Page 17 of Concrete Evidence
Now the secretary was a “we.” “Who is your superior?”
“That would be Colonel Wilkins.”
Irritation wanted to lash out, but Marc contained it. “Who is your superior now?”
“Excuse me one moment.”
Another man picked up the phone and introduced himself as Lieutenant Shipley, the officer whom Mom claimed had attended the funeral. “Agent Wilkins, we shook hands, but there was a long line at your father’s service, and I don’t recall any introductions. I’m sorry for your loss. Regarding your question, under no circumstances can we release information over the phone about any member of the Army Corps.”
Marc stated his position with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, gave him his FBI ID, and waited. Lieutenant Shipley placed him on hold. Another five minutes elapsed before he returned. Marc learned he’d been approved and repeated his request.
“We believe the man you are looking for is Liam Zachary.”
“I’d like his phone number.”
Lieutenant Shipley responded.
Marc compared the number with the one Mom had given him. Same one. “Sir, do you have another contact number for Mr. Zachary? This one’s voice mail box is full.”
“No.”
“Can you connect me to his desk?”
“He’s not here today.”
“I’m assuming he’s a civilian?”
“Yes, the corps doesn’t require enlistment to be part of the team.”
“What projects were they working on together?”
“That’s classified.”
Never hurt to ask. “If I need a face-to-face at the Fort Worth location, would you be the contact person?”
“Yes.”
“In the meantime, if you hear from Mr. Zachary, would you let him know I’m trying to reach him?”
Lieutenant Shipley agreed. “Hold on a moment. I just got an update on him. Hold on while I read this.” A few moments later, Shipley sighed. “This is tragic news. Montgomery County Sheriff’s Office found Liam Zachary’s body. They received an anonymous call alerting them to a body dumped alongside a road. Shot in the chest. Our CID will get to the bottom of this.”
The Army Criminal Investigation Division had jurisdiction, and the FBI wouldn’t be involved unless CID requested it. “I’m not a man who believes in coincidences, Lieutenant. You’re dealing with two men who worked together and are now dead within a few days of each other. Don’t you find that more than random? Perhaps their assignments might be a good starting point.”
“Colonel Wilkins suffered a heart attack. Zachary was murdered. Neither death resembles the other.”
The conclusion sounded harsh to Marc. “Thank you for your time. I’m sure the Army will find the evidence needed for an arrest.” Marc laid his phone on the desk and leaned back in his chair. With Zachary’s death, Mom’s suspicions regarding his father’s passing held more weight.
What were the two men working on that might have gotten them killed?
12
MIDMORNING, AVERY STOPPED AT WALMARTin northwest Houston, like she’d done for years, following Granddad’s instructions. She purchased a laptop, prepaid burner phone, a case of water, box of whole-grain crackers, jar of almond butter, bananas, two microwave containers of chicken noodle soup, a pair of scissors, and a two-liter bottle of diet ginger ale. Without enough cash to purchase the needed devices, she used her credit card. No doubt the purchase would be traced, like her Mercedes’s license plate. But some tasks were impossible to disguise on such short notice. An upset stomach lurked in the foreground, and she fought the queasiness with the warm soda and a few crackers.
In the restroom at a nearby gas station, she pulled out her phone, stomped on it, and wrapped what was left in wet paper towels. She buried her device’s remains in the trash. The SIM card stayed intact in her purse until a later stop where she used scissors to destroy thetiny card, then tossed them both. Those action steps calmed her nerves—slightly.
By the time Avery checked into an extended-stay hotel on Highway290, exhaustion screamed from every cell in her body. The hotel had her credit card, driver’s license, and license plate numbers. She patted her shoulder bag holding her Sig.
Once unpacked, she brewed coffee and nibbled on crackers. A clock radio on the bedroom nightstand caught her attention, and she turned it to Granddad’s favorite country-western station. A habit. Rascal Flatts crooned a ballad, and she let the lyrics and music distract her while she stretched out on the bed. Soon the aroma of coffee drew her to pour a mug and savor the nutty flavor. A few more songs, and news interrupted her mind’s bypass. She’d not be guilty of ignoring what was going on in the world. Even if she didn’t like what she heard.
