Page 3 of Concrete Evidence
Avery repeated the phrase, like they’d done since she was a toddler. Her heart ached for what she feared her hero might have done.Think.What had she witnessed?
She checked her texts. Craig had responded to her voice mail about the last construction project.
We used materials in the warehouse for the foundation.
The morning’s uneasiness seemed like a cakewalk compared to now. His explanation made sense, and she thanked him in a voice text. If the auditors questioned the invoice, she’d point to the warehouse records. It seemed meaningless now.
Who was the dead man, and why had he been shot?
“Sweet girl, never pull a gun unless you or someone you love is in danger. Then don’t hesitate.”
3
THE LARGEST POPULATION IN PINE, TEXAS,shared the same address—the cemetery. Today a fresh grave added one more resident to the plot records. The sun exploded across the fiery Texas sky. Probably not a good sign for FBI Special Agent Marc Wilkins’s dead father. The man had deserted Marc and his mother too many years to count, leaving them to survive on food stamps and a pitiful child-support check.
Marc placed his arm around his mother’s thin waist, damp from her black dress in the blistering heat. She laid her head on his shoulder, and her quiet sobs mystified him. She still loved his father despite the wasted years between them. The best thing his father had ever done was to pack up and never return.
Marc kissed her cheek. Perhaps her tears were regret for what she’d dreamed her marriage might have been.
He turned his attention to the committal service. The militarychaplain recited a list of Colonel Abbott Wilkins’s achievements and commended his exemplary career. All that led to his appointment in the US Army Corps of Engineers. Many people gathered to honor a man who was married to the Army before he said, “I do” to Marc’s mother.
Mom flinched at the sound of each volley salute from the rifle party. At his father’s level, he could have been buried with all the military honors due his rank, but his instructions were to provide only the basic elements due every veteran who had served their country faithfully. After the playing of taps, the honor guard ceremoniously inserted three spent shells—symbolizing duty, honor, and country—into the flag and presented it to his mother, whom his father had never divorced.
“On behalf of the president of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.”
Mom took the flag, and the ceremony ended soon afterward. Marc stood by her while the attendants offered polite condolences, supporting her as he’d always done in his father’s absence. When the last vehicle drove away, he escorted her to his car.
“I’m right here with you.” He wanted to add “unlike your husband,” but Marc needed to harness his bitterness. A lump rose in his throat. Where did that come from? He opened the passenger door, and she slid in. Even the click of the seat belt signified finality.
He drove toward her small subdivision north of Houston. At least Mom was accustomed to living alone.
“How long can you stay?” She choked out the words.
“I took the rest of the week off.”
She arched her shoulders. “Your father’s heart was in excellent condition. Someone killed him.”
“Oh, Mom. I know you’re grieving. But he died of a heart attack.”
She moistened her lips as though gaining courage to speak. “Twoweeks ago, he forwarded me his yearly checkup. Blood work. Heart tests. Everything. Nothing indicated any health issues.”
“Why send it to you?”
Mom stiffened. “Marc, you won’t like what I’m about to say.”
He gripped the steering wheel. Would she claim his father had been misunderstood? “Go ahead.”
“Your father and I had been talking. He regretted all the years his career came before me, before his family. He asked for another chance.”
Ironically, his father realized at age sixty-eight that he needed to settle down with the beautiful woman he’d married forty years ago while on military leave. “You agreed?”
“If we attended marriage counseling and proceeded slowly.”
“Okay. I’m glad for your sake he made an initiative to rectify his mistakes.”
“Don’t talk professional jargon to me. I’m not finished.”
He swung her a compassionate look. “Go on. Sorry to sound callous.”
