Darkside

by P. T. Deutermann

  “Should you choose to accept it, Jim,” the chief intoned with a perfectly straight face.

  Jim tried to give him the fish eye, but his lashes were still sticking. “Not exactly,” he said. He explained what the commandant had asked him to do.

  “You ever get close to Branner?” the chief asked. “Now, you wanna talk about your vampire…”

  Jim grinned. “I suspect nobody gets close to Branner, other than perhaps her Calvin Kleins.”

  The chief grinned back. “You noticed.”

  “She lets you look, but I suspect you better not even think about touch. But to answer your question, no, I don’t know her or her sidekick. Young black guy-what’s his name?”

  “Special Agent Walter Thompson. Nice kid, plays everything cool and loose, but he’s no dummy. You should see him shoot. Stands there on the range all casual like, kinda bored, holding the nine down along his leg, and then-badda-boom-his target silhouette’s got a see-through heart. Spooky.”

  Jim looked over at the chief, but Bustamente waved it off. “I know, you can’t use that word. But Thompson’s cool. Somebody gets racial with Bagger, he can handle it.”

  “Bagger?”

  The chief shrugged. “That’s how he introduced himself to me. I believe he’s partial to the demon rum.”

  “Well, he seems easier to deal with than Branner. I’m thinking of maybe taking this tunnel-runner thing over there. Use that as a back-door way to insinuate myself into the Dell investigation. The dant, of course, is worried about NCIS squawking command influence.”

  Bustamente nodded. “If it weren’t for this homicide firefly, I think they’da ruled it a DBM from day one. You know, dumb-ass plebe, screwing around up there on the roof, some kind of plebe year antics, who knows what, falls off. Like that.”

  “That’s what the dant thinks, too. He said homicide was ‘inconceivable.’ But even with that, if it wasn’t suicide, they’d feel compelled to chase down whichever upperclassman incited him to go up there. There has to be accountability.”

  “There does?” the chief asked, looking skeptical.

  “Yeah, there does,” Jim said. “The dant is into damage control, of course, but the supe is ultimately accountable for everyone here. I can’t feature Admiral McDonald sweeping anything under the rug.”

  The chief shrugged. “If you say so.”

  Hey. It happened. That security guy came downstairs last night. Down to my little world. Playing at setting traps. Only he was the one got himself trapped. And a paint job, too. I left him looking like a black guy trying out for the white guy’s part in one of those vaudeville shows. Introduced him to the joys and power of steam in confined spaces. I studied that at length, segundo year. And, did I say I was in costume? Was. The vampire Dyle. It had the same shock effect on him that it does on the drunks. Just enough to give me a split-second advantage. And trust me, that’s all I need. They say that’s the difference between the fighting abilities of a regular Marine and a recon Marine-about a half second.

  But he was waiting for me-of that, I’m certain. So now it’s officially a game. I love games, don’t you? Well, maybe not like I do. Anyway, he’ll be back. And so will I. Only he doesn’t know the tunnels like I do. And he doesn’t have the facilities that I do, either. And now that plebe year’s almost over, I’m going to focus on this guy for my fun. Stay out of town, except for the occasional run for Gothic love. But see if I can seduce this guy to come back down to play again. He has no idea of the things I can do down there. It’s a lot more fun than terrorizing plebes. Although there was one plebe…but I’ll tell you about that later. Or maybe I won’t. Depends on what the Dark Side does about the case. I’m betting they’ll sweep it. What do you think? You think they’ll sweep it? Or maybe they’ll tag somebody for it? If they do, they’ll be so wrong. So very wrong.

  Jim met with Agent Thompson right after lunch Friday at the NCIS office. The formidable Agent Branner had gone up to NCIS headquarters at the Washington Navy Yard. She was supposedly on her way back. Thompson showed Jim into a small conference room and offered coffee.

  “Coffee’d out, thanks,” Jim said, sliding into a side chair, his ears still ringing from the chief’s espresso. Thompson sat down and raised his eyebrows.

  Jim described his recon work of the past few months in the tunnels, presenting a comprehensive picture of what he’d been doing, leaving out only the fact that he had been messing with the tunnel runner’s graffiti. “I didn’t consider this any big deal, beyond the obvious security implications that there were ways into and out of the Yard that just about anybody who knew about them could use.”

  “You’ve never caught anyone using the tunnels?” Thompson asked.

  “Negative. But there are clear signs that they are being used by someone other than the diggers and fillers. I’ve been assuming that it was just some mids, probably firsties, indulging in some after-hours party times.”

  “You go to the Academy?” Thompson asked, eyeing Jim’s big gold ring. He had been taking notes, but he looked up when he asked this question. Jim suddenly felt like a suspect.

  “Yeah, class of ’93. Went Marine option. I was CO of the MarDet here a coupla years back. Got out, and walked into this job.”

  Thompson let the obvious question hang in the air. Shit, Jim thought. This is turning into an interview. Chief was right. “Sure, I ran the tunnels,” he said. “Back then, we didn’t have town liberty like the guys do now. But let me tell you what happened last night.”

  When he’d finished describing the attack with the spray paint, the laser pointers, and the vampire getup, Thompson was writing busily in his notebook.

  “Thing is,” Jim said, “Chief Bustamente mentioned something about some kids being attacked in town. By a ‘vampire,’ according to the one who was most seriously injured.”

  Bagger got a pained look on his face. “A vampire.”

  “Yeah, well, some guy dressed up like one. Big guy, too, from what I saw. That’s what those townies said, too. Big motherfletcher. Came up behind them, surprised them. Clapped their heads together while they were gawking. Then he beat up the third guy.”

  “And you saw this guy?”

  “I mistook the direction from which those laser beams were coming. You know, lasers: They’re instant light. He came from the town side of the tunnel. I was hiding down under a cabinet, and he surprised me. I flashed a Maglite into his face, trying to blind him. Instead, there’s fucking Dracula. In the flesh. In the moment it took me to get my brain around it, he’d blasted a can of spray paint into my face. Then he ran down the tunnel.”

  “Why come to NCIS?” Thompson asked, still writing.

  “Guy ran back into the Academy side of the tunnels. This is probably a mid.”

  “Ah,” Thompson said. “But it could also have been a townie, who ran the opposite way to confuse you into thinking he was a mid.”

  Jim shrugged. “That’s possible.”

  “And were you able to follow, to see where he actually went?”

  “Nope. Had an eyeful of paint.”

  “And he was made up like a vampire?”

  “He was indeed. I have to tell you, when I got that one look, it didn’t register as makeup. It registered as just what it looked like. Big white face, really red lips, a mile of teeth, red eyes. Too many movies, I guess. But man!”

  Thompson nodded. “I’da just plain shit my pants, I saw something like that,” he said. “Don’t much care for vampires and ghost shit.”

  “Not that we believe in such things, right, Special Agent Thompson?”

  “Call me Bagger,” Thompson said. “And I don’t know what the hell I believe anymore, comes to shit like that. I didn’t believe it was possible to have a homicide here at the Naval Academy, either, Mr. Hall.”

  Jim seized the opening. “It’s Jim. And I heard that rumor, via Chief Bustamente. They really have something solid that indicates this kid was murdered?” He used the word they to keep his focus ambiguous.
/>
  “Solid?” Bagger said, putting down his pen and closing his notebook. “Forensics have some indications. Indications of restraint. Of course, these marks could have been made under different circumstances. You see what I’m sayin’?”

  Jim nodded. “Maybe some kind of sexual fun and games that involved the kid wearing panties.”

  “There you go,” Bagger said. “Branner thinks it could even have been some kind of sex domination. Then maybe the kid got so humiliated, he offed himself afterward. But it’s also possible someone threw his ass off the roof.”

  “He was alive when he went down, though.”

  “That’s the indication. You view the body?”

  “Vividly.”

  “Well then, you can understand the forensics problem. Plus, there’s major political and media heat. The dant wants accident, death by misadventure, even suicide, anything but homicide.”

  Jim shook his head. “Whole thing is pretty sordid,” he said. “When I was here, we didn’t have time for much of anything except studying, classes, sports, and endless tests.”

  “And yet you ran the tunnels,” Bagger said.

  “Weekends, first class year, and not many of them,” Jim said. “But it was a game, a way of beating the system. Gave you bragging rights, but you kept that within the company classmates you could trust.”

  “What would have happened had you been caught?”

  “Class-A conduct offense, going over the wall. Unauthorized absence. A bunch of demerits, restriction, shitty grease grade.”

  “‘Grease’?”

  “Mid slang for military aptitude. Guys who worked hard at pleasing the officers in Bancroft Hall were known as being ‘greasy.’”

  Bagger smiled.

  “So what happens next with the Dell thing?” Jim asked, trying to keep it going.

  “Who wants to know?” a woman’s voice asked from the doorway. Uh-oh, Jim thought. The Branner is back. He saw Bagger tense up a little when she strode into the room. Her face was colorfully made up this time, but she was wearing a severe-looking pantsuit as if to compensate. No leg show today, Jim thought as she slipped into a chair at the head of the table. Her hair was copper-colored in the office light. “Bagger and I were talking about how life at the Academy has changed since I went through,” he said, trying to deflect any questions on the Dell case.

  “Why are you here, Mr. Hall?” she asked.

  “Came to report a vampire attack in the tunnels under the Yard,” Bagger said with a perfectly straight face.

  Branner leaned back in her chair and cocked her head. “A what? Did you say vampire?”

  Jim realized that the window of opportunity to talk about the Dell case had just slammed shut. But maybe he could keep something going with Bagger Thompson.

  “Bagger here has all the details,” he said, pushing back in his chair. “You guys decide whether or not you want to work it. Although I know you’re busy just now with this Dell thing.”

  “I’ll call you,” Bagger said before Branner could say anything. “Maybe you can show me where it all went down.”

  Jim handed him one of his cards. “Right. Be glad to take you down there. If this is a mid, we need to catch his ass.”

  Branner was looking from Jim to Bagger, obviously in the dark and not happy about that. “If this relates to the Dell case,” she said, “then please remember we have exclusive jurisdiction.”

  Jim nodded. “Absolutely, but this has nothing to do with the Dell matter. Bagger, thanks for your time.”

  Bagger nodded pleasantly and Jim let himself out the conference room door. He pulled it almost all the way shut and walked down the hall, but slowly. He heard Branner ask her assistant angrily what he’d revealed about the Dell case. Didn’t fool her, did we? Jim thought as he left the building. Plus, she knows for whom I work. But maybe if I can get young Bagger there to run the tunnels with me, I can get him talking again.

  He got into his official security officer’s car out in front of the old postgraduate school building. Next stop, the town cops. See what they had on the vampire incidents. But first, he should call the chief. No point in going through channels if Bustamente could get him straight through to the right guy.

  At 3:30 Friday afternoon, Jim got a call from Branner, asking him to meet her at the commandant’s office in Bancroft Hall. She and Agent Thompson were going to reinterview Midshipman Markham, and she wanted Jim present as an observer. Jim checked it out with his boss, who shrugged. Jim walked over to Bancroft Hall, where he found Branner and Thompson getting set up in the commandant’s conference room. Somewhat to his surprise, Branner had changed clothes. She was still wearing visible makeup, but now she had on a see-through blouse, which revealed layers of frilly underwear, and a tight short skirt. Thompson, on the other hand, was positively drab in a plain dark brown suit. Branner greeted Jim politely and told him that they would do the talking.

  “What, if anything, do you want me to do or say?”

  “Say nothing. Just be here. Afterward, we may have some questions for you.”

  “Questions?”

  “It’s our experience that mids don’t trust civilians. Sometimes they speak in code. You’re a graduate. I’d like you to watch Markham, then tell me afterward if you think she’s lying, holding back, or just giving us the CivLant brush-off.”

  “I can probably do that,” Jim said. “She bringing a lawyer?”

  “So we’ve been told,” Branner said, and went to sit down at the head of the table. Jim took a chair over to one side, where he could watch Markham and also enjoy the view. Thompson gave him a hello nod, and then the secretary brought in Markham and a very elegant-looking lady lawyer. He saw Branner bristle when she got a look at Markham’s lawyer, and he found himself looking forward to a possible catfight. He wondered if Branner had changed clothes to distract a male lawyer.

  The agents got up and shook hands with the lawyer, whose name, Jim learned, was Liz DeWinter. He stood to be introduced, and DeWinter gave him a curious look.

  “And why are you here, Mr. Hall?” she asked.

  “At the commandant’s request,” replied Branner, lying smoothly. “Mr. Hall is the Academy’s security officer, and we’ve been directed to liaise through him for any support we need from the Academy while conducting our investigation. Today, he’s basically an observer.”

  “Is that so?” DeWinter murmured, raising an eyebrow. Jim wondered if she was buying it. On the other hand, she’d have no way to disprove what Branner was saying. Branner indicated that they should sit down so that the recorder could pick up their voices. The lady lawyer was dressed in an expensively tailored suit. Markham was in working blues, and she looked mostly angry. Liz sat down in a side chair and indicated that Julie should sit on her right, so that she was between Julie and the agents. She put her own voice-activated recorder out on the table, turned it on, introduced herself, and asked the agents to introduce themselves. Neither of them moved to turn on their recorder, which, Jim realized, meant it had been on since Liz and Julie had walked in. Branner took the lead.

  “I’m Special Agent Branner, Naval Criminal Investigative Service,” she announced, speaking to the recorder. “I’m the supervisor of the Naval Academy NCIS resident unit. With me is Special Agent Thompson, also from my office. For the record, also present is Mr. Hall, Naval Academy security officer, Midshipman First Class Julie Markham, and her attorney of record, Ms. Elizabeth DeWinter of DeWinter, Paulus and Sloane, LLC, One-oh-seven Beale Street, Annapolis, Maryland.” Then she recited the date and time.

  “What is the purpose of this meeting?” Liz interjected.

  Branner blinked once when Liz interrupted the flow of her spiel. “The purpose of this meeting is to conduct an official interview with Midshipman Markham in connection with the death of Midshipman Fourth Class William Brian Dell.”

  “Is this a homicide investigation?” Liz asked.

  “This is an official NCIS investigation,” Branner said evenly. “NCIS do
es not characterize investigations other than as official investigations.”

  “Is my client suspected of having committed a crime or other infraction of military law?”

  “No,” Branner said. Then she held up her hand before Liz could ask any more questions. “This interview is suspended at sixteen twenty-three for five minutes,” she announced, speaking into the recorder, then reached forward and turned it off. “Look, Ms. DeWinter, this is not an interrogation. Your client is not a suspect. Why don’t you take your pack off and just see where this goes?”

  Liz had not turned off her own tape recorder. “I have received unofficial information that your investigation is a homicide matter. I’d like you to Mirandize my client now, please, and then understand, if you will, that she will clear her answers to any and all of your questions through me. If these procedures are unsatisfactory to you, this interview will be terminated.”

  Branner’s face colored. “Ms. DeWinter, I should remind you that Midshipman Markham is subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice,” she said. “That said, she does have rights. If she is or becomes a suspect, that’s when she gets an Article Thirty-one warning.”

  “What is that?”

  “Like a Miranda, only better, from the suspect’s point of view. But I repeat, she is not a suspect.”

  “Even if she is not a suspect, she does have the right to remain silent, and the right to have counsel present for this interview, correct?”

  Branner made a sound of exasperation. “Does your client want to become a suspect?”

  Liz shook her head. “No. Do you have evidence linking my client to the death of Midshipman Dell?”

  “Well, you know we do, actually,” Branner replied, glancing at Julie.

  Liz stared at Branner. “So let’s do that Article Thirty-one warning, then.”

  Branner hesitated, then looked at Thompson. He shrugged, reached down into his briefcase, and withdrew a single-page form. “It has a waiver line on the bottom, where the interviewee agrees to answer questions voluntarily. Why don’t we have her sign that, and you can control which ones she answers? That okay?”