Darkside (2002), page 34
Branner was dressed more conservatively today. Severe pantsuit, black shoes, almost no makeup. Jim, used to her flashy style, thought she looked positively drab. She also still seemed to be preoccupied with something. She had a brown envelope in her lap, but she had not told him what was in it.
“You sure you want me to pitch this thing, and not you?” he asked.
“You know the lingo,” she said. “We’re agreed on the objective. I’ll get into it at the appropriate time.”
“The dant warned me this morning when I went in to brief him. Said we stood the chance of really damaging Markham once we turn the Honor Committee loose.”
“It was your idea—you want to back out?” she asked.
“I want to know what she knows,” he said. “But she’s so close to graduation—I hate to smear her reputation.”
“If she knows something that bears on a possible homicide, she should have told us,” Branner said, tapping her foot impatiently. She looked at her watch. “What’s the damned holdup?”
“But if I’m wrong? And she really doesn’t know anything?”
“Can’t do this ‘what if’ shit, partner. Our job is to find out what happened to Brian Dell. Nobody else is speaking for him just now, because the little dude’s dead. If this Honor Committee can’t find anything, then we try something else or give it up for lack of evidence. The fact that the committee asks her some questions should not constitute a smear on her personal reputation. If it does, their system here is really screwed up.”
Captain Rogers came out and motioned for them to come into the room. “Apologize for the delay—we needed to get Midshipman Markham’s Academy service records.”
The waiting midshipmen stood up. “The chairman is Midshipman First Class Magnuson. He has the authority to make decisions. The DCI—that’s deputy chairman for investigations—is Midshipman First Class Hays. He will take investigative action, if action’s warranted. The recording secretary is Midshipman Second Class Vannuys.”
He pointed to chairs, and then everyone sat down. Jim started it off by saying that he was assisting Special Agent Branner of the NCIS in an investigation into the death of Midshipman Brian Dell.
“As I’m sure you all know, Midshipman Dell was killed in a fall from the rooftop of the eighth wing. In the course of the investigation, agent Branner determined that Midshipman Julie Markham might be tangentially involved in this matter.”
“In what manner, sir?” one of the midshipmen asked.
“Is this conversation privileged?” Branner asked, directing her question at Rogers.
“Yes, it is,” he replied. “What’s said here stays here. The board secretary will write up summary minutes for the record, which the chairman will approve. But given the possible consequences to anyone who’s being examined by this group, the board keeps it all close-hold.”
“Okay, then,” Jim continued. “Midshipman Dell was wearing women’s underwear when he died. Specifically, underwear that belonged to Midshipman First Class Julie Markham.”
The three midshipmen looked at one another but said nothing. Jim noticed that the DCI, Hays, didn’t seem surprised. For some reason, the name Hays was sticking in Jim’s mind.
“Naturally, the investigation focused on Markham in the context of whether or not she knew Dell, or had possibly even been intimate with him. She denied the latter, but she did state that she knew who Dell was, and that she had had dealings with him.”
“‘Dealings’?” the chairman asked.
“In the course of his plebe summer,” Jim said.
Magnuson nodded and made a note on his legal pad.
“There were two other connections, the varsity swim team, and the discovery of Dell’s clothing in her room.” He went on to describe that.
All three midshipmen took notes. He went on. “We are exploring the possibility that someone may have either influenced Dell to commit suicide or done something that resulted in Dell coming off that roof.”
“You mean you think someone killed him?” asked Captain Rogers in a surprised voice.
Apparently, he had not heard the rumors, Jim thought, although the three midshipmen did not seem surprised by this information, either. “Yes, sir, that’s a possibility. Because one of the things that’s come out of the investigation is that no one who knew Midshipman Dell thought he was suicidal.”
“Could it have been grab-ass up there on the roof?” the chairman asked.
“With a guy wearing panties?” said Vannuys, the recording secretary. This produced a faint smile on the chairman’s face. Branner slapped the brown envelope down on the conference table, startling everybody. She slid it across to the chairman.
“Those are some pictures of Brian Dell,” she said. “After he hit the concrete. Take a good look, Mr. Magnuson. See if you still think this is funny.”
The chastened midshipman stared at the envelope and then at Captain Rogers, who nodded. Magnuson fished the pictures out, took one look, blanched, and passed them to his left. Hays looked at each one before passing them to Vannuys, who was visibly aghast at what he saw. The recording secretary got up and gave the pictures to Captain Rogers, who avoided looking at them, tidied them into a neat pile, and slid them back across the table to Branner.
“That’s what we’re here to talk about, gentlemen,” she said. “In barracks terms, this is serious shit, in case you didn’t notice. And that puddle of human flesh was not what Chief Petty Officer and Mrs. Dell expected from their son’s Academy experience, okay?”
All three nodded, almost in unison.
“Here’s our problem,” she continued. “Based on interviews, it is our opinion that Midshipman Markham does know something about what happened to Dell. Either something that would explain why he’d jump or something that would point a finger at someone else who might have been involved. The cross-dressing means something. Grab-ass, homosexual activity, or even sadomasochistic behavior. We don’t know. But we think Markham does.”
“And you want us to do what, exactly, ma’am?” the chairman asked. Branner glanced sideways at Jim.
“Make the fact that she knows something but isn’t telling an honor issue,” Jim said. “Do what you guys do in such a manner as to find out what she knows.”
“But it’s not,” the chairman said.
“Not what?”
“An honor issue. What she knows is not an honor issue. You’re confusing us with West Point. Their code doesn’t tolerate anyone who lies, cheats, or steals, or who has knowledge of those who do. Our code stops at the word steals.”
“Knowledge might constitute a conduct offense,” Rogers said. “Knowing of an honor offense and not saying anything constitutes an offense against the Academy’s regulations.”
“But that’s not an honor offense?” Jim asked.
“No, sir,” said the chairman.
Jim, surprised, didn’t know what to say. Branner leaned forward. “What if she said she knew nothing pertinent but she actually did?”
“That would be a lie. That could be an honor offense.”
“Then once again, how about you finding out what she knows?”
“Did she tell you that she knows nothing about what happened to Dell?” asked Hays.
“Yes,” Branner said. “So if you could find an indication that she knows something about this, other than what we’ve told you and shown you, then—”
“Agent Branner, ma’am,” Midshipman Magnuson said, “with all due respect, I have no idea of how to do that, or if we even should do that.”
He looked over at Captain Rogers as if for moral support, and the captain indicated he should go on. “Ma’am, the Honor Committee investigates actions. Someone tells a lie and gets caught out. Someone steals something. Someone is seen cheating on an exam—crib notes written on his forearm—again, actions. But we don’t investigate anything until there’s been an accusation made, and the matter’s already been discussed between the accuser and accused. That’s step one: Approach and discuss. I don’t know how we would prove that she knows something about the Dell incident. DCI, you want to comment?”
“I do,” said Hays. Of the three midshipmen, he was the largest. Jim figured him for a varsity athlete. Wide shoulders, big, rangy physique. That look of watchful aggression.
“Go ahead,” Rogers said.
“Normally, I’d assign a BIO,” Hays said. “That’s one of our Brigade investigative officers. But given that,” the DCI said, pointing at the pictures, “I think that I should talk to Midshipman Markham.”
“How would you proceed?” Branner asked. “I mean, why should she talk to you?”
“Because of who I am on this board,” Hays said. “And because of what I can do. I’m the DCI. I can call in everyone who knows her. Her roommates, past and present. The other members of the swim team. All the firsties in her company. The people in her academic classes. Her instructors. Her extracurricular activities officers. I’d tell ’em we’re doing an honor investigation, and that I want to know what they know about Midshipman Markham.”
“That’s a lot of people,” Jim said.
“That’s the point, sir,” the DCI said. “If there’s anything weird about her four years here, one of those people will reveal that. And she’ll know that. Everyone here has some bones in his locker.”
Jim remembered the commandant saying basically the same thing. “And you think she’d tell you what you want to know?”
“I happen to know Julie Markham,” the young man said. “Actually, we’ve dated. So ordinarily, I’d recuse myself. Someone else would have to do it. But seeing as we’re this close to graduation, I’d feel comfortable getting the ball rolling. And because we have, um, history, I think I could find out something faster than anyone else.”
Jim finally recognized the name. Tommy Hays, the ex-boyfriend. Branner leaned forward. “If she knows something about the Dell case, then you’ll declare an honor offense?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. If she tells me something, I’ll take that to the chairman here.” The DCI looked over at the chairman, sending a silent message, Jim thought. “The first thing he’ll do is to take it to you and Mr. Hall. Then it would be up to you to come before the Honor Committee and make an accusation that she lied to you. An action constituting an honor offense. Then we’d formally appoint a BIO, and handle it as an ordinary honor offense.” He stopped for a moment. “Assuming that’s what you really want,” he added.
Jim sat back in his chair to consider what Hays was saying. If he understood the subtext, Hays was letting him know that if they let him do it his way, they might get what they needed without tagging Julie Markham with an honor offense.
“Deal,” he said, looking sideways at Branner to confirm that she was going to go along. Branner nodded but said nothing. “But time is of the essence. You need to have that discussion today. This afternoon.”
“No problem, sir,” Hays said. He nodded at the recording secretary, who got up and left the room.
“Then we’re done here?” Branner said.
“Yes, ma’am, I think so, unless you’ve got something else for us,” Magnuson said. Jim sensed tension in the air, but he couldn’t be sure. The perplexed look on Rogers’s face made Jim think that Hays’s offer might even have been rehearsed.
The meeting broke up, and they followed Captain Rogers out of the room. The midshipmen remained behind. Rogers said that the chairman would be in touch as soon as they had something, and that he would have to brief the commandant on what had transpired. Branner had no problems with that.
Once Rogers left, Branner looked at Jim. “What happened in there?” she asked.
Jim explained what he thought was going on.
“Okay, I’ll buy that, unless, of course, she’s an accessory.”
“If she’s an accessory to a homicide, she’s got bigger problems than an honor offense. Those guys are pretty smooth, aren’t they? Let’s step outside.”
They went through the waiting room to the executive corridor, and from there to the rotunda. To Jim’s surprise, the big midshipman, Hays, was already there, obviously waiting for them.
“Yes?” Jim said as he approached them.
“Sir, I need to speak frankly?”
“Shoot.”
“Like I said, I know Julie Markham, so I’m not exactly, um, unbiased. I like her a hell of a lot is what I’m saying. Most of her classmates do, too. But here’s the thing: If what she knows is because somebody else has something he’s holding over her, would you go after Julie or the somebody else?”
Jim was tall, but he still had to look up to measure the young giant’s expression. Hays seemed sincere. Before he could answer, Branner chimed in.
“We’re not after Julie Markham, unless she threw Dell off the roof, or stood by and watched, okay?”
“No fucking way,” Hays said quietly. “Ma’am.”
“You sure?”
“She’s tougher than you might think,” Hays said. He frowned as he thought for a moment. “And she’s deeper than I thought. But she’s no killer.”
“Okay,” Branner said evenly. “Then we’re looking for who did throw Dell off the roof. Assuming someone did. Our target is not Markham, unless we see evidence—hard evidence—that she did something to Dell.”
The midshipman nodded, then exhaled. “Got it,” he said. “I’ve got to talk to some people. And exams start this week. Makes it harder.”
“Call this number,” Branner said, handing him a card. “And remember those pictures.”
“Yes, ma’am. Serious shit. And ma’am?”
“What?”
“The officers are always saying not to confuse the Academy with the fleet, the real world? You shouldn’t confuse the mids with the officers, either, okay?”
Branner looked at Jim, who nodded. “Got it,” he said.
“Yes indeed,” Branner added.
Hays nodded, squared his shoulders, and walked away.
“And thank you,” Branner called after him, her voice echoing in the rotunda. She turned to Jim. “That was interesting,” she said. “So they do know something?”
“I think he does.”
“Then why the hell hasn’t he come forward before this?”
“Because they’re so close to getting out of here. So close to achieving what they’ve all worked their asses off for these past one thousand four hundred and sixty days, and they do count them, every day. And up to now, they probably thought the investigation would find the answer.”
“So what’s changed?”
“Maybe now they’re sensing a cover-up in the making?”
“Why would the firsties care?”
“Because Dell, even if he was only a plebe, was a mid. One of them. Remember what I told you about the rules of the game here. This is going to get very interesting.”
By 3:30, Jim and the chief, accompanied by an elderly PWC engineer, were walking the ground behind the tennis courts, trying to match the tunnel maps with a possible location for the top end of the shaft that led down into the old ammunition storage room. Branner had gone back to her office to update her case file with her notes from their meeting with Captain Rogers and the midshipmen. Jim had scheduled a briefing for the entire tunnel surveillance team, including Branner, for 4:30 at the Academy police building over at the naval station.
“There’s nothing that we’re using that would go down that far,” the PWC engineer said. “This whole area was recovered from the river forty years ago and filled in. That ammo bunker’s gotta be thirty feet down.”
“Well, there was a ladder going up, but I couldn’t see how high, and I wasn’t going to climb up in there by myself.”
“Shit,” the engineer said, looking at the diagrams. “I won’t go down there at all. That old brickwork’s like marzipan. One good vibration, the whole damn thing would come down.”
“Well, there’s nothing around here that looks like a ventilator shaft or storm drain or any other thing,” the chief said. “I wonder if it connects underground to something that goes into Bancroft Hall.”
They studied the diagrams. There were no utility tunnels or even lines anywhere near where they were standing. There were only the eighty-foot-high light towers, which illuminated the courts at night.
“Okay, I give up,” Jim said. “That whole ammunition bunker complex should be beyond the eighth wing’s foundations. If that shaft comes up, it has to be around here somewhere.”
“Hold on a minute,” the engineer said. “The eighth wing is built entirely on landfill. The original Bancroft had six wings, and a street between the end of the fifth and sixth wings and the seawall. I was here in 1956. The seventh and eighth wings weren’t here, nor was the land they’re built on.”
“Which means this diagram’s wrong,” Jim said. “Fort Severn couldn’t have been where this diagram shows it. It would have had to be back alongside the—what, sixth wing, right?”
The PWC engineer nodded. The chief was confused by the wing numbering. Jim explained that the wings were numbered second, fourth, sixth, and eighth on one side of Bancroft, and first, third, fifth, and seventh on the other side. “Like channel buoys used to be—right side were even numbers, left side were odd numbers. Naval tradition stuff.”
“Okay, then, if Fort Severn was back here,” he said, pointing on the map to the building right behind the eighth wing, “then that vent shaft would be coming up…very near the eighth wing. Not out here in the tennis courts. So we need to get into the basement of the eighth wing.”
They folded up the maps and walked back toward the eighth wing. “I wonder how many other errors there are in these diagrams,” Jim said.
