Darkside (20 page)

“One can always hope,” she said. “But call me when you hear from that coach. I won't do anything until I hear from you.”

“Thanks, Liz. For not jumping ship, I mean. She needs you. She just doesn't know it.”

“Not to burst your bubble, Ev, but if she won't do what I tell her to, I can't represent her. But let her swim with the sharks for a while, see how she likes it.”

“Now there's a comforting image for a father to hear.”

“Ev, Julie's well out of the nest. All those kids over there are. Call me at home when you have something.”

Ev put down the phone and stared at the wall in front of his desk. It was now past noon, and the Academy weekend had officially begun. He'd changed into his running clothes, then sat back down at his desk to finish reading his notes on suspects' rights. The leather of his chair was starting to stick to the backs of his thighs. Goddamn, Julie. This is the wrong time to get pigheaded. He decided to jog over to MacDonough Hall to see if he could chase down Coach Downing in his office or at the Nat. It being Saturday, he was probably going to fail, but he needed to do something.

He stepped outside, did his warm-up, and then broke into a gentle jog across Radford Terrace and down onto Ingram Field, where there was only the Saturday complement of midshipmen and officers out for their daily running exercise. Physical fitness was an integral part of Naval Academy life, for everyone—faculty, staff, and midshipmen. Even on a liberty day, people were still exercising. Being fat or even out of shape at the Naval Academy was a cultural offense, from the admiral on down to the lowliest plebe.

He made ten circuits of the track to kill some time through the lunch hour and then cooled down by walking over to MacDonough. He went upstairs to the coaches' office complex, which was, as he suspected, already empty for the weekend. He asked a passing mid if he'd seen Coach Downing in the building. The coach was down at the training pool with some Class IV swimmers. Ev went back down to the Natatorium, where he found Downing in the water, finishing up a lesson on the basics of the survival breaststroke. The Class Fours, as they were called, were midshipmen who couldn't swim either because they just couldn't get it or because they were basically terrified to be in the water. The Nat was not designed with a shallow end, so there were several frightened young faces bobbing along the side of the pool. They had also missed the noon meal.

Downing, a sixty-year-old former national diving champion, launched the last two plebes from the side, one with each hand. They thrashed their way to the other side with all the style of a light-loaded ship's propeller that is half out of the water. Then he blew his whistle and sent everyone to the locker room. The clinging plebes came out of the water like so many salmon trying to get up a dam's spillway. Downing climbed out of the water in one graceful spring to the side, and Ev walked over. Because of Julie, the coach recognized Ev immediately.

“Hey, Professor: Come to do a tower jump for old times' sake?”

“Not exactly, Coach. Had a question for you. It concerns the swim team. And Julie.”

To Ev's surprise, he thought he saw a flicker of apprehension in Downing's eyes. “Shoot,” Downing said, reaching for a towel.

“Is the swim team still doing the zero-dark-thirty practice sessions?”

“Prereveille? Negative. We've just finished up the regular competition season. We're in the maintenance mode these days. And the firsties like your daughter, they're just swimming for exercise, if they're swimming at all. You know, graduation looms. They're almost through.”

Ev thanked him, said, “See you,” and started to walk away.

“Ev?” Downing said. “This isn't about that Dell mess, is it?”

Ev stopped and almost unconsciously glanced around to see if anyone was listening in, but the pool area was empty. Downing came over.

“I've heard some disturbing rumors,” he said quietly. “One involves Julie.”

“The underwear thing?”

“So you've heard about that? Well, of course she would have told you.”

“It's true. Although Julie thinks it's probably a laundry mistake.”

“That he was
wearing
them?”

“No, no, that he had them in his possession. Surely there was nothing going on between Dell, a plebe, and my daughter, right?”

“Not that I ever saw. We have some swim team romances every year; Julie and Tommy Hays, for instance. But no, Dell was a diver. Nice form, but not quite good enough for varsity stuff. I let him stay on as a manager on the plebe bench. Plebes know to keep their distance from firsties.”

“Yeah, that's my experience. What else are you hearing?”

Downing shook his head. “Nothing that concerns Julie.” He glanced around the Natatorium. “But there's been some talk that Dell was maybe a little light in his loafers. If not gay, then maybe bisexual. One of our assistant coaches heard rumors about some ‘special' massage treatments after some of the away meets, involving an unnamed manager. Admittedly, we're talking nineteenth-hand scuttlebutt here.”

“Specifically involving Dell?”

“An unnamed manager, I tried to run it down, but…”

“You hit the old blue-and-gold wall.”

Downing nodded. They walked together toward the pool doors. The surface of the Nat had settled into a vast mirror. “Has that NCIS team been down to interview anybody about Dell?” Ev asked.

“No. Will they?”

Ev nodded. “Yeah, Coach, I think they will. Did you know they're considering that the Dell incident might be a possible homicide?”

“Judas Priest! You're kidding. At the Academy?”

“That's rumor, too. Or maybe it's a preliminary line—you know, to rule it out.”

Downing stopped. “That why you got Julie a lawyer?”

It was Ev's turn to be surprised. It must have shown on his face, because Downing patted him lightly on the shoulder. “No real secrets around this hothouse, Ev,” he said. “You know that.”

There might be one or two, Ev thought, but he didn't say it. He needed to report back to Liz. The swim team wasn't doing prereveille practices. So now it came down to a simple but specific yes or no: Had Julie been in her room when Dell went down?

 

Jim Hall had been unable to get on the commandant's calendar, so he called the chief instead and asked what he'd heard about Bagger since the last time they'd talked. The chief said the police rumor mill had the story, and that the locals were waiting to see if the G would react as it usually did when an agent went down—that is, bring in a platoon of angry agents. Jim then called the NCIS office to see what further word they had on Bagger Thompson. The secretary pretended not to know what he was talking about, so Jim didn't press it. He called the hospital, hit the same brick wall, and decided just to go over there. There might be a town cop around who could get him in to see Bagger, or at least to find out how he was doing.

It took fifteen minutes to find a parking place at the hospital, and another fifteen to find the hospital security officer's office. He identified himself to a secretary and then told the security officer's assistant that he knew Agent Thompson was there and that there was an official lid on that fact. He asked if could she find someone who could tell him how Thompson was doing. Another fifteen minutes out in the main waiting room produced Agent Branner. She had changed clothes and was looking tired but efficient as she strode purposefully across the waiting room, heels clicking. She sat down next to him and a wave of subtle perfume wafted over him.

“They're moving him up to Bethesda,” she said softly, not looking at him while she scanned the almost-empty waiting room. “Major skull fracture. Something unpronounceable is swelling. If they don't get it under control pretty quick, he's not going to make it.”

Jim swore. “I had no idea it was that serious. He talking?”

“Hell, he's barely breathing,” she said, and he heard something in her voice that made him turn to look at her face. Not tears exactly, but some of that gunfighter toughness was noticeably absent.

“What are you looking at?” she snapped, sniffing.

“Careful there, Special Agent. Don't let anyone see you being human.”

“Up yours, Hall.”

He let it pass, thought about taking her hand, and then decided not to. If they were moving Thompson to the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, it must be serious indeed. That's where the president received his medical care. The vampire mugger was swiftly losing his appeal.

“You going up there with him?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Can't,” she said. “Dell.”

He nodded. “Want me to go?”

She rolled her eyes. “You've done enough damage,” she replied, and then immediately put her hand on his. “Cancel that. I'm just…just wigging out. Oh and I called that Irish Pub. He had six of those Guinness stouts.”

He didn't say anything for a few seconds. Six was a lot. Then he said, “I'm going into the tunnels tonight. Around twenty-two hundred. I could use some backup.”

She was looking straight ahead, seeing nothing. Then she seemed to realize where her hand was and retrieved it. “What?”

He said it again.

“What about your cops?”

“My cops deal mostly with patrolling the Yard, parking control, and tourist coordination. I mean
backup.
”

She nodded slowly. “
Hell
yes,” she said. “Although it's not likely that he's gonna be there so soon after what he did last night.”

“We're not positive our tunnel runner is also the guy who took Bagger down,” he said. “And we may be talking about more than one guy, so our rocket shooter might also not be the guy who beat up Bagger.”

“What do you think?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I guess I think it is.”

“Yeah, me, too. And if it is, he's gone way beyond sophomoric pranks in the Academy underground.”

“It's weird,” Jim said. “This guy's acting as if this is some kind of escalating game. And I've seen him face-to-face.”

“Could you recognize him again in his street clothes?”

“No way. He was wearing serious makeup. But very good makeup.”

“If this is a firstie, then he's taking big chances.”

Jim agreed. “The locals tracking down those Goth thingies?” he asked.

“They said they are, but you know, with all that Goth makeup and shit, it's the same deal as with you and your vampire friend. They could look like humans by day.”

“And if they're from the St. John's campus, the cops are going to strike out all around,” he said.

“The lead detective offered to do it anyway. He knows we have our hands full with the Dell case. They're going to work the campus cops.”

“Anything more on the Dell thing?” he asked as casually as he could.

“I'm planning to interview the swim team coach on Monday,” she said. She looked at her watch. “Shit. I've gotta go back upstairs. Where do you want to meet?”

He told her. She said okay and walked back toward the elevators. Jim watched her go. He liked the way she moved, solid and strong. Everything about her was straight ahead. Minimal bullshit.

Now he still needed to get to the commandant, one way or another.

 

Ev didn't make contact with Liz DeWinter until just after five o'clock. Since he'd spent the rest of his Saturday afternoon correcting papers in his office, he proposed that she join him for a drink at the Officers Club. As he walked across the parking lot to the club, he worried about what the swim coach had told him. Julie could have been out of her
room before or even during the incident. And she could also have been sound asleep, too. But it would have been wonderful to have had an airtight alibi for the time leading up to Dell's death.

The main bar was a comfortable paneled room with tables and chairs. Academy memorabilia covered the walls. It being Saturday, the clientele was composed more of retirees than faculty members or executive staff. He got a table in view of the door and ordered a glass of wine. Five minutes later, Liz walked in wearing an expensive-looking white linen suit whose trim lines nicely accentuated her figure. Two patrons waiting for a table were blocking her way. She was small enough that she could slip between them with an “Excuse me” smile. She sat down before he had a chance to get up to hold her chair. She was obviously dressed up to go somewhere, and for a moment, he wondered where. And with whom. Not that it was any of his business.

“Macallan, rocks,” she said to the waitress, who'd already brought Ev his glass of wine. Ev was suddenly conscious of the covert stares from a faculty couple at a nearby table. They'd known Joanne. “What'd you find out?” she asked.

He recapped his conversation with the coach. Liz frowned. “Okay,” she said. “So it would have been nice if Julie'd been in the pool with the entire swim team at the precise time of Dell's death, but this doesn't prove she was anywhere
but
in her room, asleep.”

“That's what I hoped,” he said.

“Problem is, she's the only tie they have right now. Which means they'll call her in again and again and keep probing to see if they can make a connection. In her present mood, she might screw that up.”

“So now what?”

Liz looked around and lowered her voice. “My next step is to find out what's in that ME's report that has everyone's nose up.”

“Can you do that?”

“I'm working my web. Cross your fingers. But basically, until they lay charges against somebody, we're in the dark,” she said. “Maybe the best thing is to just let the NCIS people do their thing.”

“And let Julie take her chances?”

“I didn't mean that, although she seems willing to do that anyway.”