swallowed hard and took in the present-day scene that contrasted sharply with the tranquility of the rural Amish community where he had chosen to live specifically because of its peaceful setting.
Eleven years in the military, with the last six in the army’s Criminal Investigation Division, had accustomed him to sirens and flashing lights at the crime scenes he investigated, but when the caravan of police cruisers turned into the driveway next door, Tyler’s mouth soured as thoughts from his youth returned. Once again, violence was striking too close to home.
Leaving his computer, he hurried into the kitchen, grabbed his SIG Sauer and law enforcement identification before he shrugged into his CID windbreaker and stepped outside. The cool night air swirled around him. He hustled across the grassy knoll that separated his modest three-bedroom ranch with the historic home next door.
The flashing lights from the lineup of police cars bathed the stately Greek revival in an eerie strobe effect. The house, with its columned porch and pedimental gable, dated from before the Civil War when life wasn’t filled with shrill sounds and pulsating light.
Men in blue swarmed the front lawn. Others hustled toward the field behind the main house. A woman stood on the porch, next to one of the classical white columns. Her arms hung limp at her sides. She was tall and slender with chestnut hair that swept over her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes—caught in the glare—were wide with worry as she stared at the chaos unfolding before her.
Gauging from the number of law enforcement officials who had responded, something significant had gone down. For a moment, Tyler switched out of cop mode and considered the plight of the stoic figure on the porch. Whatever had happened tonight would surely affect her life, and not for the better. Ty was all too aware that everything could change in the blink of an eye. Or the swerve of an oncoming car.
Approaching a tall officer in his midthirties who seemed in charge, Ty held up his identification. “Special Agent Tyler Zimmerman. I’m with the CID at Fort Rickman.”
The guy stuck out his hand. “You’ve saved me a phone call to post. Name’s Brian Phillips.”
He pointed to a second man who approached. “This is Officer Steve Inman.”
Tyler extended his hand and then pointed to his house. “I live next door and saw your lights. I wondered if you needed any assistance.”
“Appreciate your willingness to get involved,” Inman said with a nod.
“You probably know that the owner of the house, a retired sergeant major named Jeffrey Harris, died ten days ago,” Ty volunteered.
“I remember when the call came in about his body being found.” Phillips pursed his lips. “Seems he lost his footing on a hill at the rear of his property and fell to his death. Terrible shame. Now this.”
Tyler pointed to the forlorn figure on the porch. “Who’s the woman?”
“Carrie York. Evidently she’s the estranged daughter of the deceased home owner.” The taller cop glanced down at a notepad he held. “Ms. York called 911 at twelve-thirty a.m. She had arrived at her father’s house approximately six hours earlier after traveling from her home in Washington, DC. She was asleep when her father’s dog alerted her to the body. Supposedly the deceased is in uniform.”
“Army?”
“Camo of some sort. Could be a hunter for all we know. Some of my men secured the crime scene. I’m headed there now. You’re welcome to join me.”
“Thanks for the offer.”
Phillips turned to Inman. “Get Reynolds and question Ms. York. See what you can find out.”
“Will do.” Inman motioned to another officer and the twosome hustled toward the porch, climbed the steps and approached the woman. She acknowledged them with a nod and then glanced at Tyler as he fell in step with Phillips and passed in front of the house.
In the glare of the pulsing lights, she looked pale and drawn. A stiff breeze tugged at her hair. She turned her face into the wind while her gaze remained locked on Tyler.
Warmth stirred within him, and a tightness hitched his chest. The woman’s hollow stare struck a chord deep within him. Maybe it was the resignation on her face. Or fatigue, mixed with a hint of fear. Death was never pretty. Especially for a newcomer far from home and surrounded by strangers.
He dipped his chin in acknowledgment before he and Phillips rounded the corner of the house and headed toward the field of tall grass that stretched before them.
“How well did you know your neighbor?” Phillips fixed his gaze on the crime scene ahead.
“Not well. I’m new to the area. We exchanged pleasantries a few times. The sergeant major seemed like a nice guy, quiet, stayed to himself.”
Tyler had spent the last month and a half focused on his job, leaving his house early each morning and returning after dark. Being new to post and getting acclimated into his assignment didn’t leave time for socializing with the neighbors.
The cop glanced left and pointed to the Amish farm house on the adjoining property. “What about the other neighbors?”
“Isaac Lapp’s a farmer. He and his wife and their eight-year-old son are visiting relatives in Florida.”
“Probably for the best, especially so for the boy’s sake. No kid should witness a violent death.”
Tyler’s chest constricted. Without bidding, the memory returned. His father’s lifeless body, the mangled car, the stench of gasoline and spilled blood. He blew out a stiff breath and worked his way back to the present. Why were the memories returning tonight?
Two officers had already cordoned off an area near the rear of the field and stood aside as Ty and Phillips approached. Ducking under the crime scene tape, they headed to where battery-operated lights illuminated the body. The victim lay on his side, his back to them. No mistaking the digital pattern of the Army Combat Uniform or the desert boots spattered with blood.
Grass had been trampled down as if there’d been a struggle. The earth was saturated with blood. The acrid smell of copper and the stench of death filled the night.
Ty circled the body until he could see the guy’s face and the gaping wound to his neck. He paused for a long moment, taking in the ghastly sight of man’s inhumanity. What kind of person would slice another man’s throat?
The victim’s hands were scraped. His left index finger was bare, but then not all married guys wore rings. Blood had pooled around his head.
Ty hunched down to get a closer view. Fellows, the military name tag read. The 101st Airborne patch on his right sleeve indicated he had served with the Screaming Eagles in combat. The rank of corporal was velcroed on his chest. The patch on his left arm identified that he was currently assigned to the engineer battalion at Fort Rickman.
“Looks like he’s one of ours.” Tyler stood and glanced at Phillips. “I’ll contact the CID on post as well as his unit.”
Pulling his business card from his pocket, Tyler handed it to the cop. “Let me know what your crime scene folks find. I’d like a moment with Ms. York as soon as Officers Inman and Reynolds end their questioning.”
“No
