but the lead detective’s focus was on the window. Sharkey appeared to be looking past the question. Without answering, Sharkey then shot McAlister a quizzical stare. They walked out of the office and went down the stairs in silence. Crossing the street, the detectives trudged toward the Monument. Officers fanned out, searching the perimeter of the crime scene. McAlister could feel Sharkey’s eyes trained on him.
“Trust me on this one, Jim Bob. A woman with that much beauty and brain don’t come much deadlier, “ Sharkey said, watching the officers check the crime scene.
“So, your early conclusion is that Diana King is somehow involved in her husband’s murder?” McAlister asked.
“My only question is how involved is she?”
The detectives conducted a lengthy walk-through of the crime area. After a thorough examination, the police were unable to find any other evidence. They curtailed their search. It appeared that the killer was meticulous in covering all tracks and vanished into the Sunday night.
“Well, I’ll be damn, another dead end,” Sharkey said, walking back to the car.
“Yes, as you said, this was cleanly done,” McAlister agreed.
“Too clean. I guess we’ll have to wait to talk to the good doctor for any leads.”
“I reckon… So far, Dr. King seems pretty open to answering the questions.”
Sitting inside the unmarked Chevy, Sharkey glanced at his younger partner before starting the engine. Then he said, “Jim Bob, from as way back as biblical times women have always ruled men. They’re the true rulers because they’ve got something we want…”
McAlister stared at Sharkey in silence. All the time, he was aware of the badge of inquiry Sharkey wore on his face. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, Sharkey’s mind was going a hundred miles an hour, and he couldn’t put the brakes on it. An uneasy feeling passed between the two detectives. McAlister didn’t know what Sharkey had up his sleeve, but nothing surprised him. Before teaming up with Sharkey, others from the department warned him about the senior detective tendency to go off on tangents. McAlister shook his head and stared at the road ahead.
CHAPTER
2
Raindrops pelted the roof of his house. The early morning thunderstorm found General Dan Mason, a commander at Fort Rucker Aviation School, picking up his house phone. A commander of the U.S. Army Aviation School duties and responsibilities included informing next of kin about a loved one’s death. A daunting task, Mason hated to perform because it was emotionally grueling.
Due to ongoing combat operations in the Gulf War, soldiers were losing their lives, and these calls were at times appeared routine. Even though this was an ugly side of the war, and Mason executed the duty many times before, he was still dreading making the call. Colonel Mason would generally make a call of this nature from his office on base. However, things were very much different on this occasion.
During combat operations in Operation Desert Storm, Mason served with the victim’s father. They had served on the battlefront together. Dan Mason was a helicopter pilot back in Desert Storm, and King at the time was colonel and commander of a tank battalion. The two had collaborated on many missions. Being more than familiar with the deceased soldier’s family made this a nearly impossible task. Under the tearful scrutiny of his wife, Joanne, General Mason’s hands trembled as his shaky fingers began dialing. It was like this was his first time.
Home in suburban D.C., King sat reading, his phone rang. King picked it up and glanced at the time. An uneasiness in his stomach swelled. What was the emergency? Vaughn King thought when he heard the voice on the other end.
“Hello…Vaughn…”
An old friend was calling after three in the morning. Dan Mason’s voice was stoic and did not bear the usual excitement. Looking incredulously at the phone in his hand, King felt his stomach churning. He cleared his throat, swallowed hard, and answered.
“Hello, Dan. How are you, old man?” Vaughn King said.
“Vaughn… I’m not so bad. But…”
“But what, Dan…?”
“Ah…”
“I know you didn’t just call to check up on me at oh-dark-thirty hours in the morning, Dan… What’s the damn emergency?” King asked.
“Vaughn, you better hop on the next plane and get down here as fast as you can,” Mason said.
“What’s wrong, Dan? It’s three in the morning…”
“It’s your son, Vaughn.”
“What happened…? An accident…? Was he flying…?”
“No, but you best get on the next plane down here to—”
“Dammit, Dan! I’m ordering you to tell me right now! What’s going on?”
“Someone shot your son—”
“What…? Is he…?”
“I’m sorry, Vaughn.”
“Dammit! Give it to me straight, Dan.”
“Someone tried to rob him. He fought back, and the robber him shot three times. According to the doctors, one of the bullets perforated a blood vessel in his heart, causing massive hemorrhaging, resulting in internal bleeding. Vaughn, they couldn’t save. He lost too much blood—”
“Okay, okay. Dan, thank you,” the senior King loudly sighed. “I’ll leave right away,” King said. “How’s his wife? How’s Diana?”
“Thank God, she was unharmed. She was upstairs in her office when the incident happened. She was with him when the ambulance arrived. The police briefly questioned her. And detectives from Enterprise made sure she got home safely. They’ll have a more in-depth interview with her later in the morning.”
“I want our people from the CID keeping tabs on the investigation, Dan.”
“Vaughn, that’s what I did. We’ve already assigned one of our best.”
“It happened off-post, huh?”
“Yes…Enterprise…near the boll-weevil Monument—”
“All right, Dan…”
Shell-shocked by the dire news, the senior King gently set the phone in the cradle. He calmly sat back at his desk. The elder King remained silent, staring at the photos adorning his desk. Snapshots of family and friends caught in different settings. The retired general’s face twisted with the raw emotions running inside when his eyes found a picture of him and his son. They were both outfitted in army dress white uniforms.
His trembling fingers traced the outline of the picture frame. The photo, taken back in 1998, awoke King’s memory. He remembered being at a social function given for his son’s graduation from West Point. King stared at the face of his twenty-one years old son. They were both holding victory cigars, regaling in a celebration caused by his son’s success. The picture, along with thoughts of his son, took his cloudy
