“Are you sure the phone he answered was his regular phone? What did it look like?”
That brought her up short.
“A separate phone?”
“I’m just trying to look at all the angles. The last call to his BlackBerry was a blocked number, but if he had another phone… I’ve been doing this a long time, and this pops up more often than you’d think. We’ve interviewed a lot of people, all who worked directly and indirectly with your husband. They swear up and down they didn’t call. He could have had a separate phone that we’re missing, and the call that caused him to leave came in on that cell. If that’s the case, we need to be looking for another.”
She thought back. She hadn’t looked at the phone. She’d just assumed it was his BlackBerry. They’d all been assuming.
“Honestly, no. I think it was his regular phone. Eddie wasn’t the secretive type. And I’ve been going through the bills with a fine-tooth comb. I haven’t seen money going anywhere unusual.”
Fletcher looked disappointed.
“We didn’t see anything unusual in your financials, either. Well, it was worth a shot. Thank you for your time. I, uh, my partner and I will be at the funeral tomorrow. We know it’s going to be a hard day.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“We want to.”
“I appreciate it,” Susan said.
He stood and shook hands all around. “If you think of anything else,” he said.
Eleanor gave him a tremulous smile. Susan felt horrible for her—she’d lost her only son, and sometimes Susan’s own grief got in the way of remembering that.
“Of course. We’ll be in touch immediately. Eleanor, I’ll see the detective out. You stay here.”
Eleanor didn’t move, and out of the corner of her eye, Susan saw Sam touch the woman’s hand.
Three women, all tied together through one man. All widows. All torn apart like ragged dolls by their loss. Susan just hoped, between the three of them, they could pick up all the pieces again. She shut the door behind the detective and went back to the kitchen.
Sam looked up at her.
“You know why they’re coming to the funeral, don’t you?”
“To pay their respects.”
“To try and catch Xander. They think he’ll show. Fletcher thinks he’s the killer.”
Susan was tired. So tired. She didn’t want to think about this anymore. She just wanted a few moments alone to think about Eddie before she had to say goodbye forever.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Georgetown
Detective Darren Fletcher
Fletcher sat in the car for a moment and processed the conversation he’d just had with Susan Donovan. What stood out to him was her very innocuous statement that Allan Culpepper had been Donovan’s commander. That he’d commanded all of the men in the picture. Why hadn’t Culpepper bothered to mention that before? Or even Rod Deter? And why wasn’t it in the DOD files Felicia had procured for him? It was a big piece of information to leave out of the conversation, and pushed Culpepper right onto Fletcher’s list of possible suspects, despite the proven fact that the man was in Iraq during the murders. Paperwork could be faked, altered, falsified. And the people at Raptor had the technological know-how to do just that.
Fletcher had to locate Alexander Whitfield. Whitfield was involved, no question. And now that he knew Whitfield knew Culpepper, the possibilities were endless. He pulled out the card Culpepper had given him and rang the man.
Culpepper answered almost immediately.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Colonel. But something’s come up. Do you know a man named Alexander Whitfield?”
“Yes, of course. Great soldier. Very capable. Good friends with Donovan, as I recall.”
“Have you seen him lately?”