Truth Avenged (Green Division Series Book 1) Read online

  Chance.

  She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. It was the one thing that woman could do right.

  *****

  "Tuck! Answer your phone!” Chance hit the end button. He was the only one she could tell her excited prospects too. She dialed again. “Come on, come on, come on.”

  Still no answer. Sigh. She would have to contain her excitement.

  She put a lot of stress on herself and knew it. After twelve hours combined on the road and buried in the library, she didn’t have the energy to take her shoes or clothes off before she collapsed on the bed. She laid face down and sprawled out taking up the entire bed. Abby, starved for attention, harassed her to no end.

  “Leave...me...alone.” She mumbled, her mouth muffled by the pillow. Her phone rang. She groaned.

  “Hello.” She hit the answer button without checking the Caller ID.

  “You called?”

  “Tuck!” She pulled herself to her elbows. “I needed to talk to someone!”

  “Where’s Paul?”

  “Working.” She didn’t catch on to his slightly put out tone. “So, I found what the aircraft was! A Grumman Avenger, World War Two era. I went to the historical society, but they couldn’t give me anything. Then I went to the VFW, they were even less helpful. I wanted to tell you yesterday, but Paul and his bad timing. An’ today I spent the day down at the State Library. Of all people, it was a little punk kid who worked at the desk that gave me some ideas since I found nothing in the archives. Brunswick and Loring, the plane had to be from one of those bases. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” She rambled it off very fast and was far too excited for what little bit she’d found out.

  “That’s your lead?” They were airports, big deal. “Decommissioned airports?”

  “I know.” She noticed he wasn’t his usual chipper self. “Am I bothering you?”

  When did Tuck turn into a jealous ass? He’d misdirected his frustration. “Sorry, I’m tired. I don’t mean to be unfriendly.”

  “You’re the only one I can tell. The only one I trust.” She turned onto her back. “Unfortunate for you, huh. It’s late, I won’t bother you.”

  “You never bother me, Chance.” That was the truth. He turned off his jealous jackass lever. “Did you get any other leads?”

  “From Loring, nothing. From Brunswick, I’m talking to a janitor tomorrow.”

  “A janitor? What would a janitor know?”

  “Everything. A janitor would know the base inside and out. He’s been there since the early sixties. I have a feeling he’s gonna know something. I don’t know why, but I do.”

  “You seem happy tonight.” He closed the hood of the Mustang and walked into his house.

  “A little.”

  “Good.” Tuck washed his hands, opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of Sam Adams. He wished he could see the smile on her face that was clearly coming across from her upbeat voice.

  “I won’t keep you. I needed to tell someone and get it off my chest.”

  “Glad I could help. Give me a call tomorrow. I want to know how this janitor pans out.”

  “Why don’t you plan on coming over tomorrow night? I’ll fill you in and give you your jacket back, I guess. Though I love it.” Chance was tired, therefore bold.

  Tuck almost told her to keep it. He'd give her anything she asked for. And almost asked about Paul, but stopped himself. “Give me a call and I’ll stop in.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Good night.”

  “Night, Tuck.”

  She closed her phone and Abby peered down at her, tail wagging. Abby made no bones about Chance’s neglect. She patted her for about a minute then succumbed to sleep. Abby flopped down on her chest and nuzzled into her neck.

  C hapter Eight

  “Hi, my name is Chance Phillips. I believe I spoke with you yesterday.”

  “Hold right on Miss Phillips. I’m going to page Tim to speak with you.”

  “Thank you.” Chance waited on pins and needles. She’d surprisingly slept like a rock considering how antsy she was for morning to arrive. She called at 7 a.m. on the dot.

  “Hello?” An elderly man answered.

  “Tim?”

  “Yes, who is this?”

  “Hi, my name is Chance Phillips. I’m a reporter with the Tranton Times.” She had to come up with some kind of excuse and credentials to interrogate him. “I understand you’ve worked at the airport since the early sixties?”

  “Nineteen sixty two to be exact.”

  “I know this was long before your time, but do you know anything about the aircraft Grumman Avenger, used during World War Two? I was told there was a squadron of them out of that base.” Okay, no one had told her that, but she was trying to sound as informed as she could.

  “I’ve seen many a planes over the decades. I’d have a hard time recollecting any specific one without seein’ em.”

  “This would have been before you began working for the base.”

  “Honey, I’ve worked here for fifty plus years. That’s a lot of planes to remember.”

  “Do you know about a plane crash in the North Woods? Would have been in the forties?

  “I was born in nineteen for’ four. I don’t have many memories from the forties.”

  “No one around the base ever spoke of any accidents?”

  “There were many plane crashes, but most happened durin’ take off ‘r landing. I didn’t hear of anythin’ other than Elephant Mountain.”

  Helpful. She didn’t have high hopes for Mr. Tim anymore. “What about a pilot or plane named “The Flying Squirrel?”

  Tim didn’t answer right away.

  “Tim?”

  “I’m thinking. I’m not as fast as I used to be, I’m gettin’ old ya know.”

  “Take as long as you need.”

  “When the base closed, they had bins and bins of documents they wanted incinerated. I found a box of ol’ pictures and it seemed a shame to throw them away. They are a piece of history. But, I also didn’t want to take ‘em home, being government property and all. Not a good idea to steal from them. I don’t want to be retirin’ in prison.”

  Get to the point.

  “I remember seein’ a picture with a plane in the background. Had a picture of a squirrel and I do believe it said Flying Squirrel on the side of it. I’d have to take a look at the photos, but I kno’ it’s there.”

  “Are you serious?” Chance was floored.

  “I sure am. So why is it you’re poking around about all this? Are you doin’ an article on something?”

  “I am.” What white lie could she tell to explain why she was asking all these questions?

  “Alright. Good enough for me. I’ll go back to my supply closet ‘n see what I can find. I’ll call ya back in a few minutes.”

  She didn’t need to give him an explanation after all. Chance recited her phone number. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  Abby, the furball, paced around the kitchen. Breakfast time. Chance picked her up and spun around excited with the news. “I’m good Abby, maybe one of these days I’ll be so good I can do one of those Dateline investigative pieces, huh.”

  Abby dashed out of her arms and Chance appeased her greedy appetite.

  RING, RI—

  The phone didn’t get the opportunity to ring the second time.

  “Hello.”

  “Hullo, this is Tim. There are a few photos of the planes yer talking about, I think. They have a radio seat in the middle, n gunner station in the back, n’ the pilot in the front of course.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I do have some pictures with that plane and airmen in the picture.”

  “Great!” She said ecstatic. “If I came down today, would I be able to see them?”

  “I’m here until four. You’re welcome to come down and you can have ‘em if you like. I won’t keep ‘em, but someone should. So long as you don�
�t mind goin’ to jail.” He chuckled.

  A few photos wouldn’t send her to jail...she hoped.

  *****

  Chance wasn’t going to have an idle moment as long as she continued to dig into the all-consuming mystery. She was in the shower by 7:30 and out the door a little after 8:15. A large latte and she was headed south again. The rainy weather wouldn’t put a damper on her mood. She was flying high. She had solid proof it existed. Squirrel existed!

  Tim met her in the lobby at 10:30 pictures in hand. She flipped through them and there he was. Squirrel. And the plane. Holy shit. Chance needed to take a seat, she was overwhelmed.

  “I have to go back to work, but good luck with the article yer working on.”

  “You have no idea how much you have helped.” She shook his hand. “You’re a saint.”

  He laughed. “That’s the first time I’ve been called that. N’ I have a feeling it will be the last.”

  “You’re a good man, Tim.”

  He pulled his hat down to gesture goodbye and ducked away through the secure entry door. Chance took the manila envelope and walked full speed back to her Jeep, excited to look through them fully.

  There were dozens of photos. Picture after picture, she’d only found one with Squirrel. The last photo was a squadron photo. There was a row of five men kneeling in the front of the squad. An additional twenty men in different uniforms stood lined behind them in differing uniforms. It all fit into place. On the back of the photo, the names of the five men in the front were handwritten with their rank. The third from the left was John White, aka Squirrel. Her heart danced. In the span of a few days she’d gone from knowing nothing, to knowing the pilots name, the aircraft, and the station it was based out of. This should be enough to talk to someone who would have military records and find the truth. Yes.

  *****

  “That’s the truck.” Mitch slowly drove by the shanty of a house. “Two four wheelers in the outbuilding. What do you think?”

  Mitch stopped on the side of the road before they reached the driveway.

  “Let’s talk to him. We don’t have any PC to do anything else at this point.” Ryan said. PC in cop lingo stood for probable cause.

  Ryan and Mitch pulled into the driveway and signed off at the residence with dispatch.

  “Who is it?”

  Ryan heard a burly voice come from behind the door. Ryan didn’t answer. He wanted the man to come to the door and speak with him, not hide in the house upon hearing he was law enforcement.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  The door swung open.

  “Jason Thomas?”

  “I haven’t done nothin.” A potbellied man in his late thirties answered the door. One would have thought Mr. Thomas was wearing a black shirt with the amount of body hair he sported. A razor, or wax job would have done wonders. Nearly as much fur sprouted from his face as it did the rest of his body. Pajama bottoms and dirty slippers completed the look.

  “Then we won’t have any problems Mr. Thomas. My name is Warden Huan—”

  “Am I under arrest?” He cut him off. Obviously Mr. Thomas was paranoid.

  “Is there a reason we should be arresting you?” Ryan asked.

  Mitch discreetly took a photo of Jason with his cell phone as Jason was distracted.

  “No.” He went to close the door.

  “We aren’t here to arrest you. We have a few questions we’d like to ask you.”

  “Either arrest me, or leave. Come back when you have a warrant.”

  “There is no reason to have a warrant Mr. Thomas. We have a few questions we were looking to ask you. No one is accusing you of anything. Calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. If you weren’t accusing me of something, you wouldn’t be here. Unless you have a reason to arrest me, you better get your ass off my property.”

  The door slammed.

  “Wasn’t he friendly.” Ryan turned around and nearly fell through the rotted steps.

  “He’s our man. He’s hiding something.”

  “No doubt, Sherlock.”

  Ryan took photos of the ATVs from the driveway as they walked away and another of the pickup and license plate.

  “Kerr’s going to kick our asses.” Mitch said as he climbed into the truck.

  “Your ass, buddy. I was tagging along. Innocent bystander.”

  “Oh no, this isn’t going down like that.”

  “The perk of being a passenger.”

  “You were the one whose negotiating skills were so stellar that he closed the door and told you to get a warrant.”

  “I’m the one with people skills. He would have slammed the door as soon as you said ‘hullo’. It’s hell-o. Like hell. Where we are going.”

  “What were the odds it would turn out to be something. It was an anonymous email to my state address.” Mitch said amazed at its validity.

  “Mr. Thomas pissed someone off. Someone who was smart enough to figure out where to send the email involving a sealed case. Which led us to here….. going to get our asses reamed out for tipping off a suspect.”

  “May God be with us.” Mitch withdrew his phone. He was serious. It would be no laughing matter when Kerr was told of their stupidity. And it would only get worse as it traveled up the chain of command.

  “What’s your bet?”

  Mitch went into deep thought. “Eight.”

  “If Kerr doesn’t say ‘fuck’ at least a dozen times, I’ll buy you dinner for a week.” Ryan said full of himself.

  “Same goes on my end.”

  “That’s how a bet works.” Ryan rolled his eyes.

  “You’re on.” Mitch dialed and put the phone on speaker. Between the swearing, yelling, and utter disgust in Kerr’s voice, there were a few idle threats including an “I should put a boot up your dumb asses”.

  Mitch’s phone went dead and not because he hit the end button.

  “Woohoo.” Ryan threw his hands in the air. “Fourteen baby! And a dumbass to boot!”

  “Shut up.” Mitch put the truck in drive and they headed back to their office. They had a suspect, and they’d just tipped him off.

  *****

  At 2:30 p.m. she was back in Tranton. She popped into the office to speak to Paul. She needed a favor, to ask if he had any military ties he could pull for her, to dig into their records from long ago. He told her to go home without answering her question. She stomped her foot and stood firm. Paul loosened his tie and leaned over his desk.

  “Chance, go home.”

  “It’s a yes, or no question.”

  “How would I have any ties to the military? I never served. They weren’t exactly welcoming toward guys like me.”

  “Bookworms with sexy sparkling silver eyes?”

  “No one likes a kiss ass. You’re not getting any brownie points.”

  “I know how to work you Mr. Marston.” She smiled. “You must know someone with all of your contacts throughout the years.”

  “I don’t. What are you working on? You aren’t working on a piece for the paper because you’re ON LEAVE. So what is this about?”

  She didn’t want to lie to Paul and there would be no excuse for it. They had an open and trusting relationship and she wasn’t going to ruin that. Evasion. That would be the tactic she’d employ.

  I’m researching something since I have all this time on my hands. Clearly I’m well enough to come back to work. Pull some strings for me.”

  “I’ll pull some strings alright.” He winked. “Go home. Maybe I’ll pop by for a visit later tonight.”

  “I have plans.” She turned unsatisfied with his lack of cooperation.

  She walked out of the office and back to her Jeep. Not five minutes had passed before her phone beeped.

  I’ll see what I can do. Paul texted.

  I <3 you, but I still have plans. She typed back.

  Playing hard to get ;) I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

  She knew she could make him feel guilty. Paul w
as wrapped around her little finger.

  *****

  She studied the photographs as she sat on the couch munching on popcorn. Squirrel was a stoic looking man, though they all were, expressionless and stone serious. The men behind the five in the front row were youthful, most no more than their early twenties. Squirrel looked to be in his early thirties. She hoped Paul would be able to hook her up with someone in the know. But, why was it so hard to find information? She wasn’t a conspiracy theorist, but this had all the markings of a cover up. It wasn’t like there would have been any enemy fire in the North Woods. Hawaii had been attacked, yes, but not Maine. Canada didn’t shoot down a US military aircraft. That was a ridiculous thought. What did that leave for possibilities? If it was an accident, why would they have gone to such great lengths to cover it up? Or, maybe it wasn’t a cover up. If they were going to cover it up, they wouldn’t leave the wreckage in the woods for anyone who stumbled upon it—like her. Ugh, it made her head hurt as she tried to analyze the cluster fuck she’d fallen into. Her energy level was at zero and she didn’t want to move off the couch.

  “What happened to you?” She rubbed the dust away from Squirrel’s face.

  *****

  “Hello.” Tuck answered.

  “Hey. Are you still free tonight to drop in?” Chance asked.

  “Free as a bird. What time do you want me to come over?”

  “Whenever is good for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’ll be out the door in a few.” He was already on his feet walking to his bedroom to change out of his lounge pants and college Alma Mater’s sweatshirt. “Have you eaten dinner?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What are you in the mood for? I’ll pick it up.” Tuck couldn’t stop himself from saying these words. Jesus, he needed to think before he spoke. She had a boyfriend, regardless of if she’d only called him a friend thus far. No man and woman interacted the way those two had without being intimately involved.

  “You don’t need to do that. I can get something to eat here at home.”