breath. “Come back inside the office! You have to see this, Jim! You have to…”
“Ellen, I’ll be late picking Merry up.”
“This can’t wait!” Ellen grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back into the interviewing room. She shut the door firmly, resting her back against it. “Here, look at what I just found.” Breathing raggedly, she tried to catch her breath as she thrust the digital photo toward him. “You aren’t going to believe this. I’m not sure I do.”
Scowling, Cochrane set his heavy briefcase on the floor and took the photo. As he straightened, his eyes narrowed.
“Jesus H. Christ,” he exclaimed.
“It is her, isn’t it?” Ellen whispered off-key. She saw Cochrane’s brows draw down, his eyes become slits. “I thought I was seeing things, Jim. The picture was taped inside a book jacket—a book from her childhood. I—I didn’t see the photo until I was going to put the cover back on the book.” With trembling fingers she pushed her hair from her brow.
She cautiously edged around Cochrane’s shoulder and looked at the photo again. It was of Susan Kane, naked from the waist up, sprawled out on a king-size bed. A bedcover was pulled up to her hips.
“Oh, my God,” Ellen whispered, pressing her hand to her heart. “This is awful. Awful!”
Cochrane cursed and dropped the photo on the desk. “Dammit, we may have just destroyed any possible prints on this photo, Ellen.” Putting his hands on his hips, he leaned closer and inspected it. “But it’s pretty shocking, isn’t it?”
Ellen swallowed hard. “I don’t want to believe it, Jim. I really don’t. Yet there she is.”
“I’d give anything to know where this was taken.” With a shake of his head, he said, “Just goes to show you, you don’t really know anyone, do you?”
Trying to steady her pounding heart, Ellen shook her head. “I find this unbelievable, totally unlike the Susan Kane we know.”
“We can’t be naive. This type of stuff goes on all the time.”
She colored fiercely. “It’s just that Susan didn’t seem like the exhibitionist type.”
“Yeah. Miss Perfect. Goody Two-shoes.”
“Jim!”
He straightened and looked over at Ellen. “This photo is pretty damn graphic, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes—it is, but—” she stabbed her finger at it “—look at Susan’s face.”
“Her eyes are barely open. She knows what she’s doing.”
“Are you sure?”
Jim smiled a little. “Reckon you’re awfully indignant about this, Ellen.”
“There are explanations other than the obvious one you seem to be endorsing.”
“Such as?”
Ellen felt heat crawling into her face. “I’m not pretending to be an investigator like you, Jim, but my question would be was Susan a willing or forced participant in this?”
“She looks dazed,” Jim admitted, studying the photo closer. “Probably been drinking too much.”
“According to everything we know about her, Susan didn’t drink.”
“Maybe she’s high on drugs.”
“Jim, you’re a pain in the ass sometimes!”
“So humor me. Who took this photo, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“And why did they take it?” Jim scratched his head. “And how long ago? And why was it taped inside a book jacket?”
Ellen sat down, resting her arms near the photo and studying it. “Wait, look at this.”
Jim leaned forward. “What?”
“The bedspread! Don’t you recognize the pattern of it?”
“No,” he said, “of course I don’t.”
Ellen made an exasperated sound. “That’s the bedspread design at the Barstow Hotel in Reno, where the Ares Conference took place. The brochure we have from the hotel shows a color photo of one of their rooms, and this is the bedspread on the bed.”
“Consarnit, I’m going to be late picking up Merry. Hold on while I make a phone call. Don’t touch that photo anymore. Maybe we can still get a partial print from it.”
Ellen straightened. “Darn, I forgot to put on my latex gloves. I’m so sorry. You taught me to always put them on before touching evidence.” She withdrew her hands, feeling guilty over her mistake.
Cochrane dashed out of the room, leaving the door ajar.
Ellen got up and shut the door to keep out prying eyes. When Cochrane returned ten minutes later, he looked thoroughly agitated.
“What’s wrong?”
“Jodi wasn’t too happy about adjusting plans. I tried to explain to her—oh, hell, never mind.” He closed the door and hurriedly moved to his side of the desk, the photo between them. “I’ve been thinking. Look at what’s holding her wrists to that bed. White web belts. Military gear.”
“Yes, I saw that, too. But look closely at her right wrist.”
Leaning over the photo, Jim squinted. “It’s pretty red and raw looking.”
“Precisely. Just like Jillson told us earlier today. When she visited Susan in her hotel room, she saw these marks. This was no ‘flu’ episode. Maybe Jillson accepted Susan’s explanation, but I sure don’t know. My hunch is that this photo was taken sometime on May 16th, at the Ares Conference.”
Sitting down, Cochrane nodded. “But were the red marks on her wrist from struggling to get free or just part of the normal bondage lovemaking she took part in?”
“That’s a disgusting suggestion.”
“Ellen, from a professional standpoint this photo neither confirms or denies Susan Kane’s participation in this. For all we know, she did this kind of thing on a regular basis.”
“Or Susan was coerced,” Ellen said flatly, anger in her tone.
“But how do we know?”
She stared at him. “We probably know more about Susan than anyone, and you can sit there and say that she’d willingly do that kind of thing?” Ellen just couldn’t believe it of the dead aviator.
Holding up his hands, Cochrane said, “Whoa, Ellen. From an investigative point of view we can’t deduce one way or another, because we don’t have any corroborating evidence. If there is a fingerprint on this photo that hasn’t been destroyed by us, it might give us a lead.”
“I just can’t believe Susan would do this kind of stuff.”
“Kinky sex. How about that?” Jim shook his head. “That would sure as hell blow her role model image right out of the water if it were made known.”
Frowning, Ellen muttered, “That crossed my mind, too. What if Susan got drunk and did do it? Did someone take this photo to embarrass her maybe?”
“Blackmail would be more like it.”
Ellen wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, what dirty little secrets are held by the Navy if that’s so, huh?”
Grimly, Cochrane said, “The military is comprised of human beings who, just like the civilian population, are capable of things I reckon I’d never even think of. Or could be a civilian episode and have nothing to do with the military. We just don’t know yet.”
“I can see why your work would be such a downer. I’m feeling horrible about this photo, what it will do to Susan’s wonderful career, her reputation.”
“First things first,” Cochrane cautioned. “I reckon we’re going to have to thoroughly search Kane’s office again. NCIS dropped the ball. They should have found this during their search. We’ll take everything we find down to the JAG lab for fingerprint analysis.”
“Maybe NCIS thought that since Susan’s death took place off the naval station, they didn’t have to do a thorough job?”
“I’d hope not. All of us were sloppy, pure and simple.” He retrieved a latex glove from his briefcase and slipped it on his right hand. “When the JAG lab does a complete analysis of this photo, I’d sure as hell like to find a set of prints of someone other than ours or Susan’s on it.”
“We needed a break on this investigation, but I’m not sure I like this one,” Ellen agreed wearily.
Jim reached out and squeezed her hand. He saw the stress in her green eyes. Knowing she was on Susan’s side, he said, “Take it easy, gal. This is your first investigation and you’re getting too personally involved.” Releasing her hand, he added, “So am I, but I’m trying to stay impartial.”
“Thanks for telling me that,” she whispered, feeling deflated. Pushing her hair off her forehead again, she gave Jim a hopeful look. “Do you think JAG forensics will find fingerprints on the photo other than mine?”
“I don’t know. On the way to the office tomorrow morning, I’ll drop this off at the lab. After that, it’s hurry up and wait.”