“You’re a very resentful man, Will,” Troy’s voice cut through the room.
Gwen felt like she was watching two bucks with ten-point racks fighting.
“A week ago, there was a victim from San Clemente Island, a Marine. A week after that, a Marine corporal from Miramar was attacked. Then there were Brooks from Pendleton and Richmond—we don’t have any proof where the crime occurred, or if it was really a crime. None of them are part of the eighteen. I put out a request to all California military assets this morning,” Boyle said.
“I guess twenty-two is the magic number, huh? Minor, broaden our search to all assets INCONUS and OCONUS times ten years,” Troy ordered.
“You said ‘from’? Where was their last location?” Julian crossed his arms.
“All Twentynine Palms,” George Stacy said.
“I have one question—think before you answer.” Troy’s voice was feral. “Does this piss poor investigation have to do with insufficient personnel or lack of skills? Or does this come from statistic burying—no sexual assaults?”
“They were catalogued assaults,” Cook said.
“Assaults? Richmond and Brooks were beaten, and in the process, Brooks was penetrated anally.” Troy made the point clear. “We don’t know the full extent of Richmond’s injuries, but he was beaten. Two dislocated shoulders and anal tears. And Jessie Brooks’ body was mutilated. Lab reports are pending, but I am sure she didn’t do this to herself. And do not think of telling me what occurred to James Richmond was consensual. If that doesn’t qualify in your pea brains as a sexual assault, I don’t know what does,” Troy roared.
Gwen swallowed hard watching the exchange grow in intensity. Julian leaned forward as if he dropped something and patted the back of Troy’s calf.
Sitting upright, Julian pursed his lips. “I am taking over this investigation on behalf of all the victims. I’m taking possession of the files. I expect the delivery of all forensics to our offices by 1600 hours tomorrow. And we will relabel these crimes as aggravated sexual assaults and send the reports to the commandant of the Marines as well as the director of NCIS.”
“You can’t do that,” Boyle said.
"Watch me." Julian reached into his pocket. “I am taking jurisdiction under the Department of Homeland Security, increased internal threat prerogative, as well as civil rights violations.” A gold badge in an ID wallet opened in his palm. “We will be in touch.” Julian stood and took the stack of files, placing them in his briefcase before he led the group outside.
Troy turned to Julian. “Would you mind if Blake and Gwen go back with you? Trask and I will head to the hospital and question Jessie Brooks.”
A shiver ran down her back. Troy was furious, and she knew it was directed at her. She knew all three men. She knew who called her Gwenny. And she was thrown off her game, making her useless to protect herself or Troy.
* * *
“Boss, are you alright?”Trask asked, holding the passenger door open for Troy.
Troy buckled his seat belt. “That obvious?”
“Um, I remember the day I blew that stakeout,” Trask said. “Silent fuse is how I described you then and today. Gwen?”
“I’d rather not discuss it until I have some answers.” Troy had a job to do; he’d question Gwen about her reactions to Will Cook, Agents Boyle and Stacy later on. “I’d like you to speak to Brooks’ doctors. Find out if she’s stable enough for transfer to another facility. I’m going to try to speak with her.”
Troy opened the door to the hospital. This time Troy proffered his identification for the Department of Homeland Security.
He shuddered walking the floor toward Jessie’s room. The smell of antiseptic, urine and mystery meat brought on a flashback. He braced himself on his cane, his fingers unconsciously forming the letters L E T M E D I E. Beth Reed told him he was so ill and burning with fever, he believed he was still the prisoner Royce Mills. Shaking off the memory, he walked the rest of the way to the corporal’s room.
When he knocked on the door, a woman in her late forties answered. “Good morning, my name is Troy Bremen from Chase Security. I’m a friend of Commander Brooks. I’d like to talk to Jessie, please.”
“I’m Meredith Brooks, Jessie’s mom. She’s in a very bad place. The military police and NCIS tried to question her again this morning. She didn’t say a word. Is this necessary?” Her voice was filled with anguish.
“Ma’am, I want to make sure no other woman is hurt again. But more importantly, I need to make sure Jessie recovers and feels safe again,” Troy said softly.
A sniffle came from the bed. Troy approached her with caution and pulled a chair beside the young woman who had a blonde pixie cut. “Hi, I’m Troy Bremen. May I call you Jessie?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“Call me Troy.” He smiled. “Thank you for talking to me.”
“You were in the service?” she whispered.
“Smart eye—Navy. I’m still a lieutenant commander in the reserves. I served with your dad. He’s worried about you. Looks like Mom is too. But I promise, what you tell me stays with me unless you say I can repeat it. If you want, I can ask Mom to step out, and a nurse can come in.
