Chapter 2

Fay waited in the lobby while Linn was processed for release. After surveying the hall, she chose what looked to be a reasonably clean chair and sat down. She sniffed. She must have another cold. It was not surprising, considering the Pacific Northwest climate’s interminable dampness. Six hours into the day, and she felt spent. Perhaps a cold virus was gnawing at her strength—plus the stress she was feeling about her new assignment. She wrapped the strap of her pocketbook tightly around her arm and clutched her briefcase in her lap. Willing to risk a possible mugging in exchange for a few precious moments of rest, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She must be tired and headed for a severe illness, if she could nap in the city jail lobby.

She was dozing when her cell phone chimed. Startled, she focused her eyes on the screen.

When Fay put the call in, the phone rang twice on the other end before being picked up. “Good mornin’, United States Navy, Judge Advocate General, Lieutenant Commander Green’s office. Petty Office Pearce speakin’, how may I help you?” a voice queried.

Pearce’s uncanny ability to make the entire greeting sound like a single word, combined with her soft southern drawl, amused Fay every time.

“Hi, it’s me. What’s up?” Fay responded.

“Hey, ma’am! How’s Seattle?”

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get back this afternoon,” Fay assured her.

Pearce seemed satisfied with the arrangement and then said, “Okay. Captain Towsley called. A special delivery priority document from Admiral Wallace arrived for ya, and when will y’all be back?”

“About four.”

“Ma’am?” Pearce sounded hesitant.

Oh, God, what else could happen? “Yes, Pearce, what is it?” Fay said aloud.

“Will ya pick up a turkey sandwich for me from that sandwich shop near the ferry terminal? Extra mayo on wheat bread, please.”

Fay breathed a sigh of relief. “You got it, sailor. Anything important going on?”

“No, ma’am. Just the sandwich.”

“How did ya know I was in Seattle this morning?” Fay wondered.

“Towsley told Don. Don told me, ma’am.”

“I see.” And she did see. Fay knew in the Navy, bits of information filtered from the bottom, the enlisted ranks, to the top, the officer ranks. Those same bits of information then recycled through the system, filtering from the top back down to the bottom in the form of new and original ideas. She had long ago stopped wondering who was in charge at the JAG offices. She knew it was Petty Officer Pearce and her cronies. The officers were there merely to give official direction and provide comic relief to the actual idea people and decision-makers, the office support staff.

“See ya in a couple hours,” Fay said. Pearce was one of a kind. She wondered if this information flow worked the same way on a surface vessel. Pearce charmed her; nonetheless, Fay had great respect for Pearce. As she hung up the phone, she saw Sergeant Linn enter the lobby with the jailer. “Y’all ready to go, Master Sergeant?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Fay took a pair of sunglasses from her pocketbook. “Let’s get a cab to the ferry terminal,” she said as she walked toward the door. “We’ll grab a sandwich at the ferry terminal if you are hungry.”

She felt the radiant warmth of the midday sun as she walked out of the Seattle Public Safety Building and onto Second Avenue. As it typically did, the wind gusted through the concrete canyons created by Seattle’s tall office buildings. It is a true challenge for a lady with a hat, a dress, a briefcase, and a handbag.

The wind made a mischievous attempt to snatch her hat from her head. “Mercy! I have only got two hands!” Fay said, while at the same time, the roguish wind filled her skirt like the sails on a schooner.

Linn came to the rescue. In one quick motion, he snatched the briefcase away from her and hailed a cab.

It was a short ride to the terminal where the ferry was about to leave. The two had just enough time to buy their sandwiches and sprint for the dock.

“Just made it!” Fay said, huffing for breath.

As for Simon, it appeared it would have taken another 5K sprint before he would have run out of breath. This did not surprise her. A Marine like Simon would be in excellent physical condition.

The two people found a bench seat near a stern window and sat down.

Fay asked, “Hey, Sergeant, how about a cup of coffee? Cream and sugar?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Simon nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She stood; so did Simon—he, again, at attention.

Fay, standing five-foot-eleven in pumps, looked up into the eyes of the man who towered above her. She asked, “Marine, have y’all ever disobeyed an order?”

“No, ma’am.”

She did not think he had. “Okay, Linn, I have one for you. Master Sergeant Linn, you are at this moment issued a permanent at ease when in my presence. And the name is Fay. Understood, mister?”

Linn smiled and relaxed. “Understood.”

The two sat in silence while they ate. When both finished eating, Fay asked, “Did the SPD tell you why they were detaining you, and did they advise you of your rights?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been assigned to conduct a preliminary investigation into the death of Petty Officer Charma,” Fay informed him. “Detective Farmer was required by civilian law to advise you of your rights. Article thirty-one of the UCMJ gives you those same rights. I would like to ask you some questions, but I want to advise you that you have the right to remain silent. That means you have the right to say nothing at all. Any statement you do make, either oral or written, may be used against you in a trial by courts-martial or in any other proceedings. You have the right to consult with a lawyer before any questioning. And to have a lawyer present during this or any other interview. You can have military representation free of charge. In addition to military counsel, you are entitled to civilian counsel at your own expense. You may request a lawyer anytime someone is interviewing you. Have you requested counsel?”

“No,” Simon replied.

“If you decide to answer my questions or anyone else’s questions, you can stop the questioning at any time,” Fay explained. “Do you understand your rights as provided by Article thirty-one?”

“I do.”

“Do you want a lawyer at this time?”

“No,” Simon responded. “My CO told me I was to talk only to you, Lieutenant Commander.”

“You’ve talked to your commanding officer?”

“My first and only phone call was to my CO. He told me to talk only to you.”

“Are you willing to answer my questions then?” Fay asked.

“As best I can,” Simon said with a sigh. “I left home about eighteen-thirty, caught the nineteen-ten ferry to Seattle. I planned to meet Sergeants Philip De Vinsone and Peter Wu at Jillian’s Pool Club. It was twenty-fifteen when I arrived. Wu and De Vinsone were already there. We drank a few beers, shot pool, and watched part of the Seattle Kraken hockey game on TV.”

“So far, so good,” Fay said encouragingly. “Then what?”

“I struck up a conversation with a sailor,” Simon recounted. “The conversation evolved into a discussion of military life. Which branch of the service, Navy or Marines, is more significant. Usually, when a squid and a jarhead take up that topic, either they get into a heated discussion, or a fight breaks out.”

“You had an argument?” Fay asked.

“A friendly argument.”

“Was the sailor Mr. Charma?”

Simon gave a slight nod. She caught a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“I meet sailors like Charma all of the time,” Linn said.

“Where were your buddies at the time?” Fay pressed. “Were they with you?”

“No, they were shooting pool with two other guys. Charma left the club, so I rejoined De Vinsone and Wu. I was tired. So, I said goodnight and left. It was around twenty-two fifteen. I took a cab to the waterfront. I was thirty minutes early for the next boat, so I got something to eat. I watched some fishermen jig for squid off a nearby pier while I waited for the ferry.”

“You have a clear account of the evening’s events. You did not see or talk to anyone after you left Jillian’s, did you?”

“I didn’t talk to anyone except the cab driver,” Simon confirmed. “I brushed by a man in the alley behind the club. He was entering the alley as I was exiting.”

“Thinking back to the moment of your arrest, Simon, did the police physically search you?”

“They did.”

“Did they take scrapings from under your fingernails?” Fay asked next.

“Not in my home. They did later, at the jail.”

“When the police searched your home, did they search any area of your home other than the area immediately surrounding you?”

“No.”

“Do you recall if the SPD took any photographs of your home while they were in your home or if they removed any items from your home?” inquired Fay.

“They did not.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the loud, deep blast of the ferry’s horn, signaling their arrival at the Bremerton dock. The walk from the ferry to Fay’s car was three blocks. By the time she and Simon reached her car, the ferry’s horn was blasting again, signaling another departure to Seattle.

Simon paused to admire the low, white BMW roadster. “Sweet ride,” he said appreciatively. “Is it new?”

“I bought it a year ago,” Fay replied. “I thought it was time to reward myself for all my years of toil. It’s a great little buggy. I love it. And I got it for a song.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” he chuckled. “I’d imagine you wield a mean club at the bargaining table. The dealer probably didn’t stand a chance.”

“I reckon they practically gave me the car,” she said with a sly grin.

Simon laughed. “It’s my impression having you on my side will be a good thing, Fay.”

Fay unlocked and opened the car’s door and dropped down into the roadster’s leather bucket seat. She flicked the ignition key as the tall Marine folded himself into the passenger seat beside her. The car’s powerful engine roared to life. She gunned the engine once. The tires leaped from the asphalt, and the car rocketed across the parking lot and onto the nearby freeway access ramp.

Simon casually grasped the passenger door handle with his right hand. “You drive the car as if it were a Navy jet.” He cleared his throat. “I was wondering…” He cleared his throat again. “I was wondering—”

“You were wondering if I am going to be your lawyer?” Fay guessed.

“Is that possible?”

“At this point, I do not think so. If you are indicted for the murder of Mr. Charma, it will be at the discretion of the civilian court. That is not my province. You will need a civilian lawyer to represent you.” She brought the car to a slower pace. “I am to deliver you to the base and to begin a preliminary investigation in the matter of Paul Charma. Beyond that, I do not know.” Fay softened her tone. “Relax. They don’t award the death penalty for manslaughter.” 

“I know. What I mean is the Marine Corps is my life. I don’t know anything else. This will be the end of my career. I don’t hold much hope for a black man in the white man’s court.”

“You from the South, Simon?”

“Yeah.”

“Me as well, but you know, Sergeant, our civilian court system may not be perfect; however, unlike the military courts, it is at least a democracy.”

“Unfortunate but true,” he said.

Fay said quietly, “I move in a world where winning is everything. People depend on me and my ability to win, win and keep on winning. Yet I play in an arena where I am not always allowed to win, even though I may clearly be the strongest and most skilled competitor. That single truth is the most exasperating thing I have to deal with as a Navy lawyer.” She looked at Simon again, thought for a moment, and then said, “I have a civilian friend. The guy is an excellent trial lawyer. I will call him for you. In the meantime, I will speak to my CO and see how I can help.” She put her hand on Simon’s forearm. “Okay?”

Simon Linn nodded. “I appreciate your concern.”

“The man I spoke of is very good at what he does. You will be in good hands with him.” As the roadster arrived in front of Simon’s base housing, she said, “I would imagine y’all have a knife.”

“I have three, stored with my field gear in my locker here on base.”

“When you get a chance, send me the knives.”

He nodded, before opening the car door and unfolding his large frame from the small car.

“One more thing, Simon. Would you mind if I took a look-see around your apartment?” Fay offered him a smile. “I do not have a warrant. But I think it could be helpful if I could look around.”

“Sure.” He thrust his left hand into his pants pocket and produced a key. “Here ya go. Just be careful of the broken glass on the floor, near the door.”

“Broken glass?” Fay repeated, confused.

“Yeah. Detective Farmer was beating on my door so hard he knocked a picture off the wall.”

“Thanks for the warning. I will be mindful. Where’s the apartment located?”

“It’s called Spinnaker. About two miles south of the base. Apartment D.”

“I know it. Here is my card,” Fay said, handing him her business card. “Call me with your phone number.”

Simon stiffened and snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And, Sergeant Linn,” she said. “Try to be cool, man.”

It was 16:30 hours when Fay arrived at her office. Entering, she called to Pearce, “Hey, sailor! Got your dinner! I’m sorry I’m so late at getting it to y’all.”

She kept a list of pet names she used to address Pearce—kiddo, honey, darlin’, sailor, JP, and so on because Pearce had a great dislike for her first name and let it be known. Pearce seemed to work for both of them.

“Did anyone call for me?” Fay asked as Pearce bit into her sandwich.

“Yes, ma’am. Captain Towsley called.”

“I’ll go call him. Then I will return and tell you about Seattle.” 

The conversation with Captain Towsley was short. He wanted to know what was going on. Fay agreed to meet with him at 08:00 the following morning. She then returned to spend the next forty-five minutes bringing Pearce up to date.