Sonny dropped onto his back, paws in the air as if he’d been shot. “Up,” Del said. Sonny sprang to his feet and took the dog treat from Del’s hand. “Good boy.”
As Sonny crunched on his treat, Del considered his phone. He’d called Celia McDaniel the night before but got her voice mail. She hadn’t called him back. “No sense sitting around like an eighteen-year-old virgin,” he said to Sonny.
He stepped into the den at the back of the house—his man cave. It had a television—an old-fashioned picture tube—but Del rarely turned it on. An assortment of fiction and nonfiction books filled the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, including Del’s not inconsequential collection of Civil War books. He’d read the biographies of the central players in the conflict, Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, Ulysses S. Grant, and Joshua Chamberlain. He’d also collected a few artifacts and some tourist trinkets from Gettysburg and Antietam, as well as the other battlefields he’d visited. On the wall above the couch hung a framed map of the courthouse at the Battle of Appomattox, where Lee fought his last battle on April 9, 1865, before he surrendered, ending the war.
Del sat on the leather couch facing a bay window with a million-dollar view of the city, powered up his laptop, and inserted the USB drive Melton had provided. He clicked on the file for Allie’s e-mails and pulled them up. Seeing Allie’s name, however, pierced him like a sharp knife, and he had to remove his hands from the keyboard and sit back, fighting his emotions. He took several deep breaths, composed himself, and started through the e-mails. There weren’t many; kids today emailed about as often as people sent handwritten letters. They texted. They Snapchatted. They did something his nephews called “My Story.”
Most of Allie’s e-mails were school and work related. He skimmed them, paying more attention as he neared the date of her death. He paused on an e-mail dated two weeks before Allie died.
Hey, how come U didn’t text me back? I heard U were back from the prison. Did U escape? HaHa. How come U haven’t called? I’m using e-mail in case your mom took your phone.
Del looked at the message header. The e-mail was from someone called J-Man, e-mail address: [email protected].
The next day, after Allie had still not responded, J-Man sent a second e-mail.
U avoiding me? Been thinking about u non-stop since u left!!! U just disappeared. WTF? Really want to see u.
Again, Allie did not respond.
Del continued through her e-mails, finding several more from the same address. After J-Man’s fifth e-mail, Allie finally wrote back.
Sorry. Mom has my phone so didn’t see any texts. Crazy busy. Um . . . I don’t think we should see each other. It would be too hard. Not going to school this semester. Working. Ugh! Finishing up this summer at home and going to Gonzaga. U take care. Al
J-Man immediately responded, ignoring the statement that they not see each another. He clearly did not get the hint.
Glad U’re still alive! Bummer about U’re phone. Ran into TC. Said you were kickin it, working. No partying? Man, I couldn’t do it. Me? Just chillin and hangin with TC. So U saving up for college or a car? A car I hope! Lasts Longer! HaHa.
Allie responded.
No Car. . HaHa. Just keeping busy. Getting my mind right. Yeah, TC said she saw U. Said you were in a ’ship. TBH I’m happy for you.
J-Man again responded at 11:54 p.m.
No ’ship, man, except to my music. That’s B-S!
Del deduced “’ship” to be short for “relationship,” and TBH to mean “to be honest.” He was betting J-Man’s “’ship” with TC lasted as long as Allie’s stint in rehab.
J-Man continued, We were all just hanging. SRSLY!
Allie’s response was apologetic, and the tone made Del sick to his stomach. He suspected J-Man had an ulterior motive.
Sorry. Didn’t mean A/T. Didn’t expect U to wait around for me.
J-Man wrote: We should get together. When u around? U got your phone back?
Tomorrow?
Allie responded immediately. NAGI. Family keeping close watch on me. And my uncle is a cop with a gun. HaHa.
J-Man persisted. Del had a sense J-Man was an addict looking for a score more than a relationship. He fought to keep his anger in check, but a part of him wanted to find J-Man and remove his fingernails one by one.
No biggie. I’ve missed U. Nobody gets me like U, Al. Sad since U left. Lonely. (:
This time Allie did not respond and Del could almost hear the debate raging in her head.
J-Man emailed again to ask, WYCM?
Don’t do it, Del thought. Don’t you call him.
Again, it took some time before Allie replied. Her response broke Del’s heart.
Tomorrow. WCY.
CHAPTER 24
After several long minutes, the door to the left of the bench opened, and Tracy watched Cho, Clark, and Grassilli return. Unlike that morning, when Cho had looked relaxed and confident, he now looked concerned—more than concerned. He looked upset. Clark looked like a deer in headlights with her eyes fixed on an imagined oncoming car. Grassilli, the court reporter, also looked unsettled. Upon getting to his courtroom desk, Grassilli again searched it and the surrounding area. Cho went through the box of evidence and searched counsel’s table.
“Counselor, are you ready to move forward?” Rivas asked.
“Your Honor, we seem to have run into a bit of a snag. We’re having difficulty locating a piece of evidence.”
“What piece of evidence?” Rivas asked.
Cho said, “The video from the convenience store.”
“What do you mean? It’s missing?” Rivas asked. Her eyes shifted between Cho and Grassilli, who kept custody of all evidence to be presented at an Article 32 hearing.
Tracy looked to the gallery. Shaniqua Miller dropped her gaze, then her head. Her mother, seated beside her, closed her eyes, and looked to be breathing deliberately. This was their worst nightmare.
“I mean we had it, but . . .” Cho looked and sounded out of breath. “It appears to be missing.”
“When did you last see it?”
“We checked out the materials from NCIS lockup yesterday afternoon in preparation for this hearing.”
“And then what?”
“We checked everything back in.”
“And that was the last time you saw it?”
Cho seemed to give this a moment of thought. “No,” he said, as if remembering something. “It isn’t.” He turned and looked at Battles. “The last time I saw the tape was last night before going home. It was on defense counsel’s desk.”
The members of the gallery, initially stunned or uncertain, began to understand the ramifications of what was transpiring, and to verbally protest. For a group predisposed to believe the Navy would protect one of its own, the lost tape was no accident; it was a deliberate attempt to subvert justice, and Cho had placed Battles at the center of their ire. Several stood, shouting and pointing at her. The MAs stepped between the spectators and the railing. Two brig chasers quickly moved to remove Trejo from the courtroom.
“I’ll speak to counsel in back,” Rivas said over the growing discontent.