Blind Justice

by Ethan Cross

  “Did the blood tests show any presence of monatomic metals?” Munroe asked.

  “Hold on.” Katherine flipped through some of the files and said, “I don’t see anything on it, but they may not have tested for that.”

  “Perhaps. What about motive?”

  “We questioned everyone associated to Corrigan and the family. No indications as to why he would have done it. That was the one thing about the case that didn’t add up. According to everything we found, Corrigan was a loving husband and father.”

  Black said, “Yeah, he was. When we were deployed, getting back to his family was all he talked about.”

  “Hold on,” she said. “You served with Corrigan?”

  “That’s right. He was my team leader in Recon.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So this is personal?”

  Black’s gaze didn’t falter beneath her harsh stare. “It’s always personal to someone. If you’re asking if I care whether or not my old friend gets a needle in his arm and if I would stop that from happening if I could, then yeah, I guess it’s personal.”

  “Let’s keep to the facts,” Munroe said, trying to defuse the interaction. “Maybe we’re looking at things all wrong. Reviewing evidence is like staring through a kaleidoscope. You have to twist everything up from time to time.”

  Katherine said, “Okay, what do you want to twist up?”

  “We need to stop wondering if he did it or why he did it and start asking what could have made him do it. What would cause a man who by all accounts is a loving husband and father suddenly snap and murder the people he loved most in the world? What did he see? What did he experience? What was he exposed to? Was the military experimenting on him in any way?”

  “I don’t see anything like that in his file,” Katherine said.

  “What was he doing when it happened?” Munroe said. “Where was he stationed?”

  “At the time of the murders, Corrigan and a small group of Spec Ops soldiers from all the various branches were staying in temporary housing at Fort Meade in Maryland. Corrigan had traveled back to Camp Pendleton in California for the weekend, specifically for his daughter’s birthday.”

  “Fort Meade?” Black said. “That doesn’t seem right. Meade is an Army base. I’ve never heard of Recon Marines being stationed or training there.”

  “They surely participate in cross-training programs among the different branches?” Munroe asked.

  “Absolutely. Marines attend the US Army Airborne Course, Jump Master, HALO, SCUBA school, and a bunch of others. But there’s nothing like that at Meade.”

  Katherine remembered reading something about the program at Fort Meade in one of the files. She rifled through the stacks and pulled out the folder she wanted. “It says here that they were at Fort Meade taking classes at the Army’s Defense Information School.”

  Black shook his head. “That school’s for public relations and journalism. Why would a bunch of Spec Ops soldiers need that kind of training?”

  “It was a course in handling cultural issues.”

  Munroe asked Katherine, “Were all the other members of the class questioned?”

  “They were, but we didn’t focus on the actual training that was taking place. Our inquiries mainly dealt with Corrigan and his state of mind.”

  “Then that’s where we start. We need to find out exactly what those soldiers were doing at Fort Meade.”

  Katherine leaned back in her chair and ran her hands through her long red hair. “Those men are probably spread all over the world by now. If you think I’m going to drop everything and go hoofing around the globe because you said so, then you’re daft.”

  Black held up the file displaying the names of the other soldiers who participated in the so-called cultural relations class. “You won’t need your passport,” Black said. “I know one of these guys, and he’s less than an hour away.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  MCB Quantico rested on nearly one hundred square miles of land and had become known as the crossroads of the Marine Corps. It housed the Corps’ Combat Development Command, The Marine Corps Officer Candidates School, The Marine Corps Research Center, and The Marine Corps Brig as well as the famed FBI Academy. Black remembered the first time he had visited Quantico. He had expected something more urban simply based on depictions he had seen on TV, but in actuality, the area was very rural and had a small town feel to it. Daryl Gelman, the man they were coming to see, worked for Combat Development Command along with twelve thousand other military and civilian personnel living on the base.

  As they drove beneath the red brick archway and sign marked with the Marine Corp seal, Jonas watched with intensity as Katherine O’Connell chugged the last of a two liter bottle of Mountain Dew and tossed it into the back of her black Dodge Charger. He turned to the back seat and stared down at the enormous collection of candy wrappers and soda bottles that filled the space. Then his eyes traveled back to Katherine’s slender form.

  “What are you gawking at?” Katherine said.

  “I’m just wondering how you eat like that and stay so thin.”

  “High metabolism and exercise, I suppose. I try to run ten miles a day.”

  “You eat a lot of junk food.”

  Katherine drummed her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the song on the radio. “I’m a bit partial to my afters. You aren’t one of those health nuts, are you?”

  “I don’t think so, but I also don’t think I’ve consumed as much sugar in my life as you have in the time I’ve known you.”

  “What about when you were a boy?”

  “We didn’t have sweets.”

  “Were your parents communists?”

  Black said, “Parent, singular. My mom. But no, we were just poor.”

  “Candy bars and soda pop ain’t that expensive. Poor people enjoy them all the time. Someone should have called family services on your mum. I think that’s one of things a parent is required to provide: shelter, running water, and dessert.”

  Black grinned. “I admire your passion on the subject.”

  “Hey, what the hell’s the point in living if you don’t stop to have a piece of cake now and then?”

  “I prefer a big steak myself.”

  She looked him up and down. “I can see that.”

  They passed through the security checkpoint, and Black read off the directions they had been given. Soldiers marched along concrete paths, and trees encircled nondescript brick buildings. Black considered that if you replaced the soldiers with backpack-carrying kids, the base would have been indistinguishable from a college campus. The car windows were open, and the breeze carried the smells of nature with an underlying hint of spent ammunition and burnt gunpowder.

  “So how do you know this guy?” Katherine asked. “Was he on the same team with you and Corrigan?”

  “No, we were on base together in Afghanistan. We both grew up in the St. Louis area, and so we knew a lot of the same places. It helps to be able to talk about home with someone. Of course, he was from a nice neighborhood in St. Charles, and I grew up in the hood in East St. Louis. He went to a private school, and I was the only white kid in my class.”

  “It’s not fun being different. Being the outsider.”

  He sensed that she was speaking from experience but didn’t ask. “It made me tough. I learned how to stand up for myself. Of course, that also led down some bad roads.”

  She was quiet a moment as they slowly wound through the base, but then she said, “Can I ask you something? Something personal.”

  “Since when are you shy?”

  “What is it like over there? Being in combat.”

  “It’s hard to describe. Why do you ask?”

  Katherine twisted her hands on the wheel and chewed on her lower lip. “My baby brother’s currently deployed to Afghanistan.”

 
; “What branch?”

  “He’s part of the 1st Cavalry Division out of Fort Hood.”

  “That’s a good unit. Did you know Oliver Stone is a veteran of the 1st Cavalry Division?”

  “You’re avoiding my question.”

  He took a deep breath. “You want the truth?”

  “I think so.”

  “I sort of feel like I’ve been in combat in one way or another my whole life, and so my experience may be different from someone that dropped in from the burbs. But descriptions ranging from boring to exciting and gratifying to depressing all seem to apply. It’s a roller coaster.”

  He was quiet a moment as he thought back on his time overseas and tried to put a name to his emotions. Eventually, he said, “Honestly, if I had to sum it up in one word, it would be loneliness. That was the only emotion that remained constant, for me anyway. As a soldier, you have to accept that it doesn’t matter how good you are or think you are. You could be the bravest, most disciplined man on the battlefield and still get smoked. That’s just the way it is. You roll the dice and hope they don’t come up snake eyes. Facing your own mortality in that kind of unforgiving environment gives you a certain perspective on things, and you realize that no one back home will ever understand what that’s like. It separates you from them. Separates you from the person you were before.”

  She pulled the car into the parking lot and turned off the engine. He turned to her and saw tears forming. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No,” she interrupted and touched his arm. “Don’t apologize. I appreciate your honesty.” She wiped her eyes and added, “Let’s go talk to your friend.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Captain Daryl Gelman waited for them in the lobby. The space was nicer than Black had expected. Tall ceilings. Sandstone textured walls. Silver accents. Polished floors. Wrap-around windows. Not the type of minimalistic facility that he recalled from his time in the Corps. Gelman had also changed. A bit heavier. A bit more comfortable in his own skin. Gelman extended a hand and displayed an inviting smile. A long nose sat over a thick black mustache on the Captain’s face, hiding the cherub-like features that Black remembered from Afghanistan.

  “Corporal Black!” Gelman said. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes, it has. And I guess it’s Agent Black now.” He still didn’t feel comfortable presenting himself in such a way. It felt like a lie, but Gelman didn’t need to know that. “And congrats to you on the Captain’s bars.”

  “Thank you.” Gelman gave him a strange look. “I heard some rumors…”

  Black looked at Katherine, not wanting her to know of his checkered past. To Gelman, he replied, “Tales of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.”

  Gelman laughed. “Good to hear it. Good to see you. I’m told you have some questions for me. It’s a beautiful day, and I have an appointment coming up across base. Why don’t we take a walk?”

  The Captain led them out of the building and down a path that cut through a swath of trees. The area was alive with birdsong and the chatter of squirrels. Black nodded at Katherine. Now that the ice had been broken, it was time for a professional to take over. She removed a notebook from her pocket, and in her sweet and musical Irish accent, she said, “We’re here, Captain Gelman, to discuss the period when you were stationed temporarily at Fort Meade.”

  Gelman nodded thoughtfully, but Black couldn’t help but notice his old friend’s eyes dart around for any other listeners. “What would you like to know?”

  “What you were doing there?”

  “I was participating in a training program on cultural relations designed to help us know how to interact with local populations around the world.”

  “And where was this class taking place?”

  “At Fort Meade, as you said.”

  “Fort Meade’s a big place. Where on base?”

  “At the Defense Information School.”

  “I thought that was for journalists.”

  “In part. Besides we were just using their facilities.”

  “I see. What did you think of those facilities?”

  “Umm…they were fine, I suppose. This is about the facilities at the DINFOS?”

  “No.” Katherine let silence hang in the air as they continued up the path. Gunfire sounded somewhere far in the distance, but the birds above their heads continued their singing, oblivious and accustomed to the chattering of automatic weapons.

  As Black suspected was the point, Gelman felt the need to fill the silence. “I don’t really remember much from my training at Fort Meade. It was pretty boring and straightforward. Common sense stuff.”

  “You were in class with Sergeant John Corrigan, is that correct?”

  “Yes, I was.” Gelman looked at Black and then at the ground. “I remember he was your friend. It was a terrible thing.”

  Katherine continued. “Do you recall anything strange that may have happened while at Fort Meade that could explain the incident with Sergeant Corrigan?”

  “No, like I said, it was boring.” Some other officers and a man in a suit passed them on the path. Gelman glanced at them warily.

  “The military didn’t do anything or give you anything that could have caused Sergeant Corrigan’s behavior?”

  Gelman’s steps hesitated and then continued. “Of course not.”

  “What about—”

  Black interrupted Katherine’s question and said, “I think that’s all we needed, Darryl. But hey, we’re going to have dinner at the Globe and Laurel tonight before heading back. I’ve always wanted to check that place out. Why don’t you meet us there? My treat. What time does Uncle Sam let you out of your cage?”

  Gelman looked around again and said, “Sure. Is 7:00 too late?”

  “That’s perfect. We’ll let you get to your appointment, but I really look forward to catching up later tonight. If you remember anything else about your time at Fort Meade, you can let us know then.”

  They shook hands and parted ways. As she and Black headed toward the car, Katherine said, “What the hell was that? He was obviously holding something back, and you let him off the hook.”

  “That was going nowhere. He seemed uncomfortable talking here. Gelman is a good man. He’ll think about things, and then tonight, maybe we can get him alone and he’ll open up.”

  She checked her watch. “You had better be right, Black. Or this whole day has been a waste of my time.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  With their plans growing closer to fruition but still missing the crucial catalyst that would set all other events in motion, Antonio de Almeida decided that he would handle Munroe and his large friend personally. Sitting in a generic navy blue Ford Taurus, he watched as the NCIS agent and Jonas Black met with Captain Gelman. He listened in using a sophisticated directional microphone attached to a small parabolic reflector. Shame filled him at what would have to come next, but he was too close to completion of his mission and had come too far already to allow doubt to derail his efforts.

  Black and O’Connell climbed into the Dodge Charger, to which he’d attached a discrete tracking device, and pulled out of the lot. He watched them go, intending to catch up with them later. Then he stepped out of the Taurus and stood for a moment in the sun.

  Saying a quick prayer, he checked the items he would need and set off with renewed purpose.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Resting alongside the Jefferson Davis Highway, the Globe and Laurel was one part restaurant and one part makeshift museum. Rick Spooner, a retired USMC Major, and his wife, Gloria, had wanted their restaurant to honor all the men and women who served their country and community, whether in the military or in any law enforcement agency, putting the proud histories of such patriots on display. The restaurant’s many rooms contained military memorabilia from before the Civil War, displays tracing the e
volution of the US Marine emblem, a donated Medal of Honor, Marine insignia displays, one of the largest collections of law enforcement shoulder patches that covered the ceilings of the quaint establishment (a tradition dating back to the opening of the FBI Academy in 1972), and much more.

  It wasn’t a unique concept for a restaurant to have a theme or display old collections or memorabilia of one type or another, but Jonas Black felt that there was more to the Globe and Laurel than just an attempt at false atmosphere. The history within its walls resonated in him. The restaurant projected a certain honesty and dignity, like the pride of patriots and heroes from many generations converging in one spot. Maybe it was simply because of his status as a former Marine, but he felt at home and a sense of belonging and safety, despite never having been there before.

  He and Katherine requested a secluded table where they could discuss the case without worrying about someone overhearing their conversation. Then Black called Munroe at the hospital and put the phone on speaker. He imagined the blind man was chewing his fingers off in anticipation of their report. Munroe struck him as someone that had to be in control and didn’t trust anyone else to do their jobs properly.

  “What did you learn?” Munroe said without preamble.

  “Just the official line,” Katherine said, “but I got the distinct impression that he wasn’t telling us everything. Unfortunately, someone stopped me from pushing him.”

  “Who?”

  Black shook his head and shot her a dirty look. “He was freaked out, Munroe. I didn’t think he would ever open up while in the middle of the base, and so I asked him to come out to dinner with us tonight. He should be here in just a few minutes.”

  He half-expected Munroe to berate him worse than Katherine had, but instead the blind man said, “Sounds like a good idea. Remind him that his fellow Marines are dying over this mess, and he can help put a stop to it. What about Corrigan’s financials, Katherine?”