"What's that mean?"
"It means somebody might've gotten that part from station stocks. On Friday. They're not open Saturday or Sunday, unless the station authorities authorize an emergency parts draw. And believe me, we'd know if that'd happened."
Paul nodded, trying not to get his hopes too high. "Can we find out? About Friday?"
"We can try." Mike Bristol stood. "Want to take a walk?"
Reaching the station supply office was inconvenient, naturally, and there was a long line of personnel waiting for parts, also naturally. Paul and Mike Bristol waited as the line inched forward and each successive petitioner begged and pleaded with various degrees of success for the part they absolutely, positively had to have at that very moment.
The office was about to close when Mike and Paul finally reached the front of the line. "Hi. Lieutenant Mike Bristol, from the Michaelson."
The supply corps lieutenant and petty officer crewing the desk eyed him warily, their gazes finally resting on Bristol's own supply corps insignia before the lieutenant nodded. "Office hours are about over."
"Yeah, I know. I really appreciate you looking into this." Bristol leaned close, speaking in a low voice. "We had a line officer mess up. I'm trying to clean up the mess. You know?" Both Supply types nodded sympathetically and gave Paul looks which meant they thought he was the line officer in question. "I just need to know if a part was drawn from here for the ship. Otherwise my CCAB and HGF will be rejected by the CFSS, and you know what kind of a pain that is." Another pair of nods. Mike proffered the part number. "Just a quick check?"
"Okay. We can do that." The lieutenant ran the number quickly, then nodded. "Yeah. That part got drawn by an officer from the USS Michaelson on, uh, 18 September."
Paul felt like his heart had stopped. "Do you have the officer's name?"
The supply lieutenant gave Paul an annoyed look. "As if I could forget the guy. Showed up just before closing with a real sob story. I still don't know how he talked me into providing that part." She pointed to her terminal. "The guy's name was Silver. Lieutenant."
Mike Bristol walked silently alongside Paul most of the way back to the Michaelson, finally blurting out a question when they were not far from the ship. "What're you going to do?"
"See what I've got."
"It looks like you've got plenty."
"No. It's all circumstantial evidence."
"I've heard that term. What exactly does it mean?"
Paul shrugged, feeling irritated, but knowing he felt that way not because of Mike's questions but because of the obstacles he still faced. "Basically, it means somebody could have done something, but doesn't prove they did do it. Like if a house gets robbed, and I prove you were seen standing outside the house, and that you were wearing shoes that would've left the same footprints in the mud outside the window where the break-in occurred. But I don't have any fingerprints of yours from inside the house and I haven't found any of the stolen stuff on you."
"Oh." Bristol thought for a moment. "Then everything you have so far just says Silver might have been responsible for what happened, but none of it proves he was responsible?"
"Bingo."
"Which makes it what?"
"A judgment call."
"What'll it take to make up your mind on it? To make you sure enough to tell the captain one way or the other?"
Paul stopped walking just short of the Michaelson 's brow. "Maybe just one more thing."
Bristol hastened off to check on his own duties, while Paul went up to Combat to make sure no crisis had suddenly erupted there, then headed back to his stateroom. Partway there, he encountered Commander Garcia again.
Garcia stared at Paul, then shook his head. "You're an idiot. You know that, Sinclair? You should've let it rest."
Not knowing how to reply, Paul stood silently.
Garcia turned away. "Just don't make me look bad. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
Paul got back to his stateroom, paged Sharpe, and filled him in on the part. "I need you to get to those snipes who worked for Chief Asher. They must have known something about the problem with the power transfer junction. Now that we have something specific to ask about, maybe one of them will spill their guts. And make sure you tell anyone you talk to about something that I checked on. There are no determinations of misconduct made when a servicemember dies in the line of duty."
Sharpe looked happier than Paul had seen him in weeks. "Will do, sir."
"One other thing. Have you found anybody yet who saw Lieutenant Silver around the time the engineering logs were hacked?"
"No, sir. Not any enlisted, anyway. Maybe an officer…"
"Do you think anything known to the officers onboard remains unknown in chief's quarters? Get on those snipes, Sheriff. I want to know what answers they'll give this time."
Paul dodged out of dinner as quickly as he could, wondering if he was just imagining the funny looks he was getting from the other junior officers. Garcia knew I was doing something. How many other people heard? I know why Mike Bristol's acting a little weird, but the others…
Sheriff Ivan Sharpe awaited him outside of his stateroom, a nasty smile on his face. "I just had a long talk with Petty Officer Third Class Valyati."
"I take it he's a snipe in Lieutenant Silver's division?"
"Yep. And guess what?"
"At this point I don't dare guess."
"It seems the day after the accident, Lieutenant Silver had a talk with the sailors in his division. Mr. Silver told them he was really worried about what might happen to Chief Asher's family if anybody thought the Chief'd done anything wrong that might've caused the explosion."
Paul held his breath. "That's interesting."
"Isn't it? As best Valyati remembers, Mr. Silver never told them not to speak freely to the investigators, but he really laid it on about how that could hurt Chief Asher's family. Would you care to guess what the sailors concluded?"
"Not to talk about what really happened. Did they know there was something wrong with the power transfer junction in Forward Engineering?"
Sharpe's smile widened, not in humor but like a wolf baring its teeth. "Yes, sir. Valyati said he'd heard Chief Asher had wanted to report it with a casualty equipment report, but Mr. Silver wouldn't let him."
"That's hearsay, Sheriff. Somebody saying they heard someone said something isn't admissible as evidence."
"I know that, sir. But Valyati knows from first-hand knowledge that the junction had been going bad for a while. They were expecting it to fail."
"So it should've already been replaced. But the casualty reporting system never got notified that a spare was needed. Instead, Lieutenant Silver pays a frantic visit to the station supply depot late Friday afternoon and begs a replacement from them. Saturday, Chief Asher's really unhappy. A few hours later, the power transfer junction blows up, killing Chief Asher. Soon after that, engineering's logs are messed up, during a time period when nobody can locate Lieutenant Silver's whereabouts. The next day, Silver convinces his troops not to talk to the investigators."
"That sums it up, sir."
Paul slammed his fist onto his desktop. "Damn! It's all circumstantial, Sheriff. We don't have one piece of evidence that directly ties Lieutenant Silver to what happened."
"Sir, will all due respect, this is plenty to go on. We can nail this guy."
"No, Sheriff. Look, I know, you're a cop. To you this is open and shut. But we don't need to convince a bunch of cops this is good enough."
"Sir, guilty is guilty. When you know a dirtball's done something, you hammer him. Or her. You don't let them get away because you're worried the evidence might not be good enough."
Paul gazed back at Sharpe. Now, this is hard. I respect Sharpe as a petty officer and I respect his knowledge as a master-at-arms. And he's been working in law enforcement since I was in high school. But I have to tell him he's wrong. "Look, Sheriff, you're a damn good master-at-arms, but I've already figured out the attitude that comes with that. If the guy wasn't guilty in the first place, why is he a suspect? Cops tend to identify someone as a suspect and then go after that guy hard. Right? Don't look all offended. You and I both know you're a great cop. But this isn't about what you believe, or what I believe. We need to convince the captain, and then a military judge and maybe a panel of officer members of a court-martial, that the son of Admiral Silver is such a rotten officer he caused the death of one his sailors, then covered it up. I know you know that. Getting Lieutenant Silver charged might sound real great, but it won't mean a thing if the charges get tossed out. We have to be sure we're doing this right. So we can get a conviction."