“Yes,” the woman says, now opening up freely, and Rosaria gets the feeling this woman is lonely and loves to be the focus of attention. “But it was…odd.”

“Odd in what way?”

The woman utters a strained laugh. “It was just…odd. She came out carrying a…you know, a big bag. With two handles.”

“A duffel bag?”

“That’s right,” the woman says. “I was asking her questions about the carpet-cleaning firm that came by earlier yesterday, and she seemed to be in quite the hurry. Even apologized for it.”

“And she said she was returning to work?”

The woman nodded. “That’s right.”

Rosaria walks around to the front of the house, seeing the parked CR-V. The woman tags along, like she still wants to be in the spotlight, still wants to be here to answer Rosaria’s questions.

Rosaria doesn’t disappoint her. “Her husband. Do you know where he is?”

“Well…he should be home. I mean, that’s his car. And for the past several months he’s been working at home, on a book. Sometimes he flies out on research trips. Amy drives her Jeep. So…he should be home.”

Rosaria gives the house a good stare. The quiet and empty windows seem to be mocking her. The woman’s voice lowers. “Is…something wrong?”

“They have a daughter. Have you see her today?”

“No…but she should be at school. I mean…she should.”

Rosaria nods. Captain Amy Cornwall is now in some serious trouble. She’s not sick. She’s not back at Fort Belvoir, despite what she told her neighbor yesterday. Captain Cornwall is gone, with a stuffed duffel bag over her shoulder, leaving in a hurry. And husband and daughter…gone as well. Husband’s CR-V is still in the yard, but there are stores and such within easy walking distance.

How would it work?

Captain Cornwall wants to bug out. The Afghanistan investigation…it must mean something much bigger than just a dead Taliban prisoner in her custody. Captain Cornwall makes arrangements, husband and daughter walk off to a nearby restaurant or service station, leaving the CR-V behind, and mom and wife rolls by, picks them up, and off they go.

Very serious indeed.

“Is everything all right?” the neighbor asks. “Is everything okay?”

Rosaria snaps to. “Yes, everything’s fine. Just routine.”

She digs into her jacket and takes out the leather wallet holding her badge, slips out a business card with her Quantico number and cell phone number, passes it over. The woman holds the card in both hands.

“That’s my name and phone number,” Rosaria explains. “If you think of anything else about Captain Cornwall, or if she comes back or contacts you, will you call me? Right away?”

“I…I guess so,” she says, reluctantly.

“May I ask your name, ma’am?”

“Gaetz. Shirley Gaetz.”

Rosaria extends her hand, and the woman takes it with a soft handshake. She says, “Thanks for your cooperation. I greatly appreciate it.”

Mrs. Gaetz nods. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Rosaria smiles. “You have a nice day now.”

CHAPTER 17