were in their squads and spread out in a V formation, moving forward.”
“How far apart were they?”
Phil shrugged. “Roughly eight to ten meters.”
“And the other two platoons?”
“Were positioned farther east.”
“Too far away to have shot into the First Platoon?”
“It’s unlikely.”
“But could have happened?” she pressed.
He nodded, his lips tight. “Yes, but as I mentioned, highly unlikely.”
“Which means the shooter is probably one of the men in First Platoon.”
The captain bristled. “This was a training accident, Agent McQueen. The soldier who accidentally dislodged a bullet that hit Corporal Taylor is not a shooter.”
“Yet one of the guns fired the deadly round.”
“Accidentally.”
She tilted her head. “Are you sure of that, Captain?”
“Ma’am, most of the men in this unit just returned from a year in combat. They are well trained and competent. I’d stake my life on any of them.”
She glanced at the soldier on the ground. “Regrettably, Corporal Taylor can’t say the same.”
Once again, they seemed at have hit an impasse. Attempting to give them both space, she walked to where the medical examiner knelt over the body. Her heart went out to the corporal, who didn’t deserve to have his life end on a dusty army range in South Georgia.
Jamison approached her. His voice was low when he spoke. “The doc will have the bullet for us after the autopsy tomorrow. I called our lab at Fort Gillam and told them we’d need ballistics run.”
Kelly nodded her approval as Jamison continued. “Once the lab comes up with a match, we’ll have the serial number of the weapon that fired the bullet and the name of the soldier to whom the rifle had been issued.”
Just as Jamison had mentioned, the investigation should be fairly straightforward, but complications were a fact of life when a death was involved. Uncovering the real reason a soldier had died could turn into a lengthy process.
She watched Phil give orders to his executive officer and first sergeant about securing the weapons and locking them in the arms room. Up close and personal, the captain was even better-looking than Kelly had realized. The eyes clinched the deal, along with the dimples that must be killers when he smiled. Not that he was smiling this evening. His rugged face was lined with concern and an underpinning of grief.
No doubt he felt for the loss of his soldier’s life, but he also had to know his own career was on the line. If the captain had made a mistake, he’d be disciplined as well as the shooter. Phil had a reputation for being the pretty boy on post with the ladies and the man most likely to be promoted above his peers. Maybe the poster boy of Fort Rickman knew his moment of glory was coming to an end.
“With some luck, we might have this investigation under wraps within a few days,” Kelly told Jamison. Then she could say goodbye and good riddance to Captain Thibodeaux. Until then, she had to be careful.
She knew all too well that a handsome face could turn a girl’s heart. Her mother had been a perfect example. At least Kelly had enough sense to stay away from guys who promised everything and gave nothing but heartache in return.
The memory of her Cajun dad bubbled up like rancid oil. Kelly wouldn’t take pity on anyone, even a handsome captain who, at this particular moment, looked like he needed a friend.
TWO
Phil glanced at the clock on the wall as he entered his company headquarters. Eight o’clock. He and Agent McQueen had talked to the unit as a whole. Both of them had addressed the terrible tragedy and the need to find out what had happened. Phil had encouraged the men to confide in their platoon leaders, squad leaders and the battalion chaplain. Tomorrow they would spend one-on-one time with each man in hopes of learning more.
Kelly had been supportive through it all, which Phil appreciated. Maybe having her in charge of the investigation wouldn’t be a complication after all.
The next priority was to notify Mrs. Taylor of her husband’s death. The wives had been briefed before the company road-marched to the field four days ago about the time of the unit’s return to post. None of the family members expected their soldiers to be released from duty for another two hours.
Still, Phil wanted the chaplain and Taylor’s platoon leader on the road as fast as possible to notify the corporal’s next of kin. Phil wanted to be there, as well.
Currently, the special agent was overseeing the turn-in of weapons in the arms rooms. The serial number on each rifle would be checked and double-checked. She had mentioned returning to CID headquarters once the firearms were under lock and key.
If he had noticed one thing about the special agent tonight, it was that she was thorough. Her attention to detail had given him confidence the investigation would be handled by the book.
Earlier he had feared Kelly might be a distraction, but she understood the work that needed to be done, for which he was grateful. Cute as she was, the woman seemed keenly aware of the SOP—standard operation procedure—for the company and in no way hampered Phil’s leadership or got in the way of the men doing their jobs.
As far as he could tell, she realized everyone was stretched thin from the four-day field exercise prior to live fire, and although she hadn’t verbalized her opinion, she must have known their fatigue could have played into the incident today.
The battalion chaplain was on his way over to the company. A new guy named Sanchez, who’d recently transferred into post.
Together, along with Lieutenant Carl Bellows, a slender twenty-three-year-old who was in charge of First Platoon, the three officers would break the news to Mrs. Taylor. Not something to look forward to doing tonight, or any night for that matter.
Letting out a deep breath, Phil stepped into the latrine and slapped cold water on his face. Tired eyes stared back at him from the mirror. What would he tell Mrs. Taylor about her husband’s death? Hopefully, the chaplain would offer the comfort Phil didn’t know if he could provide tonight. All he knew was that Taylor shouldn’t have died.
As he stepped from the latrine, the first sergeant approached him. “Sir, Chaplain Roger Sanchez is waiting in your office.”
The chaplain stood about five-ten, with a square face and stocky build, and had new-to-the-army written all over him. He held a Bible in his left hand and accepted Phil’s handshake with his right.
“Chaplain, thanks for helping me out this evening.”
“No problem, sir.”
Phil almost smiled. “Is Fort Rickman your first assignment?”
Sanchez nodded. “After Chaplains School.”
“Good to have you with us. First rule to remember,
