AISHA got up early the next morning. Spread out the little rug from her carpetbag, and did her morning salat, her prayers, in her stateroom. The girl she shared it with was gone, on watch, probably.
No one seemed to know who she was, to judge by reactions in the passageways. She got a couple of double takes, one from an attractive brother. He grinned, seemed about to say something, but then didn’t.
This ship seemed more subdued than the carrier, where the passageways often rang with shouting and laughter. Or maybe this was simply a wartime atmosphere. She drifted down dead ends, trying to follow the scent of food. Not liking it when she was alone in a deserted passageway. But pressing on.
The grimy, crowded mess decks weren’t all that different from the carrier’s. Blue terrazzo decks. Glaring fluorescents. Overheated air. A stainless-steel mess line, with the servers in chef’s caps behind Plexiglas sneeze shields. People coughing, clearing their throats, which reminded her of the “hajji cough” everyone seemed to get when she’d gone to Makkah. The smells of coffee, eggs, hot bread, the greasy sizzle of pig meat. She slid her tray along, picking and choosing. No way any of this was halal, but after seventeen years in, she was used to making do. The ship’s roll was different from the carrier’s, too. Faster, sharper, slightly sickening. She got hard-boiled eggs, toast, canned peaches, coffee. Was eating alone at one of the tables, when a dark-haired woman in the blue coveralls they all wore halted abruptly, hands on hips. “And who do we have here?”
“Special Agent Ar-Rahim.”
“Oh—our investigator?”
“That’s correct.”
“They told me you didn’t make it. Typical. Mind if I—”
The woman took a seat opposite without finishing her sentence. Toffee-skinned, with gleaming hair and a prominent nose. Like the Pakistanis who occasionally stopped by her home mosque in Harlem. They seldom returned. But even in the baggy uniform, she was striking. Twenty-five, twenty-six? “Amy Singhe,” she said, extending a hand. No wedding ring. “Short for Amarpeet.”
“Singhe. You are Indian, yes? Sikh?”
“A lot of Sikh Singhes, but my family’s Hindu.” She slid a notebook from a pocket. “You’re here about the rapist? I want to help.”
Over the years, Aisha had learned that the first people to approach you about a case were seldom the ones you really wanted to talk to. Those would be more reticent, erect barriers, hide behind the rules. She sipped coffee from a paper cup. “Lieutenant?”
“Strike officer. Tomahawk, Harpoon. Just recently, started to stand TAO watches.”
“How are you involved? Did Miss Terranova work for you? Are you her division officer?”
Singhe leaned in, revealing a sparkle of gold at her cleavage. Aisha caught the scent of sandalwood on the heated air. Caught, too, the glances from the men around them. “I’m not her division officer. I’m involved because I’m in a navy, and aboard a ship, that doesn’t welcome women. I’ve seen how the enlisted women are mistreated, and gone on record about it. I’ve written for Navy Times and the Naval Institute.”
“So you’re a … victim advocate? Self-appointed?” Aisha cut her eyes around. The nearest tables were emptying, but that could just be the abaya and head scarf. Though some of the crew wore scarves, too, all in olive and black.
“If we had one. Yeah.”
“And you’re telling me the command climate’s hostile, even these days?”
Singhe said reluctantly, “I don’t think the new CO’s that hidebound. But he’s fighting a middle management that hates change. You know what happened in Naples?”
Aisha nibbled on a hard-boiled egg. “No. What?”
“The old CO ran the ship aground. I was on the bridge, trying to anchor. But he kept interfering. Then we had an engine casualty, and by the time that got straightened out we were aground.”
“Was there a court-martial?”
“An admiral’s mast. The old CO, the old command master chief, and some others went. Like I said, it’s a little better … but the mind-set’s still there. Women don’t belong. A distraction. Never quite as good.” Singhe sat back, a faint sheen of perspiration glittering on her forehead. “The rape was just the culmination of a lot of things. Verbal harassment. Groping. Exhibitionism. Those were never looked into. Papered over. And there’s a lot more going on that nobody knows about.”
Aisha kept her tone neutral. “That might be relevant, yes. Though sometimes it’s hard to draw a causal line. I appreciate your introducing yourself, Lieutenant. May we talk in depth later? Once I’ve had a chance to get read on the facts of the case?”
“Whenever you want. I only want to help make things better.” Singhe rose, stuck out her hand again, then flushed and withheld it. “You’re Muslim, right? Aisha?”
“I do shake hands, Amy,” Aisha said gently. She held the warm, slightly sweaty palm for just a moment before she nodded and let it go.
* * *
AN hour later, she arranged a chair in the wardroom. Facing her was a seamed, leathery visage with deep grooves around the mouth. Hair was combed carefully across a bald spot. His name tag read TAUSENGELT. The largest hands she’d ever seen on a human being lay folded on the table.
“Basically, your investigation may have to wait,” he said.
Tausengelt was the command master chief. The CO and XO were both too busy to see her, apparently. Well, she could understand that. A war, and a sinking … interesting that the CO, a Captain Lenson, hadn’t seemed eager to stay around and help. In fact, they were steaming away now. Where, she wasn’t quite certain.
She pulled her attention back as the senior enlisted explained that the ship had carried out its own investigations of the assaults. “I’ve called our chief master-at-arms, Chief Toan. Unfortunately, Hal’s kind of tied up now too. Since we’re still at general quarters and all.”
“What happened to the tanker, Master Chief? To Stuttgart?”
He deliberated, as if pondering if she could be trusted. “She was torpedoed.”
“I know that. I saw it, from the helo deck. But then what? She went down?”
“That’s correct, she sank,” Tausengelt said, gaze averted.
“What happened to the crew? Did you get the sub?”
“I can’t discuss that.”
“Master Chief, I hold a top secret clearance.”
“That may be, ma’am, but with all due respect, you’re here strictly on NCIS business. So, basically, you got no need to know operations, tactics, equipment.” Tausengelt glanced at his watch. “We might be able to get you the victim now.”
“I’d rather start with the scene,” Aisha told him. “So I can make sense of what she tells me.”
“All right then.” Tausengelt got up. “I’ll see if I can find you the chief master-at-arms.”
“If, that is, he’s not on watch?”
The heavy-lidded, seamed face of an old tortoise regarded her. “Yeah. If he’s not on watch.”
* * *
THE crime scene was high in the ship, which left her puffing and dizzy after all the ladders. Hal Toan, the chief master-at-arms, was a slight Vietnamese. He smiled as he held a door for her, and as he updated her on the background of the case. Incongruous, but perhaps that was just his habitual expression. The space was lined with lockers, a work counter, neatly racked tools. The cold air smelled metallic. She unslung her camera. “Where, exactly?”
“Here. On the floor. On a blanket, the victim said.”
“Where’s the blanket now?”
“Didn’t find one. Perp took it with him, I guess.”
“Has the space been cleaned?”
“Um, yes … ma’am.”
“‘Special Agent’ will do.”
“Yes, Special Agent. We cleaned it.”
“Did you keep any dust, hairs, blood, fabric threads?”
“Put a fresh bag in the vacuum, then Baggie’d that. Special Agent.”
“Okay, good.” She went out in the corridor. Asked how many accesses there were, and made notes. Then went back in, closed the door, and turned the lights off. She took a flashlight from her purse and clicked the infrared LED on. Efflorescence glowed near the workbench, probably from whatever they used to clean the electronics. But nothing that looked like blood. She turned the overheads back on and inspected each sharp corner, where someone might hurt himself. If there was resistance, few assailants came away without some sort of damage. Scrapes, bruises, sprains. Facial scratches were common; women often went for the eyes.
She’d worked rapes before. The victim usually knew the perpetrator. Not surprising on a ship, but it held true even for air squadrons, Marine regiments. It was usually an acquaintance, not some stranger jumping out and dragging her (or, occasionally, him) into a dark passageway.
Most rapists weren’t the knuckle-draggers you saw on television. They kept themselves well groomed. Knew how to present an attractive front. They lacked empathy or remorse, but could fake either. They were either openly or secretly contemptuous of women, viewing them as prey or scores. The profiles of sexual predators and acquaintance rapists overlapped. Some went back and forth, from using minimal force on women too intoxicated with drugs or alcohol to resist, to battery, then to torture, mutilation, and murder. It was a spectrum, and given time and opportunity, a perp tended to push his envelope. There were as many white players as black. Class mattered too: when an officer was involved, it was usually less the threat of physical force than of career intimidation—“Play along, or it’ll impact your next evaluation.”
Hardest of all to get a grip on was the guy who never left a mark, never crossed a line where he couldn’t claim consent. She suspected there were a lot more of these crawling around than ever crossed the door of the criminal justice system. Most of their victims never reported it.
She blinked, running a finger along the edge of a cabinet. Remembering what the Indian lieutenant had said. There’s a lot more going on that nobody knows about. It was true, some ships seemed to be rotten. It didn’t always seep down from the top. Sometimes it seemed to bleed upward, from some mysterious cancer deep in the bowels of the ship, or its history, or some pivotal individual whose evil bore fruit years after he was gone.
But then, how did Singhe know?
A tap from the passageway. “Come in,” she called.
“Need help?” Chief Toan said from the doorway. A slight white woman with blond hair stood behind him.
“I’m done for the moment. But please keep this space locked, in case we need to return.”
“It’s a repair space,” the blonde said. “We may need to give the techs access from time to time. But other than that, we’ll keep it sealed.” She extended a hand. “Cheryl Staurulakis. Executive officer. Sorry we had to meet like this, Special Agent … Aisha?”
“Aisha works.” She nodded to Toan. “The Chief’s been very helpful. Right now, I’m just looking over the scene. Then I’ll want to interview the victim. How is she?”
“The Terror … Petty Officer Terranova … she’s shaken up. It’s a blow.”
“Is she medicated?”
“She had a sedative right after. That Army doc, Schell, gave it to her two days ago. Nothing since. That I know of.” Staurulakis wrapped her arms around herself, peering past Aisha into the compartment. “Has the sheriff here told you this wasn’t the only incident?”
“He said you had two previous. One, a groping up on the hangar deck. Is that an open case?”
“We handled that with our MA force. We never settled on a … specific suspect. Second, a near rape back in the supply spaces. Different woman. But the victim of the first groping was also Miss Terranova.”
Aisha asked her, “Who was the second?”
“Storekeeper Seaman Celestina Colón. She was in the aft passageway, two level, when the lights went out. He shoved her into one of the spaces back there, then pushed her down onto something soft. Undressed her, threatened her with a knife, and used his fingers.”
“They were interrupted? He would have gone on?”
“Doesn’t seem to have been. You can ask, but what she told us was, he didn’t actually attempt penetration. With his penis, I mean.”
“Only with the fingers?” Staurulakis nodded. “This Terranova, Colón. Are they alike, physically? Build, hair color, ethnicity?”
The exec glanced at the chief. Toan shrugged. “I would say not. Terranova’s kind of heavy. New Jersey Italian. Brown hair. Meek. Colón’s Puerto Rican. Thin. Black hair. Built more like a boy. Kind of hard-looking, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t,” Aisha said. “Explain it to me.”
“I mean … like not much is gonna make an impression on her. That she’s tougher than the average bear.”
“We had our eyes on a suspect,” Staurulakis said. “He kept trying to get her alone. A castaway we picked up. Claimed to be a religious refugee. Colón didn’t think it was him, but he was on our short list.”
“Where is he now?”
“We offloaded him in Singapore.”
“Before the rape?”
“Correct.”
“So he’s off the board for that, but still a possibility for number two.”
Toan said, “One more thing. Both guys turned off the lights. I mean, in all three incidents.”
Aisha waited. “And?”
“The lights in the helo hangar passageway, in the supply storeroom, and in the radar equipment space.”
“You’re saying that’s an MO? I’m afraid it doesn’t give us much.”
Toan said, “Actually, it might. See, there’s no topside access from the interior passageway on the Supply Department level. So there’s no darken-ship switch there. Somebody had to know how to turn them off back at the lighting panel.”
Staurulakis nodded. “We thought, possibly an electrician. Or a compartment petty officer. The darken-ship switch up on the hangar-deck level was interfered with too. When the Terror was first groped.”
“I see.” Aisha filed this away. “Could we see the corpsman next? Again, except for operational needs, please keep this space locked.”
“All right.” Staurulakis hesitated. “What else can we do? To facilitate your investigation.”
“I’ll need a private space.”
“I’ve set that up. Unit commander’s stateroom. Main deck, starboard side, midships.”
“And an assistant. Someone who knows his way around the ship.”
The exec traded glances with the master-at-arms. “May take a little more doing. We’re stretched pretty thin right now. Let us get back to you on that.”
* * *
SAVO’S sick bay was well aft, a brightly lit, immaculate space that seemed almost new, in contrast with the rest of the ship, which looked worn at the edges. The deck shook, and the thrum of the screws imposed a constant, loud backdrop of ambient noise. The lead corpsman was named Grissett. “Hudson, Hud … most folks just call me Doc.”
Aisha shook hands, looking around. Chairs, desk, examining table; a sink, a stool, white plastic jugs of saline and other compounds in racks. The containers shifted as the space rolled around them. Through a curtained door lay a dimly lit bunking area, apparently untenanted at the moment. The cool air was welcome after the stifling, close heat in the passageways.
Grissett introduced a petite strawberry blonde as Hospitalman Seaman Ryan. He said, “Grab a chair, ma’am. How can we help?”
“Well, so far I’ve spoken with the CMC, the CMAA, and the XO. I’d like your take on the Terranova rape.”
Grissett pulled a file and took a seat. “Okay, where do you want to start?”
“Injuries.”
“She wasn’t significantly hurt. We took photos of some bruises.”
“Under UV?”
“Actually, yes. I can provide JPEGs over the command LAN if you’ll give me your shipboard address.”
“I’m not plugged in yet, but should be shortly. Who conducted the examination?”
“Dr. Schell, assisted by myself and Duncanna here.”
“Did you follow the protocol?”
“She was fragile. I kept the forensic examination short.”
Aisha understood. Sexual assault forensics were intrusive and often humiliating for the victim. Yet they yielded the best evidence. “Are you SAP certified, Chief?”
Grissett made a wry face. “Unfortunately, no.”
“Was the physician? This Dr. Schell.”
“Not to my knowledge. We tried to contact squadron medical, get talked through it. But we’re in River City.”
“I’ve heard that expression, but what does it mean?”
“No Net. No e-mail. We looked up the requirements. Fortunately, we had fresh kits.”
“So you took swabs, at least. Mouth, vagina, rectal?”
“Not mouth or rectal. She told us they weren’t necessary. I took vaginal samples. Bagged, refrigerated, and sent ’em off on the helo. Scrapings from fingernails. The usual.”
“Combed her pubic hair?”
Grissett nodded at the assistant. “Ryan here did the pubic inspection. And took all the photos.”
“And you sent this all to Stuttgart.”
“In the mailbag.”
“So most likely, they went down with the tanker … which means, no forensic DNA.”
Grissett said, “Not necessarily.” He nodded to Ryan, who opened a small fridge bolted to the deck. Amid chilling soda cans and bottles of liquid medications slumped a small Baggie. When she held it up Aisha could make out the swab within, the carefully handprinted label. Ryan replaced it and sealed the door as Grissett said, “Sometimes official mail goes astray. Or takes too long to get there, and DNA degrades with heat. As you no doubt know. So I kept one sample.”
Aisha nodded. “Good work, Doc. The question will be where to send it. Even in peacetime it takes six, eight weeks to get results back from the lab.”
“Yeah, we’re sort of hanging out here at the end of the pole.” Grissett pointed to a ventilator fixture, which was buzzing in sympathetic vibration. “That thing only does that when we hit thirty knots plus. We’re barreling the hell along to somewhere. Usually the CO comes up on the 1MC, gives us the rundown, but he’s stopped doing that last couple days. You talked to the exec? She drop any hints where we’re heading?”
“We didn’t get into that. Just discussed the investigation.” Aisha held out her hand for the folder. “May I?”
Grissett twisted in his chair. “You need a copy. Ryan, how about going over to ship’s office. Clear the area around the copier. No one else looks at it.”
When the girl left and the door was closed again Aisha said, “I’m told this was the third incident of sexual assault so far this cruise.”
“That’s right, but not the only incidence of sexual harassment.”
“Really?”
“The XO had a man up for verbal harassment, too. Had him up to mast, I mean.”
“Who was that?”
“A machinist’s mate. He was accused under Article 134, indecent language. He called his female senior petty officer a ‘hucking skunt.’ The disciplinary review board kicked it up to the XO, who approved him for nonjudicial punishment.”
“The CO punished him?”
“I don’t remember exactly what he got, I wasn’t there. Rumor has it, he got chewed out, then cracked down on pretty hard.”
“Who was his petty officer?”
“An MM3 … Scharner. Patty, I think. No, Sherri Scharner.”
“I’ll want to talk to her.”
“You can’t.” Grissett turned to pull another file out of the cabinet. “She’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Natural causes. She was on the sick list. Malaise. Muscle aches. Dry, unproductive cough. Temperature, a hundred and one. Maybe a hundred and two. I issued ibuprofen, prescribed fluids and bed rest. The next morning, couple of her friends came down to check on her, take her to chow. But she was gone.”
“Wait a minute. Leo Schell, right? He said something about legionellosis.”
“Where did you see him?”
“On the tanker. For maybe two or three minutes, while we were hot decking.”
“Uh-huh … well, that’s what we had. Legionnaires’ disease. Maybe a third of the crew either got it, or had just gotten over it. That’s why you’ll see so many folks looking dragged out, like they haven’t gotten any sleep. A lot haven’t, but it’s also the aftereffects of the Crud.” Grissett held up a finger as she started to speak. “I wanted to pull us off the line, send us home. But the CO said we were on a national-security mission, we had to deal. Dr. Schell localized it to the forward hot-water heaters. We took all the freshwater systems down, tore the ship apart, and did a steam sterilization.
“I’ve been watching, and I haven’t seen a case since. But it hasn’t been that long. If you start feeling like you’ve got the flu, sore throat, see me at once. Most recover, but we had two who didn’t. Scharner was one.”
“You’re absolutely certain it was simply the disease?”
“That’s Dr. Schell’s sign-off there, on the cause of death. Want a copy of that, too?”
Aisha handed the folder back. “I don’t think so. Let’s go back to the sexual assaults before the rape. From what the CMAA told me, you’re not going to be holding any DNA from those.”
“No. The first case was just a groping in the dark—”
“Petty Officer Terranova, back in the helo hangar—”
“Actually above it, the catwalk area. Coming down from what we call the Iron Beach. No injury, except a slight abrasion to the neck. From a knife, we assume. No penetration, and no DNA recovery, though she did say he jerked off. But apparently into something he took with him.
“The second incident, Celestina Colón. That was in the aft passageway, next level down from here. The lights go out. Somebody grabs her from behind and shoves her into a fan room. He undresses and finger-fucks her, probably doing himself with the other hand. I took a rape kit, to be able to say we did, but no joy. He was rougher with her. She got bruised up some.”
“Escalation.” Aisha nodded.
“If it’s the same guy, could be. They say they tend to go further each time—”
“It’s in the literature. And borne out by my experience.”
“I defer to you, Special Agent, on that.”
Someone knocked. “It’s open,” Grissett called.
Ryan came in carrying two folders. She handed one to Aisha, who heaved herself reluctantly to her feet. “Thanks for the information, Chief Corpsman. Doc. I’ll be back, I’m sure, as things develop.”
A bulkhead phone buzzed. “Hold on,” Grissett said. He listened with an abstracted air. “We got Seaman Ryan. Duncanna Ryan. She do?… Okay then. Yes ma’am, will do.” He hung up. “XO wants to know if we had anyone you could keep in your hip pocket. Help you out. Dunkie, can you take that? What’re you doing right now?”
“Dusting the light fixtures, cleaning the head, back there. Then Beastie wanted me to inventory the dental tools—”
“Drop that, go with the special agent. Only come back here if we have a casualty drill or something. I’ll tell Beaster. He’s her petty officer,” Grissett told Aisha.
“Shall we go? And maybe just stop topside for a couple of minutes, get some air—”
“Can’t,” Ryan said. “Not right now. They’re running some kind of loading drill. Want everybody to stand clear.”
“Then can you take me to the unit commander’s stateroom? Petty Officer Ryan? I believe that’s what the exec said.”
“Seaman, ma’am. Yes ma’am—”
Aisha rearranged her cover-up, and reached for her purse. “It’s time to meet Petty Officer Terranova.”
* * *
FOR the first victim interview, it was important to pick somewhere neutral. If she’d been attacked in a work space, you didn’t meet in a work space. If an officer was involved, you avoided the wardroom. In most cases, that boiled down to either Aisha’s own cabin, or some semiprivate location like the library.
When Ryan tried the knob of the unit commander’s suite it was unlocked. Inside they found a large office space with a built-in desk, a blank computer screen, a coffee table, a settee, and two chairs. An open doorway showed the foot of a bunk next door. She had just time enough to use the little attached head before someone tapped at the door.
The chubby young white woman’s brown-sugar hair was twisted back into a ponytail. She wore dark blue coveralls and heavy black steel-toe boots, and carried an issue of Sea Technology under her arm. Aisha estimated her at about five three, maybe 130, 140 pounds at the outside. Her exopthalmic, watery blue eyes blinked rapidly, gaze darting around the space. This was the woman they called the Terror?
“Beth?”
“Yes ma’am.” Terranova came to attention.
“Please stand easy. I don’t have a military rank, and you don’t have to call me ma’am.”
Ryan cleared her throat. “Um, do you want me to stay, Aisha?” She nodded to the girl. “Hi, Beth.”
“Hi, Duncanna.”
Of course they knew each other, in a complement as small as this. “Outside, please, um, Seaman. In the passageway. Don’t let anyone in. Beth, is it all right if I lock this door?”
“Sure. I’d rather you did.”
Her accent made it something like “Shueh, I’d rada you did.” Not to make fun, but she’d heard Joisey-speak from earliest childhood, from bus drivers, newsstand vendors, taxi drivers, cops roving the streets of the most polyglot city on earth. Working-class whites, most of whose gazes had slid past a little black girl in a modest dress.
“Beth—it is Beth? Yes, I see it is. From your file. Please sit. I’m Special Agent Aisha Ar-Rahim, Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I’m here to investigate the attack against you. Is it all right if I record this interview?”
Terranova nodded silently. Aisha set up the case cracker laptop and adjusted the camera so they were both within its field of view. “How are you doing? Holding up?”
“I’m doin’ okay.” But her tucked elbows, arms crossed over her chest, and hunched posture said otherwise. As did the dry white flecks around her lips, and the dull eyes.
“Are you still under sedation, Beth?”
“No.”
“Sleeping okay?”
“No one’s sleeping. We been goin’ six on and six off, general quarters for missile defense.”
“I understand you occupy a key position in the Weapons Department.”
“Operations, not Weapons. I’m the lead Aegis petty officer. I run the SPY-1s. The radars. The big panels on the sides of the bridge.”
“I see. That does sound important.”
“It means that if we get attacked, we don’t get sunk.”
“I see.” Aisha took a breath. “Well, Beth, most people in your situation experience mixed emotions. Generally, anger and shame. I understand, and I sympathize. But my job’s to investigate a crime, and pass what I develop to the naval justice system. If everything works right, we catch the guy who raped you, and put him where he can’t hurt you again, or anyone else.
“With that in mind, I need to take you step by step through what happened. Starting even before that—with anyone who expressed interest, asked for a date, said he wanted to hook up on liberty. Don’t worry how trivial it seems. Just tell me who occurs to you first.”
Terranova sat stoically silent for a while, then told her about the castaway. Aisha didn’t object, or say he’d already left the ship before the rape; just noted it. “Good. Who else?”
A shrug. “Nobody.”
“Really? You’re an attractive girl. On a ship with three hundred guys. Nobody’s hit on you? Not in the four months since the ship left home port?”
“I’m not that pretty.” Terranova sounded sullen, head lowered. “The other girls, guys like them better.”
All right … “How about your work center? Anyone you’re close to there?”
“I work with the new chief … Chief Wenck. With Ginnie Redmond. And the other guys in the Aegis team.”
“No close friendships? No enemies?”
A sigh, another shrug. “I’m the lead PO. It’s like, an official relationship.”
“All right, let’s go on to the incident. Tell me what happened.”
“I was down in female berthing. I got a shower. Then I remembered I left something in the Equipment Room. While we were looking at replacing one of the cards.”
“What did you leave?”
“My, um, birth control pills.”
Aisha carefully did not look surprised. “What were you doing with birth control pills in the Equipment Room?”
“I took them out of my pocket because I just had too much shit in there. The pockets on these coveralls are crap. Things fall out. If we lose those, the corpsmen give us a rough time. Like they cost the Navy all this money, or they have to account for each pill, or something … and some of the guys, they … like, think it’s a joke, if they steal them and hide them. Then we have to go nuts and raise a stink, until they give them back. And they say things like—”
“Like, ‘What do you need these for, you’re not putting out for me,’” Aisha supplied. Nothing she hadn’t heard aboard the carrier. “I realize this is personal, Beth, and it will be off the record in any written report. But are you in a current relationship?”
“No,” the petty officer murmured at last.
“Coming off one, maybe? With someone here?” Terranova shook her head again. “So, the samples the doctor took, those will tell us exactly who the rapist was? Once we can get them tested?”
“… I guess so.”
“Beth, it’s very important we nail this down now so there are no gray areas later. Did you, or did you not, have sex in any form with anyone else, in the week before the crime?”
“No. I did not.”
Aisha noted and underlined it. “All right. Thanks. So, you were taking the pills in case…?”
“Yeah. In case. Anyhow, it’s not good to stop them, start them, stop ’em again. The girls all say you can’t depend on them to work if you start doing that.”
“I’ve heard that.”
Terranova murmured, “I was dating a guy for a while, back in Norfolk.”
“From the ship?”
“No, he worked at a truck place in Virginia Beach. But I guess he didn’t … wasn’t … that interested after all. That was the last time I did it.”
Aisha waited, but that seemed to be it. Too bad; the ex-boyfriend was always the number one suspect. Terranova added, “Then I heard somebody outside, in the passageway. I went out, but I didn’t see anybody there.
“But when I went out again, the overhead lights outside were off. Somebody grabbed me from behind and stuck a knife in my neck. Then he pushed me back into the Equipment Room, made me take my coveralls off, and raped me.”
Aisha cleared her throat. “I need you to go back a minute. You said, ‘He made me take my coveralls off.’ Tell me exactly how those came off.”
The girl looked up, eyes suddenly blazing. “How they came off? I just told you, I fuckin’ took them off. He had a knife to my throat!”
Aisha kept her eyes on her notepad. The cracker was recording the interview, but taking notes added a distance that interviewees seemed to appreciate. “You said it was dark when he grabbed you. From behind, right? So how do you know he had a knife?”
“I fucking felt it against my throat.”
“Describe that, please.”
“A knife … a point … a sharp pointed blade. Cold. Metal.”
“Was the edge smoothly sharp, or serrated?”
“Smooth.”
“Now secure from rearming. Secure from rearming. Now darken ship. Darken ship. Make all darken-ship reports to the officer of the deck on the bridge. All hands stand clear of weather decks while transiting at high speeds. Stand clear of missile-launch areas. Now lay before the mast, all eight o’clock reports,” the 1MC said, very loud, out in the passageway.
Aisha held her pen in the air. “Is that for you?”
“No. Chief Wenck’ll take eight o’clock reports.”
“Can you tell me how long the knife was? Or show me?”
The petty officer held up finger and thumb four inches apart. “That’s a big blade,” Aisha said. “It would certainly scare me. Did you feel the handle? Did it make a noise, a click or a springy sound? Folding, jackknife, switchblade, straight razor, dinner knife, commando-type knife?”
“I don’t really remember. I was surprised. Scared.”
“I understand, believe me. But we’ll just go step by step and see what you can recall. When he held it to your throat, did you feel gloves, or bare hands?”
The corners of Terranova’s eyes crinkled. “He wore gloves. Leather. Soft leather gloves.”
“Okay, very good. Now, back to disrobing. Where were the two of you at that point?”
“The Equipment Room. He pushed me back in there.”
“Did you take your boots off? Are those the boots you were wearing at the time?”
“Well, my boots—I never did take them off. I just unzipped and pulled the coveralls down.”
“And then.” Aisha made a note, kept her eyes lowered.
“Then … you want to know exactly what he did?”
“I’m sorry, but we need specifics. I know this isn’t easy, but that’s what’s going to help us catch him.”
“Well. Then he pulled my panties down. And then he got between my legs and—”
“You were where? On the floor? The deck, I mean?”
“I was bent over the work surface. The table.”
“So he was behind you.”
“I told you that … no … I guess I only said he grabbed me from behind. But he … fucked me from there, too. Only not in the, um, in where you might have thought. And, oh, he stood me over the work stool. So I was up higher. But he didn’t take long, once he was in.”
Patiently, going back again when she skipped ahead, Aisha drew it out. The mention of the work stool seemed significant. From the geometry, it meant her attacker was considerably taller. Did she feel a beard at any point, heavy stubble? Mustache? Glasses? What did his clothing feel like—was it cotton, like ship’s coveralls, or the slick nylon of a flight suit, or the fine, snag-prone weave of twill polyester? Had she smelled anything? Terranova said she might have smelled something citrusy, like lemons. Aisha explored the voice. Rough, accented, high or low pitch? Terranova said it was pitched low, almost guttural, as if the rapist was disguising himself.
“So he was afraid you might recognize him,” Aisha suggested. “Which means you know him. Which also means, maybe, you should be careful.”
The young woman blinked. “Careful?”
“Not go anywhere without one of your girlfriends. Especially at night. Has anyone talked to you about that? Maybe Chief Toan?”
“No, but … you think I’m in danger?”
Aisha said she just meant to take reasonable precautions. “But if anyone threatens you, or harasses you for cooperating with me, tell me right away. Rape’s serious enough, but there are additional penalties if someone tries to silence you. Do you need to change your work center? Or maybe take some time off?”
Terranova said she couldn’t, the team depended on her, but that she’d report any harassment. She started to fidget, glancing at the bulkhead clock. “I should get goin’ … need to get some sleep before I go on again.”
Aisha frowned. “Surely they still don’t have you on the watch bill?”
The frown lines deepened. Suddenly the girl looked older. More serious. “Do you got any idea what I do aboard here, Agent? Without my radar, we’re fuckin’ blind. I got a team to lead. They can’t take me off the watch bill. Not now, at DEFCON Two.”
“I’m not sure what that means, Beth.”
Terranova stood. Her voice rose. Her fists clenched. “We’re at war. Don’t you get it? If I can’t do my fuckin’ job, my shipmates’ll die. And it won’t really matter then who raped me, will it? So I have to stay on duty, no matter how I feel, or how much I just wanta fuckin’ run!”
Aisha kept her eyes on her notes. Victims often rode an emotional roller coaster. From stoic, to crying, to rage, to fear. It was hard not to ride it with them. “Beth, it’s natural to be angry. Rape is a terrible crime. I know. It happened to me. As a child.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And investigating it, this … process, well, it isn’t exactly fun for me, either.” She tried to steady her voice. “It’s natural to be affected. You may have trouble concentrating. Feel overwhelmed. Night terrors, panic attacks. All those are normal.
“But if we do this right, we can bring this guy to justice. And that’ll keep your friends safe too. Maybe not from a missile or a bomb. But so they can walk the passageways at night without being afraid.”
Terranova looked down at her, face white. “Without bein’ afraid,” she murmured. “Wow. Sorry it happened to you. I am. But you shueh make a lotta promises, don’t cha, Special Agent?”
When the petty officer slammed out the door, Aisha turned off the case cracker. She whispered a du’a, asking for patience. For wisdom, to help those who were hurt. And for a little bit of luck. She asked for strength, and for Allah to stay in her heart.
Then she wiped her face with both hands and sat alone, listening to the throb of turbines, the rush of a speeding ship through a dark and trackless sea.