Page 11

The New York State University campus in Delhi was—like the county building the day before—many different things rolled into one.

It was about the same size as the county building and contained an administration wing, admission offices, a nurse’s office and a mental health counselor’s suite, a single lab that looked like it served the needs of several different applied sciences, and a half-dozen classrooms no doubt used by several of the different programs offered by the university.

James Furlong was one half of the Archaeology Department at the campus.

The other half, of course, was Dr. Winters.

Dr. Furlong was the opposite of Dr. Winters in just about every way.

Anna was tall and statuesque with movie-star features, a kind but strong personality and a genuine empathy for others.

What they knew of James so far suggested that he was a stereotypically irritable academic misanthrope, and what they could see of him—Faith hated to say it—wasn’t exactly easy on the eyes.

When Furlong saw the agents, his beady eyes narrowed, and his face pinched into a scowl. Faith could tell already that this was going to be an interesting conversation.

“Who said you could come in here?” he barked when the three agents stepped into his office. “And you brought a dog? Are you serious? There are artifacts in here that are hundreds of years old.”

“In your office?” Michael asked.

“Where do you keep things that you work on?” James sneered.

Faith decided to nip his bad attitude in the bud.

“I’m Special Agent Faith Bold, FBI. This is Special Agent Michael Prince.

Special Agent, by the way, is an excellent way to address us.

This is our K9 unit, Turk. You don’t have to talk to him, but you should be aware that he’s not very fond of assholes. ”

James blinked, stunned but also confused. “What? What the hell is this about?”

“The murder of Paul Martinez.”

“Paul Martin… Ah.”

His demeanor changed. He sighed and dropped into a high-backed desk chair that squealed in protest at the sudden weight. “Now I get it.”

“Get what?”

James sighed. “Well, this isn’t a very big community. He and I were both veterans, and I can’t imagine that anyone seemed to have it in for him. By all accounts, he was very popular.”

“Did you know him?” Michael asked.

“No. I knew of him because the paper runs a special on military veterans in the community every year, and he featured prominently this year.” James chuckled. “I got a three-sentence blurb, and he got an article. You guys can come inside, by the way.”

The three of them entered the small, crowded office.

As James warned, the office was filled with objects ranging from small hand-carved figurines to shards of pottery to bits of cloth.

All of the objects were encased in glass with notes written near them explaining what they were and where and when they had been found.

“You must have been frustrated to see that,” Michael said, referring to the article. “After all, you fought just as hard as he did.”

James chuckled bitterly. “Well, the Daily probably thought a story about being lured into an ambush and watching my entire platoon get cut to pieces wasn’t exactly an inspiring one.

Not that I blame them. I’d much rather read about the decorated Combat Controller who made sure that people like me had air support when they needed it. ”

“I thought you said you didn’t know Paul,” Faith said.

“I didn’t. But I read about him. He was a real hero.”

They might actually be onto something with him. Faith crossed her arms and said, “If you don’t mind me saying so, James, you sound a bit jealous of Paul.”

James met her eyes. “Of course I was. Like your partner said, I fought just as hard. I put my all into my job. When my platoon was ambushed, I fought so hard that when they found me, my hand had frozen shut around my rifle. They had to inject me with epinephrine to get my hand to relax enough to drop the gun. But”—he lifted his hands, palm upright—“I failed. They all died. All except me. You can’t convince people that you’re a hero when you survive, and your men end up in body bags. ”

“People do a lot of crazy things when they’re jealous,” Michael said. “Including murder other people.”

James scoffed, and the sneer came back to his voice.

“You think I killed a stranger because he was a better soldier than I was? Buddy, you can throw a rock into an Army base, and the grunt it hits in the head is going to wake up from brain surgery a better soldier than I was. If I wanted to kill a soldier, it could have been anyone.”

“Why do you say you were a bad soldier?”

His lower lip trembled. “Why is that relevant? I’m just saying that being jealous of someone’s success on the battlefield isn’t a reason I would kill them.”

“Do you have a reason to kill someone?” Michael asked.

James sighed. “Look, I’ve been an archaeologist for over a decade now. I’m well-respected in my field. I’ve authored numerous peer-reviewed articles on the Iroquois Confederacy, the Delaware Nation, the First Nations, and even the Plains Indians.”

“Not as respected as Anna Winters, though, huh?” Michael pointed out. “She got picked to lead the dig site at the river. Meanwhile, you’re here cataloguing wooden animals. How did that make you feel?”

James’s eyes narrowed. “You think I killed Paul Martinez because I was pissed at Dr. Naymar for putting Dr. Winters in charge of the excavation?”

“Dr. Naymar is…”

“The head of the Archaeology Department.”

Faith folded her arms. “We’re not accusing you of anything, Dr. Furlong.”

“It sure seems like you are. You asked me if I killed him, and each time I say no, you try to think of a reason why I must be lying.”

“ We just want to know why someone would have killed him,” Faith said. “After all, he was—according to you and everyone else we’ve talked to—a likable guy. So who wanted him dead?”

“And I hate to say it,” Michael added, “but you had a reason. Not a good reason, but people have killed for less. I’m not accusing you, but I’m interested in your thoughts.”

To her surprise, James chuckled. “You want to know my thoughts? I’m a loser. Those are my thoughts. I’m upset that Anna got the job instead of me, but I’m not surprised. I was a shit soldier, and I’m a shit archaeologist.”

“Less than a minute ago, you said you were respected in your field,” Michael pointed out.

“Little hint. When academics say that, what they mean is that they’ve been published enough to keep their jobs and no one’s accused them of embezzlement or an inappropriate relationship with a student yet.”

“You keep saying you were a shit soldier,” Michael pressed. “Why?”

James reddened and rose from his seat. “Why? I’ll tell you why. Forty-seven Americans are fucking dead because of me!”

The room fell silent. Even Turk seemed stunned by the outburst. James looked equally stunned, his eyes opened wide and his face somehow pale and flushed at the same time.

James sank slowly back into his seat and lifted a shaking hand to his head.

“I didn’t mind that Paul got top honors in the Daily .

I’m pretty pissed off that Anna got the dig ahead of me, but I know I was wrong to say it was because of her tits.

As far as jealousy? I guess you could call it that.

I would very much love to be known as someone other than the lieutenant who fucked up and got a lot of families folded flags instead of safely returned loved ones. ”

His lips trembled, and his shoulders slumped. Faith felt a touch of sympathy. Even though he was a murder suspect, he was clearly broken up about what had happened to his unit.

James took a deep breath and met Faith’s eyes.

“I would never kill someone like Paul, though. If I was going to kill someone, it’d be me.

He deserved to live. I don’t. I know I’m not supposed to say stuff like that, but it’s the truth.

I wasn’t cut out for the job. I knew it, and I still did it anyway. ”

“I’m sorry for what happened,” Michael said. “It sounds like it was very traumatic.”

Faith looked at Michael and saw indecision in his eyes. She didn’t feel very decisive herself. James wasn’t acting like the kind of person who would sneak up behind Paul Martinez, stab him, take him up to a specific site, dig a shallow grave, bury him, and then leave.

It wasn’t just that his remorse and self-hate appeared genuine.

His emotions were all over the place. Aggressive and irritable at one moment, remorseful and dejected the next, and above all, impatient.

Paul had been killed by someone who had meticulously planned every step of the murder and the burial.

Faith could picture James bludgeoning Paul to death in the heat of the moment, but executing a well-thought-out crime like this murder seemed beyond him.

She looked at Turk. He watched James warily, but it was hard to tell if that was because he suspected something or because he could tell James was unstable and wanted to jump in and intervene at a moment’s notice.

He didn’t act nearly as excited as he would if he recognized James’s smell from the crime scene.

“Can you provide an alibi for three nights ago?” Faith asked.

James nodded. “Sure. Yeah, I was here.”

“You were here ?”

"Yeah. Sometimes I spend the night here instead of going home.

The teacher's lounge has snacks and cable TV, and I have a bottle of Jim Beam stashed in my file cabinet.

If you can keep from telling the administration, that'd be nice, but hey, whatever.

Something's gonna bite me in the butt eventually.

If it's not talking about Anna's tits, it might as well be the drinking. "

Now, remorsefulness had been replaced by bitterness. Whether he was their killer or not, he was heading to a very ignominious end if he didn't change course soon. A part of Faith hoped that he could avoid that end.

But she was an investigator first, and they didn’t know for sure that James was innocent yet. “Is there a way to verify you were here?” she asked.

“Yeah,” James replied. “You can check the security footage. There’s a camera in the break room. We don’t have a guard on duty at night anymore, but the cameras record so security can review them in the morning in case of a problem. Security office is in the basement, room seven.”

While Michael left to check on the footage, Faith faced James and said gently, “Dr. Furlong, you need to pull yourself together. I won’t pretend to know what it’s like to lose my unit, but I did serve in the Middle East, and I understand the toll that job takes on you.

I also understand—as do you—that drinking yourself to death and living right behind the edge of a meltdown isn’t going to do anything to honor the men who gave their lives.

If you want to do right by them, live a life they would be proud of.

And please understand that their deaths aren’t your fault. ”

From a professional standpoint, she shouldn’t have had this conversation with James before they cleared his alibi, but her instincts told her he was innocent.

He wasn’t a murderer, just a traumatized veteran who struggled with a pain that only those who had fought for their country could understand.

Michael walked in a few minutes later and confirmed Faith’s instincts.

“Alibi’s good. He was up all night watching movies.

Looked like Bridge on the River Kwai, El Dorado, and The Searchers .

” Faith looked at him, and he cleared his throat.

“Which doesn’t matter. Thank you for your time, Dr. Furlong. ”

James managed a half-smile but kept his eyes on his desk. The three FBI agents made it just to the parking lot when Faith's phone rang. When she saw HANCOCK PD on the caller ID, her heart sank. She answered, and a middle-aged female voice on the other end said, "Is this Special Agent Faith Bold?"

“Speaking.”

“Hi, this is Sergeant Applewhite with the Hancock Police Department. I got your number from Penny Martinez. We’ve just received a call from Danbury, Connecticut.

They’ve found a body in a shallow grave at an archaeological dig.

It sounded very similar to our case here in Hancock, so I thought you’d like to know. ”

Faith’s shoulders slumped. “Thank you, Sergeant. We’re on our way.” She hung up and sighed.

“Bad news?” Michael asked.

“Another body,” Faith said. “Stop by the gas station real quick. We have a bit of a drive ahead of us.”