Person of Interest. Debby Giusti

TWO

      Natalie ran back to the Joneses’ quarters, unable to take in more of the death scene. The horrendous sight stuck in her mind, and she couldn’t erase the image of the woman lying at the bottom on the stairs.

      Seeing who clutched the woman’s bloodied body was even more unsettling. She hadn’t expected Mason Yates to be the neighbor next door. Her stomach rolled, recalling his steely eyes and accusing glare that brought back memories she wanted to forget.

      Locking the door behind her, Natalie raced to the downstairs half bath and ran water in the sink. Pumping a large dollop of liquid soap into her palm, she lathered her hands and tried to wash off the blood she kept seeing.

      Although she hadn’t entered the Yateses’ quarters, she felt soiled and defiled. Scrubbing with soap and rinsing her hands in the hot tap water did little to change the feeling.

      Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror. Black hair, still damp with rain, tumbled around her shoulders in disarray, and her eyes, puffy from her earlier sleep, appeared as anxious as she felt.

      Worried about the baby, she dried her hands and raced upstairs, trying to keep her footfalls light. She felt vulnerable, knowing the men on the opposite side of the wall would hear her as she climbed the stairs.

      Relieved to find Sofia still asleep, Natalie rubbed the back of her hand over the baby’s soft cheek, needing contact with goodness and purity after what she’d seen.

      She shook her head and tried to calm her racing heart, but all she could think of was the woman who had died. Her mouth gaped open as if the scream Natalie had heard had carried down the stairs with her. Death was supposed to be peaceful, but the neighbor’s death had been anything but.

      Blood was smeared along the wall and down the stairs, pooling under her head. The sights had brought back too many memories of another woman who had died in Germany. The similarity was frightening.

      Hurrying downstairs, Natalie stopped in the foyer and shivered, realizing she was standing in the exact spot where the victim’s body lay in Quarters B. Sirens sounded in the distance, and flashing lights filtered through the gauze curtains.

      She glanced out the window. Two military police squad cars pulled to the curb. An ambulance followed. The medical personnel were too late to save the woman and would, instead, transport her body to the morgue.

      A knock sounded at the door.

      Swallowing the lump that filled her throat, Natalie peered through the peephole. The CID special agent she’d spoken with earlier stood on the porch.

      Needing to control her emotions, she ran her fingers through her hair and sighed, thinking of the tangled web into which she’d stepped.

      If only she could turn to God, but He’d never taken an interest in her. Not in Detroit growing up, not with a mother whose care bordered on abuse, not with a father who liked the bottle more than he liked his only child. God hadn’t helped her then. He wouldn’t help her now.

      Her breath hitched when she opened the door. Earlier, she hadn’t realized how broad the special agent’s shoulders were or the deep brown of his eyes. Even through the screen door, they appeared rimmed with concern. She couldn’t let down her guard, no matter how sympathetic the agent seemed.

      She had to be strong and take care of herself.

      She’d done it before. She could do it again.

      At least, she hoped she could.

      Plus, she couldn’t let anything or anyone harm Sofia. The baby’s needs came before her own, and Sofia’s safety was Natalie’s main concern for the next two weeks.

      * * *

      Despite the tragic crime scene Everett had just left, he couldn’t help but be taken in by the woman who answered his knock at Quarters 324-A. She was pretty, with dark brows and pensive eyes, a slender nose and full cheeks now pale and drawn, like her mouth. Even her shoulders seemed weighted down, no doubt from what she’d seen. Death was never pretty, and Mrs. Yates’s life had come to a traumatic end.

      While the ME tended to the body and the crime-scene team looked for evidence, Everett needed to question the neighbor.

      Frank was continuing to quiz Mason. He had been running in the training area when his wife had fallen to her death.

      In shock and visibly grieving, Mason had been forthcoming about the evening he and Mrs. Yates had spent together. She had prepared a light meal, they had watched a favorite TV show, and soon thereafter, he had left, as he often did, for a nighttime jog. From the many photos displayed in the home, they appeared to have been a loving couple, but things weren’t always as they seemed.

      Case in point, the attractive woman staring at Everett through the screen door. She appeared totally confused and upset. Had she seen or heard more than raised voices and thumps against the wall?

      Although he had introduced himself earlier, he doubted the woman had focused on his name when she was worried about her neighbor. Again, he held up his badge. Following protocol was always good, especially tonight when a woman had died so tragically.

      “Everett Kohl, Criminal Investigation Division. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

      She pushed open the screen door. “Come in.”

      The house was tidy and nicely furnished with a leather couch and two chairs covered in a flowered pattern.

      A number of side tables held pretty knickknacks and photos of a baby. “Your child?”

      She shook her head. “Sofia’s the daughter of Lieutenant Terrance Jones and his wife, Wanda. She’s also a lieutenant.”

      “You’re visiting the Joneses?”

      “I’m the nanny, at least for the next two weeks. Wanda’s TDY at Fort Hood.”

      “What about her husband?”

      “He’s deployed to Afghanistan.” She pointed him toward the living area. “Shall we sit down? I have a feeling this might take time.”

      “Hopefully not too long.” He lowered himself onto the couch. The leather was cool to his touch. He drew a tablet and pen from the pocket of his jacket. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take a few notes.”

      “Of course.”

      “Let’s start with your name.”

      “Natalie Frazier. I’m prior military, served for six years and now live in Freemont.”

      “Marital status?”

      “I’m single.”

      She seemed willing to provide information. A good sign. “You said you were caring for the Joneses’ daughter.”

      “That’s right.”

      “You work as a nanny?”

      “I started this morning as a favor to Wanda. She’s taking an army training class at Fort Hood that begins in a few days and didn’t have anyone to care for her child. I’m finishing the last course for my teaching degree and hope to find a job in the local schools. The nanny position came at the right time.”

      He noticed the textbook on the coffee table. “How did you meet Lieutenant Jones?”

      “We knew each other in Germany. That was my last duty station. Wanda and I were both taking night classes for our degrees. I transferred back to Fort Rickman, liked the area and decided not to reenlist.”

      “And home is?”

      She stared at him as if she didn’t understand. “Freemont is currently my home. I live at 2010 Pinegate Circle. You probably want my phone number.”

      He nodded, made note of the cell number she provided and then rephrased his earlier question.

      “Where