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
i
s 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 evolution 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?”
“I already told you that we checked all that.”
“Did you just look at his bank and credit card statements or did you check the actual leave and earnings statements he received from the government?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, of course not, we were just foostering about. It
’
s not like I know how to do my damn job or anything.” She reached across the table and killed the call. To Black she said, “Is your boss always such a wanker?”
He thought of Munroe
’
s name in small black letters inside the binder at the Pentagon Memorial. “He
’
s been through a lot, but I don
’
t really know him very well. I
’
ve only been working with him for a few days.”
“What did you do before DCIS?”
“This and that.”
The waitress arrived and asked to take their orders. She was pretty with long black hair done up in a french braid and dimples in her cheeks. Another waitress walked by with a large strip steak on a tray, and as the smell of sizzling meat wafted past, Black realized how hungry he was. He checked the time on his phone. Gelman would be arriving in about a half hour. “We have someone else coming in a few minutes,” he said to the young brunette.
“But I
’
ll have one of your ice cream sundaes while we
’
re waiting,” Katherine added.
The waitress gave a nod and a smile and headed toward the kitchen. Black said, “What are you, like five years old? You
’
re going to spoil your dinner.”
“Thanks, mum, but it
’
s more important to me to make sure that I have room for dessert.”
Then Katherine
’
s smile abruptly faded, and her demeanor turned cold. “Who are you really?”
“
I don’
t know what you mean.”
“I tried to pull your file. Apparently, it
’
s classified. Are you like some sort of CIA assassin?”
“Not that I recall, but maybe they erased my memory. You were checking up on me?”
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. A cold silence stretched between them. They sat and stared at each other for a few moments. Black cracked first. “Okay, you win. Up until a few days ago, I was in prison.”
Her expression told him that she had considered a lot of scenarios, but that had not been one of them. “And now you
’
re a federal agent?”
“Sort of, I guess. I don
’
t think Munroe likes to color within the lines, and apparently, he
’
s pretty well connected. Plus, I had less than six months left on my sentence. It
’
s not like he sprung Charlie Manson. He needed me to convince Corrigan to talk to him, but now Corrigan
’
s not talking to anyone.”
“Wow.” Her head seemed to be swimming with the implications. “What were you in for?”
“I killed my brother.”
Her eyes went wide. “I think I
’
m going to need a wee bit more explanation than that.”
Jonas Black hadn
’
t discussed that night with anyone for years, not since the trial. The guilt and pain were always there at the edge of his thoughts like a ghost watching him from the shadows, but discussing such things had never helped. He
’
d visited several counselors, both after his time in the war and his brother
’
s death. But some scars never healed, no matter how many times people with good intentions forced him to tear the wounds back open. Talking about the past didn
’
t change it or make it easier to live with his choices. But something disarming in Katherine
’
s eyes made him want to open up, and so he took a long drink of water and then told her everything.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
As he told his story, Jonas Black watched Katherine closely, but she didn
’
t speak or show much reaction. She didn
’
t try to council him or comfort him. She offered no absolution for his sins. With a nod, she simply said, “That
’
s horrible. I
’
m sorry.”
“
So am I,
” he added, not knowing what else to say.
“Did your brother have a family?”
“Yeah, a wife and a little boy. Will and Stacey. But they won
’
t have anything to do with me. Stacey hates me, and it
’
s been over five years since I
’
ve seen my nephew. He was only eight when it happened. He probably doesn
’
t even remember me…or his dad.”
She didn
’
t say anything, just gave an almost imperceptible nod. He imagined she didn
’
t know what to say beyond the standard
I
’
m sorry
that she had already used once. Her discomfort with the situation was clearly visible, but he appreciated the fact that she didn
’
t try to offer hollow words of consolation.
The ringing of her phone saved them both from the awkwardness of the moment. He listened to the one-sided conversation and could see by her expression that something bad had happened. Signing off with a thank you, she said, “That was NCIS headquarters. They knew I came out here to speak to Gelman. And they just got a call that he fell down the stairs at his office building and snapped his neck.”
Black cracked his knuckles, and through a clenched jaw, he said, “Which means he was murdered. Because of us. We got him killed.” He slammed his fist down on the table.
She reached across and squeezed his hand. “You had better call Munroe,” she said in a whisper.
With the phone on speaker, he dialed and Munroe answered almost instantly. “
Well?
”
“Gelman
’
s dead.”
“What? How?”
“They say he fell down the stairs and broke his neck.”
“Dammit, they
’
ll probably figure out that it was murder when the ME gets a hold of him, but that still doesn
’
t help us. Listen, I had Joey look up the leave and earnings statements—”
Katherine shook her head derisively. “You have to be kidding me. I told you multiple times that we looked through all that.”
“Yes, you examined the records for Corrigan, which could have been tampered with.”
“So whose records did you pull?” she asked.
“Darryl Gelman.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
“I told you.”
“That
’
s not what I mean. I mean there were no records on file for him during that time period.”
“He had to have gotten paid. What about the actual paper records?”
“They don
’
t exist. Everything
’
s digital now. Any records are destroyed after the daily batch of updates is made in the database.”
“
So it
’
s a dead end.”
Black thought back on his time with Gelman in Afghanistan, the time on base trying to pass the time, talking about family back home. “
Wait a second,
” Black said. “Gelman would have received a copy of any of those records, right?”
“I suppose so,” Katherine said.
“Gelman always talked about how much of a packrat his wife was. Said she kept everything. She probably still has a copy of those statements somewhere.”
Munroe
’
s laugh sounded tinny over the speaker phone. “That
’
s good thinking, Mr. Black. If you can get me those records, then we
’
ll actually have some hard evidence to support our theories. With that in hand, I may be able to go to the Secretary of Defense and get to the bottom of this mess.”