“Yes, sir.” Trask looked down. “Julian said you’re the best at dealing with sexual assault victims.”
“Talk to me. What’s eating you?” Troy opened his posture.
“I can speak with victims, but when I’m done, I want to cry or puke or both,” Trask admitted.
“And? You’re human. Don’t for one minute think that’s a bad reaction.” Troy pressed his lips together. “Walk through what’s eating you.”
“Two weeks ago, Kim Pesce, a Navy major called for an appointment.”
Troy smiled with recognition. “Kim and I went to Annapolis together. She was a year behind me.”
“She works for the Navy's SexualAssault Prevention and Responseprogram. She referred a corporal who was found beaten and raped at Combat Town at the Mountain Warfare Center. She said the response from the command and NCIS was tepid at best. Apparently, after she met with Julian, the floodgates opened. We’ve received nine cases, all similar, all male victims.
“The latest is twenty-six-year-old Sergeant James Richmond. His parents retained us at his sister’s request. According to the father, James called his mother to tell her something happened during a training exercise at Twentynine Palms, but he didn’t say what. His mother begged him to tell her what happened, said he sounded shaky. The next day, two MPs show up asking if they’d seen James. They claimed his squad leader reported him UA.
“Twelve days later, he was found as an involuntary inpatient admission at San Diego County Psychiatric Hospital, transferred from Scripps Mercy. Police found him wandering on Pacific Highway. Someone beat him, and he’d been sexually assaulted. The father didn’t seem pleased to be calling and said he only did so to keep his wife and daughter happy.”
“What did James say?” Troy asked as he twisted his watch.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing, as far as I can figure out, to anyone. The psychiatric facility only has one visiting hour per day, and the docs are less than cooperative. His folks gave us permission to visit, so Julian and Blake tried; Janice and I tried. I’ve seen that empty look before. We have to help him.” Trask’s voice cracked.
Troy interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on his knee. He sat quietly, trying to find the right words as his emotions whirred in his chest. His own sadness and despair about Sergeant James Richmond rumbled below the surface.Welcome back to reality,he warned himself.
“Trask, the best way we can help him is to find out what happened. We will treat any physical injuries. Arrange for psychiatric support, group therapy and assistance dealing with the military. Tomorrow, bring me the file, and you and I will go through it, piece by piece. Today, I want you to get out of your head and enjoy the company of good friends as an honor to the friends we lost.”
Trask shook his head. “Julian said you’re the best in the company at working with sexual assault victims, but I think it’sallvictims.” Trask cracked a smile. “It worked with this victim. Thanks, Boss.”
“Nothing to say thanks for.”
Now he had to find a way to get out of his own head.
* * *
When the twomen returned to the back yard, Sadie ran toward him. “Uncle Troy, Aunt Gwen's crying. Mommy went to get Logan for her.”
Troy crouched in front of her. “Is she in her room, princess?”
Sadie reached up and held Troy’s face between her two little hands. “Uh huh. Hugs make people feel better. Give Gwen a huggie for me.”
When she wrapped her tiny arms around him, he scooped her up and held her tightly. “You are the best.”
After he set her back on her feet, Sadie scampered off. Troy headed to Gwen’s room, where he found Logan standing at the door. “Mrs. Dupart asked me to check on Ms. North. She isn’t responding to the knock.”
“Maybe she’s in the shower.” Troy turned the knob to confirm it was locked. “Do you have a key?”
Logan tapped his comm. “This is Shepard; I need entry into bedroom three.”
Troy stepped back. “Clear the door,” he called. One hard kick, the pain jarring him to the top of his head, splintered the door open.
Gwen was on the bed, her face crimson. Troy made it to her first, shaking her gently. “Gwen?” There was no response. “C’mon, Gwen.” He clenched his jaw.
Logan went over his comm again, requesting his medic bag, then began his assessment. “She’s breathing. Troy, can you soak a sheet with cold water?” Logan gently pulled her pants down to expose her leg.
Returning with the wet sheet, Troy bit back a curse. Red coloring and swelling exceeded the perimeter of the bandage applied that morning. “She’s on antibiotics. You gave her more this morning.” His voice was strong from practice, but inside he felt panic welling up.
Matt Ciminelli ran in with the medical bag. “Emergency response vehicle is on its way.”
Julian, trained as a special operations combat medic, came in behind Matt and caught a pair of gloves Logan tossed him. “Julian, cover her with the sheet and start removing the bandage for me.”
