by L. A. Witt
“MA1 Anderson has stated he was counting on you to see debris in the water. You turned away from your post, and the boat tangled in a net.”
I stared at him, disbelieving what I was hearing. “Chief, I told you—I couldn’t have seen—”
“I know what you’ve told me.” He sighed as if I was trying his patience. “Listen. Everyone has to take responsibility for their roles in what happened out there. It was a terrible accident, but this could end a man’s career. You know MA1 Anderson and his wife have a baby on the way, right? Think about them.”
I swallowed, certain I could taste both seawater and bile.
What about me? I could have died. Rhodes could have died. What the fuck?
Lasby smiled and gave a slight nod, as if he’d taken my stunned silence for agreement. “Anyway. The investigator will be waiting for you in my office.” He clapped my shoulder and jerked his head toward the classroom. “Good luck on the exam.”
“Thanks, Chief,” I said automatically.
After he’d gone, I stared at the empty hallway for a full minute before I shuffled into the classroom. I dropped into the empty desk chair beside Chris, my mind reeling and my stomach doing things I really didn’t need it to be doing right now.
Chris looked at me. “You okay?”
I shook my head. I didn’t dare speak. God knew who else in this room was in Chief Lasby’s pocket, and anyway, if I opened my mouth I was liable to get sick.
The worst feeling of oh fuck, I’m so screwed started settling on my shoulders like a wet, heavy blanket. I knew what was happening. The command had dragged its feet on the internal investigation. The longer it took for Big Navy to get involved and send in their own team, the more likely our memories would get cloudy. Our stories would be more easily massaged by suggestions.
Or by outright fucking gaslighting.
I knew what was happening now just like I knew what had happened out there on the water. Yeah, everything was fuzzy after I’d gone into the drink, but before that? I remembered. MA1 Anderson had nearly gotten both me and MA3 Rhodes killed, and now I was being pressured by a higher-up to lie to save Anderson’s ass. So he could continue on his merry way through a career as—
The proctor silenced everyone in the room, startling me out of my thoughts. My stomach lurched again as the proctor started handing out the exams.
By the time the test began, I was still a jittery half-panicked mess. I stared down at the exam. Nothing made sense. It wasn’t the concussion this time, either. Sure, the knock on the head made it harder to parse things—I had to read a little slower and give myself a bit more time to process than I was used to—but it was the chief’s words echoing in my ears that jumbled everything on the page.
Oh fuck.
I am so screwed.
After the exam was over, Chris tried to get me to tell him what was going on, but I promised him I’d fill him in later. Right now, I just needed to get to Chief Lasby’s office.
When I walked into the office, I was immediately uncomfortable. I knew in a heartbeat I should have asked to speak to the investigator someplace else. Neutral territory. Someplace that didn’t feel so . . . biased. It was just a room—cramped, full of gunmetal-gray file cabinets and a desk covered in drab green folders and picture frames—but it was Lasby’s office. His presence and his authority and his threats hung over everything like stale cigarette smoke.
The investigator rose behind Lasby’s desk. “Come on in, MA2.”
Trying to hide my nausea, I shut the door, then approached the desk. The investigator was a tall commander with a shaved head and a shitload of ribbons on his white uniform. There were Iraq and Afghanistan campaign ribbons, several I didn’t recognize, and a Purple Heart. He had scars on one side of his face, and there was a deep gouge in his forearm. This wasn’t someone who’d skated through his career as a desk jockey.
He extended his hand across the table. “MA2, I’m Commander Worley. Just going to ask you some questions.”
I shook his hand. “Okay, sir.” We both sat, and I tried to will my stomach to settle while I waited for him to speak.
He skimmed over the papers in front of him before he looked right at me. “First, I’d like you to tell me everything that happened on the night in question. Starting when you went out on watch.”
I moistened my lips. I could see a copy of my statement peeking out from beneath his notepad. He already knew the story, but he wanted me to repeat it anyway. I’d have done the same thing if I were on his side of the desk. It was the quickest way to refresh his memory and mine and see if there were any glaring holes in the statement I’d already made ages ago and my account today.
I took a deep breath and told him everything.
When I was done, he made some notes before meeting my gaze across Lasby’s desk. “You’re a Level II coxswain. MA1 Anderson is only a Level I. Rank notwithstanding, you have the qualification and with it the responsibility.” He inclined his head. “There a reason why his discretion overrode yours?”
“He was the assigned coxswain for the patrol. I had to defer to him.”
Worley studied me. When he furrowed his brow, some of the scars on his cheek and temple deepened, as if to remind me this was a man who’d been through hell and didn’t have the patience for a dipshit like me. “According to your statement, you were on the bow before the boat snagged on the nets. When the incident occurred, you had stepped away from your position. Why?”
I swallowed. “To tell MA1 Anderson to turn back.”
“But he was the assigned coxswain, as well as your superior.” There was a hint of challenge in his tone. Almost sarcasm. My heart sank deeper than before. He’d already heard from Anderson. Worse, Chief Lasby had gotten to him. He’d given him the story the way he wanted it told. Instead of my testimony being able to stand on its own merit, everything I said was being stacked up against that of a respected—and connected—chief and his pet MA1.
I fought the urge to squirm under the commander’s scrutiny. “I felt that MA1 Anderson’s actions as coxswain were putting myself and MA3 Rhodes into physical danger. I made the decision to override him and take control of the boat. By force if necessary.”
Worley’s eyebrows shot up. “By force?”
“If necessary, yes, sir.”
“What kind of force?”
“I hadn’t decided yet, sir. I’d only made the decision to remove him from command of the boat.”
“I see.” He looked down at his notes for a painfully long moment. “I understand it’s procedure for the boat’s gunner to secure the weapon in rough seas.” His eyes flicked up to mine. “There a reason you hadn’t done so?”
“My primary concern was watching for debris or obstacles, sir.”
“Were you aware that fishing nets were a possible danger?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve had boats get tangled in them before.”
“I see.” He made a note, then folded his hands on top of the pad. “Tell me about what happened after you went overboard.”
I shuddered. “I don’t remember much, sir.”
“Tell me what you do remember.”
I took a deep breath and gave myself a moment. “I remember fighting with the inflators on my vest, but I couldn’t get them inflated.”
“Why not?”
“They’re not auto-inflators. I couldn’t get my fingers around the handles. Not while I was trying to swim and keep control of the rifle.”
Worley wrote something down.
When he was done, I continued. “At one point, I surfaced, and the hull of the boat hit me. I was . . .” Darkness. Saltwater. Copper. I shivered, the chair creaking and giving me away. “I might’ve been unconscious for a few seconds. Next thing I knew, the vest was inflated, the rifle and my police belt were gone, and I was at the surface.”
“MA3 Rhodes was with you at this point.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Did she make any attempt to throw you a life ring before
getting into the water herself?”
“I don’t know, sir. If she did, I didn’t see it.” I paused, then quickly added, “I couldn’t have grabbed on to it if she had, honestly.”
He wrote some more notes.
The interview continued until I was almost hoarse from answering the same questions over and over. Sometimes he’d word them differently, but it was like he was trying to find an inconsistency in my story. Which of course an investigator needed to do, but it was more like he already knew there was an inconsistency, and he was bound and determined to find it.
“Nobody’s expecting your memory to be completely clear,” Lasby had said. “Not after that bang on the head.”
Icy sweat trickled down my spine. That was what he was doing, wasn’t he? Looking for that slip that would kill my credibility because the TBI had scrambled my brain. Jesus.
When we were finally finished, I was sweating and shaky. Partly because I hadn’t eaten in way too long, partly because I’d been up since way too early, and partly because I felt like I’d just been interrogated as a suspect, not a witness. Or a victim.
He dismissed me, and I went into the men’s room to collect myself. Somehow I managed not to throw up, and instead I splashed some cold water on my face. Hands on the sink, I stared at a crack in the porcelain snaking toward the half-rusted drain, and focused on breathing.
Commander Worley was probably a standup officer and a solid investigator. He’d probably come into this with no bias. But somehow, Chief Lasby had gotten to him, and he’d tainted Worley’s perspective.
It wasn’t hard to do. I was a cop—I knew more than most people how easy it was to sway someone. There was a reason we always had the involved parties of a domestic questioned separately and by different officers. Otherwise, whoever questioned the first person was likely to be biased by their answers, and the second person wouldn’t stand a chance at a fair investigation.
On paper, Worley probably wasn’t supposed to have contact with anyone except Anderson, Rhodes, and myself. Maybe Chris and the others involved in the rescue. But Chief Lasby was in charge of HPU. Of course he’d speak to the investigator. All he had to do was let a few subtle comments slip to put some chinks in our credibility.
MA2 Taylor is going to make a solid leader someday. Especially once he learns to assert his authority before a situation gets out of hand.
Once MA3 Rhodes goes to coxswain’s school, she’ll be calmer. Not so quick to overreact to things.
Shame about that concussion. Really did a number on the poor kid’s mind.
I sighed at the thought. That was all it would take. A few bugs in Worley’s ear about me and Rhodes, and every single word we said would be filtered through a lens of bullshit. It didn’t matter what I’d said in that room. Commander Worley already knew the truth. Or rather, the truth that would go into the official report on the incident.
Heart in my feet, I continued down the hall. I needed food. I needed sleep. I needed—
Chris. I definitely needed Chris.
I took out my phone and texted him. You up for a late lunch?
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I stared at Dalton, struggling to comprehend what he’d just told me.
Dalton shook his head, pacing back and forth across my kitchen, boots clomping on linoleum. He’d stripped off his blouse, and any other day I’d have been ogling the way that dark-blue T-shirt hugged his chest and the blue digicam pants showed off his ass. And even now I noticed it, but I was way too fixated on what he was telling me to even think about hauling him off to bed.
“The guy fucking interrogated me like I was the one who caused the whole thing,” he went on. “And . . . I mean, fucking Lasby! He came at me right before the exam too.” Dalton ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I bombed it, man. I fucking—” His voice cracked. When he looked at me, he didn’t quite have tears in his eyes, but I’d have bet money he was close, especially as he whispered, “I fucking bombed it.”
I stepped closer and wrapped him up in my arms. “I’m sorry. That was fucked up.”
“I know. And . . . man, my career is riding on this.” He sighed heavily and leaned his head against my shoulder. “Fuck . . .”
Fuck was right. Those exams were tough even when you weren’t stressing about other shit.
“Jesus.” I closed my eyes as I stroked his hair. “He’s trying to sabotage you. Your exam and your testimony.”
“No shit.” He sighed. “Fuck. What do I do? It’s not like I can prove anything one way or the other. And the fact that the investigator was talking to me like that . . .” He drew back and shook his head as he leaned hard against the counter. “I mean, that’s the first thing they teach us, right? When a suspect thinks you’re accusing him of something, he’s probably getting paranoid for a reason.”
“Yeah, but sometimes that reason isn’t that the suspect is guilty of something—it’s that they know the investigator is trying to corner them.”
Dalton’s shoulders sagged. “God, this is so fucked up.”
“It is. But you’ve done everything you’re supposed to do. You told the investigator the truth. What else could you do? You know damn well Anderson was in the wrong. And it’s not like Lasby will hear what you said. Everything’s confidential except the result of the investigation.”
“Yeah, and if Anderson gets strung up, Lasby will know damn well I threw the fucker under the bus.” He slouched against the counter. “And I mean, confidential or not, I don’t trust the guy not to tip my hand to Lasby. I got the feeling Lasby had already buttered him up to be against me, so . . .” Dalton flailed his hand. “So they’ve probably already decided Anderson didn’t do anything wrong, and when this is all over, he’ll be back at the helm and I’ll be out of the Navy because I didn’t get fucking promoted.”
“There’s still another advancement cycle.”
“And what good does that do me?” he snapped, glaring at me. “My next set of evals are going to be shit because I’m not functioning as a coxswain and I’m sure as shit not leading Sailors.” As soon as he’d finished, he closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m . . . This isn’t your fault. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, why don’t we go get something to eat? Chill for a bit, clear our heads, and maybe . . . I don’t know. Think of something.”
Dalton nodded. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me softly. “Okay. And I mean it—I’m sorry.”
I kissed him, letting it go on a little longer. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go.”
We were both too lazy to change into civvies, so we straightened our uniforms, put our blouses back on, and left my apartment. I drove us back on-base, and we decided on the food court at the Exchange. It wasn’t the greatest food on the planet, but it was close by, cheap, and there was usually something available that wasn’t gross. This time of day, there wouldn’t be long lines either, not even at the Taco Bell or Subway.
As we walked in, I asked, “What are you in the mood for?”
“Depends,” Dalton muttered. “What can I sprinkle a few ground-up painkillers on without tasting them?”
I eyed him. “You hurting?”
“No. Just feel like getting fucked up.” He was scanning the food court like he was trying to settle on a place. When he caught me staring at him, he chuckled. “I’m kidding. I’m not like that.” He shook his head and looked around again. “I don’t know. I’m hungry, but just thinking about eating is making me nauseous.”
“Like post-concussion nauseous? Or post-Lasby bullshit nauseous?”
“Yes.”
I frowned, and it was damn hard to fight the urge to wrap an arm around his waist. We were in uniform, though, so I had to be careful. I opened my mouth to say something, but someone else beat me to it.
“Hey, guys.” MA3 Rhodes’s voice stopped me in my tracks, and we both turned around.
The instant I saw her, my stomach dropped. She was in civvies, hair p
ulled up in a messy ponytail, but even the Rick and Morty T-shirt and ripped jeans didn’t make her look relaxed. She was about as tense as some kid who’d just gotten their ass chewed in boot camp.
“What’s wrong?” Dalton asked. Apparently it wasn’t just me.
Her lips pulled tighter, and she looked away for a second. Folding her arms, she growled, “You get to talk to the investigator yet?”
I wasn’t sure about discussing this out in the open, but the food court was just noisy enough to create a certain amount of privacy. You had to be really close to someone to actually hear what they were saying. Anyone more than a couple of feet away from us wouldn’t catch a thing.
Dalton kept his voice down. “Yeah. Just got back a little while ago. You?”
Rhodes’s jaw was tight, and she looked like she was close to either blowing up or breaking down. “I talked to him this morning.” Her voice wavered, and she folded her arms across her blouse. “I mean at least he didn’t try to tell me what to say like Lasby did, but still.”
“It’s bullshit,” Dalton muttered.
“Yeah, it is. And it gets worse.” She shifted her weight. “Right before I went in to talk to the investigator, Lasby pulled me aside and told me they’re considering downgrading my award.”
Dalton and I both straightened, exchanging wide-eyed glances.
“What?” he said.
She hugged herself tighter, shifting her weight. “Senior Chief Curtis put me in for a Medal of Commendation, but Lasby said that’s on hold until the investigation is over. Until they decide if I should’ve broken protocol by jumping in with Dalton.” Her arms dropped to her sides, and she exhaled hard. “And they’re still hung up on whether I did the right thing letting go of that stupid rifle. The way he’s talking about it, I’ll be lucky to get a Navy Achievement Medal because I was just doing my job. And if MA1 Anderson goes down, I can kiss any kind of medal goodbye and go to Captain’s Mast instead.”
“Captain’s Mast?” I sputtered. “What the fuck for?”
She pursed her lips like she was forcing them not to tremble. “He said if Anderson goes down, Taylor and I are going with him because I broke protocol and because we were all derelict in our duty.” She blew out a breath. “How the fuck was I derelict in anything? Because I didn’t physically wrestle Anderson to the deck and force him not to take the boat out there?” She was getting louder and more pissed off with every syllable. “Or because I let go of that stupid goddamned rifle instead of holding on to eight pounds of dead fucking weight while I was trying to keep a man twice my size afloat?”