Darkside

by P. T. Deutermann

  “Hope to, yes, sir,” the plebe said, squaring his shoulders. Jim repressed a grin.

  “Did Dell ever talk about the swim team? Personalities on the team? Anyone he might be buddies with?”

  “He’d tell me about the meets, especially the away meets. How they did. Who the power guys were. The best divers. I went to some of the meets here. You know, yell for Navy. Support my roomie.”

  Jim looked over at Branner, who asked the next question: “Did he ever mention a Midshipman Markham?”

  Antonelli nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He said they called her ‘Hot Wheels.’” He stopped, looking from Branner to Jim in sudden embarrassment. “I mean, they all did. She almost always won her event, and she-she…”

  Branner sat back in her chair, crossed her legs dramatically, and then smiled at the struggling plebe’s red-faced reaction. “And she has a magnificent rack and all the guys who see her in a competition swimsuit fantasize about her? Is that about right?”

  “Y-y-yes, ma’am,” Antonelli stuttered, looking even more miserable. Jim could empathize. He had done a little fantasizing himself. Markham was gorgeous.

  “What we need to know,” Jim said gently, “was whether or not Dell had a thing for Midshipman Markham, or she for him, something that went beyond what any normal red-blooded American male would think about when he sees a beautiful woman?”

  Antonelli looked horrified. “But she’s a firstie,” he said. “That would be serious dark-siding. No way, no day. Sir.”

  They had their answer. “Did Dell get a sugar report from anyone on a steady basis?” he asked. “He have a girlfriend back home somewhere?”

  Antonelli shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. “He got mail once a month from his ’rents. They’d usually spot him a twenty, you know, gedunk money. But if he had a girl, I didn’t know anything about it. He kept to himself pretty much in that department. It’s not like we had a lot of free time. It’s only now slowing down a little.”

  “Who was his youngster?” Jim asked.

  “He didn’t have one, not since Christmas leave. Guy didn’t come back. Put his chit in and went back to CivLant.”

  “Interesting. So would it be fair to say that Dell was a loner? I mean, where did he go during his free time? Who’d he hang out with?”

  “Free time, sir?” Antonelli said, as if Jim had asked about Dell’s Rolls-Royce.

  Jim smiled. “Point taken,” he said. Plebes didn’t get any free time, except during study hours. And even then, stuff could happen.

  “Would you say that he had been depressed over the past few weeks?” Branner asked.

  Antonelli hesitated again. “You’re asking if he was suicidal?”

  “No, not that extreme,” she said. “But was he unusually down?”

  The plebe thought about it but didn’t answer.

  “Did he say anything that might lead you to believe he was in trouble?” Jim asked. “Like he was wondering if he was going to make it through the year?”

  Antonelli shook his head slowly. “He was getting by,” he said. “Head down, mouth shut, counting days to Herndon. Just like the rest of us.”

  “So who sent him roaming, then?” Jim asked suddenly.

  “Uh, actually, I think it was Mr. Edwards, sir,” Antonelli said. He looked embarrassed again.

  “Anybody outside your company running him, then?”

  Antonelli frowned again. “Brian’d sneak out at night sometimes. I always thought it was to study. Guys do that, get together in somebody’s room after taps, hold a Gouge session. I’d see him go, but not come back. Sometimes, next morning, he’d be kinda down.”

  Jim gave Branner a look. She raised her eyebrows, but he shook his head. Then she thanked the plebe for his help, told him they might want to talk to him again, and asked that he not discuss any part of the interview with anyone until the investigation was completed. She switched off the tape once he’d gone.

  “What?” she said.

  “A plebe’s own squad leader sends him roaming? There had to be a major problem there somewhere. Usually, it would be someone else, and his squad leader would be in that guy’s face, raising hell about it. You look after your plebes. That’s the whole point.”

  “So we need to talk to this Edwards guy, then?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She checked her case notes and discovered that they had already interviewed Edwards. “He didn’t come up with anything unusual,” she said. “Typical dumb-ass plebe, lower than whale shit, et cetera, et cetera. But we didn’t detect any personal animus.”

  “I’d have asked about that roaming thing. And whether or not he knew about the late-night Gouge sessions. Antonelli assumed that’s what they were.”

  “Okay, maybe we’ll pull that string again. What was that ‘hundredth night’ stuff?”

  “A hundred nights before graduation, the plebes and the firsties reverse roles for a few hours. The plebes get to run the firsties. Like payback time. It gets real noisy.”

  “Is plebe year over after that?”

  “Nope.”

  “So one would have to be careful how far he went with that?”

  “Very.”

  “I think I’m glad I asked you to get involved in this. I’d have never caught that bit about the roaming.”

  “Some of it’s the blue-and-gold wall,” he said. “But you saw his reaction when we suggested there was something between Markham and Dell?”

  “As in, Never happen,” she said. “Hot Wheels. I love it.”

  “It’s a good thing you never went through here,” he said with a grin, glancing at her legs.

  She gave him an arch look. “Eyes in the boat, sailor,” she said. “And right now, I want to get Markham back in here. I want an explanation for those clothes.”

  He shook his head. “Interesting timing with those clothes, don’t you think?” he said. “Look, I’ve got paperwork piling up. Call me when you round her up, and I’ll come sit in again. By the way, how’s Bagger?”

  “The same. The docs are of two minds. Most still say he’ll come out of it.”

  “How the hell do they know?”

  “Because he hasn’t died yet?”

  Jim tackled his in-box for an hour, attended a department meeting with Commander Michaels, and made a call to Public Works in search of the senior tunnel supervisor. Just before noon, he called the commandant’s admin assistant and asked if he could get three minutes. The assistant said no way. There was a Saudi delegation visiting the Yard, and the commandant was joined at the hip to the duty prince for the entire day. As Jim was about to go find lunch, the assistant called back.

  “I lied,” he said. “Come over right now. You got three minutes.”

  Jim hurried out of the admin building and raced over to Bancroft Hall, where noon meal formation was just concluding to the boom and blare of the much-maligned Midshipman Drum and Bugle Corps. Jim saw the commandant standing on the front steps with several uniformed Saudi officers and one impressive-looking sheik in flowing white robes. He went in through the doors of the first wing, then trotted up one deck and through the corridors to the commandant’s office. By the time he got there, Captain Robbins was standing behind his desk, doing a rapid scan of his messages. Jim stood there in his doorway for a minute, and then the commandant looked up. “Report,” he ordered.

  Jim gave him a quick summary of what he’d been doing. The commandant’s eyes lighted up when he heard Jim was actively participating in Branner’s investigation.

  “And you’re a civilian, too,” Robbins said. “That gives us plausible deniability, somebody starts squawking command influence. Perfect. Well done. Now, suicide or accident?”

  “No data, yet, sir,” Jim said. “But Midshipman Markham, the one whose-”

  “Yes, yes, I know. What about her?”

  “There was a room inspection this past weekend. Random OOD hit. Some of Dell’s clothes turned up in Markham’s room. OOD fried her for nonreg gear.”

 
; The commandant sat down. “Son of bitch,” he murmured. “Then somebody’s lying.”

  “Possibly, sir. Or somebody’s setting her up. If she were involved, she’d hardly keep anything belonging to Dell in her room, not with NCIS on the prowl.”

  “What does she say now?”

  “We’re going to interview her again, probably this afternoon. I’m waiting for Agent Branner to call and tell me when.”

  Robbins looked at his watch. “My deputy, Captain Rogers, is occupying the prince for lunch in King Hall,” he said. “I have to get back. Dell’s parents were here Sunday. Tough scene. They’re asking questions. They’re not buying the accident theory, and they can’t believe suicide. Of course, the parents never do believe suicide.”

  “Unfortunately, I’d say the case was open, sir,” Jim ventured, even though he knew his three minutes were up. “Branner is tough. With me helping to steer her questions, I think we’ll find out.”

  “At this juncture, Mr. Hall, I’m not sure I can stand all the possible answers,” Robbins said. “And what was this incident with a goal rocket in the utility tunnels the other night?”

  “I’ve been investigating a runner. It seems like he’s aware of it, and wants to play games.”

  “Not a midshipman, I hope?”

  “I actually think it is, but I can’t prove that. We arrested his companion, a Johnnie, but couldn’t hold her. It may be also related to a couple of beating cases in town.” He didn’t elaborate on his use of the “we,” not wanting to make a connection with what had happened to Bagger Thompson. He didn’t want the commandant calling for reinforcements. The runner was his. Just like Branner wanted an exclusive on the Dell case.

  The commandant shook his head and looked at his watch. “All right. Thank you, Mr. Hall. Keep me advised. I’ve instructed my people to get you in whenever you call. Use that privilege sparingly, please.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Jim said, more out of habit than anything else, as the diminutive commandant hurried by.

  When he got back to the admin building, there was a message from Branner. Markham was to be on deck in the conference room at 1430. He looked at his watch. That gave him time to work out, get a sandwich, and still make the meeting. He went to the locker room, got into his running gear, and headed outside.

  After a half hour out on the track, he fell in with another runner, someone he’d seen before. They paced each other through the noon-hour running crowd and then walked together along the Severn River seawall to cool down. An Academy YP boat sounded its horn as it got under way, bright signal flags fluttering on both yardarms. The glare off the river was intense.

  “Jim Hall, security officer,” Jim offered.

  “Ev Markham, Political Science Department,” the other man said.

  “You’re a prof?” Jim said. “You don’t look old enough.”

  “Thank you, I think. Actually, lots of folks tell me that. But I’ve been here for almost ten years.”

  Jim stopped to redo a shoelace, and Markham stopped with him, wiping his face with a small towel. “I graduated in ’93,” Jim said. “Must have missed your class.”

  “I teach firstie history,” Markham said, stretching an incipient cramp out of his calf muscles.

  “Can’t say I did very well in history,” Jim said, wishing he’d worn his shades. “Still wouldn’t. Can’t remember all those dates. One of the reasons I went Marine infantry.”

  “And now you’re security officer? Isn’t that a civilian position here?”

  “Yep. Got out and moved sideways. I was OinC of the Marine detachment here for two years.”

  “Lemme guess: After two years of dress parades, honor guards, and funeral details, you felt your classmates had passed you by?”

  Jim was surprised. “Close,” he said. “You ex-Navy?”

  “Yeah, flew carrier aviation. I was class of ’73.”

  Jim looked him up and down. “Never know you were almost fifty. Good work. Didn’t I see your name in the crab wrapper this morning? Something about a rescue out in the bay?”

  “So I’ve heard,” Markham said, wiping his face again. It was the warmest day of the spring so far. “Happened to pass by an overturned boat. A quick swim to get two people off the hull. Fortunately, I’ve been keeping in shape, so it was no big deal. Woman lost her husband, though. Big deal for her.”

  “I saw that water yesterday. I work out regularly, but I’m not sure I’d have been ready for that.”

  “It was salt water and I had a life jacket on,” Markham said. “You run every day?”

  “Sometimes I swim, but usually I run, out in town. The women are better-looking.”

  Markham glanced sideways as two fairly attractive female midshipmen jogged by, as if to say he wasn’t so sure about that.

  “Those are girls,” Jim observed, turning back toward the admin building. “I’m talking about women.”

  “My daughter’s a firstie,” Markham said. “She’d probably argue with you.”

  Holy shit, Jim thought. That Markham. Whom he was going to interrogate-no, interview-in about forty minutes. And he hadn’t thought of Julie Markham as a girl that day at the pool. “No offense,” he said quickly. “But I’m on staff and still enjoying the bachelor life. I observe the sand-box rule.”

  “Good thinking,” Markham said, staying with him as they jogged up the steps toward Michelson Hall. “I don’t know how the administration here deals with all those raging hormones. You know, four thousand healthy boys and girls jammed together in Mother Bancroft. All that pressure.”

  Jim was beginning to wonder if their meeting had been entirely accidental. Next thing he knew, Markham might start talking about the Dell case. He wasn’t sure what the ground rules were now that he was working with NCIS, but when they reached the top of the steps, Markham waved and headed toward the Mahan Hall complex. Jim breathed a sigh of relief. Markham’s daughter had to be talking to her father about what was going on in her life. The next time he ran into the professor, the exchange might not be so cordial. He made a mental note to do his noontime runs in town for the next week.

  Ev Markham didn’t give his interchange with Jim Hall a second thought by the time he got back to his office, especially when he read the message slip from Julie. “Meeting with NCIS again at 1430. Called Liz, but she was out. Please inform her. Julie.”

  And here we go, he thought. He looked at his watch: The meeting would start in twenty minutes. Should he go over there? He assumed it would be in the commandant’s conference room. He dialed up Liz’s office phone number, but she was in court for the rest of the day. The secretary asked if he wanted to leave a message. He told her to have Liz call him, gave her his home and office numbers just to be sure, and hung up. Liz had instructed Julie not to attend any meetings with NCIS unless she, Liz, could be present. But that was before Julie had had her little tantrum. Even as her father, he had no standing to attend such a meeting. Julie would be on her own. Based on their last meeting together, she might actually prefer it that way. He hoped she would remember some of the things Liz had told her.

  He called Lieutenant Tarrens, Julie’s company officer, to see if he knew about the meeting. The lieutenant did not. Ev asked him what might be going on. The lieutenant had no idea. The summons had probably come through the watch organization in the battalion office. He assumed it was about the Dell case again, but the commandant’s office wasn’t in the habit of clearing a summons like that through the company officer.

  “They’re doing an investigation, Dr. Markham,” Tarrens said. “Word is that they’re calling people in, asking everybody a shitload of questions. Dell’s roommate, his squad leader, his company officer. They’ll probably question all his profs next. Hell, maybe even the mokes. I don’t think you should worry. This is routine.”

  Ev thanked him and hung up. It might be routine for NCIS, but it was not routine for him. The bells rang for class break. It took all his self-control not to cancel his next class and go over ther
e right now. But what would he say to her? She’d as much as said she wanted to cooperate with them and dispel this cloud of suspicion. Hell, maybe that was the way to play it. If she’d had no part in this incident, what did she have to worry about? He sat there tapping a red pencil on the desk. He really wanted to talk to Liz. And not just about Julie.

  Jim went directly to the conference room, where Branner was already set up. Midshipman Markham was due in five minutes. He had bummed a cup of coffee from the receptionist.

  “Once again, how do you want me to play it?” he asked Branner. She had everything in place and was sitting at the head of the table.

  “If we have a homicide here, then she qualifies as a potential suspect, as far as I’m concerned. So I’ll do another Article Thirty-one warning. If she’s willing to talk without her lawyer, I’ll try to take her from the clothes to a connection with Dell.”

  “You want me to chime in when I sense the wall?”

  “How about making notes and passing them? If she turns out to be involved in this kid’s death, I don’t want any ambiguities about your being here tainting testimony. That way, the tape will have only me and her in the interview. You’ll be identified as being present, but that’s all. You okay with that?”

  “Absolutely. I want to help, not screw the thing up.”

  “Marvelous,” she said brightly.

  “What?” he asked.

  “A man who can take direction from a woman without a bunch of bullshit.”

  “Heck, I often take direction from women,” he said with a grin. “But it’s not called an interview.”

  “Believe it or not, I can relate to that, too,” she said, brightly. “Okay. Let’s get our grillee.”

  Julie was dressed in her working blues, which consisted of not particularly flattering dark blue, almost black trousers, a long-sleeved black shirt and tie with the collar insignia denoting first class rank, and black shoes. Next to Branner, she looked almost asexual. She glanced quickly at Jim. He was pretty sure she recognized him. Branner asked her to sit down and then led her through the Article 31 warning procedure again.

  “Are you willing to make a statement without Ms. DeWinter being with you, Midshipman Markham?” she asked.