Fruit of a Poisonous Tree
by
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The parking lot adjacent to Building T-3 was vacant. It was duty hours; naturally the building’s residents would be away from the building. The single gray main door to the building squeaked as Fay pushed through it. Room 210 would be on the second floor of the two-story wood structure. The building was probably built to house sailors during the Vietnam War and was in excellent condition. The stairway to the second floor ascended to her immediate right. The first step groaned as she stepped onto it. The noise reverberated down the long hallway. She tiptoed up the remaining steps to the building’s top floor. The second floor mirrored the first. A long hallway, with the same number of doors along either wall. Right down to the location of the glare cast by the window at the far end of the hall as the sunlight reflected off the highly polished floor. The building seemed as quiet as a church, mid-week. Fay tiptoed down the hallway to room 210, fearing the noise created by the hard heels of her shoes on the linoleum floor would create a racket akin to a cattle stampede. Fay arrived at room 210 and knocked softly on the door, waited for a moment, then knocked again. Louder this time. She twisted the doorknob. The door was locked. Fay looked both directions up and down the hall, as one would look up and down a busy street before crossing. She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. "Damn!" she said, out loud. Out of frustration at events in general, more than not being able to enter room 210, she kicked at the door with her right foot. To her surprise the door swung open. Huh. Once again she looked up and down the hall, then quickly slipped into room 210. She did not think that anyone, including the SPD, would have visited Charma’s room. After all, not many knew of the man’s existence. Her gaze swept the room, taking every thing in. But to her surprise, the room was...except for a bunk, a desk, and a chair...empty. Fay dropped her purse onto the desk and walked to the only closet in the room. When she opened the door she found the interior of the closet the same as the room, barren. Being a tall woman, she could see along the length of the top shelf by rising up on her toes. There was nothing there. Fay closed the closet door and again surveyed the room. The room had recently been cleaned...no dust on the blinds and a slight hint of fresh floor wax lingered in the air. The room had been so well cleaned that her chances of finding even so much as a dust-mite seemed remote. Sailors have a tendency to hide things, a skill they learn in basic training. You have your inspection razor and you have the one you shave with. The one you shave with is hidden in a light fixture or in the tube frame of the bunk, anywhere a drill instructor would not think to look for it. Although the DI was a recruit once herself, so why she would not think to look in these places seems illogical. Fay sat down on the bunk, again surveying the room and thinking about these possible hiding places, glancing at each place as it came to her mind. Why not start by looking under the bunk?
Fay was on her elbows and knees, looking up at the underside of the bed’s springs, when she sensed that she was not alone in the room. She froze. She tightened her cheeks and held her breath. Fay looked back at the floor behind her. In the reflection of the floor’s high polish she could make out the general shape of a human form. She cursed herself for getting out of arms reach of her purse and the derringer safely tucked in its side pocket. She would never make it to the purse. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the form disappeared. Fay released the air she had been holding in her lungs, relaxed the tension in her muscles and gingerly backed out from under the bunk. When her head cleared the frame of the bed, she rolled over into a sitting position and rested on the bed frame. She quickly surveyed the room. Satisfied it was empty, she lunged for her purse, opened it, and withdrew her derringer. She then stood up fully, cocked the derringer’s hammer, and inched her way across the polished floor toward the door. Gingerly, Fay pulled open the door with the toe of her right foot. With caution, she poked her head out into the hallway. No one there. She sighed in relief. Whoever it was is gone. She sank back into room 210. That is when she noticed that the reflection from the window across the freshly polished floor showed the track of her footsteps. Fay blinked her eyes. There were only her footprints. No one else had been in the room but her. The smell of floor wax was replaced by the slight hint of perfume. No, on second thought, it’s aftershave. Observe L’Essence. Paranoia was getting the better of her. The scent is probably coming from the ventilation system.
Fay was not given any time to ponder this curiosity. Her head snapped back toward the door when she heard the entrance door on the first floor...the door she had entered through...squeak. Someone had left the building? Then, the first step leading to the second floor groaned under the weight of an intruder. All the terms she had heard over the past several days: killer, assassin, mechanic, sweeper, psychopath, flooded her mind. Fay could feel the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. She faded back behind the open door and held her breath. Soft, almost inaudible, footsteps, like those of a large stalking cat, approached room 210. Fay’s right hand tightened on the derringer’s grip. The stalking cat stopped at the door. She fought the temptation to wipe off the small beads of perspiration that had formed on her brow. Not daring to breathe, she waited. "Ma’am?" She knew the voice, but did she trust the person who spoke? Fay took in a quick sip of air and remained silent.
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About the Book
When a young Navy SEAL is savagely murdered in a Seattle alley, presumably by a Marine Corps war hero, Navy lawyer Faydra Green is ordered to investigate. Although this is her first homicide assignment, it does not take Faydra long to decide the accused man is innocent. Someone wants her investigation to quietly disappear, but Faydra is determined to clear the accused man’s name, discover why she has been made an accessory to a cover up, and find out who is responsible. But she will need all her wits about her to unravel the intricate web of lies and deception that stand between her and the answers she seeks. Faydra’s quest for the truth launches her on a heart-pounding voyage across the world in a desperate race against time. Along the way, she will contend with the murky backwaters of governmental dirty deals and international intrigue, follow every lead, and risk her life in a bid to halt a catastrophic conflict that has three nations on the brink of war.
About the Author
In my final day’s on earth, if all I had to do was to spend them living and writing in the Pacific Northwest, I would die a happy and satisfied man, As long as those days were spent in the company of my son, Kristopher-Kent. "Writing a book is an adventure: to begin with it is a toy and amusement; then it becomes a master, and than it becomes a tyrant; and the last phase is just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude- you kill the monster and fling him to the public."- Winston Churchill My stories come from my mind and from my heart. I formulate my stories from the places I have been, the unique experiences that I have had, and the people I have met along the way. Except for the time I spent in the service of my country, I have chosen to live and raise my son in and around Seattle, Washington. I’ll let you in on a little secret. It doesn’t rain here nearly as often as people say. The many years that I spent, both in the military and with a major US flag carrier (airline), gave me an opportunity to travel the world, many times over. I have always felt fortunate to have the opportunity to visit foreign lands and meet great and varied people. Thank you for visiting my web site and for considering the purchase of my book. If you like action and suspense, I think you will enjoy my story.