“Someone at the base? Who’s running the shop? They military?”
No reply. Brodie could still hear the dog barking in the backyard.
“We’re going to call Animal Control about your dog.”
Hinckley looked at him. “I don’t want her to go to a pound.”
“What do you care?”
He was silent for a moment. “My sister can take her. She lives in Charlottesville.”
“Maybe.” Brodie asked, “Whose bright idea was this?”
Hinckley hesitated. “The seller. I don’t know his name. He’s not active-duty, maybe retired. Some kinda prepper dude. He heard from… someone that we had a big stash that had been ordered by DOD but wasn’t going nowhere because of the drawdowns in Afghanistan. So, easy pickings. And demand’s through the roof for this shit. Everyone’s getting ready. You know?”
“Ready for what?”
Hinckley shrugged. “Things to go from bad to worse, I guess.”
“I’d say it’s already headed that way for you. Who linked you with the seller?”
Hinckley didn’t reply.
“I might be able to keep you out of prison.”
Hinckley looked at Brodie, maybe trying to read if this was bullshit.
CID agents had a reputation for playing the good cop to a T, empathizing with the suspect and promising the moon for cooperation, when half the time they were just giving the perp the rope to hang himself. There was no rule that you couldn’t lie through your teeth when trying to extractinformation from a bad soldier. Brodie had no idea what kind of deal PFC Hinckley could get, nor did he care. But over the years he’d learned to play the part, and play the perp.
Hinckley said, “I think… I need to talk to a lawyer.”
Well, when the suspect said that, you were supposed to stop asking questions, but Brodie said, “Speak up, Private. I can’t hear you.”
Hinckley didn’t respond and stared at the flat-screen.
Brodie regarded PFC Eric Hinckley. He knew from the man’s file that he was nineteen years old, though he looked even younger. Probably a low-achieving student who got recruited in his high school on career day. Promised a steady paycheck, three hots and a cot, maybe some adventure, plus brotherhood and a meaningful career to boot. And that’s not a lie. The Army can provide all those things if you’re getting in for the right reasons.
Some guys, however, lost their way and went crooked, like Brad Evans, who was bored, burned out, and looking to start trouble if it didn’t naturally present itself. But nineteen-year-old Private Hinckley hadn’t lost his way. He never knew where he was going to begin with.
Well, the kid had asked for a lawyer, so the questions needed to stop. But Brodie still had something to say.
“Look at me, soldier.”
Hinckley turned to him.
“You are a disgrace to your uniform and your country. You took an oath.”
Hinckley averted his eyes.
“You made a bad choice, and you will face the consequences. And you better figure out why you made that bad choice, to prevent yourself from screwing up even more of your life. Do you understand me, Private?”
Hinckley looked back at him. “Yes, sir. I… wasn’t thinking.”
“This is a good time to start, Eric.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brodie got up and noticed Trooper Finley looking at him. The man had probably listened to that interaction with some interest. There was no analog in the civilian world for what had just transpired. Cops don’t usually dress down the perps they’re arresting. But the Army was one big semi-functional family, and a criminal act within that family was a violation of something beyond and perhaps greater than the law.
