He walks Maddox around awkwardly, hands chained in front of him. “You gonna behave, son?” the old-timer guard asks gruffly.
Maddox nods, his face flushed with angerand irritation as he holds his hands out to the guard.
Traynor unlocks his cuffs, and he rubs at his wrists before taking a seat opposite Jonesy and me.
“We’ve not met before. I’m Jacob Jones. I work on the Seattle base, same as you.” Jonesy holds out his hand to shake Maddox’s.
“No touching the inmate,” Traynor’s voice scratches out through an intercom. He can’t hear us; we’ve been assured of that. But he can see us, and more relevantly, he can see Maddox.
“Sorry.” Jonesy holds his hands up in surrender to the camera before turning back to our suspect.
Jonesy introduces himself, explaining his role within the Seattle army base, and gives a brief summary of his time in Afghanistan, explaining the purpose of his role there. Maddox’s eyes perk up at this, and I notice a glimmer of hope. Jonesy introduces me, reminding Maddox of our previous interview at the police station. He nods, eyeing me cautiously.
“Are you here to help me?” the young man asks, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand.
“I’m here because you’re a soldier, and the colonel and judge agreed that a military representative may have a specific insight into your frame of mind. Dr. Murphy here is the best at what she does. She interviews people every day,including people who have committed crimes. Please correct me if I’m wrong, Dr. Murphy, but you haven’t worked with soldiers before?”
“I’ve interviewed soldiers before in relation to cases, but I haven’t worked with the military in any official capacity. Usually, investigations are held within the military tribunal; however, you are an active soldier, and the crime that was committed was against a civilian. Therefore, our expertise crosses over.”
“Why are you telling me all this? Don’t you have questions for me?”
Jonesy leans forward, the sleeves of his army-issued camouflage shirt rolled up to his elbows. Despite the uniform, he looks approachable. He’s trimmed his beard, had his hair cut, so it’s short on the sides, longer on top, where it starts to curl at the ends. He’s treating this as he would a normal patient of his. And it’s working. Connor is talking, actively asking questions.
“We’re here to get to know you better. Are they treating you okay here?”
He nods, leaning his elbows on the table as he rubs his eyes. He looks almost as tired as I am, and that’s saying something, as I think I managed to squeeze out three hours of sleep last night.
“Okay. Dr. Murphy is going to ask you some questions, and I may jump in if I need to clarify anything. Is that okay?”
“Let’s just get this over with,” he mutters.
“Have you had any stressful experiences prior to being arrested?” I ask.
“Not any more than usual.”
I nod, jotting down another note. “When were you last working overseas?”
“I did a tour in Afghanistan. I was one of the last troops there before they pulled out. It wasn’t really an active operation at the time; we were training the Afghan army to protect itself. Obviously, that went to shit, and the Taliban took over again.”
“That must have been hard to accept. All that work to create peace for people, and it fell apart within a few days.”
“That’s life, I suppose. You do what you do, and how it plays out isn’t within your control.” His chin lowers to his chest, and he focuses on his hands. The dark circles beneath his eyes seem even darker with his head hanging low, as it is. I get the impression we’re no longer talking about his time overseas.
“I don’t think you believe that,” I say. “The last time we spoke, you told me things that suggested you’re a man of action. You went after your girl because you knew you wanted to be with her. You’ve been promoted above your peers. You’re successful, by all accounts.”
“And look where it got me. It doesn't mean shit,” he spits angrily.
“Do you have trouble controlling your temper, Connor?” I ask gently.
He shakes his head. “Wouldn’t you? If you were in my position.”
“Oh, absolutely. I’d be furious. But I’m asking about before you were arrested.”
He pauses for a moment, watching me. His blue eyes faded into gray, as if the prison walls were sucking the life right out of him. Even in a few short days, he was losing himself.
“I wouldn’t say I was an angry person. I defend when I need to defend, but otherwise...otherwise, I’m just lucky. I was lucky, I mean.”
“What do you mean by that?”
