December 1997

She was a small woman. At first, no one paid her any attention. I saw her out of the corner of my eye and it was her eyes that made me look closer at her. She asked a detective a question and I saw him point at me.

She glanced my way and her eyes widened in surprise.

I had to smile, because everyone seemed to have the same reaction when they saw me. It was either, ‘Are you sure she's a cop, she's too pretty?' or, ‘Are you sure she's a detective, she looks too young?'

I was sitting at my desk in the main detective's office, having just completed a complicated prosecution file for the DA on four brothers all involved in a spate of burglaries over the last four months in six township areas.

“Detective Brewster?”

“Yeah, Hi, I'm Sherri Brewster. What can I do for you?”

“My name is Helen Myers. I was given your name by my cousin. He lives in Freetown and told me you are the best.”

So much for a reputation!

“Sit down, ma'am. Tell me what seems to be the problem?”

She sat and I looked closely at her.

She must have been quite a pretty girl, some time ago now. She looked to be in her forties, but could have been older. She had dark hair that needed a wash and decent style. It was long and slightly greasy. She was going a little grey at the roots.

Her face had a weathered look, from long hours and hard work. Lines around her eyes made it difficult to gauge her age and her voice reflected the throaty quality indicating too many cigarettes.

She was wearing a denim dress that was faded and not as clean as it could have been. Her dull brown coat was drab and worn. She had a wedding ring on her left ring finger, and small yellow metal hoops in each ear lobe. Her shoes were scuffed and worn. All in all she was a tired member of the human race and the despair in her eyes was what really drew my attention to her.

They were green eyes, but beyond the colour was a sense of lifelessness and futility. I felt strongly that if I turned her away, she would throw herself off the nearest bridge. I was her last hope and I hadn't even heard what she wanted yet!

She looked around the office. Despite the business, there was something almost confidential about one desk amongst many. It was almost as if by being so cluttered and hemmed in by people, one could openly share secrets with no fear of being overheard.

Every detective was focused on his or her own caseload, so what anyone else did was on no consequence.

I had been working here for one year now and had found something I loved doing. It was hard work and long hours, but worth it! The satisfaction I got from breaking open a case and finally nabbing those responsible was overwhelming, it was like a drug. The more I did, the more I wanted to do!

“It's my brother. He's missing.”

I refrained from the usual, ‘This ain't the missing persons bureau' quip, and just nodded.

“He works at a logging plant and no one has seen him for three weeks.”

“Okay. Who was the last to see him?”

“His wife. Or rather, his ex wife. They split some three months ago. Money problems and I think he was sleeping around. They have six kids.”

“Six! And he had the energy to sleep around?”

She smiled, almost.

“Yeah, but I think my husband knows something, only he don't say much.”

I looked at her. At the mention of her husband, her eyes seemed to close in pain.

“Okay Helen. Let's just take this real slow, a bit at a time. Now, what's your husband's name, and then your brother's?”

The story came out, bit by bit. It was rather like extracting teeth from someone who didn't know which one was hurting.

It seems that her brother, Jake, was into gambling and had run up a debt to a fellow logger who was an amateur loan shark. At around the same time, his long suffering wife had rather shunned him. He wasn't getting sex at home, so he looked elsewhere.

Caught over the side with a bar girl by Helen's husband, Barry, there had been a fight and the marriage seemed to be over. However, three weeks ago, he had called his ex-wife, Marie, promising her that he would make things good again. Jake had a chance to make a fortune and he would be a good husband and father.

No specifics were given and besides, Marie had heard it all before!

Marie had told Helen, who in turn Helen had told Barry. When Barry heard, he became angry and had stormed out of the house. He was gone two days and when he came back, he was irritable and refused to say where he'd been or where Jake was.

I frowned. It was like everything and nothing. I had a bad feeling about this. It was like I was on watch on the bow of the Titanic. I could just see a little tip of ice sticking out of the water and didn't know whether there was an iceberg, or just a little icicle.

“What car does your husband drive?”

“An old Ford pickup, why?”

“And your brother?”

“A Chevy. Six, maybe seven years old. Why?”

“Just background. Where's you brother's car now?”

“I don't know. He moved out of the house a few weeks ago and I don't know where he's been staying.”

“What does your husband do?”

“He works in the office in the sawmill. He used to be a logger before the accident.”

“Accident?”

“He broke his back. Didn't paralyse him or nothing, but he can't lift shit!”

“I can see that would be a problem in the logging industry,” I said.

I asked a few more questions about the family and friends, anything to get a glimmer about what was going on.

“Do you have a photograph of your brother?”

She rummaged in her bag and produced a rumpled colour photograph of three men.

“That's Jake in the middle and Barry on the left. That was taken on a fishing trip three years ago.”

“Who's the third guy?”

“Oh, that's Harry Carter. He's an old army buddy.”

“Army buddy?”

“Yeah, they were all in the army together. You know, in Viet Nam.”

“Uh, do you know what unit they were with?”

“No, they don't talk about it much. All I know is they each have this weird tattoo.”

“Tattoo?”

“Yeah, it's like a spider thing with a tail, and crab claws.”

“A scorpion?”

“Yeah, they have a black scorpion on their shoulders.”

She patted her right shoulder, up near the top. Where it wouldn't be seen in a short sleeved shirt.

“Okay Helen. Here's what I want you to do. Go home, say nothing to Barry about coming here. When he's at work, go through his cupboard, his work room, anywhere - and see if you can find anything that links in with either the army, or your brother, or this other guy. If you speak about Jake, just watch Barry's reaction, and don't push it and certainly don't question him. Now, I can't say that Barry is involved, but I agree that it looks mighty odd, so it will be best that we take things real careful and I'll do some checking with the military. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I'll find him, one way or another, I'll find him,” I said and smiled.

She almost smiled at me.

“Thanks Miss Brewster. If anyone can, I know you will.”

She then got up and walked out.

I looked at the log sheet and sighed. I dug out my phone book and started to make some calls to my friends in the Military Police.

As I sat waiting for them to answer, Peejay's photo looked back at me. It seemed weird that it had been taken nearly a year ago. It had been taken last Christmas holidays, when we had gone for a walk in the snow with his folks on New Year's Day. We had a snowball fight and it had been a great day.

David and Rowena were ever so welcoming, as was Lucy. Lucy had grown into a fine looking girl, she was eighteen now and was very pretty.

Peejay and I had spent some of Christmas day 1996 together. I had been working, as they needed a couple of detectives to cover the holiday and nearly all the others had young families. Rich Bowers and I were the only two who didn't so we worked the day shift. Peejay and I had Christmas dinner in the evening with Lou and Terri. Lou had to work as well, so it worked out pretty well.

Peejay gave me a set of really sexy underwear (for him to enjoy really) and a pearl necklace. I gave him a leather jacket and my undying love.

We flew to Washington on the 28 th December 1996 and had a really great time. The Connors gave us a second Christmas, and Rowena had told me that this was the way she thought it would happen from now on. She made me promise to come and spend '97 Christmas with them.

I said I'd try, but work often made that difficult.

The year had shot by.

I really loved the detectives Division and, although I had liked uniform patrol work, this was much more me. I had time to concentrate on stuff and didn't have to take the next call and then the next one. I had a big case load, but was able to manage it okay.

I was nearly twenty-two and the youngest detective in the office. It didn't seem to matter, as I was also the only one to have shot anyone dead in my four years of being a cop!

A couple of others had used their firearms, but never killed anyone.

The Lieutenant, John Cowie, and Mike Rivers, my Sergeant, were really great. I was encouraged from day one and everyone in the office was friendly. As with all new people, I had to prove myself and after a couple of tough cases, one a nasty rape, I managed to do just that.

On the strength of the fact I had completed a Sexual Offences Investigator's course at the academy and that I was a woman, I tended to get more than my fair share of sexual offences to deal with. It meant I was on a call out register, so that if a rape came in out of hours, the Sheriff's office, or townships PD's would call me out.

Good for over time, but crap for a social life!

At last, the M.P.s answered.

I explained my problem, gave the names and details of tattoos. All the men were late forties or early fifties, with Barry being the eldest at fifty one.

Master Sergeant Rod Clarke told me he'd ring me back with details of the men's units and postings. He also told me he'd look into their service histories and give me any breaches or citations.

I had plenty to do while waiting for the call-back.

I checked police records. Jacob Gorman had two convictions. One for DWI ten years ago and one for assault three years ago. He had gotten drunk and hit a guy who'd made suggestions to his wife.

The other two had no records.

I had some stuff to do on other cases I had running and so was not aware of the time passing.

It was nearly noon when Sergeant Clarke called back.

“Sherri, its Rod.”

We'd got the formality of Sergeant and Detective out the way on the last call.

“Rod, what ya got for me?”

“Interesting. These guys came from three different units. Jacob Goreman was an Engineer, his specialisation was explosives and demolition. Barry was in Airborne and it seems he was a sniper; and the last guy, Carter, was a Green Beret and then Special forces.

“Their paths only crossed in the late days of the war, when they were brought together for a black op. There are no details on any sheets, except that the officer who recruited them was a Lieutenant Colonel Michael Richards.”

“Is Richards still around?”

“I checked. He retired as a two star General and lives in Washington. That's the state, not DC. He is still collecting his pension in any case.”

“Any chance of getting a number or address?”

“Sure.”

I wrote down the details. He lived at a place overlooking the water just south of Seattle.

“Anyone or anything else I should know about?” I asked.

“There was one more. He was a Lieutenant at the time, and the men's direct commander. His name is Frank Jellyman. He reached Major and then was dishonourably discharged over a scandal involving some young girls from Laos. It seems he was running a brothel and dealing in narcotics.

“Anyway, there was a court marshal, he did time in the stockade, and then the old heave-ho. Being an officer, he was given a real hard time in the stockade. I spoke to a buddy of mine who used to work the stockade in Florida. The man was rumoured to have salted away several hundred thousand dollars. They say he was a charmer, but a real bastard!”

I thanked Rod, and hung up. I now had at least one lead.

I went and spoke to John Cowie. I told him what I had, and he didn't think I had much. When I said I wanted to drive 300 miles to speak to this General, he laughed at me.

“Just get a local detective to drop round for you.” He said.

“I don't want to do that. There is something about this whole story that stinks. I'd like to speak to him myself.”

He looked at me.

“It's a hell of a drive.”

“I know, I could fly up, I guess.”

“Your friend, Jimmy, is it? Can't he fly you?”

“I'll ask.”

“Oh, go on. I know you; you'll just keep pestering me until I let you go anyway. You're just like my wife,” he said grinning.

“Thanks John.” I said, and went to make the arrangements.

I didn't want to call the guy, just in case he was involved and yet I wanted to make sure he was going to be in. That was a long way for him to be out.

I called a colleague I had done a favour for before. Dave Roberts was a detective in Seattle, so I gave him a call. He was able to get a cruiser do a drive by. He called back to say that someone was in, if my man was an oldish man with grey hair and military bearing, then he was at home.

An hour later I was in the air.

I landed at Seattle, and Dave met me. He was a tall man, who had eaten too many donuts in his time on the beat. Now he was a Detective, he didn't get as much exercise as he should and he was carrying all before him.

“Sherri! Looking good girl.”

He kissed my cheek. It was good to see him again.

He took me to his car and before long we were heading down a secluded lane. The bare trees made it look rather bleak.

“It's some place he has. Must have cost a few dollars.”

He pulled up at an imposing wrought iron gate. There was a intercom security system and I let Dave do the talking. The gate swung open.

The house was a modern one, made mainly of wood and glass.

It looked massive, eight, maybe twelve bedrooms, with three levels of deck as the land dipped gently away to the water below. It was a beautiful setting.

As the car came to a halt, a young man approached. My hackles immediately rose. This man was a soldier. He wasn't in uniform, but I could tell. He opened my door.

“Good afternoon Officers. My name is Bruce. I am the General's aide. How can I help you?”

“I'm Detective Roberts of the Seattle Police, and this is my colleague Detective Brewster. We'd like to speak to the General, if that is in order?”

“May inquire the nature of your enquiries?”

Dave looked at me.

“I am investigating a possible abduction and as it involves members of a military unit that links the General, I thought it diplomatic to speak to him first.”

Bruce's eyebrow lifted two millimetres, the greatest display of raw emotion he's made.

“Follow me please,” he said and we did.

We followed him round the side of the house and into a door. The house was decorated stylishly and the mixture of antique furniture and Far Eastern items actually worked. We found the General in a large open room, with a huge window running along the south aspect giving a wonderful view of the bay.

“Thank you, Bruce. Leave us.”

He was so obviously an ex-military man, despite the red and white checked shirt and blue jeans. Here was a man who had looked after himself. Despite being nearly eighty, he was in good shape. He had a full head of white hair, cropped short in the same crew cut for sixty years, no doubt.

He must have been six one and there was no fat anywhere. Unlike Dave!

His face was weathered from much time spent outdoors and he had a ready smile. He was good looking and in his day, I suspected a bit of a ladies man. He was seated in a chair and stood up when we entered.

“Officers, welcome. I am intrigued, for my retirement has been so goddamn dull up to now, I can at least hope for a little excitement. How may I help you?”

Dave looked at me again.

I showed him my badge.

“General, I appreciate you seeing us like this. I am Detective Brewster with the Sheriff's office in Oregon. I am investigating the disappearance in suspicious circumstances of a man who used to be in a unit in Viet Nam. Three men all served in a specialist unit. They were, Jacob Goreman, Barry Myers and Harry Carter. I have contacted the Military and they informed me that you were the Lieutenant Colonel responsible for bringing the men together during the Viet Nam war.

“I have no other information, save their immediate superior was a Lieutenant Frank Jellyman. The military records are blank on their unit and its tasks. I was hoping you could shed some light on their activities and maybe give me some other men I could speak to.”

“Jellyman, there's a blast from the past!

The General walked to the window and looked out.

“Frank Jellyman was very good at what he did, but he wasn't suited to peacetime. He was a nasty bastard, Detective Brewster, a real nasty bastard, but at times nasty bastards have their uses.”

“The scorpion unit was created as a covert group to sneak in, take out key personnel and sneak out again. The rules of war are simple, Miss Brewster, there are no rules. What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve about.

“My task was to recruit and train a group who could do various tasks that normal military units were just not trained to do. Hence the scorpion. The scorpion sits under a rock and waits. As soon as its prey appears, it strikes and disappears again. That is what the unit was trained to do. They hid out in the jungle and waited. The Viet Cong hid in a network of underground tunnels, to avoid the enormous fire power of the B52s.

“They would emerge, strike and disappear again. Thus, we had to do the same if we were to make any headway. Jellyman's team comprised of ten men, Goreman was the explosive's man if I remember and Myers was the sniper. Damn good shot too. Carter was a specialist in covert ops and there were others. Most are dead, I think one, Carl Andrews, is still alive. He was the communications specialist and last I heard he was running his own company in San Francisco.

“The unit was successful for a short period. The war ended, so they were recalled and disbanded. The men went back to their units and eventually back to civilian life. Jellyman got caught doing some bad stuff and ended up being thrown in jail.”

I had taken some notes and looked up when he finished.

“Sir, when was the last time you saw Frank Jellyman?”

“I haven't seen the man for years. He was a Major and I was asked to speak to him just prior to his court marshal.”

I stared at him. He was lying. Everything else he had told me with a relaxed and easy smile. Now that smile was forced and everything in my training and experience told me he was lying.

“Do you know where he is now, sir?”

“No. As I said, I haven't seen him for years.” He smiled again to reinforce how nice he was. His eyes flicked to a door at the end of the room. I looked at my notes. The man was here. What the hell was going on?

I asked one or two questions, but I sensed that the interview was over.

“Thank you for your time, General. I appreciate your help.”

“I have hardly helped,” he said, smiling.

I stared at him.

“Oh yes, you have helped, a lot,” I said. His smile dipped slightly.

“Good day sir. I don't think I need trouble you again,” I said and started to turn away.

“Anytime, Miss Brewster, anytime. And I hope you find Mr Goreman.”

I stopped, as if shot. I turned back.

“I may take you up on that sir.”

He went a little pale.

I nodded to Dave and we left.

As we got into the car, under the watchful eyes of Bruce, Dave turned to me.

“What the hell was that all about, Sherri?”

“What do you reckon, Dave?”

“He was fine until you asked him about the Major. Then he went all prickly.”

“He lied to me, Dave. I think he knows where Jellyman is. Moreover, he knew that Goreman is missing. I never told him that!”

“Yeah?”

“Jellyman is right here!” I said, nodding at the house, as Dave drove out the gate.

“Shit, what's going on?”

“I don't know, but I think I've just stuck my hand in a scorpion's den.”

“Don't get bitten, girl!”

I smiled.

“They haven't seen the size of my sting, yet!”

By the time I got back to the office, it was almost midnight. I typed up the details I had, staring at the computer screen.

Just what was going on?

Why had the General given me the communications man? It must be because he's not involved. So if he isn't, who else is?

I wrote a list of things to do and logged out.

I got home tired and confused. All from one possible missing person.

There was a silly message from Peejay on the answer phone. He was waiting for me, I was due to fly out in ten days. This year I had two weeks booked off over Christmas. We were going to his folks for Christmas and then Florida for New Years. All the kids were going to be home for the first time in years.

If I had solved this mystery, that is.

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