The conversation with Mr. Chandler took longer than expected causing Orinda and Mason to travel during lunch time. Though Pennsauken was a mere 20 minute drive, traffic going over the Betsey Ross Toll Bridge made the drive feel closer to 40. Lanes closed on Interstate 95 due to construction didn’t help them get to their destination quicker, but it allowed them to talk about Mr. Chandler and the dead Marine without the discomfort of an awkward silence because they had nothing else in common to talk about.
"What do you think about that Mr. Chandler? He is such an asshole sometimes. Lo que es un idiota! (What an asshole!) He chose us to report this because of our connection to the Marine Corps, but when we try to piece things together, he hurries us out of the office without words falling on ears.”
"I’m-I’m-I’m used to-to-to that from supervisors. Its only important to-to-to listen to them at all times."
"You’re used to it from the Marine Corps, huh?"
"Yes of c-c-course. I tried to-t-t-t-t-o talk to many but none listened."
It was hard for Orinda to listen to Mason as well. Sounds he made while trying to articulate his words made her feel as uncomfortable as she ever had, it also made her feel sorry for him.
"I need-need to take another pill to calm-ca-calm myself. I’m nervous," Mason said as he reached into his messenger bag to retrieve his prescription of Ativan and a flask. Orinda watched him but didn’t say a word. In a way, she sympathized with him because she had to deal with severe anxiety during her younger years. Anxiety attacks came so often that her friends in her college days could predict how many she would have in a weeks’ time. That was the moment she realized that she and Mason had more in common than she originally thought.
"What’s in the flask? Who carries a flask with their name stenciled in old English letters anyways? I know you’re a well-dressed man but I’ve never seen anyone put water in a flask before."
"I hope you-you-you won’t tell Mr. Chandler, but I need to a drink to calm my-my nerves. I don’t want-want the NCIS investigat-investigator to think I’m some kind of retard. Since you haven’t made-made fun of me yet, I t-t-trust you," Mason confided, putting his knuckle into the bottom of his jaw to aid the swallowing of the pill. He could tell she felt for him and used it to his advantage because she at least hadn’t made him feel like everyone else had in his life.
After taking another dosage of Ativan and a swig of his liquor, Mason closed his eyes and laid his head against the head rest. Orinda watched on as they inched along in traffic wondering what she did to allow him to feel so comfortable with her that he could reveal such an unprofessional gesture but she also wondered what he did to her that made her to feel it was okay. She didn’t ask any questions, she didn’t want to put a dent in the armor of trust that he had donned. In fact, she felt compelled to prove her worthiness of his trust. Instead of asking about the obviously prohibited substance, Orinda reached across his lap and opened the glove compartment. The movement startled him, removing him from a state of medicated tranquility. She fumbled throughout the glove compartment to find something all the while focusing her eyes on the road.
"Can I help you f-f-find something?" Mason asked curious of what she was looking for. The glove compartment usually held either drivers registrations and insurance information or a weapon. None of the three was needed. He didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable in her own vehicle. While looking in the compartment, her eyes didn’t tell him about her history of anxiety and she wouldn’t tell him directly either, but she did officially tell him that she understood and wanted to help him. She handed him breath spray and gum.
"If we are going to have a drink before a work assignment, we should at least try and doctor the smell. Cops have this thing about alcohol and driving, and bosses have a thing about drinking on the job," she said as she handed him the gum.
Confused, he looked at her as she reached for his flask and commenced to indulge in the mystery substance without conscious effort. Immediately all of her feminine grace vacated the vehicle. She began to cough viciously and hack uncontrollably.
"Take your time. This stuff is strong," Mason said. Her eyes watered and her cheeks flushed. She was amazed by two things. The first was his speech; it was slow but much improved. There was a hint of hesitation with each word as he knew his tongue was cursed, but words flowed without impediment. Also, she noticed that what she drank in the flask was like nothing she ever had before. During college, she drank everything from top shelf firewater to cheap malted gut liquor but never anything like this. She wanted him to be comfortable, but her body’s reaction to his elixir made her quite the opposite.
"Oh Dios mío Mason! ¿Qué diablos es eso?! (Oh my God Mason! What the hell is that?!”) she exclaimed. Mason had already taken another swig before closing the latch of the flask and putting it away. She didn’t need another shot and from the looks of it, she couldn’t handle another anyway.
"It’s just something I use when I really need to calm my nerves," he said spraying his mouth with a spearmint scented spray followed by the same flavored chewing gum.
"Why did you put it away? I wasn’t done," Orinda said.
"I don’t want to say that you can’t handle it, but it’s strong, and I don’t want you intoxicated while we are reporting a murder scene."
"What makes you think that I can’t handle it, Mason? Is it because I’m a woman?" she asked but as the word spilled out, her body began to shiver down her spine and she began to feel warm. Instantly she understood why he wouldn’t let her have another.
"I’m starting to feel the warmth. Maybe I should to take off my sweater before I overheat," Orinda said while trying to take off her sweater and staying in her lane. She hadn’t yet covered the smell of alcohol from her breath, and the last thing she needed was to be pulled over by police smelling like booze.
For the first time in what seemed ever and for the first time in her presence, Mason smiled. It was an odd smile as if he had forgotten how to because it had been such a long time since he had done so. It was uncomfortable.
"Why are you smiling at me? Are you making fun?" Orinda asked with a shy smile. He wasn’t making fun of her at all. She had given him a reason to smile not to ridicule. He wasn’t sure if it was because she had taken off her sweater and reemerged the roundness of her breasts which had caught his attention like back in the office or his sedatives mixed with the liquor were beginning to work, but he could not help his expression.
"I’m only smiling because it’s been a long time since I’ve been comfortable enough around a person; it’s tough sometimes being a loner, but it is funny to see you react to the drink," he said handing her the same packet of gum and breath spray that she had given him.
"Well, I’m glad you’re comfortable, Mr. Mason. You must think I’m some kind of square, that I’m just used to the good life, but I want you to know that I’m not. I know how to unwind; I also know how to behave. I saw you needed to relax, and I wanted to help by joining. Excuse me, if I’m not used to drinking whatever the hell that miracle substance is that you carry around," Orinda said. She tried to sound as stern as possible, but the smile that he had never vanished which caused her to express one of her own. She was embarrassed, and they both knew it.
During their moment of connection, Orinda made an exit off of Interstate 95. According to the address provided by Mr. Chandler and according to the global positioning system, the destination was close. Before being abruptly kicked out of the office, Chandler revealed that the crime scene was on the property of an automotive scrap part yard in an industrial area.
When they arrived, the scene was more chaotic than expected. Marked and unmarked government vehicles clogged the area preventing others from access to the area which caused them to park farther away.
Inside of the auto yard at a distance was a section quarantined off using customary caution tape with swarms of law enforcement and investigators all around. There were a few numerical tags scattered about to identify critical evidence. Since this was still New Jersey in the winter after a snow storm, footprints marked the entrance to the lot of the very spot where Mason and Orinda could see from a distance. Several investigators surrounded what looked like a man in a Marines dress uniform.
"May I help you two?" a tall, older gentleman with an unidentifiable accent asked them as they wandered up to the crime scene.
"Yes, my name is Orinda Costa and this is my partner Mason Sessions. We’re from the Philadelphia Daily. We were instructed to report here by... "
"Vernon Chandler. You’re from the Philadelphia Daily newspaper? Great, I’ve been expecting you. My name is Sheldon Griffin, and I’m from the Pennsauken Detectives Bureau. Before we continue we need to get you lanyards with badges, so there is no confusion to why the press is here. I got a call from the NJSP and that’s how I learned of this situation, Mrs. Costa, so thank you."
"It’s Ms. Costa, Detective. I’m not married. You mentioned that you were contacted by my NJSP connect? That’s odd. We were under the impression from Mr. Chandler that a NCIS investigator leading the investigation would be waiting to meet with us," Orinda demanded.
It didn’t matter to Detective Griffin about the missing holes. Once Orinda disclosed her marital status, his demeanor changed. Initially, he didn’t extend an offer to shake hands upon their first meet, but now that Orinda had revealed her marital status, he couldn’t wait to.
"M-M-Mr. Griffin, I’m Mason Sessions," Mason said feeling ignored as he extended his hand.
"Oh, yes, Mason. Hello. You guys stay right here, and I will be right back with your access badges. Due to the sensitivity of the area and risk of evidence compromise, it’s imperative that you do not move from where you are standing.” Detective Griffin ordered and then walked away into the chaos.
"Did you notice how that the mother fucker didn’t want to s-s-shake my hand, but he was in every inch of your face? Is this the asshole that Chandler wanted us to work with?" Mason was furious but more so he was jealous. The look that Detective Griffin and Orinda shared was the reason.
"Mason. Oh, cállate. Él estaba muy bien." (Oh Mason, shut up. He was nice.) I think he was very professional yet still showed that he was a gentleman."
"Gentleman? Professional? Am I as invisible to you as I was to him? We both are here in professional capacity. Manera de apoyar a su pareja, la señora Costa.” (Way to support your partner. Ms. Costa).
Immediately, Orinda felt anger towards him but was also impressed by his ability to fluently speak Spanish.
"I’m sorry if you feel that way, Mason. Maybe he did give me more attention but as your partner for this assignment, I don’t want there to be any hard feelings, okay? I’m sorry," she said looking up at him. His eyes were glazed over and watery. She wasn’t sure if the results were from the cold wind chill or because he was holding back his tears but she noticed.
"Whatever, it’s fine. Let’s just continue on in a professional matter, Ms. Costa, so we can get this job done," Mason stated and then turned away. They stood in silence while waiting for Detective Griffin’s return, Mason with damaged feelings and Orinda feeling that maybe he had a point but still didn’t understand why he was upset with her.
"I didn’t know you spoke Spanish so beautifully, Mason," Orinda said attempting to break the silence between them, but Mason would have none of it.
"Háblame ahora, Mason. Tratando aquí." (Speak to me now, Mason. I’m trying here.) she pleaded but Mason ignored.
He ignored her attempts until Detective Griffin returned.
"Ms. Costa and Mr. Sessions," Detective Griffin said being sure to acknowledge Mason. Mason smiled sarcastically as he received his badge and put it on. Detective Griffin then returned his attention to Orinda, the one whom he wanted to interact with the whole time.
"Now, Ms. Costa, to get back to earlier. I’m glad you called your New Jersey State Police connect,” Griffin said with no mention of Vernon Chandler or any NCIS investigator. “That was the call that put me enroute. Due to the details of the crime, the federal government tried to supersede the local government. In fact, they tried to remove us from the case completely, but they couldn’t and we wouldn’t let them. If something happens in my jurisdiction, I want to know everything about it. "
The words intrigued Orinda and Mason both as they all huddled together. The huddle was as necessary for them to hear each other as it was to radiate warmth because the day was getting shorter and colder.
"What do you mean that the federal authorities tried to supersede the local government? I was always under the impression they both worked together. Were they going to restrict us from entering? We were instructed to meet with an NCIS investigator before I made my call so we have to gain access to this scene. Our jobs depend on it," Orinda said to Detective Griffin and Mason collectively. Mason looked down at the snow when they made eye contact.
"It’s actually a very intricate process but nevertheless, because of your call, the state was able to grant you OFFICIAL access to the crime scene, but they also allowed for the Pennsauken Detective Bureau to assist with the investigation. Before that call, federal investigators from the United States Navy’s Information Operations Command in Maryland detached crime investigators from the Naval Air Engineering Station Lakehurst to spearhead this without local authority assistance."
After hearing the words from Detective Griffin’s mouth, Mason raised his eyes from the ground and found Orinda’s to confirm what they both were thinking.
"This means that the victim was..."
"S-s-still affiliated with military. That’s why they wanted to lead the-the-the the investigation," Mason interrupted Griffin.
"Correct, Mr. Sessions. How did you know?" Griffin asked.
"We h-had-had this ca-ca-conversation before we left the office."
"Yes, we spoke about this earlier,” Orinda interjected as she noticed that Mason was having a harder time speaking. “If this were the death of a Marine near a military base, it would not be as much a surprise. I mean Marines get in bar fights, screw married women, and fight other Marines all the time, but this was not near a military base. It didn’t make much sense to harp on the victim’s military past as much as the execution style of the murder, but that’s all Mr. Chandler did.”
"Great job sleuthing, you two. The victim was a Marine at one time, but he wasn’t at the time of his death. He actually joined the U.S. Navy Reserves six years ago and was detached to Lakehurst as a Shore Patrolman," Griffin informed his small audience.
"Why would the victim wear a Marine dress uniform if he was currently serving in the Navy Reserves?" Orinda asked.
"More good questions, Ms. Costa, and I assume that everything will be answered in due time, but first let’s get ready to access the scene to view the victim. Before we do, I need you both to sign these disclaimers. I have been told that you aren’t here to report this crime until it is solved. Until then, you both were actually recruited as help with the investigation.
"How w-w-will-will two jour-journalist help with a mu-murder investigation?"
"Mr. Sessions, I promise to answer all of your questions as we began to work together on this but first, the disclaimer forms," Detective Griffin said handing them forms and ink pens.
While signing the forms, the feel of the mission suddenly changed. Did Mr. Chandler know about this from the beginning? Should they call just in case to update him on what was going on? The change didn’t feel right, but it was too late to turn back because the forms were in their hands. The sun was going down, and they needed to view the victim before it was too late. After signing the forms and walking the path that was parallel to the yellow crime scene tape, everything they knew changed. Like a shot the head, life instantly changed.