Darkside (17 page)

“Such as?” Branner snapped.

“Meaning that I think you're investigating her, not Dell. So from now on out, there won't be any more of these interviews. Is that understood?”

“You don't get it, do you?” Branner said, her voice rising. Jim watched with growing interest. “We have the authority to interview Midshipman Markham anytime we please, as long as we execute the Article Thirty-one form. This is
military
law we're talking about.”

“Fine,” Liz said. “You can, of course, interview her all you want, but she'll have nothing to say, will she? Nor can you draw any inference from her silence, to which she is entitled under
American
law. As for now, this interview is concluded.”

Liz stood up and nudged a surprised Julie to do the same. She retrieved her recorder and indicated to Julie that she was to follow her. Neither agent said anything as the two women left the conference room. Jim saw Julie start to speak, but Liz put a finger to her lips until they had walked out of the commandant's office area. Jim got up to stretch while Branner spoke into the recorder, stating that the interview was concluded. Then she turned it off. Branner swore.

“Wasn't all that bad,” Thompson said.

Branner tossed her head impatiently. “Goddamned lawyers,” she said. “Mr. Hall, what was your take?”

“My job doesn't involve real police work,” he said. “The
only interviews I've seen are on television. That said, I think you hit the old blue-and-gold wall.”

“Is that like the cops' big blue wall?” Thompson asked. “Like when Internal Affairs comes around?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Jim said. “I mean, I can't feature one mid killing another for any reason. But there's always been a cops and robbers atmosphere here, what with all the regulations, rules, laws, procedures. You ever heard the expression, You rate what you skate?”

“No,” Branner said, interested now.

“Well, it means basically that you can do what you can get away with. Usually applies to the chickenshit end of the book, as opposed to honor offenses and the serious stuff. And there's a serious taboo against bilging a classmate. You know, ratting out.”

“She was a very uncooperative witness,” Branner said.

“For what it's worth, I think the lady lawyer was right,” Jim said. “You kinda made it sound like Markham was a suspect, not a witness. There was one point, though—when you asked if she'd been in her room all night. I thought she hesitated.”

“Thought you said you hadn't done interviews?” Branner said.

“You said you wanted my impressions. You just got one.”

 

Ev heard the phone ringing as he went up the back walk from his boat dock, but it went to voice mail before he got into the house. He'd gone out rowing on the Severn again to take advantage of an almost-perfect afternoon calm. The Academy's varsity eights had swept by in a glorious echelon formation, but he hadn't even tried to keep up. There was a message from Liz to please call her. He showered, changed clothes, and then made a drink. He called her back from the study. She told him that there had been another short-notice interview that afternoon, which is why she hadn't had time to alert him beforehand.

“Interesting. So, how'd it go?”

“Just fair,” she said.

That got his attention. “Only fair?”

“Well, it was definitely adversarial. Part of that was a function of my MO when dealing with police interviews: I try real hard to control the flow, and I can be abrasive about it. Part of the problem was that Agent Branner. She came in with a pretty big chip on her shoulder.”

“But what were they looking for?”

“As I anticipated, some connection between Julie and Dell. Something besides the underwear thing. Julie did get it on the record that he could have obtained the underwear in a laundry mix-up. Apparently, that happens.”

“That's true. Or it did in my day. Although they usually just lost it, period. Or sent it back full of holes. Is this a homicide?”

“They're acting like it, and yet I'm not sure
they're
sure.” She reviewed the questions and answers, and explained why she'd shut some of the questions off. “Based on some of the questions, I think they're case building.”

“Against
Julie
?”

“Against whoever emerges out of the fog of evidence. With some cops, it's often a toss-up as to whether they want to find the truth or just close the case. The latter outcome is often preferable.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Look, you said you wanted to help.”

Ev put down his drink. A mission. “Shoot,” he said.

“I learned some things today that neither you nor I knew. For starters, Dell was a manager on the swim team. Which means that Julie could have had daily contact with him during the competition season.”

“Wait a minute. He would have been working the plebe bench, so she—”

“Yes, Julie explained that. But in their words, she could have had daily contact with Dell. It is possible.”

“But hardly likely.”

“You understand that; I understand that. But a jury might not understand the system, the fact that plebes and firsties
don't associate, other than in the Sturm und Drang of plebe year.”

“O-kay, I guess I can see that.”

“You're thinking like a human, Ev. I'm thinking like a lawyer.”

He chuckled. “Got it,” he said. “And my assignment?”

“I want to know more about Julie's love life, if she has one.”

“Why don't you just ask her?”

“I intend to. But I'd like you to corroborate and elaborate.”

“Well, as you observed, I might be the least informed in that area, and I don't exactly pry. She is an adult, about to be a commissioned officer.” He moved his appointment book to make room for his drink, knocking the book off the table in the process.

“I know, Ev, but she talks to you. I'm just asking for some backup here.”

There was some frustration in Liz's voice. Ev reached down to retrieve the book while he considered it. “Sure, Liz, I'll try,” he said. “There's Tommy Hays, of course, but I think he's on the outs right now. I can make up a list of the kids she's brought back here on weekends this past year. But I'm going to guess the swim team is the place to look. They're together for hours a day in practice, and then at the away meets, long bus rides, parties after the meets in away towns.”

“Do they practice a lot?”

“Oh, hell yes. Actually, I was on the swim team when I went through. That's where Julie gets it, probably. We used to get up before reveille, zero dark-thirty. Hit the pool until zero six-fifteen, then went back to our rooms for regular reveille and morning formation, then did it all again after class.”

“Really,” she said, and he heard something in her voice.

“What?”

“Well, I wasn't going to bring this up, but they asked her
where she was when Dell died. She told them, asleep in her ‘rack,' as she called it.”

“Rack, right. Mids love their racks.”

“Then they asked her if she'd been there all night.”

Well, of course, he thought. Then he understood. “Ah. And she said?”

“She said yes.”

“But you had the sense that she would have preferred not answering that question.”

“Right.”

Ev thought about that. “Well,” he said slowly, “if she'd gotten up for swim practice, then technically she was
not
in her room all night. Oh, I get it: If she wasn't in her room, then she could have been what—throwing him out a window?”

“I know, I know, it's ridiculous, but visualize the interview transcript being read into evidence: ‘Were you in your room all night?' ‘No, I wasn't. I was—' ‘Thank you, Midshipman Markham, you've answered my question.'”

“Holy shit!”

“Cops. Case-building cops. That's how they do it, Ev, which is why potential suspects do not go to interviews without their shysters.”

“Damn. Does she fully understand that?”

“I think she got a glimmer today, although she's still resisting it. I told NCIS there wouldn't be any more interviews. They can, of course, tell me to pound sand. If they detected what I detected, they're going to pull the string on the early-morning swim practice routine. I'd like to know in advance.”

“Well, that's easy enough. I'll find out if there was early practice, and if she was there. I can do that through the Athletic Department. Although, the season's over. And she's graduating. I would guess they're not doing that anymore.”

“I need to know, and then I'll sort it out with Julie. And Ev? Let her call you. Let her tell you about the interview. I'm going to go through all of this with her. What I need from you is—”

“Right, ‘corroborate and elaborate.'”

She didn't say anything for a moment. “If you're uncomfortable with this, I can do it on my own,” she said.

“Hell yes, I'm uncomfortable, but I want her protected. You're the protector. It's my job to help you.”

“Thank you. I do understand how you feel.” She paused. “There's this eight-hundred-pound gorilla that's beginning to materialize in the back of the room, isn't there?”

“You do have a way with words, counselor,” Ev said wearily. “But yes, there is. You're saying Julie, in some fashion or other, might be involved in this mess after all.”

“I'm sorry, Ev.”

“Thank you. I appreciate what you're doing.”

“Hold that thought,” she said, and hung up.

 

At ten o'clock on Friday evening, the two investigators met in back of Mahan Hall, by the grating entrance. Jim indicated the map. “I propose to take you down the way I went the last time. Show you the main tunnels, the access points. See what you think about catching this turd.”

“Let's do it,” Bagger said.

Jim took Bagger into the main tunnel that ran under Stribling Walk, heading back toward Bancroft Hall this time. He showed the agent the main utility vaults, the access flap doors to the big storm drain, and the branches leading to the various academic buildings. The closer they got to Bancroft Hall, the more pronounced was the hum of machinery and electricity.

“This system is supporting all eight wings of Bancroft Hall, and the four thousand people inside,” he said. “Heat, lights, potable water, sewer, telephone, electricity, computer networks, and, pretty soon, chilled water for air conditioning. Every dorm room has water, steam heat, computer lines. Group heads for men and women. It's big.”

“Yeah, it is,” Bagger said, speaking softly. Something about being in the tunnels had them lowering their voices.
“Can they get directly from Bancroft into any of these tunnels?”

“I don't think so, not without knocking a hole in a basement wall, which, of course, somebody may have done. When I ran the tunnels, I did it from one of the grates, although that one's been moved. You know, diggers and fillers.”

They came to a three-way junction, where only one branch was man-high; the other two were filled with utility lines and narrowed down to what were basically crawlspaces. The smell of steam leaking through lagging was strong. “And they run why, again?” Bagger asked.

“It's a game, mostly. The Academy is all about discipline, uniformity, maximum conformity. Some guys like to show a little outlaw attitude.”

“That you?” Bagger asked, looking doubtful.

“Nope. I was chasing late-night skirt.”

“Yeah, that would be me. What's that archway down there? That looks old.”

They followed the main tunnel as it bent around to the right and then back to the left in a gentle S-turn. They came to a section of the tunnel that wasn't made of concrete, but of huge granite blocks. On the left, or bay, side of the tunnel was a recessed alcove, which contained two arched doors side by side. They appeared to be made of very thick oak, reinforced with three-inch-wide cast-iron straps. Bagger played his light over the surface of the left-hand door.

“This area is the old part, the really old part,” Jim said. “The Academy was started in 1845 on the grounds of an army fort, Fort Severn. There were underground ammunition magazines in this area, and these tunnels ran from the nineteenth-century seawall guns back to the ammo. No utilities in there. Of course, what had been the seawall in 1845 is now buried in the landfill that created the ground for the seventh and eighth wings.”

“Yeah, but look,” Bagger said, hunching down into a squat. “Bright metal scratches around the keyhole.”

Jim squatted down. Bagger was right. He pushed on the door. The lock held. He looked at his key collection, but he didn't have a key to this door. They checked the other door, but there were no signs of recent entry.

“Where are we?” Bagger asked. “In relation to what's on the surface?”

Jim stood up and studied the map. The lights in this branch of the tunnel were yellow and weak, so he had to use his small Maglite. The map showed that the two doors led to separate tunnels. The left one branched toward Bancroft Hall. The right one branched more toward the entrance to Annapolis harbor. “I'd say we were just to the right of the second wing. The right-front side of Bancroft Hall if you were standing out in Tecumseh Court and watching the noon meal formation. The supe's quarters are back over our shoulder that way, maybe a hundred yards.”

“And where does this tunnel go?” Bagger asked, pointing to where the concrete tunnel picked up again.

“There's a service tunnel to the captains' quarters along Porter Road. Eventually, it doglegs down at the end of the row and goes out into town, to the eastern King George Street utility vaults. Double steel doors. I've got keys.”

Using his own flashlight, Bagger studied the map. Somewhere back down the tunnel, there was a soft clang of metal, followed by a sustained hiss of either steam or compressed air, which shut off after ten seconds. They looked at each other.