Darkside (30 page)

Branner paused in the doorway, ignoring the hovering secretary. “How is that different?”

“That's rule two: Rule one doesn't apply in honor cases, because an honor offense is an offense against everyone. I'm talking cheating on exams, lying, stealing, like that.”

“How about covering up for someone?”

“If you lie to do the cover-up, it's an honor offense. If you're asked a direct question by a competent authority, you're supposed tell to the truth. What you don't do is slip into the deputy dant's office after hours and bilge someone for offenses, other than honor offenses.”

They moved out of the anteroom and into the hallway. “So if the roommate was covering for Julie—that is, if she knows Julie did go out of the room early that morning, she'd be obliged to tell us that?”

“That's what the system expects.”

“Now who's equivocating? Is that what the system always gets?”

Jim shook his head. “I'd have to call that a gray area. See, the midshipmen are always watching. The administration tends to forget that the honor system is a two-way street. The mids watch to see how the Academy administration comports itself, too. Every time something bad happens, like this Dell case, they watch to see how the administration's response squares with what they think to be the facts.”

“In other words, if they think the administration is trying to cover something up, then it's okay for them to play cover-up, too?”

“It may not be okay technically, but now they'll play the game. Or at least that's my take on it.”

Branner thought about that for a moment. “This is going to be hard, isn't it?” she said. “Finding out what really happened here?”

Jim looked around to see who was listening. Nobody appeared to be. “Yes, it is,” he replied. “Fact is, we might never find out what really happened, especially if the administration persists with this ‘accident' spin.”

“The mids recognize spin when they hear it?”

“Oh yes. Plus, there's the basic fact of leadership: Whenever the leader goes into the ‘Do as I say, not as I do' mode, he forfeits his moral right to be the leader. That's the problem with teaching a bunch of smart kids about leadership: They learn.”

Branner shook her head again and started walking down the corridor. They didn't speak until they were out on the steps leading up to the rotunda.

“I've got to do some thinking,” she said. “Hate that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I may not be able to keep this case to myself after all.”

“I'm still willing to help,” he said.

“But you're not really on the inside, in Bancroft Hall,” she said. “I mean, I appreciate it all to hell, but we've got to break through this wall.”

“Let me think about it, too,” he said. “If we can inject the honor system into the problem, we might be able to crack
that wall. You really think someone killed that plebe?”

“I'm not hearing any substantiated reasons for him to commit suicide,” she replied. “Other than that he was a little guy who kept mostly to himself. As I told you, my orders were to rule homicide
out
first. If I can do that, then it becomes a question of accident or suicide. That's a whole lot less pressing than homicide.”

They stood there on the wide marble steps while midshipmen came and went around them. “I've never understood suicide,” Jim said. “But if you were a guy and you were depressed, despondent, suicidal even, would you kill yourself wearing women's underwear?”

“One might,” she said. “In theory, suicide is very often a statement. A final ‘Screw you, world. See what you made me do? Now it's all your fault. And by the way, I was a flaming faggot, and now you know. So there, world. I showed you.'”

“But there was no suicide note. The roomie says Dell was making it through. Nobody was on Dell's ass so hard that the roomie was willing to point a finger. You said that the parents reported no indication of a suicidal frame of mind.”

“All true. On the other hand, he's wearing Markham's panties, and forensics indicates he may have had some help going off the roof.”

“So what the hell was this?”

“I don't know,” she said.

Jim thought about those clothes. He had a bad thought. “What if Dell wasn't the real target here?” he said. “What if the real target was Markham?”

Branner blinked. “Whoa,” she said. “Kill Dell to frame Markham? That's pretty damned cold. You're talking psychopath now.”

“Dell jumps wearing Markham's underwear.
X
days after Dell goes over, some of
his
uniform items turn up in Markham's locker. She even picked up on it: If she had been involved in Dell's death, she never would have allowed those clothes to show up anywhere near her.”

“But that brings us back to a connection between Dell
and Markham, something more than their being on the same sports team.”

Jim kicked at a small stone. Circles. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“But it does, as a theory, bring us right back to Markham,” she said. “Again. Funny how that keeps happening.”

A plebe walked by, eyed Jim, and finally, just to be safe, saluted. Jim nodded back at him distractedly. “But if I'm right, and I hope I'm not, Dell's getting killed may actually have been incidental.”

“As in target of opportunity?” Branner said softly. “Like I said, you're implying a psychopath got through the Academy's admissions process.” She looked around. The late-afternoon sunlight was filtering through the green haze of new leaves on all the big trees guarding the Yard. There were lights on in some of the rooms facing inner courtyard rooms, and they could see the figures of midshipmen passing by windows. The hum of ventilation systems mixed with the sounds of the Brigade settling into Mother Bancroft for the evening, as one more day in a 150-year tradition subsided. The gilt in the dome of the chapel gleamed its approval.

“The service academies are all about honor, duty, country,” Jim said. “Like you said, Boy Scouts. Young men and women of integrity who want to do something patriotic.” He paused as a final gaggle of mids hurried by, anxious to get into Bancroft Hall before some magic bell went off. “Both sides here are supremely idealistic, when you think about it, both the candidates for admission and the administration. With all those sincere expectations, would they ever see a real psychopath coming?”

“I think I need a drink,” she said, looking at her watch.

“I need to get back to my office, see what's shaking,” Jim said. He was halfway tempted to ask her over to the boat, but it was clear she'd been very disturbed by his theory. She was definitely going to be working this evening. Besides, he hadn't forgotten that remark about his current career, or lack of one.

“Let me call you when I've had time to think,” she said. “I want to get a second opinion on the forensics report, and I need to talk to my boss. I do appreciate the support, Mr. Hall.”

He smiled. “I'll tell you my first name if you'll tell me yours,” he said.

She gave him a bright smile. “What's yours?”

“Jim.”

“That's great, Jim. You can still call me Special Agent, I'm afraid.”

“I knew that.”

 

Ev was gathering up some papers and his briefcase when Liz called. “I've heard from Julie,” Liz announced.

“How'd it go with the gestapo?” He tried not to sound too anxious, although Julie had not called him.

“Pretty straightforward, actually. They were following up on the clothes in the locker. Wanted to know how they got there. She told them she had no idea. She also reiterated that she had nothing to do with what happened to Brian Dell.”

“How'd they react this time?”

“They wanted her to take a polygraph test. She told them no.”

“Good girl. Did they ask where you were?”

“Apparently not. She just kept repeating that she didn't do anything to Brian Dell, not then, not ever. She says she basically told them to chase somebody else.”

“How did they leave it?”

“The interview? That woman just terminated it, after the security officer passed her a note.”

“What? The Academy security officer?”

Liz told him what Julie had said about Jim Hall being at the interview, and that he'd been there when she had accompanied Julie for the last one.

“You mean the black guy wasn't there?” Ev asked. “This is the Naval Academy security officer we're talking about?”

“I guess so.”

“Interesting. I ran into him today while I was out for a run. We just sort of fell in together. You know how that goes when you're running around a track. Now I wonder if that was as accidental as it seemed.”

“I'm not sure what his role in this case is,” Liz said. “The first time, he was just an observer, as Branner put it. But he was definitely there today, and the black guy, Agent Thompson, was not there. As I said, Hall apparently passed her a note and then Agent Branner shut it off.”

“How'd Julie like going solo with the cops?”

“She was brave, but I think she's getting the picture. I told her that she was living dangerously; then I shut her off.”

“Prolong the feeling of exposure.” This is Julie you're talking about, he reminded himself.

“Exactly. But the security officer being there bothers me a little bit. That sounds like the Academy might not be keeping itself at arm's length from this investigation. I'm going to make some calls, see what I can find out.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No, I think we should let it play out for now. They might just move on to some other track.”

“Okay, you're the boss on that, no matter what my darling daughter says.”

“See the article in the paper today?”

“I did, finally. They never found that guy, I suppose.”

“Not yet,” she said. “The bay doesn't always give her victims back.”

“Well I know,” he said without even thinking. The comment caught Liz off guard.

“I'm so sorry, Ev,” she said quickly. “That was heedless of me.”

He sighed. “Yesterday was…perfect. Until life intruded again.”

“Think of it this way,” she said. “We—but mostly you—saved two people's lives yesterday. I saw their faces from the
pilothouse. They were finished. That makes it a pretty damn good week, in my book.”

“I was talking about us. You.”

“I know, silly. We can deal with life and us, if we play our cards right.”

“Okay, then, how about coming out to my house tonight?” he asked. “You're as positive as it gets for me right now.”

“Listen to you! Give me an hour. No—make it two. I think I'm going to take a chance on something.”

 

Jim went back to the boat after checking in with his office and the chief. Nothing out of the ordinary happening, other than the usual semifrantic preparations for commissioning week, the logistical and security issues caused by the presence of the vice president, the hand-holding sessions being set up for the Board of Visitors, and the media siege over the Dell incident. As he drove through the eternally crowded streets of the harbor area, he wondered if he should lay out his own theory on the Dell case for the dant. Probably not. He wasn't a trained investigator. Even Branner wanted to consult with her own people. And he could be so wrong. Hell, the kid might have gotten depressed, gone up on the roof to stew about it, and tripped. Plebes were, by definition, screwups.

As he passed by the small marina office, Charlie Mack, the dock manager, stuck his head out the door. There was a woman standing behind him in the office.

“Yo, Big Jim, you got a visitor.”

Jim stopped as Charlie stepped aside and a tiny but fully equipped brunette came out of the office. “Mr. Hall?” she said. “I'm Liz DeWinter. Remember? Julie Markham's attorney? Can we talk?”

 

“I'm going to have a beer,” Jim said as he turned on more lights in the main lounge. “Can I get you something?”
Jupiter was perch-walking, trying to get a better look at the lady lawyer.

“Thanks, no,” Liz said. “I'm a scotch drinker, but I still have to drive home.”

“I've got some twelve-year-old Laphroaig back here,” he said, pausing at the door to the galley area.

“Well, in that case,” she said. “Make it a truly wee dram, though.”

“One wee dram coming up,” he said. “So, how'd you find me?”

“Some serious investigative work. The phone book? You were the only Jim Hall. The other three were all listed as James.”

“That'll do it,” he said, returning with her scotch in a snifter and his glass of bright black Guinness. “Cheers and confusion to the redcoats.”

“Remember Culloden,” she replied. She tasted the single malt. “Lovely, as always.”

“DeWinter,” he said. “That was your boat yesterday? Picked those people up? You and Professor Markham?”

“Small world, isn't it?” she said. “And now you're wondering why I'm here.”

Jim sat down across from her in one of the big leather chairs. She was probably ten years older than he was, but definitely a Slinky Toy, even if she was only about five-one in her stockings. Nice stockings, too. He smiled instead of answering, then waited.

“I talked to Julie Markham today, or this evening, actually. She told me that you were present for an NCIS interview on the Dell case. Again. I'm curious.”

“You're wondering why the Naval Academy security officer's involved in an NCIS matter.”

“More specifically, still involved in their investigation of what happened to Brian Dell.”

He told her about what had happened to Bagger and his offer to help, leaving out any reference to the tunnel incidents or the dant's instructions. “NCIS has a two-man office here. Without Agent Thompson, she was on her own. I of
fered to help, and she took me up on it. I have no official status in her investigation, though.”