The Final Line (8 page)

Corey glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to find Sean glancing around curiously. He was most likely cataloging the experience so he could reference it later on for a role he might someday play. Corey knew Sean was affected by the sterility of the jail when he ran up and down his own arm briskly, as if trying to build up any heat possible to ward off the undeniable chill. The slight wrinkle in his ski-jump nose spoke volumes on Sean’s opinion of the smell.

Their footsteps echoed off the hard, bare walls. For safety and security, all the doors were locked. Since it was Saturday night, none of the civilian staff would be working. The Corrections Deputies were all inside the secure portion of the jail, watching over the prisoners. The chaotic ruckus of the population was nearly as loud as their footfalls. Corey was glad they wouldn’t have to enter any further into the facility than prisoner intake.

When they reached the chest-height counter top, Sean handed over his California driver’s license and Corey produced his military ID card. The deputy behind the secure plexi-glass wore a brass nameplate that said his name was Daniels. This deputy ran quick checks on each of them for wants, warrants, and criminal histories. He declared them clean and handed back their IDs.

As Pierce led them deeper into the jail, the lighting dimmed dramatically to a level that made Corey think of emergency lighting. He realized the brightest source was the ambient glare of multiple computer monitors.

They reached a blue door with a wide, inset window. Deputy Pierce signaled to someone on the other side and Corey heard the whirring and clicks of an electronic lock disengaging. He looked at Sean and found him watching the process with open interest. When he noticed Corey watching him, Sean gave him a small, encouraging smile.

Deputy Pierce held the door open and as they passed through into the sallyport, he said, “Mr. Chandler, we can’t let you talk to the prisoner. You’ll have to wait in Sergeant Lopez’ office.”

“That’s fine,” Sean said emphatically. “I don’t even know the guy. I just gave a friend a ride.”

Prisoner intake wasn’t what Corey had expected. Movies, television, and past experience had prepared him for large holding cells of metal bars. Instead, he was surprised to find the walls lined with small cells made of ballistic plastic. Each cell had a single bench and a commode.

Corey spotted Nygaard immediately. He was in the nearest holding cell, seated on the bench and slouched back against the wall. Nygaard was wearing a white skivvy shirt and pale blue scrub pants. It looked like there were thin, white slippers on his feet.

“They took his clothes as evidence,” Pierce said when he noticed Corey looking.

Nygaard spotted him right then, his expression changing to hopeful and pleading. He stood and pressed his palms to the clear containment wall. Corey gritted his teeth and looked away.

Sergeant Manny Lopez was a tall, paunchy man in his early 40s. His grip was firm when they shook hands and Corey introduced Sean. He offered both Sean and Corey seats in his office.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Corey asked.

“I can tell you what the detectives told me and what the arrest reports say,” Lopez answered. “The suspect was at home with his girlfriend of three months, Maritza Arroyo, and her younger sister, Luisa. He’d been drinking steadily since late morning. As tends to happen, the drunker he got, the more belligerent he became.”

That was part of the reason Corey preferred to drink alone. He hadn’t been an angry or hostile drunk before deployment but he wasn’t quite as sure about things now as he used to be.

Sergeant Lopez continued, “The victim’s sister says the suspect kept starting arguments with the two of them. He deliberately provoked them and reacted physically to their angry reactions. The suspect ended up in a bedroom, lying on a bed and continuing to drink directly from a bottle.”

Jesus. How many times had Corey done that very thing? The difference was, he made sure he was alone. He swallowed hard and didn’t dare look at Sean.

“The victim allegedly entered the bedroom to take away the alcohol and to try to convince the suspect to sober up, or at least go to sleep.” Lopez referred to a large stack of papers on his desk. “The witness statement says the suspect exploded into a violent rage and began hitting the victim. Her sister tried to intervene, at which point the suspect physically picked her up and forcibly removed her from the apartment. He locked her out, so she began to shout loudly and pound on the door. Minutes later she heard her sister screaming for her life inside the apartment.”

“Oh God,” Sean whispered.

Corey’s heart stopped when he looked over at Sean. Expression pained, Sean appeared to have tears in his eyes. The realization that Sean was a civilian slammed into Corey with hurricane force. He wasn’t accustomed to blood and violence like Corey and Sergeant Lopez were.

It took all of Corey’s Marine discipline not to reach out and touch Sean. He wanted to put an arm around him in comfort. He’d settle for just taking his hand but he didn’t dare do it in the middle of a county jail.

Sergeant Lopez also noticed Sean’s distress. He set aside the papers he’d been reading. “The victim’s sister found a neighbor to call nine-one-one. The deputies arrived, made entry and found the suspect cradling the victim’s lifeless body, both of them covered in her blood.”

Sean made a pained sound and ran a hand over his forehead in agitation.

“What has he said about why he did it?” Corey asked, struggling to wrap his mind around the facts.

“He hasn’t said much. He was hostile and combative with the deputies.” The sergeant leaned back in his chair. “He claims he doesn’t remember anything, which means he probably had a PTS flashback, caused by whatever it was happened to the two of you in Afghanistan. That could mean he can’t be held legally responsible.”

Corey’s heart raced and he sucked a harsh breath in through his clenched teeth. He couldn’t remember anything happening that would cause the kind of trauma that would make a good man beat a woman to death and not remember. His disgust for Nygaard made him nauseous.

“I don’t know what he means,” Corey said sharply. “Maybe if I talk to him he’ll get specific.”

Lopez’ voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “Ordinarily, there’d be no chance, it would be too dangerous. In your case, Staff Sergeant, I have no doubt you can take care of yourself,” he said with a knowing smirk.

Sergeant Lopez called out to the deputies staffing the security pod in Prisoner Intake. The raised platform sported video monitors, alarms, and electronic door controls. One of the deputies came down the short set of stairs and led Corey across the long expanse of concrete floor toward Nygaard’s cell.

Corey glanced around at things he hadn’t noticed before, like the larger holding cell that held multiple prisoners, many of whom were asleep on benches and the hard floor.

The deputy ordered Nygaard to sit on the bench at the back of the small enclosure. When Nygaard had complied, the deputy signaled the pod to unlock the cell door.

“No physical contact,” he said. “If either of you breaks that rule, if either of you raises your voice, we’re opening the door and pulling you out.”

“Copy that.” Corey didn’t take offense. He recognized the desire deep inside himself to put a fist into Nygaard’s face.

Gears whirred and Corey heard a loud clack. The deputy slid the clear door open and gestured him inside.

“One more thing,” said the deputy, “the cell is mic’d. There is no expectation of privacy. For either of you.”

“None is needed,” Corey replied in a low tone as he stepped into the cell.

As the door clanged shut loudly behind him, Corey braced his hands on his hips and looked down at Nygaard. He looked like shit. He looked like he’d been through a firefight. Nygaard had a black eye forming. There were scratches along both cheeks and on his throat. His hands were bloodied and bruised, his knuckles raw and swollen.

Corey’s lip curled in disgust. These wounds had not been sustained in combat. They’d been sustained while beating an innocent woman to death. Michael Nygaard was a big, strong, lethally trained Marine and he’d used it all against a weaker opponent.

“What the fuck did you do?” Corey heard himself ask in a voice laden heavily with loathing.

“I don’t know, man,” Nygaard replied pathetically. “I don’t know how it happened.”

“I didn’t come here to listen to your fucking excuses,” he snapped, voice rising. “Why the fuck did you have them call me instead of your platoon sergeant?”

“You know what we went through.” Nygaard’s leg bounced in agitation. “You know what they did to us and what we had to do.”

Corey’s heart thundered. He breathed through his mouth as a buzzing started in his ears and he grew lightheaded. He squeezed his fingertips hard into his hipbones through his jeans. Nothing Corey had ever been through made him capable of using his hands on someone he cared about, in any way other than to bring him pleasure. “I don’t know shit about what made you do something like this. You’re a goddamn United States Marine, Nygaard. Stop making excuses for yourself and man the fuck up.”

Nygaard’s knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the bench. “Come on, Corey, you know how the women get over there. They get up in our grills and screech at us like they’re losing their minds.”

“Staff Sergeant Yarwood,” Corey corrected Nygaard. This was an official meeting. They weren’t friends and Corey wasn’t going to allow informality between them. “Christ,” he spat with revulsion, “they’re never a threat to us. We’re fucking Marines. If you can’t give me a real reason why you had them call me, I’m fucking out of here.”

“You know what they did to us that day,” Nygaard blurted angrily, his face ruddy and spittle landing on his lower lip. “You know what they made us do to them.”

Corey swallowed against a suddenly tight throat. Nothing happened that day that could justify Nygaard’s actions. He started pacing the very short length of the cell. Corey changed tactics, hoping to shut Nygaard down so he could take Sean and just get the fuck out of here. “How does anything that happened over there justify what you just did to an innocent civilian?”

“I didn’t know who she was.” Nygaard’s eyes were wild. “I didn’t know where I was. I woke up with her in my arms, covered in blood, and all I could think about was that poor man we put on the hood of the Humvee.”

Corey came to an abrupt halt, heart in his throat. A chill swept through him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Anyone they transported in that manner wasn’t deserving of a Marine’s pity.

“She was so bloody. I couldn’t recognize her.” Nygaard stared at his own trembling hands as if he was seeing them for the first time. “The only thing I could think about was that day.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Corey knew his voice was raised. “I’m fucking out of here.”

“This is your fucking fault!” Nygaard shouted, coming up off the bench. “I was following
your
orders!”

Corey turned back, arms tense at his side and he prepared to take on the threat. There was movement outside of the cell and Corey assumed it was the deputies preparing to intervene.

“I didn’t order you to murder your girlfriend with your bare hands!” Corey yelled, pointing a single finger at Nygaard for emphasis.

“You ordered me into that house. You ordered me to handle it!” Nygaard stepped forward and wrapped his fist in Corey’s shirt.

Corey dealt with the threat in front of him. He twisted Nygaard’s wrist and freed his shirt. Cory wrapped his free hand around Nygaard’s throat and used it to pin him to the clear wall of the cell.

The cell door slid open and there were many sets of hands on him. They pulled and tugged at his arms and shoulders. Corey released Nygaard and allowed himself to be dragged from the cell.

Several deputies led him back to Sergeant Lopez’ office. Lopez came out and looked him over. “You okay, Staff Sergeant?”

Behind him, Sean watched Corey with a mixture of concern and wariness. Corey’s heart sank. He’d forgotten Sean was here. He hadn’t wanted him to witness this ugly side of Corey.

“I’m fine,” Corey replied contritely. “I’m sorry about that. I know I wasn’t supposed to touch him.” It was like he’d been in combat. His heart raced and he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. Everything was brighter, clearer, and louder. Corey clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to ease the feeling they were being stabbed by a thousand pins and needles.

Lopez shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for. A murder suspect physically assaulted you and you defended yourself until we could extract you.”

Corey snorted at the collusion. “I don’t think I was any help. He’s not making any sense. If he says PTS made him do it, I suppose it could be true. I think I know what event he’s talking about, but nothing happened that comes close to justifying what he did.”

“At least you tried,” the Sergeant replied. “I’ll have someone escort you out.” He shook both of their hands as Deputy Pierce led Corey and Sean to the exit.

They crossed the parking lot to Sean’s SUV. Corey wanted to kick his own ass. What had he been thinking, taking Sean into a jail? Sean was too fresh and clean to become sullied by this kind of reality.

Sean stopped walking abruptly and stepped into Corey’s path. “Did you get hurt, or anything?” He asked quietly, opening Corey’s shirt and peering at his chest.

Corey’s skin tingled and he resisted the temptation to lean in to Sean’s touch. “I’m fine. He didn’t do any damage.”

“Well, he tore up your shirt a little,” Sean said.

Corey tried to straighten his stretched shirt. He’d lost a couple of buttons so it hung open down past his sternum. “I’m sorry about that.” He muttered apologetically. “I should have had you wait in the car.”

“What am I, a fucking child?” Sean demanded angrily. “I know what kind of shit goes on in the world. Now let’s get you home. You look tired.”

Corey nodded his agreement, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion.

As Sean drove, Corey slumped in his seat and rested his temple against the window. It was blessedly silent for an extended period before Sean’s soft voice gently broke into Corey’s raging thoughts.