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Date Posted: 19:29:55 05/24/07 Thu
Author: .
Subject: Skeleton Crew, Part 2 (Chapter 2)
In reply to: . 's message, "Skeleton Crew, Part 2: A Consequence of Choices" on 19:28:07 05/24/07 Thu


Skeleton Crew Part 2
(“A Consequence of Choices”)

Chapter 2


Harm’s Apartment
Saturday, 8 June 1996/late afternoon

The kitchen was cleaned up and the lights were dimmed. He had done something he very seldom did—and that was to cook a full-course meal for himself. It was therapeutic for him in a way he could not explain—and today, he needed some of that self-prescribed “therapy.” Now he was sitting on the couch, guitar in hand, strumming a few chords, some of which were wildly discordant, and nursing a bourbon when he wasn’t strumming. All of which he had discovered through the years up to this point, helped clear away the emotional “fog” that sometimes threatened to overwhelm him. And tonight, all such forms of “therapy” were badly needed.

Meeting Major Sarah ‘Mac’MacKenzie earlier this week had shaken him to his very core. The irony of the situation—she defending him who was accused of killing her look-alike—did not escape him and, indeed, helped to increase the surreal feeling of being caught in a “lobster’s trap” not of his choosing. He snorted at the analogy. It was certainly apt. Krennick, especially, was angry enough because of his continued rebuffs of her sexual advances, to literally want him for lunch!! He wondered how strong Major MacKenzie was—would she be able to withstand an angry and powerful Allison Krennick?

For the first time since he’d met her he let his thoughts drift towards the Major in question. She certainly didn’t look that tough. Being on restricted duty had its drawbacks, he thought ruefully, not the least of which was that he couldn’t access any service record for perusal. It would have been nice to see her service record, just for his own reassurance. But then, no accused had that right, and, in this case, he was the accused. So, all he had to go on were his instincts! So, what were his instincts telling him about his new lawyer?

She was a “looker,” that’s for sure. She filled out that Marine uniform like few Marines ever did! Of course, Diane had looked good in her uniform, too—although he was more used to seeing her in civvies. He wondered just briefly what the good major looked like in civilian gear—and then discarded that thought as being “irrelevant.” There was no doubt in his own mind, Major MacKenzie was a beautiful woman. There could be no way around that, since she was Diane’s “twin” and he considered Diane beautiful. The logic was inescapable. He snorted and tried to organize his thinking around the case. His male hormones had no place in his thoughts tonight!

She’d told him she’d volunteered to defend him—or would have, if she hadn’t been assigned. That was a good thing, he decided. Human nature being what it was, although anyone would/could/should have provided an enthusiastic defense, it was much easier, he knew, if the attorney involved believed in his or her client’s innocence. He tried hard not to think about his reputation—that was a side effect of his own driven personality and not something he had gone out of his way to seek. Still, if his reputation had snagged the best military attorney available, then so be it – he certainly wasn’t complaining. His mom and Frank had immediately offered to retain D.C.’s most high powered criminal defense lawyer, but he’d demurred. For the moment, he was satisfied with his detailed defense counsel. If the charges were referred and he actually had to go to trial, he might take them up on it.

He wasn’t sure what his reputation really entailed—except he was known as a “pit dog,” “tenacious,” “hot-shot” investigator. He would have liked to have been known as someone who applied logic and common sense to a problem, whereas most attorneys and investigators would take the “facts” in any given case as they were, at face value, and go on from there. But he had learned early—and often, as it turned out—there was often more to a case than first met the eye—and he refused, absolutely positively refused—to leave it there until every “leaf” had been examined and no stone had been left unturned. Shit, it was hard to keep his emotions out of this one—for more than the obvious reason that he was the accused! Then, there was this little matter that his defense counsel looked just like the woman he was accused of killing. How was he supposed to get around THAT one??

He was mulling that issue over, strumming on his guitar, when the doorbell rang. He glanced at his watch and remembered Major MacKenzie had agreed to come over so they could go over the evidence once more and complete preparations for the Article 32 starting Monday morning. He put his guitar down, picked up his drink, and walked to the door. Sure enough, when he opened it, there was the Major, in civilian clothes.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Yup, in civvies, Major ‘Mac’ looked even more like Diane – if that was possible – in a dark red sleeveless shirt, lightweight capri jeans and simple sandals. Small gold hoops in her ears. Diane had loved earrings, he remembered, taking immense pleasure in wearing “regular” ones on liberty, as opposed to the small gold balls female officers were authorized to wear in uniform. She’d told him once that off duty, she chose her earrings first and then, the clothes she’d wear with them.

Mac too, took stock. As she’d remembered, he was tall – well over six feet. Very good looking, as good or better than he had looked in uniform. Really beautiful eyes. Eyes with a haunted, desperate look now as they stared at her. She would only admit to herself how disconcerting – how almost frightening – it had been to look at LT Diane Schonke’s photograph – and see herself.

****************

Sitting on the floor, the files spread out around them in piles, they’d dissected every line of the thin NCIS report government counsel had turned over in discovery. Mac had “papered” CDR Krennick with discovery demands, a speedy trial demand, witness requests – all the usual preliminaries.

“Well, there’s certainly not much evidence against anyone – and certainly none against you in here. You’re sure this Agent Turkay told you your prints were on the gun? There’s nothing about it in this package.” Mac was used to criminal investigation reports in murder cases overflowing with forensic evidence. This one was sadly lacking. She’d personally sighted Harm’s service revolver and personal weapon, both exactly where he’d said he kept them, and at her request, he’d called his grandmother – her rifle was where she kept it in the farmhouse. She’d questioned him repeatedly, but he’d insisted he hadn’t touched any other weapon since graduating from the Academy 11 years ago.

The ‘good ole boy and girl network’ had swung into gear as word got out that she was defending the well-known aviator-turned-litigator. A Duke classmate, now a junior partner in Atlanta’s most prestigious law firm, had called to offer his firm’s services, pro bono; Naval officers – some Harm’s Academy classmates, some he’d met as an aviator, over a dozen judge advocates … had left messages for her day and night, offering to testify as character witnesses. Most interesting was the cell phone voicemail. She could hear traffic and coins dropping into a pay phone in the background as a muffled voice spoke quickly – “you didn’t hear it from me -- ask the agent about the gun and the Brant case.” Her paralegal back at Quantico was working his considerable network, back-tracking the NCIS investigation.

A short time later.

“Brrriiiiing.” The doorbell startled them both, Mac nearly knocking over a bottle of water and Harm scrambling to his feet, muttering “I’m not expecting anyone.”

“Nick, come in – want some water?” Harm tried to smile pleasantly at the mailman he’d gotten to know when he’d moved into the building just before he started at Georgetown Law. He often got home just as the mail was delivered.

“Hey, man, thanks. Your box is full, so I brought up your ‘care package’ from California and today’s mail.” Nick was a Vietnam veteran who’d finished a career in the Air Force Reserves after ‘Nam, retiring the year Harm graduated from the Academy.

“Did you have a good vacation?” Nick had told Harm he’d be away on his annual fishing trip with his old squadron buddies for two weeks - one of them had a cabin in Wyoming.

“Yeah, it was a great time ….hard to come back to D.C. though. I’m thinking about retiring to Wyoming or Montana – at least in the summers. The humidity and mosquitoes are starting to get old before each day starts.” Reaching for the bottle of water, Nick continued, “You’ve got another letter from ‘LT De-Es.’ Is her ship still out?”

“WHAT? Oh Go-d ….” Mac moved to grab at Harm’s arm as he reached for the blue envelope Nick held out.

“What is it man? She writes you all the time.” Nick clearly knew nothing of the events of the past two weeks.

Mac pushed both men onto the kitchen bar stools. “Nick, I’m Sarah MacKenzie, Harm’s lawyer. Call me ‘Mac’. Did you know Diane?”

“Huh? …No ...just her writing on her letters. She always puts “LT D.S.” instead of her full name for the return address so I call her ‘De-Es.’ The commander’s always happy when they come, he said they were great buds from the Academy.” Nick grinned at his friend, swiping the water bottle across his neck.

Mac sighed heavily…glancing at Harm, who’d turned to stare at the wall, his face stunned in disbelief. “Nick, I need you to initial and put the time and date on the envelope, then open it and do the same on whatever’s inside. I’m sorry, but you may have just become a witness in a murder case.”

End Chapter Two.

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[> Skeleton Crew, Part 2 (Chapter 3) -- ., 19:31:17 05/24/07 Thu [1]

Skeleton Crew Part 2
(“A Consequence of Choices”)

Chapter 3


Main Courtroom
JAG HQ
Monday, 10 June 1996

The courtroom was so totally silent, even the hum of the air conditioning seemed muted. It was also full to capacity. In addition to RADM Chegwidden, the Vice Chief’s SJA, the Commandant’s SJA, the Chief Judge and every JAG HQ staffer who could break away from his or her duties, a remarkable number of judge advocates – based up and down the east coast – a few from farther away -- had wrangled sudden TAD to the nation’s capital or had taken leave and traveled at their own expense. Some were clearly present to show their total support for Harmon Rabb. Some wanted to see the government and defense counsel square off - both had formidable reputations. The row reserved for the media was full, the courtroom sketch artists’ pencils moving rapidly over their pads.

Commander Allison Krennick had been determined to limit her witnesses and evidence to the bare minimum necessary to ensure the case would go to general court-martial. With the typical defense strategy at any Article 32, UCMJ investigation being mainly a fishing expedition to get as much as possible of the prosecution’s case on the table, and knowing she didn’t have the strongest case, CDR Krennick had directed NCIS to keep at it while acquiescing to the Convening Authority’s desire for a quick 32 and the defense’s not particularly surprising “speedy trial” demand.

“Special Agent Turkay, has the murder weapon been located?” Major Sarah ‘Mac’ Mackenzie’s voice was calm, almost too calm. Her Quantico colleagues nudged each other – they were well aware of her style.

“Objection!” Krennick was on her feet. She’d been soooo careful with her direct. “Outside the scope of the direct examination.”

“Government counsel asked the witness about the cause of death, and he answered, ‘a gunshot wound to the chest’,” Mac had anticipated the objection and was ready. “I’m entitled to inquire about the weapon used, Your Honor.”

“Overuled.” Assigned by the Chief Judge as Investigating Officer – IO - CAPT Sebring had been given strict orders by RADM Morris to keep control of the proceeding, not let either counsel grandstand, and for g_d’s sake, to make sure Rabb got a fair hearing. If the government didn’t have sufficient evidence at the 32, the last thing the Navy needed was a three-ring-circus of a trial.

“Special Agent?” Mac deliberately moved one step closer to the witness. Her trademark single 4x6 index card in hand – all she ever allowed herself per witness for direct or cross; as well as one card for opening and another for closing – those typically left sitting on the edge of the counsel table – pointed at the NCIS agent.

Turkay muttered something, causing the court reporter to indicate that she couldn’t hear him. “Speak up clearly,” the IO ordered, leaning forward slightly himself.

“No.” Turkay repeated reluctantly, glaring at CDR Krennick. They hadn’t rehearsed this.

Mac feigned surprise. “Special Agent Turkay, Government Exhibit A, your Report of Investigation, indicates that a 9 mm pistol was recovered from the water next to the pier where the Seahawk is docked. Was that pistol the weapon used to shoot Lieutenant Diane Schonke?”

“No.” the agent was beginning to squirm and there was a discernable murmur through the courtroom.

“Isn’t it a fact, Special Agent, that the pistol was covered with barnacles and silt when it was brought up?”

“Uh-h-h, yeah.”

“Is that fact in your report?” Mac was hitting her stride. Coming out of law school, she’d been on the winning team in Moot Court competition all three years, and was eagerly looking forward to honing her litigation skills during a Marine Corps Law Center tour, the typical first assignment for a Marine judge advocate. To her consternation, she’d received sealed orders hand delivered by the OIC of the I&I unit to which she was assigned for admin purposes, to report to USMC HQ the day after she took the Bar exam. Worse, upon arrival she’d been told she was going overseas to utilize her language skills and combat training in black ops. At least she’d been able to negotiate her follow-on: the best trial advocacy training course available, and assignment to one of the Corps’ major law centers as either trial or defense counsel. That year – eventually stretching to nearly 20 months from start to finish – was now buried deep in a closed compartment in her mind, the door slammed firmly shut, hopefully never to spring open. The nightmares came less often now, and sometimes she even managed four hours sleep before she woke. The unexpected reward – besides the medal with its classified commendation presented in private, that she wasn’t allowed to wear, had been her below zone selection for 0-4.

“No.”

“Did you deliberately leave it out because you’d told LCDR Rabb it was the murder weapon and his fingerprints were on it?” Mac didn’t care whether he answered yes or no – the implication was there. Best of all, this was part of the government’s case.

As she’d expected, Turkay looked appealingly at government counsel, who just stared at him, then muttered “no.” He didn’t sound very convincing.

Again, Mac moved in for the kill. “Were you told to leave it out?”

“No.” Krennick had instructed Turkay, and rehearsed him, to give up as little as possible and not volunteer anything.

“Why isn’t it in your report?” Mac’s voice could have cut ice.

“I forgot.” Turkay looked wildly at Krennick as the courtroom tittered.

“You forgot?” Mac repeated skeptically. “Has NCIS’ lab estimated how long the gun had been in the water?”

“Uh-h-h…3 years.” Turkay was sullen; he knew his case was disintegrating. How had MacKenzie found out?

“And whose weapon was it?” Mac was deceptively calm and CDR Krennick tried again.

“Objection…she’s far outside the scope.”

CAPT Sebring hadn’t spent 3 years on the bench after years as a litigator for nothing. This case was starting to smell like the fish he’d privately hoped it was. “Sit.” He tersely motioned Krennick down.

“A Sailor’s.” Agent Turkay was clearly hostile, not volunteering anything.

“A Sailor named….?” Mac was starting to enjoy herself immensely; she just loved it when she could make her case on cross-examination.

“Brant. Petty Officer Brant.” Turkay was as surly as he thought he could get away with.

Mac pounced. “As in Petty officer 3rd Class Joseph Brant, the rover on the pier who surprised two sailors snorting coke behind a piling on March 14th, 1993 and whose weapon, in the ensuing struggle, went overboard, not recovered?”

Turkay was silent. “Answer the question,” Mac demanded.

“How d’ya know?? Who leaked it?? She --“ pointing to CDR Krennick – “told me this wasn’t part of the case at the 32 – that it wouldn’t come out!” At this point, Turkay was practically screaming.

The courtroom was in pandemonium as the implications of what Turkay had said sunk in.

“Order! Be silent!!” CAPT Sebring ferociously banged the gavel – his farewell gift from his former colleagues at NLSO Norfolk as he’d left for Military Judge’s School three years before. As the din subsided, he threatened, “be quiet or I’ll clear the courtroom.” The presence of two Flags and a General officer in the room didn’t bother him – this wasn’t his first high-profile case and it wouldn’t be his last.

“Approach!” Krennick and the assembled multitude who knew him had never seen Judge Sebring so furious; Mac had never been before him but figured she wasn’t the object of his wrath. She was just defending her client, fulfilling her assigned duty – and having the time of her life.

“Not you – you’re the accused today – sit down!” she hissed at Harm as he started to come around the table to go with her to the bench for the sidebar.

Dropping back into his seat, Harm rubbed his neck. If he wasn’t the accused, he’d be loving this exhibition of lawyering – even better – the ‘outlawyering’ of Allison Krennick by this Marine judge advocate, even if she was Diane’s ghost!

Before the bench, Mac and Krennick stood at attention, as the spectators strained to hear the Investigating Officer.

“Are you a law school graduate?” Sebring was truly outraged.

“Yes sir.” Allison tried to speak confidently.

“Admitted to the bar in what State?” Now a hiss of a whisper.

“New York, Your Honor.”

“A graduate of Naval Justice School?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Does the word “discovery” mean something to you besides a TV channel? …The Jencks Act? The rules pertaining to discovery of exculpatory evidence? The Rules of Professional Conduct?…Never mind.” Sebring stared hard at the blond haired commander. “After this 32 is over, I will decide whether to request an investigation to determine whether you should be charged, forward a report to the JAG Ethics Counsel, report the matter to the New York Bar, or some combination of all of that. Do you understand?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Allison Krennick made a split second decision to try to brazen it out.

“I’d think before speaking, Commander. We will recess for 1 hour. You will ensure you have turned over every NCIS report, every witness statement, every ballistics report, every fingerprint report, every everything the defense is entitled to, to Major MacKenzie. Do you understand?”

Krennick’s voice was sulky. “She seems to have it already.”

“Be careful; you are courting contempt, Commander.” Motioning them back to their seats, the IO took a moment to calm himself by making a few unnecessary notes.

“Further cross-examination at this time, Major?” Judge Sebring couldn’t see why she’d bother, he was already mentally writing his report and recommendation to the Convening Authority.

“Just a few more questions at this time, Your Honor, but I reserve the right to further cross-examine after I review the government’s additional documents.” Mac smiled sweetly; she could afford to now.

“Special Agent Turkay, was the weapon recovered from the bay test-fired?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Again, Mac feigned surprise.

“It wouldn’t fire – everything was too corroded.” The NCIS agent knew his case was totally kaput – he just wanted to be off the stand and out of the courtroom.

The assembled multitude tittered as Mac asked, “Were the accused’s fingerprints on the gun?”

“No.”

“Isn’t it true that you told him his prints were on the gun?” Mac was playing to the media and spectators now.

“Yeah.”

“Nothing further at this time.” Mac carefully affected a cool tone as she turned to CAPT Sebring.

The IO glared at the witness. “Special Agent Turkay, you are ordered not to leave the building. You will return to this courtroom in one hour, at 1300 – one o’clock. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Turkay muttered, ready to bolt.

“What did you say??” Judge Sebring had about had it with this insolent “turkey” of an NCIS Agent.

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well; this investigation is in recess for one hour. I will see counsel in chambers in 50 minutes.” The gavel banged sharply in the now silent room.

*****************

Tuesday, 11 June 1996/1300 (1 pm)

The courtroom was standing room only.

“All rise.” The bailiff, a young legalman with aspirations of an eventual commission in the JAG Corps, was grinning broadly. The rumor that the IO would announce his recommendation from the bench had spread rapidly through the building.

Owen Sebring had just gotten off the phone with the Convening Authority’s Staff Judge Advocate. He’d had a few choice words for the lieutenant commander about “rushing to judgment” and “half-assed investigations.” CDR Krennick, he’d handle separately.

“LCDR Rabb.” Harm and the Major scrambled to stand at attention. “I have advised the Convening Authority of my findings and recommendation. There is not one scintilla of evidence that you shot and killed LT Diane Schonke. To the contrary, LT Schonke may well have spoken to us from her grave, pointing a finger at her killer in the letter you received Saturday, that was received in evidence this morning. I have recommended that the charges be dismissed.”

“I have also recommended that the Convening Authority request that the Army’s CID or the Air Force’s OSI reopen the investigation and complete it properly.”

************

As well-wishers crowded around Harm, Mac slipped by him, murmuring, “best of luck, Commander.”

“Major – Mac – wait….” She was gone. He couldn’t blame her. It’d be a long time before he’d forget the two identical faces staring at him – the one in the photo – the other holding it.

“Harm!” Jack Keeter pushed through the crowd of judge advocates and reporters clamoring at Harm. “I was OUTUS - saw a blurb in the International Herald Tribune – got leave and caught a hop. I’m sorry man…so sorry…” As men do, the two hugged awkwardly.

“Does Sturg know?”

“I called Chaplain Turner – he’s on patrol. His last. He finally got an alternate’s slot for the funded Law Education Program – he starts law school in September.” Harm was glad for his friend, who’d been applying for one of the coveted slots for several years.

“We’re supposed to die in combat … or when we’re old….not be murdered,” Keeter choked. “Now we’re the three mouseketeers.” From his wallet, Keeter held out his favorite picture of the four of them taken at Disneyland while visiting Harm’s folks. The four of them – all wearing mouse ears – were laughing and clowning for the camera, hugging Mickey and Minnie.

Epilogue to follow.


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