The Ghosts of Chateau du Chasse

By J. J. Zerr

Bill Marshall is a senior US Navy fighter pilot, who will not make admiral. During his career, he spoke his mind too often to the wrong superior officers. His wife, Kate, has subordinated her ambitions for Bill and for their children, but she has an opportunity for a great job. Bill decides to resign and support his wife, however, the US Navy ha

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Oct 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781643452180

J. J. Zerr

J. J. Zerr began writing in 2008 and has published nine novels and a book of short stories.Zerr enlisted in the US Navy after high school. While in the service, he earned a bachelor and a master's degree in engineering disciplines. During Vietnam, he flew more that 300 combat missions. He retired after thirty-six years of service and worked in aerospace for eleven years. He and his wife, Karen, reside in St. Charles MO.

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Prologue

August 1944 near Mons, Belgium

Before puberty came to visit and abided with her forever, Henrietta Defonce was more boy than girl. Neighbors said that to each other. Never to a Defonce, nor within earshot of one. At school recesses, she played soccer with the boys, and she played it better than any of them. During the summer, when school was out, and she was almost thirteen, breasts and the monthlies inflicted themselves on her. In the fall, she was not allowed on the boys’ playground. Her female classmates disliked her with heightened intensity.

That fall, her uncle brought a nine-year-old Jewess to live with them. Isabella. Isabella was Henrietta’s first friend. Papa hid the Jewess in the cellar all day and all night except for noontime. Gestapo confiscated the chateau a kilometer away for their headquarters. According to Papa, the Germans—he hissed after saying the name—religiously ate lunch at noon. So he allowed Isabella thirty minutes at the wooden table in the backyard.

That day in the fenced backyard was perfect. Blue sky, the sun warm and bright, and Isabella basked in the rays. Henrietta basked in the joy radiating off her friend. Mama’s bread in the oven wafted its heavenly aroma out the kitchen window. Papa ate his lunch at the kitchen table. Henrietta loved hearing Papa talk to Mama when no one else was around. He made her laugh. It was even a pleasure to listen to the nearby blue jay squawk.

A truck motor roared on the road in front of the farmhouse. Isabella jumped up and ran around the table. Henrietta embraced her little friend. Don’t be afraid. It’s probably one of our neighbors.

But the vehicle didn’t pass the farm. Instead, it roared down the drive and crashed into the side of the house. The side wall tumbled down and the roof fell in.

Henrietta turned and almost fell in a tangle of feet. The rear wall still stood. Mama. Papa was in there also. She tried to move to the steps leading to the rear door. The little girl clasped her waist in an iron grip.

Then the gate in the fence burst in. A huge pig-faced German soldier stood in the opening. The giant grabbed her by the arm, and Henrietta screamed and screamed.

After a time, she thought she was not really screaming. It’s just a dream. But her throat hurt, and it was like waking from a nightmare. Except this time, the evil ogre was still there.

She heard Isabella whimper. They were in a truck, and her little friend was on the other side of the giant German.

The truck stopped in front of the chateau. Pig-Face dragged the girls by the hand into the chateau and to stairs descending to a dark cellar. Henrietta pulled back and stars burst in her head, and the nightmare disappeared in darkness.

But it hadn’t disappeared. It hadn’t even started.

She woke to ropes cutting into her wrists and ankles. She was naked. Pig-Face knelt between her legs. He fell on her and crushed the breath from her. She was drowning. Details in the ceiling blurred. The single lightbulb dimmed like a weak sun barely able to burn through clouds.

Then he was off her. She breathed deep. Pain registered. From down there. Her breasts hurt.

The truck-driver German stood in the dungeon doorway. He grunted their ugly language to Pig-Face. Pig-Face pulled up his pants, and the two of them left and stomped up the stairs.

Henrietta pulled with all her might against the binding around her right wrist. The rope cut into the skin by her thumb. With a final jerk, she tore free and left a strip of bloody skin on the loop of rope. When she tried to untie the binding around her other hand, her thumb didn’t function. So she used her teeth to undo the knot. Her clumsy left hand fumbled the knots around her ankles free.

Henrietta. Isabella was bound hand and foot too. And naked. Her raven hair splayed across the dirt floor. Her big black eyes seemed to say, Save me.

Boots again clomped on the stairs.

Henrietta tore her eyes away from her friend and ran. Ran away from German boots. And away from the little girl.

If she could have, she’d have run away from the worst day of her life.

Chapter 1

April 1990

San Diego, California, USA

Fifteen minutes before office closing time, Kate Marshall’s boss called her to the conference room and asked her to sit at the table.

Her boss leaned against the sill of the window overlooking San Diego Harbor. The top of the lighthouse on Point Loma peeked over her shoulder.

Some people called Claire Daley the Ice Woman. She never smiled.

Kate. As if she’d put on lipstick, the Ice Woman put on a smile. How would you like to be my partner? We’ll change the name from Daley Jury Consulting to Daley and Marshall Jury Consulting.

Kate had managed the office for Claire for two years. It was a comfortable job. The pay was decent. The hours fit with her children’s and her husband’s schedules.

Partner? If her boss had stepped out of a burning bush and handed her the offer chiseled on a stone tablet, she wouldn’t have been more surprised.

Are you going to say something, Kate? Or just sit there with your mouth hanging open?

I’m, I’m—

Gobsmacked? According to Claire, it was a South African word she liked. It meant stunned, amazed, or something like that.

The Ice Woman, the boss, stepped to the table and sat. Kate’s mind would not or could not put the label partner or potential partner on Claire.

Her boss smiled again. It was sincere. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. Ever since I took you with me for that first jury selection.

A couple of months ago, her boss took her along for the jury selection process on a trial she’d contracted to support. Kate expected it to be a one-time thing, a reward for doing a good job. Sitting next to her boss to observe, she’d surprised Claire.

The lawyer who hired Daley Consulting finished questioning a potential juror. Claire looked down to jot notes. She didn’t notice the look of disgust flit across the man’s face. Kate was sure the expression meant the man loathed the lawyer because his suit cost more than the man’s own compact Chevy. Claire had written yes on her pad. Kate grabbed her hand. Her boss looked at her. Employee Kate pressed her lips together and shook her head. Kate’s employer signaled the lawyer to reject the juror. At the first recess, Claire asked why she wanted to reject that particular juror. After the explanation, she handed Kate a pad of paper. They both judged the rest of the potential jurors and concurred on over two-thirds of them.

Claire took her along for Daley Jury Consulting’s entire process for two additional trials. Kate was there for preliminary discussions with the lawyers, for effecting the contract, for the trial strategy sessions, and for drafting questions to pose to the jury pool. But she never saw herself as anything but Claire’s office manager. The office hired a temp when she accompanied her boss. Each time she accompanied Claire, she expected it to be the last, that she would revert to what she did well, manage Claire’s office.

The Ice Woman toned the muscles of her tall, lithe frame. She kept her straight blonde hair chopped off so it just covered her ears. Her blue eyes were the feature people remembered, though. Her eyes seemed to bore inside a person and finger all the secrets hidden there. It took some time to get used to her eyes. Claire aimed them at Kate now.

I’ve watched you through three jury selections. I’m not sure how you do it. I studied human behavior and have learned to read faces and mannerisms. I think you see people’s souls. Whatever the nature of your gift, we can do great things together. As Daley and Marshall, we can more than double our business.

Claire slid a sheet of paper across the table. The document described the form of the partnership, how Kate would buy into the firm through withholding part of her salary, and the start date of the partnership. Tomorrow.

I’m—

The Ice Woman came around the table and put her warm hand on her shoulder. Talk it over with your husband. I would really like an answer before seven tomorrow morning. But if you need a week to consider what you’d be getting into, you have it. Okay?

The reason her boss wanted an answer in the morning was because two lawyers wanted to hire the firm, but both jury selections were set to begin on the same day.

Claire left the conference room.

Kate shook her head, trying to assimilate the enormity of the offer. If she accepted it, she would have to handle one case while Claire took the other.

I can’t—

Another thought shoved I can’t aside. For twenty-one years, she’d been married to the US Navy and to Captain Bill Marshall. She’d subordinated her own wants and needs for those of the service and for Bill’s career. The children. They all came first. The US Navy, Bill, and the children. Now Claire offered her something for herself.

A partnership. Daley and Marshall. She closed her eyes and saw the firm’s stationary with the new letterhead. And the new sign on the office door.

The children. They loved their school and would be pleased to remain there.

Mother. She was still not recovered from her burst appendix. It would be better to not move her.

Me? It was so incredibly strange to put me on the list of concerned parties.

Bill. Thoughts of him dashed the cold water of reality to her face.

She walked to the window and looked at the aircraft carrier at the pier at North Island Naval Station and beyond to the building where Bill worked for Vice Admiral Early.

Bill had served twenty-four years. He would not make admiral. He’d spoken his mind too many times. He’d called his previous boss Admiral Ditzhead. Not to his face of course. But the performance evaluation Rear Admiral Ditzhead completed on him ensured navy captain would be his last promotion.

Bill was due for orders, and the only job on the horizon was a Pentagon assignment, one he detested. But did he detest it enough to resign?

A slug of cold blood entered her heart. As she stared at Admiral Early’s HQ building, she felt hope ooze out of her.

Get a grip, Katey girl!

Her father, dead a year now, spoke to her at times when the emotional weight of events dragged her down.

She had things to do. First on the list, visit Mother.

Third-generation American-Irish Kate O’Riley Marshall grew up in Green River, Wyoming. When her father died, she expected her mother to remain in Green River and take over her father’s hardware store. But she sold the store and informed her daughter of her intention to live close to her grandchildren. Bill offered to arrange an apartment for her in the same complex they lived in on Coronado across the harbor from San Diego.

Close to my grandchildren, Maureen O’Riley responded, but not that close.

Kate found her a high-rise condo facing the Pacific. Her mother was ecstatic with it, with her weekly dinners with the Marshall family, and with attendance at the grandchildren’s school and athletic events.

Then six weeks ago, she started feeling ill.

Go to the doctor, Kate said.

It’s not that bad.

But her mother continued to deteriorate. Most alarming, she lost the sparkle in her green eyes. She lost her spirit. Kate took her to her doctor. He sent her immediately to the ER. Her mother’s appendix had burst, but the rupture had been encapsulated by the intestines. The doctor explained this prevented the poison spilling like a burst dam inside her. Instead, the poison slowly leaked into her system.

You got her here just in time, he said.

But her mother never bounced back after the surgery, and her eyes continued to look like jade rather than emeralds as they had before.

Her mother refused an invitation to move in with them. Kate dithered over whether to decide for her, as she had regarding the trip to the doctor. But according to the doctor, there was nothing wrong with her body or mind. There was nothing a doctor could treat. The condo and the view she loved would be better able to mend her spirt. And they lived close by, a ten-minute drive. Plus, Kate called every morning. Every afternoon, she visited. Every evening before bedtime, she called again.

That afternoon, Kate knocked and let herself in with her own key. Mother turned from her chair by the window and smiled. The daughter judged it a polite smile, rather than warm.

Kate asked her about her day and how she was feeling as she checked the refrigerator and pantry shelves to determine the need for groceries, but also to make sure she had eaten.

I ate.

The tone of annoyance encouraged Kate. Further, she had at least eaten breakfast. The milk and OJ containers held less than last night.

What are you having for dinner?

The other half of the frozen dinner from last night.

Can I put it in the microwave for you?

You’re trying to make me feel helpless.

Mother gazed out her window at the blue sky and sea. A placid expression settled on her face. I’m so happy I moved here and have this to look at as much as I want. After Wyoming scenery all my life, this is heaven.

Mother, Claire offered me a partnership in her firm.

Her mother turned away from her beloved view. Her green eyes sparkled, and pride and pleasure glowed in them.

Partnership! Kate, dear. I am so very proud of you. Then the spark fizzled, and the old woman turned back to the ocean.

Old woman? Feisty, the life of the party, a regular spitfire, those were the labels people stuck to her.

When her father died, there was no mystery associated with it. He’d smoked, and lung cancer claimed him. His spirit, however, remained untouched. On his last day, Kate cried and held his hand. Get a grip, Katey girl, he’d said. Despite the disease wasting his body, it could not debilitate his spirit. But with Mother, it worked the other way. At the last checkup, the doctor said there was nothing wrong with her physically. But there was something wrong. Her mother had been altered.

The partnership. Have you told Bill and the children?

I’ll tell them at dinner.

Go. Fix dinner for them. I’ll eat my own here. She turned again to the ocean. You don’t have to babysit me.

Kate knelt and kissed her mother on the cheek.

After dinner, the children were sent to do homework. Kate poured Bill a cup of coffee and told him about the offer. He often teased that jury consulting was just another slimy lawyer trick to stack the deck so guilty people avoided justice. But she wasn’t sure if he really believed that. Navy fighter pilot’s version of humor often sounded like an intent to wound. And it was one thing to serve as office manager for Claire and something else to do the work herself.

He was sipping coffee when she told him. He coughed and then grinned. Katey girl, what a great deal! I’m happy Claire appreciates what a gem she has in you. He looked like he was proud of her and said so.

So you think I should take Claire’s offer?

Of course. Captain Obvious would like to point out this is a great opportunity. Opportunities do not grow on trees.

It’ll mean we stay here.

Well, what if I take the Pentagon job, and you and the kids stay here. It’ll only be two years.

No. After ten years of back-to-back-to-back sea duty assignments, these past two of shore duty have been so good for us. I do not want to begin this decade with more separation. The job is not as important as us being together.

Bill got up, walked to the refrigerator, and drew two glasses of water.

Kate wanted to see his face, to see what he was thinking, but she’d never been able to read him as she could the strangers in a jury pool.

I know the end of my career is right in front of me. But getting out of the navy, well, it’s a heavy thing. I didn’t want to think about it. He slid a glass of water to her. So I thought about it.

While you were getting a glass of water?

He looked into her eyes. Tomorrow morning, I will put in my letter of resignation. You’ve taken a back seat for twenty-plus years supporting me in my career. You’ve been the one who held us together. I owe you a lot more than this. Take the offer, Kate.

Bill! It was all she’d been able to say.

So many years, the only thing that mattered was what Bill wanted, what the navy required, what their children needed, and now, she could do what she wanted. It was a strange notion.

Call Claire, Bill said.

She did, and Claire had been pleased in a cool, mature businesswoman way.

The next morning, Bill woke Kate to tell her he was leaving for work. She grabbed him around the neck and kissed him hard.

Katey girl, I am going to resign from the navy every day, until death do us part.

He left, and she stretched her arms above her head, luxuriating in the morning, in being swept up again on the same wave of unexpected and unbounded joy, which kept her awake an hour after her husband drifted off.

This is the happiest day of my life!

Catholic guilt, or her guardian angel wielding a tennis racket, smacked the sinful, selfish thought out of her head like a vicious service return.

When the nurse laid Heather, her firstborn, across her chest and she made skin-to-skin contact with her baby, that had been the best. Eleven years ago. That marked the happiest of her life.

The births of Sally and JR—William Junior—were happiest days too.

And until Heather’s birth date, she’d always counted the day she fell in love with Bill as the happiest. Their college speech class. Bill had been assigned the task of defending the proposition that women’s suffrage should be repealed. A preposterous notion. But as Bill spoke, Kate fell in love with the blond, trim-waisted, six-foot Wyoming cowboy. Never mind the words coming out of his mouth.

Bill, her three children, the partnership. There was plenty of joy in the fifth happiest day of her life to fill her heart to overflowing.

She threw the quilt back, entered the bathroom, and did not do what she usually did first: count the gray hairs to ensure there were still only three.

After dropping the children off at their Catholic school, she crossed the bridge from Coronado to San Diego and parked in the garage under the office building. When the elevator doors opened, she was stunned. The sign on the office door said, Daley and Marshall, Jury Consulting. Claire must have had a sign painter on standby.

The part-time staff surprised her with a cake and champagne. At nine, Kate went to meet a potential client in his office. By herself. This first solo punctured her bubble of euphoria and brought her feet firmly to earth. But she sold the lawyer on Daley and Marshall. The rest of the day, she worked with the lawyer’s staff crafting strategy and tailoring questions to better chances for a sympathetic jury.

She finished the preliminary strategy session at 3:30 pleased, satisfied, and proud. Not bad, Katey girl. Then she realized she had not called her mother that morning. With the celebration and the job, she’d forgotten. As a partner, she had a cellular telephone in her car.

No answer.

Sometimes, a friend from the condo complex took her shopping, but that had not happened since her illness. Her mother had shown a bit of spirit last night. Maybe she felt good enough to go shopping. Maybe.

Instead of driving to the office, she crossed the bridge and drove to the condo.

Mother was still in the chair. Her eyes, glazed now, still stared at the blue water and sky.

Bill. He would know what to do.

Her trembling fingers misdialed the number, but then got it right.

Captain Marshall’s office. Yeoman Sanchez speaking, sir.

This is Mrs. Marshall. Can I speak to the captain, please?

Uh, ma’am, didn’t you know? Captain Marshall has orders to Belgium. He’s on a plane flying there now.

Kate dropped the phone.

Mrs. Marshall? Are you all right? Mrs. Marshall?

Chapter 2

Bill got to the office early determined to do what he’d promised to do last night. Resign from the United States Navy. But saying it last night had been easy. Now, the enormity of quitting kicked him in the gut.

First order of business: write the letter. For an hour, he stared at his blank computer screen. As long as he did not start the letter, leaving the service was not real. The letter scared him as much as his first combat hop over Vietnam.

May 27, 1972. The squadron schedules officer plugged Lieutenant (junior grade) Bill Marshall into the daily plan to fly his first combat hop over North Vietnam. An all-consuming passion to be a fighter pilot and fly combat missions had propelled him through navy flight training. In each phase, he’d knocked down top grades and proved himself to be a natural stick-and-throttle jockey and a cool-headed decision maker.

The war will end before I get there. That’s what he’d feared. But he was there. In his cockpit. On the flight deck. Soon, the crew would start the engine of his F-8 fighter. They’d launch him for his baptism of fire mission. The war did not end before he got there.

But