P Deutermann - Darkside

“What happens if nobody steps forward?”

“I think they’d ask each one individually: ‘Did you see a copy of the math exam on the intranet last night?’ If he says no, and they can later prove that, yes, he or someone using his PC did access that file, he’s expelled for three honor offenses: looking at a compromised exam, not reporting the situation, lying when they asked the question. If he answers, yes, he did, he may or may not get expelled-probably not, since he didn’t add a third honor offense to the first two.”

“Consequences,” Branner murmured.

“You play with the honor system, you play with fire,” Jim said. “And that’s true right up to graduation eve.”

Chang raised a finger. “Are you saying that if they don’t ask in the first place, he doesn’t have to tell?”

“I’m saying that if they don’t ask, he’s not likely to tell. He was always required to tell.”

“Damn. That’s a lot for a twenty-year-old to handle, what with his entire Academy career riding on the answer.”

“Sure as shit is, which brings me back to Markham: She’s a senior, homing in on graduation and her new career. If no one asks, I think it’s likely she is not going to tell. I’m new at this investigation business, but I think we need to find something to ask about, something that presents her with a clear honor situation. If she’s the straight-arrow type everyone says she is, that might break this thing open.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Chang asked.

“Then I’m wrong,” Jim said. “Been there a couple of times, too.”

“Haven’t we all,” murmured Harry Chang.

The phone rang in Branner’s office. She got up to go take the call, striding out of the room at her customary thirty knots. Chang got up to get them some coffee. They could hear Branner raising hell with someone.

“She’s a pistol,” Jim said.

“On full auto, most of the time,” Chang said. “But she’s pretty good at what she does. That’s why she’s in charge down here.”

“I have to ask,” Jim said, but Chang waved him off.

“I don’t know,” he said. “We all call her Special Agent. Safer that way, from what I gather.”

Jim laughed. Branner had the entire NCIS wondering what the hell her first name was? “How’s Bagger Thompson doing?” he asked. Branner was shouting now.

“Fair, just fair. They say he’ll pull out of it, but you never know with head injuries. The head doc says it’s unknowable. Let me ask you one.”

“Shoot.”

“Back there when you looked like you saw a ghost. What was that all about?”

Jim gazed into Chang’s black eyes, which suddenly seemed implacable. “Let me kick it around with Branner,” he said. “If she thinks you ought to hear it, I’ll leave it up to her.”

The older agent continued to look at Jim, who got the sudden impression that Mr. Harry Chang would be one tough bastard on the other side of an interview table. Then Chang smiled.

“Mr. Hall, haven’t you wondered why there hasn’t been a horde of agents down here after the Bagger thing?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And Branner has told you, ‘This is my turf, and I don’t want any damn horde. I want this prick all to myself.’ Right?”

“Right.”

“Well, there are two possible answers to your question, especially when we’re talking about a prickly pear like Branner. One is that Branner’s a really clever lady, and we’re all asleep at the switch up in the Navy Yard.”

“Possible, but now that you put it that way, not likely.”

“Not likely, Mr. Hall. No. So what’s the other possibility?”

Jim hesitated, although he thought he knew the answer. “Rope,” he said.

“Yes, Mr. Hall. Rope. Let Branner run with this hairball. Give her lots and lots of rope. That way-”

“Okay, I understand,” Jim said. “Palace games. But you didn’t see what I saw-the day Brian Dell fell out of the sky. In my book, that trivializes any palace games.”

Chang just stared at him. Then Branner came back. She dropped into her chair with a small bang. “Piece of shit maintenance pool,” she growled. Chang flashed a warning glance at Jim and stood up. “I’m going back to the Navy Yard,” he said. “For now, I’m your point of contact on this matter, Agent Branner. I don’t have to tell you that time is of the essence.”

“I think we already know that,” she said briskly. “And you’re going to put a boot up the forensic lab’s ass for me, right?”

“Not in so many words, but yes,” said Harry Chang with a wry grin. He looked over at Jim, and the smile lost some of its warmth.

Branner plopped down at the conference table after escorting Harry Chang out to the front door. “I heard Harry say you saw a ghost. I caught it, too. Give.”

“We were talking about the possibility of a psychopath getting through the admissions filter. How he’d have to live a double life.”

“Yeah, and?”

“By day, he’d be Mr. Clean. Maybe super-gung ho. Hard-core, full bore. But by night, maybe he’d run the tunnels, do graffiti, go out in town, consort with the most anti-establishment crowd out there, those Goth freaks, and maybe, in his spare time-”

“Beat the shit out of drunks. And Bagger. Motherfuck! You think?”

“If our runner is a mid, then yes, it just might be.”

“Which would mean your theory of the Dell case goes from being off-the-wall to on the mark.”

“Not like I have any evidence, though,” he said, getting up to dump his coffee cup. His nerves were starting to jangle. He raised his eyebrows at Branner, but she shook her head. “I mean, all I know about this guy is that he’s game.” Then he told her about the tennis ball.

“You figure he knows who you are?”

“I figure he knows I’m someone in authority here at Canoe U. Specifically, no, not unless he figured out my cryptogram, Hall-Man-Chu.”

The phone rang back in Branner’s office again. She got up to get it, and Jim went to the whiteboard to lay out a list of what they did know about the runner. He was halfway through it when Branner came back in and punched a button on the speakerphone.

“Detective, I’ve got you on a speaker,” she said. “With me is Mr. Jim Hall, security officer here at the Academy. Mr. Hall, this is Detective Sorensen, who’s got some news. Go ahead, Detective.”

“Right,” Sorensen said. “As I was telling Agent Branner, we’ve got a missing persons report in from the college. One Hermione Natter. Remember her?”

“Yes,” Jim said. “The Goth girl we picked up in the tunnels.”

“That’s the one. You guys didn’t file any immediate charges, so we ROR’ed her. Well, now her faculty adviser is back to us, asking if we picked her up again, because she missed all her classes yesterday and her morning ones today.”

“Kids skip all the time,” Branner said.

“Yeah, but this adviser-name’s Evelyn Wallace-had our Hermione on a short tether since we picked her up. Supposed to report in at the end of each day kinda thing, plus no more all-night flights with the rest of the coven. Well, she didn’t show. Adviser asked around, found out she’d gone AWOL.”

“She go home?” Jim asked.

“Pulled that string. Parents didn’t have a clue. In fact, didn’t know she’d been in trouble with the cops. Did know she was doing the Goth scene.”

“But they hadn’t heard from her.”

“That’s a negative. Now they’re all spun up. I told them to call Professor Wallace. She called back here, saying Hermione’s roommate hasn’t seen her for three days. The college cops are involved now, so we’re gonna have us a situation here, I think.”

“Is the roommate into the Goth scene, too?” Jim asked.