One Less - Part 42
by joykatleen
Ramey was standing in the corner under the security camera when Gibbs walked into observation. The sailor had his back pressed into the corner, his feet shoulder width apart, his hands at his side. He was staring at his reflection in the one-way glass. Gibbs stood silent and watched him for several minutes. Ramey didn't move except to blink. His face showed concentration. Gibbs wondered what he was seeing.
Without a word to the recording tech, Gibbs went to interrogation. Ramey didn't move or even turn to look. Gibbs sat in the chair, laying the crutches on the ground next to him out of the way.
"Have a seat," Gibbs said. Ramey pushed off the corner and moved smartly to the chair. He sat, folded his hands in his lap, and looked at Gibbs.
"I read through the mission logs," Gibbs said. Ramey nodded, but said nothing.
"There's a few questions I need answered."
"I'll do my best," Ramey said. His voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat.
"I didn't see your name in the logs," Gibbs said.
"I was the 'Watcher' for the last three years before I got away."
Got away. Huh. "And what exactly did you do in that role?"
"I told you. Mostly I kept the books," Ramey said.
Gibbs heard the 'mostly' qualifier. "Explain."
"I sat in on the pre-mission briefings, took notes for the log, received the pictures and video, formatted it all into the book."
"The PowerPoint?" Gibbs asked.
"Yes," Ramey said.
"Everything else on the drive was the raw information you were using to build the book."
"Yes," Ramey said again.
"Did you go out yourself? Operate the camera?"
"Twice," Ramey said. "Lt. j.g. Brisbin, and Master Chief Goetz."
The last two attacks before he left the Roosevelt. "What about the other victims? Who did the filming for those?"
"Three junior sailors. I can give you their names."
Gibbs took them down. Two had been involved in another attack, one was new.
"What else did you do?"
"I ran the mission briefings, made sure everyone knew the when and where, made sure there was someone to run the camera, provided cover as necessary."
"Did you choose the victims?"
"No. I had nothing to do with that part of it."
"How were the victims chosen?"
"The way I understood it, anyone they found out was gay went on the target list. Then individuals were selected from the list to be removed."
"Who selected the individuals?"
"I don't know. I was just told who it would be."
"How were you told?"
"One of the men who was going on the mission would come to me, say they'd chosen another victim, that we needed to schedule a meeting."
"Did you come up with the plans of attack?"
"No." He hesitated, then: "Sometimes I pointed out problems with their plans during the meetings, showed them where I thought they needed to do something different. But the ideas were all theirs."
Gibbs thought that was a pretty fine line.
"Why didn't you warn the victims? Once you knew their names?"
"I couldn't. The others would have figured out it was me. I'd seen what they were capable of."
"So to protect yourself, you let other men get beaten."
"Yes," Ramey said. Gibbs stared at him, his expression clearly broadcasting what he thought of a man who would do that. To his credit, Ramey didn't look away.
"When did you get involved?"
"Right after Major Ortiz." That would have been three years into the conspiracy.
"Who was in charge before you?"
"I wasn't in charge," Ramey said. "I just ran the meetings. They considered it a record-keeping assignment. The name 'Watcher' came from an old TV show: The Watchers observed and recorded events, but didn't get involved. That's why they never named the Watcher in the logs. It wasn't about me. It was about them and their mission. They just needed someone to keep the books."
"Who was in charge?"
"I don't know. It was someone high up, but no one ever told me. It might have even been more than one officer over the years. The players were always changing."
Gibbs shook his head. "That doesn't work. How could you be so involved in this thing and not ask who was pulling the strings?"
"I didn't want to know," Ramey said insistently. "I didn't want to believe that anyone with rank was involved in destroying the lives of their own men. I respect the senior officer corps too much for that."
That did work, mostly. Intentional ignorance was a wonderful thing, for the person practicing it.
"How did you get involved?"
"One of them came to me early in 2005, asked me to join the mission. I turned him down. Then after Major Ortiz, I was asked again. I couldn't refuse that time."
"Why not?
"Because of the fight with the priest."
"What does that mean?"
There was a moment of silence before Ramey spoke. "After the fight, one of the players came to me and told me I'd be joining them. I knew that if I didn't, I'd be brought up on charges for the fight, court-martialed for striking an officer and eventually discharged."
"Where was the connection between them and the fight?" Was this where Gibbs would get evidence of the priest's involvement?
"I don't understand," Ramey said.
"What made you think they had any power to have you brought up on charges?" Gibbs asked another way.
Ramey thought about it. "The morning after the fight, the priest came to see me in the brig. He told me he was going to recommend counseling and suspend any other punishment for the time being. I'd been talking to him, as confessor and advisor, for a long time, and he knew how important the navy was to me. He told me he'd be holding my marker, that he'd need me to do something for him in the future, and that would be the trade off. That if I did it, all would be forgiven. But if I didn't, he'd go to the Captain, say he'd changed his mind and wanted to press charges. He had three years to do that."
"So how'd you make the connection? How'd you know that what they were asking you to do was part of your payback to the priest?"
"How would they have know about it if it wasn't? It's not like the priest would have told anyone he was blackmailing me." Which made sense, Gibbs supposed.
"Tell me about the fight."
Ramey hesitated for a long moment, and Gibbs jumped on it. "The whole truth, Ramey, or the deal's off."
"I know," Ramey said. "It was mostly like you figured out. I knew they'd gone after Major Ortiz, and when he wasn't found before the ship sailed, I went to see Cmdr. Thayer. I asked him where the Major was. He said he didn't know. I didn't believe him. I pushed some more and he told me maybe Major Ortiz deserved to be left behind, because he didn't deserve the title of Marine. That's what pissed me off. I mean, the Major had served with distinction, for a long time. He'd done everything they told him to do, and they just left him behind like used trash."
"He did everything who told him to?"
"Them. He was the Watcher, before me."
Gibbs blinked at him, momentarily blindsided. "Major Ortiz? He was part of it?"
Ramey nodded. "For years. They went after him because he threatened to tell. They needed to destroy him, to protect the mission. So you see why I couldn't warn the victims. I'd have ended up just like him."
"Major Ortiz wasn't gay?" Gibbs asked.
"He was, but they didn't know that until they decided to go after him. They needed to get rid of him, and when they started the planning, they discovered he was gay and went into overdrive."
"Was that why he was hurt so badly?" Gibbs asked.
"I think so," Ramey said. He looked past Gibbs at his reflection in the mirror. "I think they were really pissed that he'd hidden among them for so long. But I don't know for sure. They never put it in so many words."
Ramey took a couple of breaths, then looked back at Gibbs. "I think the guys who went were just as clueless as the rest of us why he didn't get picked up by the local EMS, like all the others. If you read the logs, you know they were worried about what might have happened to him after they left. They didn't go into it with the intent to mess him up that bad. I don't know what happened."
"What does the video show?" Gibbs asked.
"I don't know. I couldn't watch it."
"Couldn't watch it?" Gibbs repeated. Ramey shook his head.
"I only watched what I had to, to do my job. I guess that makes me a coward."
Gibbs said nothing. He hadn't yet watched the videos himself. Not because of cowardice, but the emotion was similar. He understood Ramey's desire not to see the crimes in progress, but he was not going to allow it. Gibbs swore that before this was over, the sailor was going to watch every second of every video. He deserved to know the horror he'd help inflict; however minor his role may have been.
Dragging his thoughts away from revenge, Gibbs wondered: How had Ortiz gotten mixed up in this thing in the first place? Maybe they'd asked him to participate, and he was afraid they'd find out if he refused. Or maybe the priest had something on him, too.
"Why'd you think the priest would know where Ortiz was?" Gibbs said.
"Cuz he went into the city to find him. I think."
"What?" Gibbs asked, surprised. This was new.
"When he didn't show up by the next night, I went to the guy who'd lead the mission, a sailor named Hartman. He said they'd left him like the others, unconscious in an alley off the marketplace. Then he told me Cmdr. Thayer was waiting for them on the dock when they got back. Hartman said he asked them where they left Ortiz, and after they told him, he told them to board, then he hailed a cab. So I figured Thayer went looking for him and would know what happened."
"One of the sailors who attacked Major Ortiz told you that Thayer went back to where they'd left him?" Gibbs repeated.
Ramey nodded. "That's why I went to him. I wanted to know if he'd seen the Major that night, after they were done with him. If he was still where they'd left him when he got there, or if he'd already disappeared."
Gibbs knew enough about the rules of evidence to know that second – no, third – hand information like that wasn't admissible in court without confirmation from a closer source. But it could certainly be useful. Especially to Frederick who was presumably at that very moment working on getting the priest to confess.
"Was the priest involved in any other way that you know of?" Gibbs asked.
"That's the only time I know he was directly involved. But going by the fact that they used the fight against me, he might have been more involved. I don't know."
"Could he have been in charge?" Gibbs asked. It was a risk. By putting the question to Ramey, a defense attorney could say any future testimony Ramey gave on the subject was planted or coached. But Gibbs had to know.
Ramey shrugged. "I suppose. But I don't have any evidence of that. He was never at any of the meetings, no one ever mentioned his name. He never talked about the mission to me."
That was no help. "Who was the highest ranking officer you know was involved?"
"Other than Major Ortiz?" Ramey asked. Gibbs nodded. "I suppose it was Lt. Eckstrom." A name Gibbs had gotten out of the logs.
"You don't know of any other officers or high-ranking enlisted not named in the logs who were involved?"
"No," Ramey shook his head.
Gibbs reviewed what he had, and what was missing. On Ramey's testimony and the contents of the logs – assuming the names were backed up with film or audio for the other attacks like they were with Hutchinson's – they had enough to swear out warrants on all the players whose crimes were still in the statute of limitations. But they still didn't have the priest. Damn it.
"Why didn't you resign?" Gibbs asked finally, because he really wanted to understand. If Ramey had been afraid of retaliation, from the priest or the other players, that would have been an option. So why hadn't he taken it?
Ramey looked uncomfortable. "Because the navy is all I have," he said after a minute.
"No family?"
Ramey shook his head.
"What happened to your parents?" he asked. It didn't matter, but it might be useful later.
"I never knew my father. My mother died when I was four. Drug overdose. I grew up in foster care. When I turned 17, I convinced a judge to let me join the navy. I never looked back."
"No siblings?" Gibbs asked. Ramey shook his head.
"Grandparents, aunts and uncles? No one?"
"The navy is my family. I can't lose it. Doesn't matter what it costs me to stay. It's all I have."
Well that sucked. Even though Gibbs had joined the Marines to escape his family and his small town life, he'd still known it was all back there, waiting for him should he choose to return. Besides, he'd had Shannon. "Who were you in Washington with?"
That made Ramey's eyes widen – in fear, Gibbs thought strangely – and he hesitated again. Gibbs cocked his head, waiting.
"A friend."
"Navy friend?"
"No."
"So you do have someone," Gibbs said.
"It's a new relationship. I'm not sure where it's going yet."
"Yet you spent two nights in a luxury hotel with her."
Ramey swallowed. "How do you know that?"
"We were tracking you for awhile before you called back. You visited the Museums, several of the monuments, and the Kennedy Center before we decided to stop surveillance. If you hadn't called back, you were going to pick you up at Dulles tonight." Gibbs threw that out, just to see Ramey's reaction.
There were several seconds of stunned silence and Ramey's visible level of fear skyrocketed. "You were following me?"
Gibbs wondered what the kid was suddenly afraid of. What he'd been doing in Washington that he was scared they might have seen. "What if we were?"
"If you were, then you already know. If not, please don't ask me to tell you."
"The deal was, you tell me everything," Gibbs said.
"No. The deal was, I tell you everything I know about the mission. What I do on my own time is no one's business." It was the first show of strength Ramey had offered. It was honorable, but unacceptable.
"The deal is, you tell me what I want to know," Gibbs said firmly. "What are you trying to hide?"
"It's nothing. Please," Ramey said, and his voice broke a little.
Gibbs studied him across the table, his face inscrutable. He waited. Ramey didn't look away. What could be so secret the kid would risk the deal, after he'd shown his hand? As far as they knew, Ramey had just been playing tourist in D.C., not up to anything illegal. Gibbs tried to figure what it could be. He'd thought last night that maybe Ramey was with a pro. Minimally illegal and potentially embarrassing, but nothing approaching what he'd already admitted to. Could it be drugs? There was certainly plenty of that in the District. But Gibbs could smell an addict from 100 yards, and he was certain Ramey wasn't one. On the other hand, the price of two nights at the Monaco had to come from somewhere.
"Who paid for the room at the Monaco?" Gibbs asked.
"I did," Ramey said immediately.
"Where'd you get the money?" Gibbs asked.
"I won it," Ramey said. When Gibbs frowned, Ramey nodded and continued. "Last month, I hit $2,000 on a Virginia lotto scratcher. You can check."
Despite the improbability of that, Gibbs read him as truthful. So what was he hiding? He continued staring at the young sailor. So if it wasn't money, drugs or sex, what was left? Ramey'd said that if they'd been following him, they'd already know. So whatever he'd been up to, it was plainly visible. Maybe it wasn't what he'd been doing, but who he'd been doing it with.
Gibbs' cell phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket, making him flinch. He leaned slightly sideways to reach in and shut it off. It had to be someone from outside: his team knew better than to interrupt him during interrogation. Whoever it was could leave a voicemail.
"Your friend. What's her name?"
"Chris," Ramey said after a moment's hesitation, then: "Christine."
"Last name?"
"No," Ramey said, and shook his head. "I'm not going to tell you. It has nothing to do with the mission."
"We're going to find out, Ramey," Gibbs warned.
"I hope you won't," Ramey said. "And I wish you wouldn't try. It's nothing to you."
"You don't tell me everything, the deal's off," Gibbs said.
"That's not the deal we made, and you know it," Ramey said. His words were firm, but his voice was still shaky. "Taylor said I could trust you."
Gibbs hated it – absolutely hated it – when his own honor got in the way of what he needed to get done.
His cell vibrated again. With a silent growl of frustration, Gibbs pulled the phone out and looked at the caller ID. Abby. He flipped it open.
"What?"
"Gibbs, Gibbs! I got into Petty Officer Lewiston's laptop. You've got to see this. Right now."
"I'm busy," he said.
"I know, but this is really big. It could change everything! You've got to see it!"
"Alright. Be right there." Gibbs snapped the phone shut and slid it into his pocket. He pushed away from the table and reached for the crutches.
"We're not done," he said, and stood. Without another glance, he left the room.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
It was a short trip to Abby's lab. She was staring intently at her computer, bouncing slightly on her platforms.
"What'da'ya got, Abby?" he asked as he hobbled in.
"You're not going to believe it. It's everything. Everything you need to make the whole case, right there on that laptop." She gestured at a laptop sealed in a large plastic evidence bag. Gibbs knew it was standard procedure to copy the contents of computers recovered as evidence, then work with the copy.
"There's video, audio, photos, a log with all the details. For all the victims, plus three we didn't know about," Abby continued. "They were keeping records."
"We've already got that," Gibbs said with some disappointment. "Couple hours ago."
"Oh," Abby said, and deflated all at once. "Guess that means Rule 22 applied, huh?"
"It's alright. I was ready for a break. You got it off Lewiston's laptop?" Gibbs asked. When Abby nodded, he continued: "Does it have files on Ferrara?"
"Yes," Abby said. "There's a video of the attack. I watched it. It's really bad."
"Well, that we don't have. What we had ends with Master Chief Goetz," Gibbs said. That meant Lewiston must have taken over as Watcher after Ramey. Except he'd participated in the attack on Ferrara, which Ramey said Watchers didn't do. On the other hand, that could explain why Rosario thought Lewiston was in charge.
"Who'd you get it from?" Abby asked, bringing Gibbs out of his musings.
"Guy we brought in this morning. I made a deal with him so we could have it."
"Dang," Abby said. "I should have gotten into it sooner."
"S'alright." He paused. "The guy I've got was touring the District yesterday. Can you find him on security cameras and see who he was with?"
"Maybe. If we went someplace where they store their footage off site, and you know when and where."
"We do. McGee's got the details."
"You need it legal?" she asked.
"It's not for evidence. I just need it."
"Will do," Abby said. "Hey, isn't this usually the kind of thing you give McGee?" she asked as Gibbs turned and started out.
"He's busy. Send him a copy of the Ferrara files."
"On it, Boss," Abby said in his wake, mimicking McGee. He smiled without turning.
to be continued... reviews gratefully accepted.
For those of you who reviewed the last chapter, and those who didn't but are still with me: thanks so much for your good wishes and prayers. Dad spent six weeks in the ICU, then about 10 days in a step-down unit. He was gradually improving, though nowhere near ready to come home. Yesterday they started talking discharge to a lower level of care, and today he had to go back to ICU when he developed breathing trouble and signs of infection. I continue to pray for the best. Writing is a great distraction. Reviews brighten my days in ways you could not imagine. Thank you to all who've taken the time to drop me a line. I treasure every email. joy