Redeeming Travis. Kate Welsh
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because I was able to hear the unidentified subject’s voice. From that little snippet of conversation, I’m pretty sure I was able to determine his ethnic background and social placement.”
“And that is?”
“Hispanic, and I would say at best, lower middle class.”
“And what did he say to help you determine all that in—what did you call it—a snippet?”
Tricia squirmed a bit in her seat. “He called Mr. Vance ‘amigo’ and he spoke in accented English. And—” She hesitated but the general motioned with his hand for her to continue. “He told Travis to get a room, sir. Hardly the comment of a gentleman.”
General Fielding coughed. “I see,” he said at last. It looked to her as if he was actually fighting a grin, but she wouldn’t have sworn to it. Charles Fielding was a real hard-liner so a grin during an interview would be a first, she was sure. What she was also sure of was that the three-star general on the other side of the desk didn’t see half of the effect that kiss had had on her and she sincerely thanked God he didn’t.
It was Tricia’s turn to clear her throat before she went on with her explanation. “As soon as both subjects were out of our hearing, I demanded to know what Travis was doing stumbling around in the middle of my investigation. He made reference to legwork for his brother and a friend. Later, I remembered who that friend probably is. Dr. Adam Montgomery is a member of my church. He was working in Venezuela at a clinic when he interrupted a robbery and was shot. He was flown back here for treatment.”
“I remember that story in the news this summer. It was another doctor who shot him. And he made a second attempt here in Colorado Springs. Right?”
She nodded. “A Dr. Valenti turned out to be the perp. And it was more than one more attempt here. But he was killed in the jail by—” she checked her notes”—an inmate named Jorge Jaramillo. Detective Vance saw the note the crime scene investigators found in Major Kelly’s pocket as the break he needed in his investigation of the Diablo problem here in the city.”
“So he involved his brother rather than make official waves?” the general asked.
“It could be that this is Travis Vance’s idea. Adam Montgomery has been a close friend since childhood. Sir, I don’t see us dissuading him. He’s as stubborn as the day is long. And there’s something else.”
The general frowned. “Something else? Major, you aren’t making me a happy man.”
Sighing, Tricia said, “I know that, sir. And I apologize for disappointing you. A little while ago I was tailing General Hadley. He met with Maxwell Vance at the academy.”
“Another brother?”
She shook her head. “Their father. It could have been innocent but…well, sir, I’m concerned. The general seemed agitated. Mr. Vance was cool and calm.”
“What is your take on General Hadley?”
“I don’t think he’s a stupid man,” she said, not wanting to condemn a senior officer without proof. “And he seems to meet excessively with the Buccaneers…that is with most of the seven pilots who co-own the F-100.”
“It was a lucky break Captain Johnston was more loyal to the Air Force than the other Buccaneers and decided to approach Major Kelly. I shudder to think how long this might have gone on with no one the wiser.”
“Ian—Major Kelly—logged several flights for each of the Buccaneers in the past four months since they transferred here. And Captain Taylor took the duffel bag with him off the flight line to the general’s office, though he did leave it locked in his vehicle during their meeting.”
“Are you convinced of Hadley’s guilt, too? Don’t pull punches. You’re my eyes and ears out there, Major. I want your opinion.”
“He’s up to his bull neck, sir.”
“Then you get out there and nail him. I want an airtight case. If he killed Ian Kelly, I want a front seat at his execution. What about Maxwell Vance? Is he Hadley’s contact with Diablo?”
Once again her training helped Tricia keep from wincing at the thought, but her conscience forced her to add a qualifier. “I couldn’t say, sir. He is, however, a respected member of the community as well as my church.”
“I seem to remember hearing about a certain nationally known preacher who had his hand in the till not that long ago, so I don’t think church attendance proves anything.”
“But my church is—”
“Not my concern,” General Fielding growled. “Leave your faith in God and in your fellow man at that front gate, Major. You have a job to do and I expect you to do it sans religious blinders. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, acknowledging the order, but at the same time planning ways to share her faith with a man she’d seen as a father figure from their first meeting. He really didn’t understand what faith in God could mean.
“Now, what about his sons?” the general said. “If their old man is up to no good, are they? Or would they try to cover for Maxwell Vance if they learned he was?”
Tricia stiffened. “Absolutely not, sir,” she said, a little outrage showing on behalf of both brothers.
That arching eyebrow climbed his forehead a notch. “You seem very sure of that. Members of your church again?”
“Detective Vance is, yes. He’s a soloist with our praise choir. But he’s trying to find out more about Diablo himself. And as far as I know, Travis Vance hasn’t darkened the door of a church in ten years. But I do know these two men. They’d never break the law.”
“I think you’re letting personal issues cloud your judgment. I do, however, see your point about Travis Vance causing problems if he’s out there on his own and in the dark about what it is you’re up to. And I don’t want anyone destroying evidence, so here’s what I want you to do….”
Chapter Three
Travis pivoted left, keeping one foot firmly planted then faked back, trying to get away from his attacker. It was a successful move, but his opponent was a cagey, free-thinker from way back. In a blink, he was there blocking Travis’s path. His standard five-second window of opportunity was nearly up, so he faked left, then whirled right. He took his shot and buried the opposition.
“Score, little brother. Twenty–sixteen. Age and experience win out once again.”
Sam was bent at the waist, sweat soaking his shirt in spite of the cool October temperature. “I’m just out of practice,” he huffed. “Too much rich food, I guess.”
“I’ll remember to thank Jessica,” Travis said, grinning as he snatched up two old towels they’d left on a bench near the driveway.
“I’ll get you next time, big brother.” Sam stood straight and winced as he caught the towel Travis tossed toward him. “Or the time after that. How come you just get harder to beat? You’re older. You’re supposed to fall apart and this is finally supposed to get easier.”
Travis grinned. “In your dreams, bro. So, are you going to pretend you didn’t know Patricia Streeter was the Air Force investigator who took over your murder case?”
“Why should I?” Sam asked, apparently a bit amazed by the question. “You’ve been telling Mom for months Tricia was ancient history. Is there a reason I should have mentioned it?”
For a long moment Travis could only stare at Sam. Caught, he could neither press his brother for his reason for keeping silent nor could he protest the fact that he had. Not without revealing the embarrassing truth that he’d been carrying a secret torch for his ex-girlfriend for years—right through his marriage to Allison.
He shrugged, reaching for nonchalance. “No. I just thought you might have thought to mention it in passing.