Darkside

9

Jim Hall wrote a quick note at his desk, sealed it into an official envelope, marked it “Eyes only, personal-for RADM-Select Robbins,” and asked a secretary to give it to the commandant’s admin assistant. Then he went to meet Oberst-sturmbannfuhrer Branner over in Mother B.

Branner was waiting for him in the rotunda. She was wearing another tight short skirt outfit, and she was tapping one high-heeled foot impatiently. There was a fat briefcase sitting on the marble floor beside her. Two firsties walking by gave her an unabashed once-over until she looked back at them, at which point they found an urgent reason to pick up the pace.

“We have a development,” she said without preamble when he joined her. “It seems that Midshipman Markham turned up having some of Dell’s clothes in her room.”

“And how did we find that out?” he asked. He was conscious of the fact that their voices were echoing around the cavernous room.

“Room inspection,” she said. “Apparently one of those random things. Markham was in charge of the room for last week. She was placed on report for having nonregulation gear in the room. They called me this morning just before I left to come over here.”

“Was it truly random, or did you put a word in to the Exec Department?”

“Moi?” she asked sweetly. “Actually, no. Fortuitous, but random. We’re meeting with Dell’s roommate in five minutes.”

She picked up the briefcase and they headed for the commandant’s conference room. “What do you want me to do in there this time?” he asked.

“I’ll ask the questions. If you think of something, chime in. This kid’s not a suspect. I’m going to concentrate on what he knew about Dell, not the incident. I will tape it, so you’ll need to ID yourself at the appropriate time. Otherwise, follow my lead.”

“Anywhere,” he quipped as they stepped behind the partition. She ignored the remark. They went into the commandant’s outer office and the secretary led them into the conference room, where Midshipman Antonelli was waiting nervously. He stood up to attention and sounded off when they entered the room. He was a tall, rangy kid with heavy shoulders, a bony face, crooked nose, acne, and the regulation buzz-cut hair of a plebe. Jim guessed he played sprint ball.

“Midshipman Fourth Class Antonelli, sir!” the plebe shouted. Then he realized that one of them was a woman. “Uh, ma’am. Sir!” He blushed furiously, staring straight ahead, hands pressed flat to his sides, tucking his chin in even harder.

“Please sit down, Midshipman Antonelli,” Branner said.

“Yes, ma’am!” Antonelli all but shouted.

“And carry on, plebe,” Jim said in a calm voice.

“Sir, aye aye, sir!” the boy replied. He sat down in one of the side chairs and folded his hands in his lap. He still sat semirigidly. Branner took the chair at the head of the table, and Jim sat down next to her. They brushed knees for an instant, and Jim moved his chair, trying to ignore those shiny stockings. Branner fished the tape recorder out of the big briefcase and set it up.

“Midshipman Antonelli, I need you to relax, please,” she said. “We’re here to talk about Midshipman Dell, but not about what happened to him, understand? You are not a suspect or even a formal witness. We’re just trying to find out more about Dell as a person. What kind of a roommate he was. What kind of guy. How you two got along. Like that, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the plebe said, lowering the volume just slightly and giving Jim a sideways look.

“And this is Mr. Hall, the Academy security officer; he’s helping me with my inquiries. Now, I’m going to tape this, so we’ll do the introductions all over again for the tape.” She saw him frown and moved to reassure him. “The tape’s no big deal-it just keeps me from having to take a bunch of notes, okay?”

The plebe nodded and then Branner took him through the audio ID process. “So, Mr. Antonelli, tell us about Brian Dell. What kind of guy was he?”

“We got along,” Antonelli said after first licking his lips. He was obviously very nervous. Jim wondered how much of it was due to having to do an interview in the commandant’s office with NCIS, and how much of it was due to what had happened to his roommate. Branner looked over at Jim as if to say, You take it.

“Tell us about your plebe year,” Jim said.

“We were getting through it,” the plebe said. “I mean, like, there were three of us in the room at the beginning of plebe year. Frankie Browning dropped out at Christmas, so then it was just the two of us. That made it a little tougher.”

“I understand,” Jim said. “I graduated in ’93. Went Marine option and then got out. So I understand what plebe year’s all about and what you’ve been going through. What was Dell’s plebe year like?”

Antonelli shrugged. “Tough, I guess. He wasn’t very big. Kinda quiet. Kept his head down and his mouth shut, like most of us.”

“You go out for sprint ball, by any chance?”

“Yes, sir,” Antonelli said with obvious pride.

“But Dell-he wasn’t a big jock, was he?”

“No, sir. Kinda small. He had some trouble with that. I mean, with all the phys ed classes. Boxing. Wrestling. Hand to gland.” He reddened when he realized what he’d just called the self-defense course, but Branner just gave him a neutral smile. “But swimming, that he could do. Actually, he was a competition diver. He even went out for the varsity swim team. Got cut but stayed on as a manager.”

“How about academics?”

“Brian was a math geek,” Antonelli replied. “Otherwise, he kept a two-nine, three-oh QPR. He saved my ass in math.”

Jim nodded. “Did you ever get the impression that the upperclassmen were actively singling Dell out when they ran the plebes in your company? You know what I mean? Like when they really come down on a guy? Hound his ass until he puts his chit in?”

Antonelli hesitated but then nodded. “I know what you mean, sir,” he said. “Brian had to go roaming for a coupla weeks, during dark ages.”

“What’s that mean, ‘roaming,’ ‘dark ages’?” Branner asked Jim.

“Plebes are assigned to company tables in the mess hall,” he explained. “They rotate once a week to a new table, but always within the company. That way, the upperclassmen get a shot at all the plebes. When you go roaming, you report to a new table for every meal, and these are tables outside your company area.”

“So?”

“Well, every meal means hitting the wall with hostile strangers, who all know that you had to be something of a screwup to get sent around the world in the first place. That’s what it was called when I went through. Trust me, it’s very unpleasant.”

“I see. And ‘dark ages’ refers to the time right after Christmas leave?”

“Right,” Jim said. “January and February in Annapolis. Dark and dreary. When it seems like plebe year will never, ever end, right, Antonelli?”

“Seems that way still,” the plebe said, relaxing a bit when he heard Jim speaking in familiar terms.

“How many days till you climb Herndon, then?”

“Ten and a wake-up, sir!” Antonelli replied, the volume back up.

“And was there anyone in the company who was especially hard on Dell?” Branner asked.

The plebe thought about it for a moment. He shook his head.

“That mean all the upperclassmen ran him the same as everyone else?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Who was his squad leader for this striper set?” Jim asked.

“Mr. Edwards,” Antonelli said.

“He and Dell get along?”

“Um. Not that good, sir.”

“You’re saying that Dell’s own squad leader disliked him?” Branner asked.

The plebe was obviously uncomfortable with the question. “Well, ma’am, Mr. Edwards, he’s kinda hard-core.”

“What did Dell do on hundredth night?” Jim asked.

“I was kinda busy on that night, sir. But I doubt Brian would have done much at all. Especially to Mr. Edwards. Like I said, Edwards is hard-core. He’s going Marines.” The expression on his face said that that explained everything.

“You going Marines, Antonelli?” Jim asked.

“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 there 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.

“I am,” Julie said. “I’ve got nothing to hide, and I want this over with. I suppose this is about that report chit?”

“Yes, it is. The deputy commandant’s office alerted me to what the report chit contained. My first question is, What were those clothes doing in your room?”

“No idea,” Julie said. “They weren’t there before. When you and that other agent searched my room.”

“We did not search your room,” Branner asserted. “We accompanied the officer of the day on an authorized room inspection. That does not mean those uniform items weren’t there at the time. It just means the OOD didn’t find them.”

“Well, this one did,” Julie said impatiently. “Bottom line? I don’t know. And I still don’t know what Dell was doing wearing some of my underwear. The only connection I had with Dell was that we were both on the swim team. I think we’ve been through all this.”

“We have,” Branner said. “Was there anyone on the swim team who had it in for Dell?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Julie replied. “We’re a team.”

“No resentments? No stars who got all the glory while the rest of the team just swam heats?”

“A Navy varsity team doesn’t work that way, Agent Branner,” Julie said. “Everyone’s busting his ass. If you’re just there for personal glory, you usually don’t stay.”

Jim could agree with that. None of the midshipmen were eyeing million-dollar contracts in professional or Olympic sports after graduation. They were going to get commissioned and spend the next five years serving their country. He also noticed that Markham had become a little more assertive in her demeanor. No more automatic “sir” or “ma’am” to civilians like Branner. He wondered why the lady lawyer wasn’t here.

“If you weren’t stashing those clothes, then perhaps someone put them there, most likely to implicate you in the Dell matter. Why would someone do that?”

“To implicate me in the Dell matter, I suppose,” Julie said patiently.

Branner bristled. “Someone have it in for you, Markham?”

“Not that I know of. I broke up with another firstie a few weeks ago, but it wasn’t a jealousy scene or anything. He wanted to keep going after graduation, and I’m going to be too busy for that.”

Branner asked for his name and company, which Julie gave him. “So he wouldn’t be plotting against you?”

“He’s had his feelings hurt, but he’ll live. It’s not like I dumped him for someone else.”

“Okay, then, who else? You strike me as a go-ahead young lady. Some men can’t handle that. You beat out someone for promotion, or status here in the Academy? Class standing, or grades in a particular class?”

“All those things happen constantly,” Julie said. “That’s the system. Class standing. Academic standing. President of the Glee Club or any other ECA. Everyone competes here, and if they don’t, the Dark Side will notice.”

“The what?”

Julie colored slightly. “The senior officers. The people who run the Academy. The supe. The dant. They are the system.”

Jim found himself nodding in agreement. No one would get killed because he had advanced over someone else in class rank or standing. Branner was appearing to read her next question from her notebook, but that pen was tapping again.

“So you had nothing to do with Midshipman Dell, and you have no idea of who might have done something, anything, to Dell that would have resulted in his going off the roof?”

“For the last time, I hope: Yes, that’s correct.”

“Will you be willing to take a polygraph test to that effect?”

“No,” Julie said promptly. Branner stopped tapping her pen.

“Why not?”

“Because a guilty person has nothing to lose by taking a lie-detector test, while an innocent person has everything to lose if he or she happens to fail it.”

“Who told you that?”

“Read it in a novel.”

Branner sat back in her chair. “And you believe that?”

“Yes, I do. Simple probabilities. A lie detector is a machine being interpreted by a human. That’s a two points of failure scenario, and one point of possible influence.”

Branner obviously didn’t know what to say to that.

“Look,” Julie said, leaning forward in her chair. “I know I didn’t do anything to Dell. If somebody put some of his uniform clothes in my room, then that’s the dude you want to find. In the meantime, I’d like you to leave me the hell out of this mess, unless you have some evidence to the contrary.”

“You’re an evidentiary expert now?”

“I know that the clothes thing, both sides of it, aren’t evidence of homicide. That’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it? Evidence of homicide?”

Branner controlled her expression and just looked at her, waiting.

“Okay, tell me this: You people picked up all of Brian’s personal effects after he died, correct?”

Branner nodded.

“Did you do an inventory? Because we all have a specified uniform allowance, especially plebes, who are required to maintain a full seabag at all times.”

“Assuming we did?”

“If the clothes found in my room are included in that inventory, then someone’s hit your evidence locker. And if they’re not, then someone else had them on the day he died. Find that someone else.”

“Who says we haven’t?”

Julie groaned in frustration. “Meaning me? I say so. You people went through my room that day. These clothes were found behind the towels in the closet. Any room inspector looks there. They reach behind the stacked clothes and swipe for dust. You would have looked there.”

“So maybe you had them somewhere else, then.”

“And then what? Brought them back to my room and put them out practically in plain sight? This after you’ve called me a suspect?”

Branner didn’t answer that, and Jim made his first note. He passed it over to Branner, who read it, nodded, and announced that the interview was over. She excused Julie, who looked from Branner to Jim for a moment, then got up and left without another word.

“Okay,” Branner said. “I shut it off. What’d you hear?”

“Deflection. Let’s play the tape back.”

She rewound it, fast-forwarded past the Article 31 prelude, and then set it on play. When it got to the point where Julie said that she knew she didn’t do anything to Brian Dell, Jim stopped it.

“She asserts that she knows she didn’t do anything to Dell. She does not assert that she doesn’t know who else might have done something to Dell. You asked her a two-part question, remember? She’s ducking the second part of your question. And I’ll bet that’s why she refuses to take a lie-detector test. I think she does know something.”

Branner rewound the tape and listened to it again. She seemed unconvinced. “She might just not have thought to say both things,” she said.

“She’s projecting a different attitude. Today, she was on offense. When she was with her lawyer, she was on defense, deferential, and it was the lady lawyer who was confrontational. Her demeanor just now is not typical of a midshipman in the presence of authority.”

Branner stopped the tape and began tapping her ballpoint pen. After thirty seconds of that, Jim was ready to swat it.

“Okay, suppose you’re right,” she said. “How do we get into her backfield and find out?”

“We pulled in Dell’s roommate; now let’s pull in Markham’s.”

“I don’t know her schedule.”

“The deputy dant does, and he’s right next door. But I think you should do the asking.” He checked his watch. “It’s just after fifteen hundred. She might be free.”

In the event, Julie’s roommate was available, and she arrived at the conference room twenty minutes later. Her name was Melanie Bright, and she looked like her name. Tall, athletic, sparkling blue eyes in a Nordic face, and a friendly, engaging smile. Even Branner smiled back at her when she introduced herself and sat down.

“Midshipman Bright,” Branner said, “NCIS is investigating the Brian Dell incident. You are neither a suspect nor a designated witness. We’d simply like to talk to you in order to fill in some background relating to this regrettable incident. Will you help us?”

“Yes, ma’am, if I can.” Midshipman Bright had a fairly broad California accent, and Jim was pretty sure she had a wad of chewing gum stashed back in her mouth somewhere.

“Good. You are Julie Markham’s roommate. Have you and she talked about the case, and her interactions with us so far? Including today?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bright said. “Although I haven’t seen Julie since today’s noon meal formation. She said she had to come in and, like, see you guys this afternoon.”

“Right, we’ve just spoken to her. You’re aware of the special circumstances that connect Midshipman Markham to Midshipman Dell? The clothes?”

Bright’s smile dimmed somewhat. “Yes, ma’am. Our room went down for that this past weekend. I wasn’t there, and Julie was ICOR-So, like, she’s the one who got fried. I can’t explain the clothes bit, either.”

Either? Jim thought. Maybe she had seen Julie since her 1430 interview. And yet, this young woman looked completely guileless.

“To your knowledge, was there anything going on between Julie and Dell? Other than that they were on the same varsity team?”

“No way,” Bright said. “I mean, yes, they were on the same team. But he was a plebe.”

“I understand that,” Branner said. “How about between Julie and any other members of the swim team?”

“Well, there was Tommy. Tommy Hays? He’s a classmate. But they broke up a while ago. They’d been dating since second class year, I think.”

“And no one else? Maybe outside of the Academy?”

Bright shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not after her mother died and all. I mean, there were a couple of times when she and Tommy had some ups and downs-you know, the usual stuff. Didn’t see each other. Like that. She saw some other guys then, but nothing serious.”

“Does she get mail?” Branner asked, looking down at her notepad.

“Mail? Well, yeah, bills, stuff like that.” Bright patted her hair self-consciously.

“No, I mean personal mail. From friends outside the Academy?”

Bright thought about it for a moment. Jim suddenly had the impression that Miss Bright Eyes here might be putting on just a little bit of an act. “You’re talking about snail mail, right?” she said. “Because personal stuff? That’s going to be on the Net. I mean, I don’t know anybody who actually writes letters.”

Jim made a note to find a way to get into Markham’s E-mail account. He looked up when Branner asked her next question.

“Where were you on the morning Dell went off the roof?” she asked.

“Me? I was in my rack, I guess. I mean, I don’t know exactly when it happened. I didn’t find out about it until morning meal formation. Gross.” She made a face.

“Was Julie in her rack? When you guys got up at reveille that day?”

“Yes, ma’am, she was.” Jim wrote another note and passed this one to Branner. She glanced at it before proceeding.

“Midshipman Bright, if Julie had gotten up earlier, would you have noticed?”

“You mean like for early swim practice? She did that all the time, although I think they’re all done now. But no, I’da slept right through that. I mean, if you’re gonna get up early, or come in late, you don’t wake your roommate.”

“Early swim practice?”

“Ya. The whole swim team does it. They go down to the pool at zero dark-thirty and swim until reveille. Then they go to their classes, and practice again after that.”

“Are you on the swim team?”

“No, ma’am. I run track and field.”

“Do you know people on the swim team?”

“I guess I know my classmates on the team, or most of them anyway.”

Branner glanced momentarily at Jim, as if considering whether or not she should ask the next question. But then she went ahead. “Midshipman Bright, we’re really trying to figure out the business with the clothes. Julie’s and Brian Dell’s, if you follow me. Julie states that she has no idea of how they got where they got. Assuming that’s true, who else might have done that?”

“You mean put Dell’s uniform stuff in her locker?”

“Yes.”

Bright shook her head slowly. “No idea,” she said, looking back at both of them and turning that smile back on. Jim once again felt that Bright might be just blowing them off. Know nothing, saw nothing, and, like, heard nothing. He knew that if his roommate had ever gotten across the breakers with the NCIS, they would have talked out every tiny detail. He passed another note to Branner.

“Are there any weirdos in your class, Midshipman Bright? You know, heavy dudes, guys who are known or thought to be…well a little different?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Agent Branner,” Bright replied, that smile still pasted on her face. “I mean, this is the Naval Academy. People like that? My high school had some, you know, out-there guys, the kind that some people thought might show up at school with guns one day? Like, to do a Columbine? But here? The system wouldn’t put up with that sh-um, with that attitude.”

“So this place is strictly for Boy Scouts, then?” Branner asked with a faint note of challenge in her voice.

“And Girl Scouts,” Bright said, coming right back at her. The smile never wavered.

Branner shot him that “What next?” look. He shook his head, and Branner ended the interview. Once Bright had left, Branner turned off the tape recorder. Jim realized he had not seen her turn it on, and then he remembered that she had been fooling with it just before Bright had walked in. Branner being sneaky.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well, I think she’s shining us on,” Branner said. “I’m so pretty. I’m so full of personality. I’m so…so very Bright. Yes, that’s it,” she said in a singsong voice that sounded remarkably like Bright’s voice. Jim was laughing by the time she’d finished.

“They’ve not only talked about it; they’ve probably agreed on what Bright would say or not say.”

“Gosh, you think?” Branner said drolly.

“Yeah, I think. Roommates are damn near married-it’s usually that close, especially by first class year. Way back in the real old days, midshipmen used to call their roommates ‘wives.’ We need to check to see how long they’ve been roomies. If it’s been a couple of years-and that’s not unusual-then this was smoke and mirrors.”

Branner made a quick note. “At least a little contrived,” she said. The commandant’s secretary stuck her head in and asked if they were finished, as the room was scheduled. Jim helped Branner pull her stuff together. “The important thing I’m finding out here is that the midshipmen are perfectly willing and able to close ranks,” she said. “Buncha guys with a code of silence. Remind you of anyone?”

“That’s a little extreme. Part of it is the system here. The conduct system, where people get put on report for about a million different infractions, large and small. Getting ‘fried,’ as it’s called, becomes a bit of a cops and robbers game. But two rules do apply: One, it’s a cultural crime to bilge someone else.”

“‘Bilge’?”

“Get someone else in trouble, especially a classmate. Think rat squad. And it’s even worse if you do it to save your own ass, or to gain advantage. I’m talking of infractions outside of the honor code, of course. That’s different.”

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 offered to help, and she took me up on it. I have no official status in her investigation, though.”

“So how can you help Agent Branner?”

“I’m an Academy grad. She needs an interpreter. Someone who can translate what the mids are saying when she does her interviews. A consultant.”

“And what they’re not saying?”

Whoops, he thought. Careful: This one’s switched in. “Yes, and what they’re not saying. I’m going to help her look through the blue-and-gold wall. If I can.”

Liz nodded. “I’m having similar difficulties with that wall,” she said. “What do you think of my client?”

“She was there without her lawyer,” Jim said with a smile. “Not as smart as she looks.”

Liz inclined her glass at him in a small salud.

“Actually, I’ve met her three times,” he continued, in case this was a test. “The first interview, the one today, and a chance encounter at the Natatorium, where I sometimes work out. But you should understand that I didn’t participate in the interview. I was just there, observing and listening.”

“And passing notes. Julie said you passed Branner a note and that then she terminated the interview. If you’re willing to share, I’d like to know what was in that note.”

He frowned. This lady was a defense lawyer. He worked for the government, and, while not really a police officer, he wasn’t sure what he should be telling a possible homicide suspect’s lawyer.

She put down the snifter and shifted in her chair, revealing a flash of great legs. “Look, Mr. Hall, I’m not asking you to divulge details of a government investigation or anything like that. But if I understand the process correctly, the NCIS investigation was turned on by the superintendent. You work for the superintendent. You being in that room gives the administration a direct line into the NCIS investigation, which is supposed to be conducted entirely independently of the command convening it. As I understand it, of course.”

Jim heard more mental warning bells. She was talking directly about command interference. “I could quibble, I guess,” he said. “The investigation was turned on by the commandant, not the supe. Either way, there’s command influence only if I’m reporting back to the administration.”

“Tell me something: Do you think Midshipman Dell was murdered?”

Jim tried not to blink. “Don’t know,” he replied. “I believe that’s what Special Agent Branner’s trying to rule out.”

“You’re a graduate. Do you think it’s possible? Murder at the Naval Academy?”

He sipped some beer to give himself time to think. “Possible? Anything’s possible, I guess. It’s a high-pressure place. But likely? No. I’d hope that the admissions process was better than that. Let me ask you one. Do you think your client caused Dell’s death?”

“I guess I’d have to say that that’s between my client and me, Mr. Hall.”

“Well, there’s a one-way street,” he said with a smile. “But that wasn’t a definite no.”

“You shouldn’t infer anything from what I said or didn’t say, Mr. Hall, especially when I’m crouching down behind lawyer-client privilege. Is that where your investigation is going right now?”

“It’s not my investigation, Ms. DeWinter,” he reminded her. “I’m just helping the NCIS with its inquiries.”

She gave a short laugh, finished her scotch, and stood up. “Thanks for your time and the wonderful scotch,” she said. “It seems we’re too much on opposite sides of this thing to share information.”

He got up to show her out. “You could always ask Agent Branner,” he suggested with a straight face.

“Oh, right, sure I could,” she said, and they both laughed. Over in his cage, Jupiter chuckled agreeably.

Jim followed her up the companionway. She was tiny, but extremely well made. Up on deck, she glanced around. “Nice boat, Mr. Hall. Consulting pays well, I take it?”

“Consulting pays nothing, unfortunately,” he said. “Guess I’m not doing it right.”

“You must be doing something right,” she said. “I don’t think Agent Branner suffers fools gladly.”

“Agent Branner hunts fools on her days off, for fun and pleasure. You shouldn’t attach any significance to my being in this picture, Ms. DeWinter. I’m helping her read the mids when she interviews them. Sometimes they speak in code. Mids don’t think much of civilians.”

“So I’ve discovered, talking to Julie.” A large yacht glided by under power, headed out of Annapolis for the bay. They watched it for a minute. “The more I get around the Academy, the more I think it’s an anachronism in today’s America.”

He nodded. “It probably is, although I think there’s still a place for duty, honor, country in today’s America. Maybe especially in today’s America.”

They both glanced over at the gray mass of Bancroft Hall. The stoical buildings, with their regimented squares of light in rows and columns, dominated the shoreline of Colonial Annapolis. Jim watched the lawyer out of the corner of his eye. Her head came up to about the level of his upper arm. She seemed to be making up her mind about something. He could just detect her perfume.

“Look, Mr. Hall-”

“Call me Jim, if you’d like.”

“Okay. Jim. I’m a civilian. I was married to a military guy once, but he didn’t go here, so I’ve got the same problem that Branner has. Basically, I’ve been hired to keep the system, as everyone seems to call it, from railroading Julie Markham.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” he said slowly, thinking of the commandant. “But Branner sure isn’t approaching it that way. I believe she’s looking for answers.”

“Do you?” she asked. “Or maybe you’ve been invited into this investigation for another reason.”

“Which is?”

“Most of my clients are politicians in trouble. I know how that system works. Whether you know it or not, you might be running top cover for Branner.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Suppose they’ve already decided to lay this off on Julie. Outsiders perceive a midshipman’s death as an Academy failure. This way, they’ll have you to stand up and say that, no, Branner didn’t just go through the motions. You can say you were there and that she conducted a fair and square investigation. Defend her, like you did just now.”

“I still don’t get it,” Jim protested. “I think she is conducting a fair and square investigation.”

“Or she’s going through the motions for your benefit, the decision having been made by the commandant that Julie Markham’s going to take the fall.”

“Branner’s not that devious, counselor. What you see is what you get with her, like it or not.”

“Well, tell me this, then: Whom does Branner work for, as the resident agent for NCIS at the U.S. Naval Academy?”

He thought about it. Her government paycheck came from the NCIS, of course, but her performance ratings would be cosigned, at the very least, by…by-the dant. The dant was the customer. She watched him work it out.

“Who’ve you been talking to?” he asked.

“Ev Markham, for one. Julie’s father. He’s a grad, too, and he’s worried.”

Jim nodded. Professor Markham. “He the one who hired you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, look. I appreciate your insights. But I’m going to continue helping Branner, if she wants me to. I can give you this much: If I see any signs that her investigation is some kind of Kabuki, I’ll call you. Fair enough, Ms. DeWinter?”

“More than fair. And now you can call me Liz.”

“Good deal. Why only now?”

“You just showed a flash of fair play, Jim. Were you by any chance a Marine before you took this security officer job?”

“Aw shucks, does it show?”

“My first ex was a Marine fighter pilot,” she said. “You can take the guy out of the Marines, but you can never take the Marines out of the guy.” She stepped through the gate, being careful of her footing. “Thanks for seeing me this evening, Jim. And if you sense…well, what we talked about, I’d really appreciate that heads-up. Julie Markham doesn’t deserve this.”

“I hope you’re right about that,” he said.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it might not be a railroad deal here. It might not be the system. It might in fact be Julie.”

She frowned. “Julie what?”

“Has Julie Markham been absolutely straight with you? Completely forthright? No signs of deception? At all times?”

Liz pursed her lips but didn’t say anything.

“Uh-huh,” he said, nodding. “Stay tuned, counselor. We might all be wrong about what we’re seeing here.”

Liz thought about it, then shook her head. “I don’t think so. My bet stays on the Academy trying to whitewash this, find somebody they can pin it on, and then make sincere pronouncements about closure.”

“Well, I guess we wait and see,” he said. “You have a good evening, Liz.”

She smiled up at him and left. He went back down the companionway, closing the hatch behind him.

Goddamned career women, he thought. Lawyer Liz insisting he call her by her first name, Lock and Load Branner insisting she didn’t have a first name. But both world-class manipulators, if not ball-breakers. He recalled the image of Liz steaming up the pier, tiny but definitely sexy, and yet she’d driven right over him. No wonder she was an ex -wife. Maybe it was something in the Annapolis drinking water.

Jupiter let out an unhappy screech when Jim came back into the lounge.

“Don’t you start, feather merchant,” he growled. “I’ve got places to go tonight.”

At 10:50 P.M., Jim stood in the main tunnel. Ten more minutes, he thought, and then the PWC will do its thing. In the past forty-five minutes, he’d walked the entire length of the main tunnel, from the Bancroft Hall sector, where the rocket had been fired, all the way to the King George Street access doors. He’d tested all the electrical access panels, the two doors to that big air-conditioning compressor chamber, and the doors on every one of the telephone equipment cabinets. He’d checked out each of the cross tunnels for signs of intrusion. The only thing he hadn’t done was to pull up the steel deck plates lining the center of the main tunnel, and only because that would have taken all night.

He didn’t expect his runner to be on the move on a Monday night. The town bars would be pretty much dead as the party-hearty crowd sobered up after the weekend. Midshipmen would be grappling with the start of the working week, recovering from Monday-morning pop quizzes and getting some much-needed sleep after the exertions of weekend liberty. The motion detectors were still in place, but he had disconnected the receiver box and had it in his backpack.

He stood at the junction between the main tunnel and cross tunnel that led down to Michelson Hall. He could almost feel the weight of the concrete ceiling and the ground above pressing down on his head from inches away. The by-now-familiar odors of steam, hot lagging, and ozone permeated the air. From off to his right came the occasional clanking of traffic passing over a steam grate out on King George Street. He looked at his watch again: 10:59.

At precisely eleven o’clock, all the tunnel lights winked out. The main tunnel and all its branches went completely dark. He didn’t move, but he did close his eyes. The only sound now was the hum of a nearby electrical panel. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. The first thing he noticed was that the darkness was not complete; he could still see. Up and down the tunnel, there were small lights, most of them green but some amber, mounted on the front of the electrical panels. The green lights indicated conditions normal, while the amber lights indicated that power was present in the panel. There was a red glow in the far distance to his left, which probably came from the transformer bank recessed into the tunnel wall next to the telephone amplifier vault.

Okay, he thought. Only partial success. He had wanted to see if it was possible to put the tunnels into complete darkness on command. He had talked to the PWC people and they had figured out a signal that could be detected on their utility control panels in the Academy’s power plant. All Jim had to do was to go up to any electrical panel, open the main breaker, and then close it again. An alarm indicating a power interruption would flash on the PWC’s control console, and that would be the prearranged signal to kill all the lighting circuits in the tunnel for fifteen minutes, as long as the alarm popped up during a designated time period. Jim had designated the time window before going down into the tunnels.

His objective had been to lie in wait for the runner, using his motion detectors. Once he detected movement, he’d plunge the tunnel system into darkness. Then with night-vision goggles and whatever faint ambient light came from the indicator lights on the electrical panels, he would have the advantage over his quarry. The problem was that there were too many indicators producing too much ambient light. He might have the advantage for the first minute or so while the runner’s eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, but then the runner would be able to see, at least well enough to react. Jim couldn’t get away from the feeling that the runner knew this labyrinth better than he did.

Okay, he thought, I’ll have to get some electrical insulating tape. Go down the tunnels and tape over all but a very few of these lights. But that’s going to take a lot of time. Shit. This isn’t going to work. Unless he got some backup. He could always call in the Yard cops, but the tunnels didn’t lend themselves to having lots of people operating down there. The runner had always managed to sniff out Jim’s presence very quickly, so more cops meant fewer chances of surprise. Assuming the vampire had some place in town to ditch the costume, he could always go back through the main gate if he had to. That would mean risking being hit with a conduct offense, but there would be no way to tie him to what had been going on out in town.

Think, Jim told himself. You’re after one guy. You’ve locked him out of one of his main avenues of escape, at least until he figures out how to get through those locks. You know the way he’s been coming back-through that grate on the St. John’s campus. So put a surveillance team on the grate? But that would mean Yard cops operating out in town, on the St. John’s campus, where they had zero jurisdiction. He didn’t want to bring Annapolis cops into this, either, in case it was a midshipman. The Ops boss had made it very clear they didn’t need another scandal popping up just now. Which meant he needed to take this guy on federal property.

The lights all came back on in a hum of fluorescent starters. He blinked at the sudden brightness and realized he’d been thinking in circles. He had an idea, but first he wanted to check something. He walked down the tunnel toward the King George Street access doors until he came to the shark tag drawn on the concrete wall. There had been no change since the last alteration, after he’d put his own tag down. He fished for the can of spray paint, which was still in his backpack. Standing close, he sprayed ONE-ON-ONE, followed by the numerals 2400. Below the shark figure, he sprayed on IF YOU’RE MAN ENOUGH. Then signed it HMC.

He stood back and examined his handiwork. He’d have to alert PWC to make sure they didn’t clean off the tag now that it was getting bigger. Then he’d come back tomorrow night, around nine or so, to see if there’d been some indication his runner had seen it. Some kind of a reply. Then maybe aim at Wednesday night to set up for his first real try. Get some backup, but put it in the Yard, out of general sight but close enough to the major grates within the Yard for quick response time.

He started back toward the Mahan Hall interchange. Just for the hell of it, he began counting indicator lights. He’d seen thirty-seven by the time he reached the interchange. Far too many. Plus, the night-vision headset would make for a cumbersome hand-to-hand situation. But he still might use the lights-out maneuver. Mask out his own eyes for five minutes, then send the signal, see how well he could function. The question he still hadn’t answered was where his runner was getting into the tunnels. Had to be down at the Bancroft Hall end, although those tunnels were jam-packed with pipes and cables. The only other tunnels down at that end were the old Fort Severn magazine tunnels. Wait a minute, he thought. The night of the rocket, Bagger had pointed out some bright metal scratches on the lock of one of the doors to the Severn magazine tunnel. In the excitement, Jim had forgotten that. He decided to go down there and look again.

The splotches had been cleaned off the concrete where the rocket had gone ricocheting down the S-turn. When he got to the alcove leading down to the magazine doors, he found the overhead light was out. There were no lights in the alcove, which ran for about ten feet before reaching the two doors. He turned into the alcove, went down three stone steps, crossed the ten feet, and knelt down in front of the oak door on the left-hand side. He shone his Maglite on the antique lock. Hard to tell. It was humid enough down here to encourage corrosion, so shiny metal scratches could have dulled down by now. He couldn’t see any scratches, and yet they had been visible before. He put his finger to the keyhole and rubbed it around. Something came off on his finger, some gooey-gray substance. And there were the shiny scratches.

Well, hello, he thought. Someone has been covering his tracks here. Then the hair went up on the back of his head. He sensed the presence of someone or something behind him. Not right behind him, but very close. His heart began to pound slightly. The ambient light seemed to be different, but the bright beam of the Maglite made it difficult to tell. He worked to control his breathing and the urge to whip around to take a look. He kept the Maglite on the keyhole but focused all his senses on what was behind him. A vision of that terrible vampire face floated up in his mind. Trying not to make any sudden moves, he dropped his right hand casually to his ankle, as if to scratch an itch, and began to lift the hem of his coveralls to get at the Glock. When he had his hands on the butt, he yanked it out and spun around in place, pointing it up at the arched entrance to the alcove. But there was nothing there. Just a rectangle of dim light framed by the old stone walls.

He swore and stuffed the Glock back into the ankle rig. Goddamned place was spooking him. He stood up and exhaled. He’d have to get keys to these oak doors. He didn’t care about the right-hand tunnel-it didn’t go in the correct direction. But the left-hand tunnel might get close enough to the Bancroft Hall basements that this could be his runner’s access point. No, on second thought, he’d do this the right way, the safe way. He’d get the PWC guys to open the doors, make sure the atmosphere was safe down there, and then he’d get proper gear to make an exploration. With the PWC people knowing he was down there, time in, time out, and preparations in place to retrieve his young ass if something went wrong. Those old brick tunnels were dangerous as hell, and the magazine complex appeared to be surprisingly large. Go into that by yourself and probably nobody would ever know what became of you.

He started back up the alcove, climbed the three steps, and emerged into the modern tunnel. He stopped to listen, but there were only the familiar sounds of the utility lines. Nothing from above ground penetrated this sector. There wouldn’t be any vehicle traffic on the Yard streets above, and the mids would all be in their respective trees for the nights, excepting the poor bastards who were failing courses. They’d be in their closets with flashlights, or in their racks with a blanket over the flashlight, desperately memorizing the Gouge as they tried to get ready for the next morning’s pop quiz.

As he came to the S-turn under the front of Bancroft Hall, he thought he heard something. He froze and reached down for the Glock again. The lights in this sector were all working, but the S-turn would make an excellent place to start some shit. Then he definitely heard something. He recognized it as the unmistakable sound of a tennis ball being smacked right in the sweet spot of a racket, and then bouncing along the concrete floor from side wall to side wall, through the S-turn, until it rolled out practically at his feet. It made a surreal sound down among all the pipes, cables, and concrete. He heard a clang and felt a pressure change in his ears as he scooped it up and discovered that there was something written on it. Two words.

YOU’RE ON.

Liz helped Ev clean up after a supper of cold steamed crabs she had brought from the harbor market. They took their wineglasses out to the back porch and settled into chairs. It was fully dark, with the only lights coming from inside the house and across the shimmering black waters of the creek.

She had told him about visiting Jim Hall at the marina, and that she was still bothered by his involvement in the NCIS investigation. He wasn’t so sure that it was all such a bad thing, understanding as he did the difficulty civilians would have getting through to the inner workings and hidden mechanisms of life in the Brigade of Midshipmen.

“It’s a strange world in there,” he said, pouring them both some more wine. “Stranger than even I remember it, because now there are women on board. It was probably a whole lot easier when it was all guys.”

“You don’t think women belong in the military?” she asked.

“Now there’s a loaded question.” He laughed. “But the truth is, no, I don’t. I mean, I understand the equal-opportunity issue-that women shouldn’t be denied the right to serve their country as officers or anything else. And I’m very proud of what Julie’s managed to do, getting through and doing it well.”

“So?”

“Well, I just don’t think that military service is suitable for women. I think their role in life has more to do with nurturing a family, bearing and having children, and acting as the sanity counterbalance to the aggressive and often dumb-headed things we men do to screw up their lives and other people’s. Like charging off to war, drawing lines in the sand, getting even, showing off. Women are too valuable to waste in military service.”

“Not all women want to do the things you just mentioned.”

“Agreed. And I know my views are not politically correct these days.”

“But shared perhaps by more people than you know,” she said. “I often wonder if it’s fitting for the nation’s women-folk to be on the front lines. But maybe now that the front lines have come to downtown America, we’ll have to reevaluate. Personally, though, I’d rather see women in the professions. How does Julie feel about it?”

“She’s going Navy air, so it should be obvious. But I’m not sure I know how she really feels.”

“Trying to be the son you didn’t have, perhaps?”

“It’s possible, although I’ve never laid that rap on her. Besides, look at her. A tomboy she’s not. But she’s been somewhat remote since, you know.”

“I grew up the elder of two children. My brother always gravitated toward our mother when it came time to let hair down, and I gravitated toward my dad. How was it with Julie?”

“Her mother,” he replied, sipping some wine. “I wasn’t really aware of that until…”

“Until Joanne died?”

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t be afraid to say the word, Ev.”

“I know.”

“Anyway-Julie? Maybe being remote is her way of grieving.”

He was silent for a moment. “She was pretty torn up by the whole thing. And then suddenly, she seemed to take an emotional deep breath and ploughed back into her life. Kids are strange.”

“Someone over there in Bancroft Hall may have asked the same thing your minister asked you, ‘Whom are you weeping for?’”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Do you miss Joanne?” she asked.

He thought about what to say. They’d started something yesterday, and he didn’t want to derail that, not now. “I think I miss the life we had. The stability. What seemed like predictability. My career was on track. She’d been taking courses to get back to speed in the financial-planning world. Julie was making it through the Academy. Our house was paid for. It looked like all we had to do was keep on trucking and life was going to be all right. Then it wasn’t.”

“But now it can be,” Liz said. “You can choose to come out of the cave. Like you did yesterday. And I’m awfully glad you did.”

He smiled across at her. “It was a pretty irresistible package,” he said. The phone began to ring in the house. Ev got up and went into the kitchen to get it. It was Julie.

“Dad,” she said.

“Himself,” he replied. “What’s up?”

“I went to that interview today. Did Liz tell you?”

“Yes,” he said, glancing at the silhouette of Liz’s head through the kitchen window. “She said we watch and wait.”

“I guess,” said Julie. “And I read in the Capital about what you did yesterday-saving those two people? That was shit-hot.”

“It was worse for them than for me,” he said. “All I had to do was swim fifty feet through a medium chop, twice. They’d been hanging on for an eternity. And they lost a husband and father, it looks like.”

“Were they from here?”

“Don’t think so. Once the medics got to them, I never saw them again.”

“Lucky for them you were right there. That was Liz’s yacht?”

“Yes. We’d gone out for the afternoon. She apparently goes out on the bay every Sunday. Invited me along this time.”

“Just the two of you?”

He took a deep breath before answering. “Yes, Julie. Just the two of us.” He saw Liz’s head turn when he said that. He waited.

“She’s pretty impressive,” Julie said finally. “She’s tougher than you might think, too.”

“From your perspective, that should be good,” he said.

“I suppose, but I don’t want you hurt. I guess I’m getting tired of all these surprises, and I haven’t even made it out into the world yet.”

“From what Liz told me, you did well today. Especially by refusing that lie-detector test. You knew the old rule about those, did you?”

“Yep. I watch TV, too, Dad.”

He laughed. “Have to admit, that’s where I heard it. Okay. Let me know if anything else pops up.”

“Is she there now, Dad? Liz?”

None of your damn business, he thought. “Good night, Julie,” he said, and hung up. He went back out to the porch.

“Why’d she call?” Liz asked.

“To find out what I was doing on your boat yesterday, unchaperoned.”

“Ah,” she said. “You know what?”

“What?”

“Seems to me,” she said softly, setting her glass down, “that we’re unchaperoned right now.”

Monday night and all’s well. Sort of. That security dink’s been poking around in my tunnels again, and, guess what? This time he issued a challenge. Like, I think he wants a duel. Mano a mano. As if. Hasn’t he been keeping score? So far, he’s had his face painted, a singular chance to become a rocket man, and a steam bath. All courtesy of yours truly. And, as you know, he’s even been scoping out the Goth scene in town at our favorite public watering hole. As opposed to our favorite private watering hole, where we tend to get everything wet, don’t we.

I think it’s time this nosy bastard has himself a near-death experience. Those are my tunnels. I see all and hear all. This dimwit puts up listening devices and motion detectors and I don’t know what, and thinks I can’t see those, either. I can. I can even make them do things I want them to do, if I put my mind to it. Except time is short, for both of us, really. If we had a year, I could make his little toys light up his life, so to speak. Connect one of his little transmitter cases to a six-hundred-volt line. Make it malfunction. Get him to check it out. To handle it. Just for one night-wouldn’t want to hurt any of the permanent tunnel rats from Public Works. You should see what a couple of those guys do down there after hours. My, my. Big strong men like that-you’d think they’d like girls.

So maybe I’ll up the ante, even if time is short. He’s been creeping around, going into places that aren’t safe. I’m sure Public Works has told him those places aren’t safe. And they really aren’t, because I’ve already been there, and I’ve made some arrangements. I could make him just flat disappear, you know that? I can make anyone here disappear. Except you, of course. I can’t make you disappear. And don’t want to, not yet anyway. But I can make your life increasingly-what’s the word? Interesting. You spin your little tales; I’ll spin mine. In the meantime, HMC needs to watch his back. Or front. Haven’t made up my mind yet, but either one will do, when the time comes.