The four sat on two small couches flanking the low coffee table in the forward area of Jackson’s inner sanctum, silent under the weight of their shared confidentiality. Jackson nodded at Scott and said, “Let’s start with the what.”
Scott passed out copies of four stapled sheets to add to the sheaf of pages Jackson had already given them. “Here’s a minute-to-minute timeline of the victims’ last known movements, best as we have at this point. Tomorrow I’ll start reviewing CCTV footage from the flight deck…”
In times of trial some men sought solace in the arms of a woman, others by crawling into a bottle. Jackson found comfort in procedure.
He had laid this thing out along classical investigative lines, with three prongs of attack. Define the what: what happened, where, when, and how. Compilation of all physical evidence and evaluation of its implications. That was Scott. Then, who: build a suspect list, which meant data collection, collation and interpretation, schedules and communications, demographics and psychographics of ship’s personnel. Indy. And finally why: develop a profile of their hypothetical killer to focus their suspect pool so they could identify the who who did the what. That was Lew’s domain.
A solid plan. A crack investigative team.
Or a gang of mutineers, depending on how you looked at it.
“Both notes are on plain copier paper,” Scott was saying, “and could have been printed on any one of the dozens of printers around the ship, by just about anyone. Including Schofield and Shiflin, for that matter.
“Those with access to the staterooms where the notes were found would’ve included admin, cleaning crew, anyone in supply. Plus the victims themselves, of course, and their roommates. Schofield and Shiflin would’ve kept their stateroom keycards on their persons, but since neither body was recovered there’s no way of knowing whether the keycards were still on them when they died. In other words, the perpetrator—if there was a perpetrator—could easily have taken their keycards and accessed the staterooms himself.”
In other words, thought Jackson, the “suicide” notes were a dead end.
“Speaking to the how,” Scott continued. “Me, I’d want this to be quick and quiet, and I’d want to avoid leaving any blood trail. That’s a challenge. Schofield was a big guy. Shiflin was small but tough. Neither one would’ve been a pushover.”
“Which could explain the hypodermic cap,” interjected Indy.
Scott nodded. “If you had the element of surprise you could dope your target right off, or kill him or her outright. Preemptive strike. Easier said than done, though. And you’d need something fast-acting, like fentanyl or propofol. We should run a list of available fast-acting sedatives, check it against inventory at sick bay.”
“I’ll take that one,” said Jackson. He’d ask the general medical officer, whom he knew and trusted. “Anything on the hypo cap itself?”
Scott shook his head. “One hundred percent generic. Could’ve been used with anything. And we don’t have the lab tools to sniff for spectroscopic residue.”
Another dead end.
“All right,” said Jackson. “On to the who.” He looked across the coffee table at Indy.
“I’ve been sifting all incoming and outgoing email.” (Bean sifting.) “For Kristine Shiflin that is an empty set. She kept to herself, as far as email goes. Sam Schofield wrote quite a lot. He stayed in touch with a few friends, a sister, and two nieces. Tonight I’ll expand the search.
“I’ve also been collating schedules for those known to be on duty at the time, so we can rule them out and narrow the suspect pool.”
Here Indy consulted her notes.
“On both nights, flight ops were already over by the time the subjects disappeared, so the entire air wing was mostly off-shift. The bridge is fully staffed at night. So are combat systems, CVIC, and comms. Engineering and maintenance run a good-sized overnight crew. The galley is staffed and running. Most of the rest are pretty much on skeleton. This is a preliminary number, but so far I have a total of four thousand, three hundred seventy.”
“That’s everyone you’ve ruled out?” said Jackson.
Indy looked up. “No,” she said. “That’s everyone we’ve still ruled in.”
The group fell silent for a moment.
Four thousand, three hundred seventy.
Dead end number three.
“I know,” she added quietly. “It’s a lot of who.”
“Right,” said Jackson. “So we keep refining the funnel. Which brings us to the why. Lew?”
Lew Stevens nodded and glanced around the coffee table. “At this point I’ve got three avenues of inquiry. Victims, methodology, timing.” He held up an index finger. One. “The victims.”
Even from his position sitting on the little couch across from Jackson, Lew somehow conveyed the impression of a professor pacing before a lecture hall jammed with grad students.
“Both officers, obviously. Both well liked and respected by their peers, which might suggest jealousy from another officer, someone who sees himself on the other side of the scale. Someone disliked, in other words, or not respected. Or it could suggest resentment, for example, from an enlisted person who feels unfairly treated by the upper class. These are broad categories, of course, but it’s a start.”
He held up his index and middle fingers. Two.
“Methodology. The subject took elaborate care to cover his tracks in establishing the suicide cover story. There’s nothing especially revealing about that—except the notes themselves, which exhibit a considerable level of intelligence and artifice.”
He picked up the top sheet of the little stack in front of him. All four had identical paper stacks, including copies of the suicide notes, notes from Jackson’s interviews, the personnel files of both missing officers, and the brief timelines Scott had just handed out. Stevens read from one of the unstapled sheets.
Another day, another dolor. Oh God, I’m so very weary of all of this. Weary to the bone.
He placed the paper back down on the table and picked up a second sheet.
Please tell everyone I am so so sorry to cause them more pain, but shit happens.
“The two notes are strikingly different,” Lew continued. “There’s no hint of being from the same hand, and they both do a credible job of evoking the personality of the intended author.”
“And slipping in and out of both staterooms undetected to plant the notes,” said Indy. “That would take a significant level of skill.”
“And nerve,” added Lew. “All of which suggests not only skills and smarts but also a marked degree of premeditation.” He hesitated, then said, “That is, preparation.”
Jackson look at him sharply. “Meaning?”
“The execution seems too smooth for ad hoc improvisation. I’m guessing this is not our guy’s first rodeo.”
There was another brief silence.
“Oh, my,” said Indy softly.
Jackson looked at Lew again. “Shiflin’s roommate said she’d been unduly stressed, possibly experiencing some harassment. ‘Stalking’ was the word she used. Did Shiflin come to you at any point for counseling?”
“I wish,” said Lew. “But officers avoid coming to medical unless they’ve got an actively rupturing appendix, and least of all for counseling. It’s that zero-defect mentality—as if admitting to any kind of stress would be tantamount to saying they’d got a crack in their fuselage. They’d rather tough it out.”
Jackson nodded. This was just as true of chiefs as it was of officers.
“You mentioned timing,” said Indy.
“Yes,” said Lew. He held up more fingers. Three. “Why now? We’ve been at sea for nearly eight months. What would have triggered these two events to happen now, and in such rapid succession?”
“Couldn’t it just be a cumulative thing?” said Indy. “A burning resentment builds and builds, until it reaches the boiling point?”
“Sure. Could be.” Lew shrugged. “I’ve got no conclusions there, it’s just one more factor to keep in mind.”
Jackson looked around the table. “Questions? All right.” He got to his feet, the others following suit. “Let’s keep at it. Tomorrow evening, same time.” He glanced at Scott, who was frowning. “Scott?” The JAG officer, he noted, had not spoken a word since concluding his own report.
Scott hesitated, then looked at Jackson and said, “Robbie, you sure we’re not on a wild-goose chase here?”
Jackson sighed.
Of course he wasn’t sure. Not even close. And by running this unauthorized little operation he was risking four good careers. If he was wrong, and they acted, there could be courts-martial in it for all of them.
And if he was right, and they didn’t?
Chances were, more people would die.
“Scottie, if it turns out there’s nothing there and we’re all chasing our tails? I’ll be the happiest damn squid in the whole damn bucket.”
Indy chuckled softly. “Now, that is something I would pay money to see.”
The three men turned to look at her.
She gave another quiet laugh. “Master Chief Jackson—smiling.”