CHAPTER SEVEN
Marcus Welling lived in Lincolnia, a medium-sized residential community just southwest of Arlington. During the short drive over, Faith had done some background research on Welling that made him look a lot better as the possible killer.
“Check this out,” Faith said.
“What is it?” Jessica asked.
“Looks like Welling served with the Corps in Afghanistan and spent two years in the brigade for which Hayes was chaplain after leaving my unit. He led his squad into battle on a Sunday morning and came back with only three of his thirteen men.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, it was rough. But listen to this. During his post-op debrief, he called Hayes a false prophet and said he had promised them that God would protect them. He demanded that Hayes be brought to court-martial for his lies.”
Faith’s brow furrowed. He didn’t believe Hayes would make a blanket statement like that, but he could see how someone might mistake something he had said for a promise of protection.
He might have said Rely on God, and Welling’s mind added and He will answer your prayers. “Did anything come of that?”
“Not for Hayes, obviously, but Welling was psychologically evaluated and determined unfit for continued combat. He received a medical discharge and returned home.”
“So, he has motive.”
“Well, what he might consider motive, at least,” Faith agreed.
“When was this?” Jessica asked. “You said Hayes retired ten years ago.”
“The combat stuff happened thirteen years ago, but he just ran into Hayes last week. He’s been undergoing regular psychiatric treatment with the VA. He might have seen Hayes and suffered a mental break that he acted on in the worst possible way.”
"Got it. Does he live alone?"
“According to the DMV, yes, but I suppose it’s possible that people without driver’s licenses or ID cards could live there.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Jessica said, pulling her Prius into the parking lot of the apartment complex. Thankfully, the media didn’t know about this lead, so they didn’t have to worry about vultures descending on them while they talked to their suspect.
The apartment complex was fairly standard.
Two stories, maybe sixty units split across three buildings.
Clean but not fancy. Judging by the quiet, Faith guessed no pets allowed.
No one was outdoors, and when she scanned the buildings, she didn’t see any nosy neighbors looking through their windows, all of which were shuttered.
It wasn’t likely that anyone had seen anything that could help them determine if Welling had been out and about earlier that morning.
“What do we do if he doesn’t want to talk?” Jessica asked. “We can’t force him to let us in.”
“Let’s see if he’ll talk to us before we start thinking of the worst-case scenario,” Faith said.
“But if it comes to that, we do have a record of an altercation with Hayes immediately before his death. We can use that to authorize searches into his phone and internet records and justify talking to him at his place of business where he can’t as easily hide from us. ”
“Sounds complicated.”
“It can be, but it usually isn’t. People like talking to the FBI. They like feeling important.”
Jessica laughed. “Not sure if I agree, but I’ll think positively.”
Welling was in unit thirty-four, a first-floor one-bedroom that sported a knocker in the shape of a globe-and-anchor and a banner with the same logo and the Marine Corps motto Semper Fidelis hanging from a pole in the small plot of dirt in front of his door.
A small American flag flew at half-mast next to that banner, and below that, a flag that read MAY WE NEVER FORGET.
Faith sympathized with Welling. Whether he was their killer or not, he had suffered something no leader should ever have to suffer. He had brought men and women into combat and watched them die under his command. That was a pain unlike any other.
Jessica knocked on the door, and to Faith’s mild surprise, Welling answered almost immediately. He looked between the two agents with an irritable expression on his face. “Yeah?”
Welling was tall, six-three or -four. His hair was the same sandy blonde as Faith’s but with a little more gray.
His eyes were hazel that tended heavily to yellow, slightly bloodshot now, probably from the beer that Faith could smell emanating from his stained white wifebeater.
His arms were long and slender but well-muscled, but he had a sizable paunch that told Faith he’d consumed a great many beers in the thirteen years since leaving the Marine Corps.
He was more than capable of strangling Hayes to death, though.
“Marcus Welling?” Faith asked.
In the same tone, Welling replied, “Yeah?”
“I’m Special Agent Faith Bold. This is my partner, Special Agent Jessica Torres and my K9 unit Turk.”
Welling looked at Turk and blinked, as though noticing him for the first time. “A dog,” he said simply.
Very good, Marcus, Faith thought drily. “Yes. My K9 unit.”
Turk watched Welling with his usual alertness, but he didn’t show any particular sign of distress or suspicion.
There was likely no evidence from the scene of Hayes’s murder that Turk could use to identify Welling, but his lack of suspicion counted for something.
Turk was usually very good at telling when someone was truly dangerous or merely belligerent.
“What the hell did you bring a dog for?” Welling asked. “I ain’t got weed in here.”
“We’re not here for weed,” Faith said. “We’re here investigating the murder of Robert Hayes.”
Welling flinched and met Faith’s eyes. “Oh, shit.”
“Oh, shit is right,” Jessica agreed drily. “Mind if we come in?”
Welling hesitated, looking past the two of them as though trying to see if anyone was watching. After a few seconds, he shrugged and said, “Sure. Might as well get this over with.”
He trudged inside, and Faith and Jessica shared a look, then followed.
Considering the strong odor of alcohol wafting from Welling, his apartment was surprisingly clean.
The furniture was modest but comfortable, and the television small but bright and flanked by a nice set of speakers from a high-quality brand.
What really stood out about the place, however, were the photos and displays covering his walls.
Men and women ranging in age from twenty to thirty or so, all in Marine Corps uniforms. Some of the photos were bright glossy images on dark backgrounds, and the subjects were wearing full dress blues.
Others were grainy, washed-out prints of grimy Marines in battle fatigues standing in front of vehicles or prefab buildings, clearly taken on deployment.
Besides the photos were framed folded flags, medals encased in glass, trinkets like bracelets, a small stuffed frog keychain, and a flyer for something called the CALABASAS COUNTY COWBOY COWABUNGA. Welling had turned his living room into a shrine for his fallen comrades.
“Okay,” he said, settling heavily into an ancient recliner that creaked in protest at his weight. “Go ahead and ask your questions.”
“We’ll start with an easy one,” Jessica said. “Did you kill Robert Hayes?”
“No. Gee, that was easy. Next one.”
“Can you verify your whereabouts this morning at six?”
“No. That was also easy. Next one.”
“Where were you?” Faith asked.
“Here.”
“But you can’t prove that.”
“That’s what verify means, right?”
Faith and Jessica shared another look. The fact that Welling didn’t have an alibi didn’t confirm that he was the killer, but his cavalier approach to their questions concerned Faith.
Either he was too confident and didn’t think they could pin this on him, or he didn’t care what happened to him, in which case there was little stopping him from killing Hayes.
“Mr. Welling, to be clear, we suspect that you might have murdered Chaplain Hayes.”
“Yeah, I figured that when you asked, ‘Did you kill Robert Hayes?’.”
“Your blunt admission that you have no alibi this morning coupled with the recorded altercation you had with him last week makes you appear very suspicious,” Faith said.
Welling chuckled. “Well, I appreciate you being blunt.”
“You want to talk to us about that altercation?” Faith prompted.
“There was no altercation,” he said, emphasizing the word. “I yelled at him. Called him a liar, which he is, and a false prophet, which he is.”
His eyes strayed to one of the pictures on his wall, a young woman with a spectacular smile and dark brown eyes as smooth as chocolate. His lower lip trembled, and he pressed both lips together firmly.
“You had to be removed by security,” Faith reminded him.
“Yeah, they don’t like when big, strong almost middle-aged men shout at small, weak old men. But I never touched him. I never touched anyone. That security guard was being a little bitch.”
Faith and Jessica shared a dry look, and Jessica said, “May I ask why you started an argument with Mr. Hayes?”
Welling’s eyes moved to the picture of the young woman again. “You ever seen someone die, agent?”
“Yes,” Jessica responded.
“How’d you like it?”
“It wasn’t the highlight of my life,” Jessica replied warily.
“It sucks,” Faith said bluntly. “It’s awful.
The first time it happens, your mind refuses to accept what it’s seeing.
The next few times, it’s like having a fork scraped across an open wound.
Eventually, scar tissue grows around your heart, and you can function despite watching it happen, but it still gnaws at you.
It’s a constant ache that every now and then flares up into debilitating pain. ”
Jessica blinked at Faith, a little taken aback at her vehemence. Welling, as Faith hoped, looked at her with something approaching trust, or at least the beginning of trust. “Yeah. That’s a good way to put it.” He sighed. “Are you religious?”
“No,” Faith replied.
“Lapsed Catholic,” Jessica said.
Welling nodded. “Episcopalian. You familiar?”
“I believe that is the name of the American Anglican Church,” Faith replied.
Welling chuckled. “Well, yeah, I guess. Point is, I believe in God. Or I did. Now… Well, He might exist, but if He does, He’s a prick.”
Faith planned her response carefully. She didn’t want to get into a theological argument with Welling, especially since she had no skin in that game. His response was more evidence of his anger, though, and that pertained to her case.
“I understand that during your argument with Chaplain Hayes, you called him a liar and a false prophet.”
“Yep.”
“May I ask why?”
Welling laughed again. Faith got the impression it was a defense mechanism rather than an expression of amusement. He ran his hand through his hair and Faith noticed a long, thick scar running down his neck on the right side.
“He said that God would protect us. We had mass that morning before we went to fight. Episcopalians are supposed to attend communion, not mass, but we didn’t have an Episcopalian chaplain, so I usually sat in with the Catholics.
I talked to Hayes, told him that I was leading a squad in the assault on the Taliban village.
He told me to trust in God. I trusted in God.
He led us to an ambush and killed ten of my squad.
Left me with a thick cut down my right side. ”
He looked at the picture on the wall and thrust his chin at it.
“That’s Vanya. She was nineteen. She was going to be a dentist. She signed up for the Corps to earn money and grants for school.
Her family couldn’t afford to send her without them.
She was a good kid. A Taliban fighter cut her throat open and pulled her head back, then cut her again.
He was trying to decapitate her. Almost did. ”
His left foot began tapping repeatedly on the floor. His hands clenched on his lap, and his lips thinned until they were nearly bloodless. “Fucking prick. He’s a fucking Goddamned prick. He said we were gonna be protected.”
His fingers tightened. The knuckles turned white. His lips pulled back from his teeth. Turk growled low in his throat, and Welling blinked and looked at him. He relaxed a little. Just a little.
“Am I under arrest?”
“I’d like to keep talking. It’s clear you held a lot of—”
“Am I under arrest?”
Faith took a deep breath, and as she exhaled, she admitted, “No.”
“Then we’re done here. If you end up arresting me, you can talk to my lawyer. Otherwise, fuck off.”
Jessica and Faith shared one more look with each other.
Jessica’s face made it clear she didn’t want this conversation to end, but Welling was getting dangerously close to getting a lawyer involved, and that would make this much more difficult and complicated.
Better for them to back off for now and find more evidence linking him to the crime.
Then they could come back and talk to him from a position of strength.
“Have a nice day, Mr. Welling,” Faith said. “If you think of anything else, please give us a call.”
She left her business card on his coffee table, then led her partner and her K9 unit out of the apartment. When they were outside, Jessica said, “I’m going to call Arlington and have them put units on this complex. I would do it myself, but I’m tired as hell. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”
“That’s fine,” Faith said. “We’ll hang out until the locals get here, then grab a hotel room and get some shuteye.”
“So, you’re staying here tonight?” Jessica said. “You don’t want to head back home?”
Faith considered then shook her head. If she went home, she would get caught up in David’s case. She needed to be committed to this case. Her husband was alive, and a lot of people were working to make sure he stayed that way. Hayes was dead. She needed to work to make sure he received justice.
It wasn’t Hayes that stuck in Faith’s mind as she joined Jessica in her car, though.
It was Vanya, the aspiring dentist with the beautiful smile.
Welling had seen her throat slit in an ambush that he believed God would preserve her from.
Some might scoff at that, but Faith knew how powerful belief could be, and how critical it could be for those facing the greatest challenges people could possibly face.
Welling was angry and violent and possibly a murderer, but she sympathized with him.
Just like Robert Hayes would have.