The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) by Sheehan-Miles, Charles (ebook reader online free .txt) 📗

needed some, then I sat in the easy chair across from the couch where Smalls sat down. Coombs stood near the bookcase, looking at our family pictures.

Smalls looked up at Coombs, then back to me. “I want to start by telling you, this is a preliminary investigation. Your report got into the right hands. I’d like to thank you for sending it.”

I didn’t really know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything.

“We’ve got some initial questions for you, Sergeant.”

“I’m listening,” I replied. “But it’s not Sergeant any more, just Ray, or Sherman, if you’d prefer.”

“As I understand it you have five more years to your reserve commitment, Sergeant. Just to be clear on your situation.”

Jesus. She’d just put me in my place. I said, “Inactive reserve, but yes. Major.”

“Good. I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding.”

“Are you suggesting that I might get called up?”

“I’m not suggesting anything yet, Sergeant. But I’d recommend you be as cooperative as possible for this investigation.”

I snorted. “Of course I’ll be cooperative. I reported what happened, didn’t I?”

At that Coombs turned toward me and spoke, his tone harsh, “You reported it months after the fact. By mail.”

I looked at his smug face. I couldn’t say anything to defend against that, because it was true.

“By the way,” Smalls said, “where did you go last night? Your flight got in yesterday afternoon.”

“I stayed with a friend in the city.”

“Dylan Paris,” she said. “He was a member of your platoon.”

I felt a flush of irritation. “If you knew that, why did you ask?”

“To find out if you would tell me the truth,” she replied.

I raised my eyebrows. “Let me be clear. I’ll cooperate with your investigation. I’ll tell the truth. I’ll testify if you need it. I won’t be happy about any of those things, but I’ll do it. So you can stop the bullshit now.”

She just ignored what I said. “How much does PFC Paris know about what happened? I understand he was evacuated from the theater before the incident in question.”

“He only knows what I’ve told him. We discussed it last night.”

“What about his girlfriend?” She consulted her notes. “Ms. Thompson. Does she know about it?”

I raised my eyebrows. They’d been doing their homework. “No, she doesn’t.”

“What about her sister, Carrie Thompson?”

I sighed. “We’ve not discussed it in detail. But yes ... she knows something happened, and that I reported it.”

“Are you and Carrie serious?”

“I don’t see how that falls in the scope of your investigation.”

“We haven’t yet established the scope of our investigation. Right now I need information of all kinds. And given that your girlfriend’s father is a former diplomat, with a high level clearance, we need to know what the involvement of his family is.”

I sighed. Crap. This is what I signed up for, I guess. But I never planned to get Carrie involved in it. “I’m getting some coffee. And yes, we’re serious.”

I stood and walked into the kitchen. I needed a minute to breathe, and think. I hadn’t really pictured this ... having the CID and FBI in my parents’ home asking questions. I hadn’t really thought anything through, had I? I took out a coffee mug and poured, then nearly jumped out of my skin when I caught a glance of Coombs leaning against the doorway behind me.

“You want a cup?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Black.”

So I poured another mug, and passed it to him, then returned to the living room.

“Better?” Major Smalls asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Why don’t we start at the beginning then. If you don’t mind, I’m going to record this.”

I nodded. She took out a pocket recorder and set it on the table, then pressed record. She held up a finger, telling me to wait. “This is Major Janice Smalls, United States Army Criminal Investigative Division. With me is Jared Coombs, Federal Bureau of Investigation. We’re conducting an interview with Sergeant Raymond Sherman at his parents’ home in Glen Cove, New York. Sergeant Sherman, will you identify yourself, your grade and your organization for the record.”

I coughed then spoke. “Raymond C. Sherman. Sergeant E-5. United States Army inactive reserve.”

“Sergeant Sherman, do I have your permission to record this session?”

“Yes.”

“Sergeant Sherman, on November 15, a package was received at the Office of the Inspector General of the United States Army with a return address in Glen Cove, New York. I don’t have a copy of it in front of you to identify for legal purposes, but did you mail such a package?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Can you tell me what it contained?”

“A letter. And a thumb drive.”

“I see. And what did the thumb drive contain?”

“Photographs. Of ... of a dead boy. Documents. Emails.”

“Sergeant Sherman ... can you tell me, for the record and in your own words, exactly what the report was about?”

I looked up and met Major Smalls’ eyes. I didn’t know if I could trust her. I didn’t know where this was going to lead. But I knew it was time to talk.

Good one, man (Ray)

“Kowalski, what’s up with the ribbon?” Roberts grinned when he asked the question.

Kowalski grimaced, and his face contorted into a vicious look, the kind that made me want to cover my nads and make sure I was wearing body armor. He stood up, his bulk seeming to fill the room, and said, “Don’t fuck with me, Roberts.”

The effect was spoiled, just a little, because Kowalski had a pink ribbon with small white hearts tied in a bow on his web gear. I had to admit, it was a little odd.

Roberts spread his arms wide. “Just curious, man.”

“My daughter asked me to wear it. So I’m wearing it. And if you say shit, I’ll pound you into the dust. Just so we’re clear.”

Roberts nodded. “Whatever works for you. I get it.”

Jesus, whatever. After five months out in the boonies, all of us had picked up some weird habits.

“All right guys, get it together, we’ve got three minutes to be out there. Dylan, say goodbye to your sweetheart, you