“That someone had found him and beat him. I heard the shot. He fell forward.” She stared at her hands. “I...I tried to catch him.”
“Did he mention who had found him or did he say anything about your mother?”
She shook her head, but something about her expression told Dawson the secretary knew more than she had revealed.
“Do you think Granger killed your mother?”
She chewed her lip. “I...I don’t know.”
“Don’t know or won’t say?”
She hesitated.
“Did Granger contact you after he was released from prison?”
“He called me and wanted to meet. I refused. He said he had information about my mother’s death.”
“Yet you turned him down?”
“Part of me didn’t believe him. The other part wanted to keep the past locked away.”
She lowered her gaze and picked at her sleeve.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Dawson asked.
“I know it sounds crazy after a man has died, but...” She pulled in a nervous breath. “I’m worried about what this will do to military and civilian relations in the local area.”
“Meaning?”
“You’ve heard about the new Fort Rickman Museum scheduled to be built on post?”
Dawson narrowed his gaze, trying to make the connection. With construction ready to commence, the huge, multistoried structure promised to be state of the art, with an extensive collection of historical memorabilia and artifacts. In addition, a grand ballroom, auditorium and banquet facilities would attract large-scale events and needed revenue to this part of Georgia.
“I know the museum will be a boon to the local economy,” Dawson said, “but I don’t see how one man’s death could adversely affect the project.”
“Funding is the problem.” She sighed. “Which sounds so inconsequential compared to the taking of a human life.”
“But—”
“That’s why I didn’t want to meet Granger when he called a few days ago. I knew if anything about my mother’s death was brought to light, the construction project could be affected.”
Dawson rubbed his hand over his jaw and let out a frustrated breath. “I still don’t get the tie-in.”
“You’re not from around here so you probably don’t know Karl Nelson.”
“Only by name. Didn’t the stolen barrel your mother’s body was found in belong to his company?”
“That’s right. Nelson Construction Company was the low bid on the museum. Mr. Nelson has been more than generous keeping the projected costs at a minimum.”
“He also owns a number of businesses in town?”
“And is known for his charitable contributions. Over the years, he and his father before him have done a lot for the local area. Mr. Nelson has also donated heavily to the museum building fund and has been working with General Cameron to attract more donors. They’re hosting a special ceremony on Wednesday to secure the remaining pledges.”
Dawson was aware of the event. “The CID, along with the military police on post, will be providing security for the high-profile guests.”
Lillie nodded. “General Cameron wants everything to go without a glitch. Mr. Nelson personally assured the donors that Freemont and Fort Rickman are exemplary communities that will showcase the best in Georgia living and draw new businesses and attractions to this part of the state.”
“You’re afraid the murder investigation could cause the donors to change their minds?”
She nodded slowly, as if struggling to find the words to express her feelings. When she finally spoke, she splayed her hands. “I work in General Cameron’s office and am the contact person for those attending the ceremony. A pending murder investigation that involves the company, especially since Granger was killed on my property, could shed the wrong kind of light on Freemont and the project, maybe even on General Cameron. Especially if information leaks out about my mother’s murder.”
After everything that had happened, Lillie wasn’t thinking rationally, but Dawson understood her concern. The museum project had been the talk of the post for months and everyone was eager for construction to commence. Small-town gossip could get out of hand, and with an abundance of charities needing funding, negative publicity could sway donors into changing their minds about supporting the building project.
Before Dawson could offer her reassurance, Pritchard stepped back inside.
“We’re ready to wrap things up.” He glanced at Lillie. “The front step is sealed off. Some of my men will return in the morning to go over the crime scene again. Use the kitchen entrance until I give you the all clear, and stay in the area in case we have more questions.”
“I’m not planning to leave town.”
Dawson stood and pulled two business cards from his pocket. He gave one to Pritchard. “The CID office phone number and my personal cell are under my name.”
Retrieving the pen from his pocket, Dawson jotted down an additional number on the back of the card he handed Lillie. “I live in the bachelor officers’ quarters on post. The handwritten digits are for the direct line to my apartment at the BOQ.”
A uniformed cop approached Pritchard. “We found some numbers scratched on a scrap of paper tucked in the victim’s jacket.”
Pressure pushed on Dawson’s chest as Pritchard read from the paper. “Nine-seven-one-four.”
Lillie stared at Dawson’s business card and silently mouthed the last four digits of his BOQ phone number. Nine-seven-one-four. The same numbers found in Granger’s jacket.
She glanced up at Dawson. Her forehead furrowed.
Oblivious to her questioning gaze, Pritchard pulled out his cell. “Might be a portion of a phone number. I’ll add the local prefix and see what we get.”
Pritchard tapped in the digits and then shook his head as he disconnected. “The number’s not in service.”
Dawson needed to leave the little house in the woods before the Freemont cop tried the unique prefix for Fort Rickman phone lines.
He turned to Lillie, who continued to stare at him. “Don’t hesitate to call me, ma’am, if you think of anything else that might have bearing on this case.”
One of her finely arched brows rose ever so slightly. “Shall I use your cell phone or your BOQ number?”
The muscle in Dawson’s neck twitched. “My cell.”
Lillie knew he was withholding information from Pritchard. Just as she was.
Maybe they could trade secrets.
TWO
The CID agent climbed into his car as Pritchard and his men prepared to leave the area. Instead of returning to Fort Rickman, Dawson turned right out of the driveway and sped along the rain-washed road that headed north toward the interstate. Rounding a bend, he passed under a train trestle and spied the lights from the Hi-Way Motel in the distance.
The triangle of red, green and blue neon pointed toward the one-story brick building that offered small rooms at a modest rate for those who couldn’t afford the larger chain motels closer to Freemont. Vacancy, the sign flashed, begging for business.
Pulling into the drive, Dawson cut his lights and circled to the rear of the complex. He parked