Free Helpless by Daniel Palmer Page B

Stephen’s drug problems were as serious as Adriana believed them to be. Against Adriana’s wishes, Roland insisted Stephen remain in school, not return to rehab, after another of his many relapses. Six months later, Stephen was dead.
    Boyd wore a creaseless light blue polo shirt, dark khaki cargo shorts, and wire-rimmed reading glasses. His short military crop was now a healthy head of dark hair with distinguished gray patches at the temples, which he slicked back with a glossy gel. Boyd’s thin face didn’t have a sprig of facial hair on it, and his youthful appearance was strikingly similar to that of his son Mitchell.
    “Tom’s moving back to Shilo,” Adriana said, with excitement in her voice. “Isn’t that wonderful news?”
    “Yes, it certainly is,” Roland said.
    “I’m moving back into the Oak Street house,” Tom said. “So Jill doesn’t have to leave.”
    “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
    “If you’ll excuse me,” Adriana said, “I’ve got a lot of planning work to do for the party.” Adriana’s face lit up in a bright smile, as though she’d been struck by a fantastic idea. “Oh, Roland,” she said. “Have you invited Tom? It think it would be good for him to make some new connections now that he’s moving back into town.”
    Roland nodded. “Sure. That’s a great idea.”
    “What is?” asked Tom.
    “My annual client appreciation party at the club. You really should be there. Adriana’s right. It’s a good way for you to meet some of your new neighbors. Or old neighbors, as the case may be.”
    “I’ll make sure you get an invitation before you leave,” Adriana said.
    “That would be great,” said Tom as he exchanged air kisses with Adriana.
    Roland turned to watch his wife leave the room. “I’m a lucky man,” he said, but only after her footsteps could no longer be heard. “How are you holding up, Tom?”
    “Doing okay. Thanks for asking.”
    “And Jill?”
    “She’s doing all right.”
    “I’m trying to rearrange my schedule so I can come to the funeral,” Roland said.
    “Thanks,” said Tom.
    “Look, Tom, I’m happy if you just want to hang out and chat, play catchup, but on the phone you sounded like you had something pretty important to talk about. No need to beat around the bush with me. Just saying.”
    Tom nodded. He always appreciated Roland’s style. “Do you remember a guy named Kip Lange?” Tom asked.
    Roland pursed his lips. “No. Is he from Shilo?”
    “Not Shilo,” Tom said. “Wiesbaden.”
    Tom could see the recollection come to Roland’s face. “Lange ... Isn’t that the guy who shot Stan Greeley?”
    Tom nodded. “About sixteen years ago. You, me, and Kelly, we were all stationed there at the time.”
    “Right. But if my memory serves, I think I was in Denmark when that went down. Who knows? Feels like a lifetime ago. Why? What’s up with Lange? You don’t think he had something to do with what happened to Kelly, do you?”
    “I don’t know,” Tom said. “But I was wondering if you might have seen him around town.”
    “Isn’t he still in prison?”
    “He got out on appeal, sixteen years into his twenty-five-year sentence,” Tom said, quoting facts that Marvin had uncovered.
    “The guy shoots an officer and wins his appeal? Explain that one to me.”
    Marvin had unearthed the answer to that question as well. “I guess two of the ballistics experts and the MP who was first on the scene after the shooting gave their testimony via two-way video technology. Lange’s defense argued that their testimony violated his constitutional right of confrontation and should have been inadmissible during trial. It took sixteen years, but the CAAF got some new judges appointed, and well, they agreed with the defense. The evidence was thrown out, as was Lange’s conviction.”
    “So when did Lange get out?” asked Roland.
    “Apparently, just a few days before somebody broke into Kelly’s house,” Tom