Interrogation
The remainder of the journey took place in comparative silence and without further incident. They arrived at the entrance to Camp Pendleton and waited patiently whilst Sam vacated the driver's seat to exchange pleasantries and paperwork with the duty sergeant. After several long minutes, the final leg of their journey saw the van drive along a stretch of beautiful untouched California coastline. Camp Pendleton covered a vast one hundred and twenty five acres of land, seventeen miles of which was coast. Only a small portion of this was used by the Military to practice amphibious attack exercises and large sections were enjoyed by the Marines and other military personnel during their downtime. The unadulterated coast made for perfect surfing conditions and was also a haven for wildlife. Fantastic views of the Pacific would have made this a realtors dream; however it was highly unlikely the Government would sell off this prime location. Soon Sam turned inland and was driving through the lush hills and plains, where he spotted bison roaming free. He thought how he would love the opportunity to drive his children through this rich landscape.
It was a little after lunchtime when they eventually arrived at Area 24. Kensi had struggled to keep her focus on the prisoners, and Callen and Miller had struggled to stay awake. With no windows and no conversation there was little stimulation and the warm air circulating in the van had not helped any of them. The van drew to a halt and Sam wound down the window to exchange a few more brief words and paperwork with the tall man guarding the gateway to the Brig compound. The thick steel gate opened quietly and the van crept forward to the designated parking bay where he parked up and jumped out.
He opened the van's rear doors and all three occupants jerked their heads expectantly in his direction.
"Sorry to wake you ladies up," he said addressing the two men who were looking at him with heavy eyes. "Time to move."
Kensi manoeuvred Miller out the van and Sam had Callen, who grimaced as he stepped from the van to the asphalt.
"As soon as you two are processed, you're both being checked over by the medics before being taken to your cells." Sam firmly prodded the two handcuffed men through the doors towards the holding area where they sat down to await military processing.
Another forty minutes later and with handcuffs now removed, both men were now attired in blue jumpsuits to indicate they were pre-trial prisoners. They were shown around the facilities; work areas, kitchen, dining area, exercise yard, gym and common areas with TVs, before being herded down a bright clean corridor towards the medic bays. The main room was similar to a hospital ward, with three beds each on opposite walls which could be separated by pulled curtains. Two smaller examination rooms were further down the corridor. Several nurses were busy in the ward when Sam and Kensi escorted the prisoners in, and both were led to beds on opposite sides with the curtains pulled round to offer a modicum of privacy.
A senior nurse checked Miller's fitness to be interviewed after his concussion and Callen chuckled when he heard Miller state that he had run into a car door next to a DEA officer. Just at that moment a Doctor entered the cubicle shuffling papers on a clipboard. With practiced efficiency, the doctor asked the standard questions to establish identity before requesting information on Callen's injuries. Callen responded in parrot fashion to confirm that he had ran into a car bumper driven by a DEA Officer, and later had ran into his fist. A stifled snort resonated from Miller and the doctor raised his eyebrows, ordering Callen to remove his top. Callen unbutton and shrugged himself out of the top half of his jumpsuit revealing some rather nasty deep red and purple bruising to his left rib cage.
Sam shook his head and caught Callen's eye before the undercover agent focused on the doctor's examination. Various prodding and controlled breathing confirmed that no ribs were broken and that the bruising would start to fade in about five days.
As Callen re-dressed himself carefully, the doctor asked Callen when he believed he obtained the injuries to his ribs.
"Yesterday morning, when I was hit by the bull bar of the SUV and then tackled to the ground."
"Hhhmm," was the considered response. "Judging by the colour and shape of the bruising, I would say you didn't sustain this injury from being hit by a car. This is more consistent with being hit repeatedly by a fist, no more than six hours ago."
The Doctor turned towards Sam and asked him to leave the ward. The doctor followed Sam to the corridor and showed him to a seat a good ten meters away, before returning to his patient.
"Is there something you wish to tell me?" The doctor asked Callen, who simply shook his head and remained silent, "There have been instances, albeit rare ones, whereby Military Police chasers have become rather 'heavy handed' shall we say."
Callen sat ram-rod straight and stared directly ahead of him, avoiding the gaze of the well meaning medic.
"You have already admitted an altercation during your arrest yesterday, but the bruising to your ribs clearly happened this morning..."
Callen changed his focus to the doctor and studied him intently. He could see the man meant well and was clearly dedicated to his profession. Maybe a bit too dedicated and keen to allow Callen to point the finger at Sam, under the guise of an MP.
"I ran into a car and was then tackled to the ground by a DEA officer," he recited the same story from a few minutes earlier in a monotone voice and a hard, uncompromising stare.
From past professional and personal experience he knew the doctor would not push him any further. They never did. Callen was right and after a stubborn silence on both parts, the doctor dragged open the curtains and gave Callen some parting advise to take it easy for the next few days to allow the bruising to heal.
Kensi had already escorted Miller towards the cells, and Sam was finally alone with Callen.
"So what's this all about?" Sam hissed as the two walked further into the Brig.
"Well I've gotten Miller on side so all we need now is time to sit down and talk further. Guess we're in the same cell?"
"That's not what I meant and you know it." Sam tried to keep the smile from his face. "Have you accused me of punching you in the ribs?"
Callen stopped mid corridor and faced Sam. "As I told the doc, I was hit by a car and then tackled to the ground. Just took a while for the bruises to come out."
"Get moving." Sam muttered in dispair. "And that's bull and we both know it."
"Fine," Callen gestured with his arms as they moved through sets of internally locked gates before reaching a two man cell. Miller was already sitting on the right bunk reading some papers.
"This is you, Reed." Sam waited outside the cell as Callen moved in. "You'll be sharing with Miller while you both wait for your hearings."
"Cosy," Callen remarked as Sam walked back down the corridor. The cell was of a reasonable size and the door was left open. They were in a minimum security wing as although Miller and Callen's undercover persona of Reed, both posed a flight risk, they were of no threat to anyone and their crimes related to unauthorised absences.
Callen eased himself down on the vacant bunk, grimacing slightly as the movement cause him discomfort.
Miller glanced up and asked, "Did Nicholls really attack you this morning or was that just a line to try to hook in that hot MP chick?"
"Nah, he waited until I was reaching for the breakfast tray, then punched me in the side and kicked me when I was doubled over." Callen stated all of this in a matter of fact manner. "Should've seen it coming..."
"At least my concussion was an accident. Nicholls really has it in for you." Miller slowed the last sentence as he pondered what that meant. "You met him before?"
"Never," Callen lied glibly. "But I've known people like him all my life. Think just because they're law enforcement they're better than you and can treat you like shit. I thought being in the military would have changed all that...should've known better, especially by now."
"Yeah well may be he would have more respect for you if you weren't a deserter." All trace of the earlier frightened marine had now disappeared as Miller goaded Callen.
"You don't know what I'm here for so don't judge me." Callen turned on Miller just as quickly as he had.
"So what are you in for?" Miller asked accusingly.
"Deserting," answered Callen with a wry smile, breaking the tension that had very quickly developed. "Several times..."
He was rewarded with a chuckle from Miller. "You are strange Mitch. But I think I'd like you on my side..."
Callen was intrigued by Miller. Within the space of twenty-four hours he had seen Miller sick with concussion, friendly, frightened and now he was full of it. He was still an easy read however; he wanted to be seen as tough but craved friendship. His weakness of character had been evident through with the vehicle transfer episode, and that was what Callen needed to explore and exploit.
"What about you then? What did you..."Callen was interrupted with the arrival of a prison guard who entered the cell and stood in front of Miller.
"Miller – follow me." The barked commands saw Miller reluctantly stand, and shrugging his shoulders he followed the guard down the corridor in silence.
They walked through the communal games area, along another whitewashed corridor and through two sets of locked doors before arriving at an interview room. The guard rapped his knuckles on the door and opened it smartly upon hearing the command to enter. The guard motioned Miller to move ahead of him into the large plain room.
In the centre was a plain table with one vacant chair to the left. Occupying the two chairs opposite were Sam and Kensi as Major Williams and Lieutenant Alva. Miller moved towards the empty chair, pulled it free from the table and sat down. He placed his hands together on the table in front of him, lightly tapping his fingertips together as he waited for someone to speak.
"Private Cody Miller," began Kensi as she flicked through the Marine's file in front of her. "Do you know why you're here?"
"For unauthorised absence." Miller spoke calmly.
"Any other reason?" Kensi asked.
"Not that I know of," Miller could not think of another crime he had committed.
"You are here, in this facility, for the military crime of unauthorised absence," stated Sam. "You are here in this room, to be interviewed about the murder of Private Tommy Edwards"
The words hung in the air as Miller's head spun in an attempt to interpret the words he had just heard.
"Where were you when Edwards was killed?" Sam fired the question to Miller and was met with silence.
"Who else was you with?" More silence followed and Miller studied the palms of his hands to avoid eye contact with the two undercover NCIS agents.
Kensi flicked through a plain file and selected four A4 sized photographs and slowly laid each of them in front of Miller. They were crime scene photos from Edwards' murder in Tijuana, taken by the local police and the DEA. The first one was a landscape shot of the road with the ditch running along the background. In the middle was a body with a small patch of blood surrounding the head. The second landscape photo was a closer shot of the body laying face down in the dirt. His clothes were dusty and a red patch of matted hair was clearly visible. Kensi glanced at Miller who had visibly paled. Still without commenting, she laid out the third photo which was a close up of Edwards' head. The bullet hole was clearly visible, the hair matted with sticky dark blood which had pooled on the ground. The last photo was of a non-descript plain black rucksack sitting in a ditch.
Both Sam and Kensi waited patiently for Miller to start talking. It was human nature to want to converse and explain, especially when confronted with potentially incriminating photos. Miller was clearly frightened; his foot was now lightly tapping on the floor beneath the table and his hands were now clenched together in his lap. His eyes danced skittishly between Sam, Kensi and over the photos on the table. Both agents resisted the urge to prompt Miller into speaking and within a minute they were somewhat rewarded for their patience.
"I wasn't there when Tommy was shot. I was um," he looked up at Kensi apologetically. "I was relieving myself in the field beyond the ditch when I heard tires squealing, a single gunshot and car doors slamming." After a hesitant start he had blurted out the truth and now slumped in his chair, relieved at unburdening his secret.
"And what did you do?" Sam asked.
"When I heard the gunshot I went to ground." Miller admitted guiltily.
"Didn't you try to help your best friend?"
"It was over in seconds. I had no weapon and by the time I crawled to the ditch I could only see a car driving off."
"What colour?"
"Black," was the immediate reply.
"Make, model, plates?"
"No plates, black Mercedes...drove south."
Sam noted down these details. With no other witnesses, no traffic cameras and no leads the car would prove to be of little use. Forensic evidence and ballistics had already confirmed the weapon was the same that had been used in at least another half a dozen unsolved executions in Tijuana and the surrounding area. One had even taken place on US soil, in San Diego.
"Why was Edwards killed?"
"I don't know," Miller shook his head.
"Who would want him dead?"
"I don't know,"
"Why was he executed by the leader of the Tijuana drug cartel?" Sam changed the adjectives used and dangled additional, albeit unconfirmed information, in front of Miller.
Miller glanced up sharply at Sam, who prodded his index finger at the close up photo of Edwards head.
"Your best friend was executed with a single shot to the back of his head, while you were taking a leak. Ballistics confirm the same weapon has been used in at least 7 other shootings in Mexico and the US, all linked to Carlos Martinez. Both you and Edwards recently tested positive for cocaine and were involved with the cartel as teenagers. You know why Edwards was shot and you can help bring those killers to justice. What happened?" Sam appealed to Miller's guilt at not being with his friend when he needed him, and to his conscience to do the right thing.
Miller's fear of Martinez, the cartel and the repercussions of speaking far outweighed his need to avenge his best friend through justice. Self preservation instincts had kicked in the second he heard the single gunshot, and he had already convinced himself he was a dead man walking. Miller merely shook his head at Sam and reverted to silence. Despite another barrage of questions, Miller refused to utter another word and he was soon escorted back to his cell. As Sam and Kensi reviewed what little they had learned, they hoped that Callen would have better luck in getting Miller to talk.