Sajani Tails

This post is a continuation from here: http://sajanitails.com/index.php?/archives/3-Cici-and-Number-Nine-Chapter-1.html

      The wolf part of Cicilia kept her from having the Chuck on her face like her dad did. She pulled on the leash trying to get to Uncle Nick but was held back firmly. She whimpered quietly and felt the hand holding back let go. It was only a few strides across the room, and she was able to put her front paws on his lap and start licking the salty tears from his face. She’d never have done that as a human of course, but now, she wanted to comfort him.

      He wrapped his arms around her and let out a slight chuckle between sobs. “Nums, how am I supposed to…ack!”

      The door opened behind her and a new scent blew in with it. She didn’t recognize it or the voice that spoke next. “Sergeant Taylor? Are you ok?”

      Cici kept on licking his face hoping to hide the fact that Uncle Nick had been crying if at all possible.

      He seemed to regain some of his composure. “Chaplain Jones. Just visiting my old friends, Lou and Number Nine here.”

      She heard a sound that seemed like two people in heavily starched uniforms shaking hands.

      “Pleased to meet you.” The two men said at almost the same time.

      Cici backed a little away from Nick, fairly sure she’d done her best to clear his tears. She walked back towards her father and took a quick look at the chaplain her Uncle Nick now worked with. He was tall, well over six feet, and had light eyes that she could only assume were blue, maybe green. He had a broad oval face and next to no light-colored hair. His frame probably fit right in with the rest of the mechanized infantry soldiers. He’d have looked a little too big if he’d been with light infantry.

      “I suppose Nick’s filled you in, sergeant. Tragic, really, but I guess he was just part of the fifteen percent…”

      “Fifteen percent sir?” her father asked. “As in those that can’t be prevented?”

      “Yes,” Chaplain Jones said sadly. “All but that amount show some kind of outward signs of clinical depression. And of course, we couldn’t just put him on suicide watch without something to go on other than the trauma he was going through. Over-reacting, as I’m sure you know, can be just as bad as under-reacting.”

      “Colonel Sherman wouldn’t allow it.” Sergeant Taylor spat.

      “Well, yes,” the chaplain continued, as though trying to cover for his superior, “we both, that is Nick and I both felt like this was a possibility, but the commander agreed with me that a suicide watch might be a little too much for Sergeant Carpenter under the circumstances.”

      Sergeant Gillespie nodded. “Seems to be a clear case of suicide.”

      Cici saw him shoot a quick glance at Uncle Nick, the same glance he used when he wanted her to keep quiet about something.

      “Yes,” came the response.

      “Nick, the commander suggested we keep the office open for the next seventy-two hours in case any soldiers need us. The critical incident debriefing isn’t until 1700, so I was going to suggest you take some time off until then. We’ll do eight-hour shifts starting then.”

      “Yes sir.”

      Cici heard Nick get up and walk towards her. He touched her dad on the arm as he was about to go out. “Good to see you. Glad I could talk to you.” Then he walked out and left the office silent for a moment.

      “Was there anything else I could help you with, Sergeant?” the chaplain asked politely.

      The MP was deep in thought for a moment but came back to his senses quickly. “Oh, no sir.” He said. “I guess I’ll head upstairs and finish things up. Have to finish the routine.”

      “He’s not himself right now,” the chaplain added. “He’s insisting it had to be murder.”

      “He mentioned that to you too?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, we each grieve in our own way I guess,” he said cryptically. He opened the door and they stepped out into the hallway.

      “Yes. Goodbye, sergeant. I’m glad a friend ended up here to see him.”

      “Goodbye, sir.” The door closed and they went back outside and up the stairwell next to the door. There was another MP stationed at the door to the sergeant’s room. He didn’t say anything as the pair walked in and started looking around.

      The room was consistent with the sergeant’s boots. Everything was well scrubbed. There was a refrigerator in the far corner with a microwave on top. A small table next to them was spotlessly clean and even looked like it might have been re-varnished recently. The chair in front of the table also worked as a chair for the desk next to both. Right of the door was a wardrobe, locked. Before them as they entered was the bed, still made with the sheets tightly stretched across it. The mattress was bent in a half circle under the sheets, apparently where someone sat at some point. They would have been facing a green strongbox that was probably normally stored under the bed. Sitting on the box was a glass ashtray with a single cigarette in it.

      Sergeant Gillespie turned to the MP outside the door. “They already dusted and photographed in here?” he asked. The other soldier nodded. Cici’s dad went back to his work. He was looking at the cigarette without touching it. Cici started sniffing around the room. She noticed a pile of clothes in front of the wardrobe and sniffed at them tentatively. They smelled of soap and Sergeant Carpenter. The wolf was turning away from the stack when the smell from near the body attacked her again. She couldn’t help but let out a small growl this time.

      Her dad noticed and came to have a look at what she was smelling. “Clean clothes,” he commented with a true knack for the obvious.

      Cici rolled her eyes at him and he noticed. “We’ll talk later,” he said. “Check the ashtray.” Cici turned towards the cigarette and ashtray. It smelled of tobacco and soap. Sergeant Carpenter sure liked his stuff clean and that smell was starting to bother her. Then it stung her nose again. That smell. Had it come from the ashtray or from something else? It seemed to just be lingering in the air. She also noticed a strange dark triangle on the glass. It looked like an odd burn mark, since it wasn’t round like she’d have expected it to be. They started walking out. The MP was looking oddly at them, probably because of how her dad was talking to the dog. “PFC Smith, I want that cigarette and ashtray dusted.” Sergeant Gillespie said shortly.

      “They’ve already been through the room sergeant.” Smith said lazily. The response seemed to annoy the sergeant. “That cigarette and ashtray were not dusted. I want them dusted and then this room is to be sealed off.”

      “The team didn’t think they needed to.” Smith said defensively.

      Cici recognized the tone her father switched to then. Some parents would count when they expected their kids to do something. “I’m going to count to three,” she’d heard some say, “and if you haven’t done what I want by then…” Her father didn’t do that. He usually changed to a tone that said without words, “I’m counting to ten in the background, so I don’t strangle you.” “I want that cigarette and ashtray dusted, PFC Smith. And then I want you to personally seal the room. I’ll expect to see the results, along with you, in my office at 1300.”

      “Yes, sergeant,” Smith said crisply. At least he realized his mistake apparently.

      It made Cici wonder what kind of person her dad was to work with. Not a pleasant or understanding one it seemed. She was glad he wasn’t that impatient with his kids. Maybe he couldn’t be with the Army. Maybe he had to be quick with what needed to be done. Or maybe he was more tired of dealing with cranky privates than he was of dealing with his own kids.

      On the way down the stairs, her dad said to her under his breath. “I don’t know if what you smelled back there was important; looked like it though. If you smell it again, maybe you can sneeze or something, so I know.” That made it so that Cici had to sneeze. She tried to squelch it, but the tickling in her nose was quickly becoming almost painful. “If it is important, sneeze now so I know.”

      Cici sneezed. They were at the base of the stairs now and the small group that had been gathered down there was now looking at them. “Just talking to Nums here.” Sergeant Gillespie said nonchalantly. He patted Cici conspicuously on the head.

      “Roof,” said Cici in her most friendly tone.

      Conversations started back up again. Specialist Pole was talking to the paramedics as they loaded the body into the ambulance. There were a couple of soldiers nearby and a very short man with dark hair in a uniform and a single eyebrow across his face. The short man wasn’t a regular soldier. He was a lieutenant colonel. The tape over his pocket said, “Sherman.” The wolf part of Cici noticed that Colonel Sherman’s face wasn’t used to being this somber.

      She got steered over to one of the soldiers, a black woman named Franks.         Sergeant Gillespie smiled at her and asked politely, “You with 1-22?”

      “I’m assigned to 124 Signal, but I’ve been tasked here for about six months.” Her voice had a bit of an edge to it. Cici could smell she was upset, but easily able to constrain herself. She’d probably known Sergeant Carpenter, but not well enough to be too upset.

      “Ah,” he responded. “You knew Sergeant Carpenter then?” Cici laughed as her thoughts echoed her dad’s.

      She only nodded. Obviously not wanting to talk to an MP.

      “I don’t want to bother you. I’m sure you’ve already been questioned, but can you tell me, did Sergeant Carpenter smoke at all?”

      Her face broke slightly at the question. It obviously wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “Uh, yes sergeant. He’d been trying to quit, though I’m not sure if he ever managed. Last I heard, he was down to allowing himself a single cigarette every evening after dinner. I told him it was better to go cold turkey, but he’d only laugh at me.”

      Next, they were steered over to Colonel Sherman, who it turned out, had an almost squeaky voice. Sergeant Gillespie exchanged salutes with him. “Hello sir,” he started out. “I’m Sergeant Gillespie. I’m the duty NCO for this incident.”

      “Well, I’m glad it’ll be soon over.” Colonel Sherman said straightly. “It’s terrible and I’d rather have it behind me quickly.”

      “I understand, sir.”

      Cici sensed the strange smell again and sneezed.

      Colonel Sherman smiled. “Is your working dog catching a cold?”

      “No sir. I think it’s just the damp weather getting to her a little.” The smell didn’t go away directly like it had before, so she sneezed a few more times for good measure. Whatever it was, it had been near the body, in the room and on the Colonel. The two men laughed at her. “I was a little chagrined, Colonel,” her father was saying, “about you telling our office that we didn’t need a detective. I hope we haven’t been too much of a bother, but we do have to investigate any unattended deaths.”

      “I understand,” the lieutenant colonel responded. “I’m not sure why I said that really. I have to admit, as cruel as it sounds, my first thought was about how it would look if a soldier killed himself while under my command. I wanted things over with as quickly as possible. It wasn’t until a little while later that the full nature of the tragedy hit me.”

      “Thanks for your patience, sir. We’re almost done here. PFC Smith is taking care of some final procedures and then we’ll be sealing off the room until after JAG has reviewed the case.”

      Colonel Sherman looked a little shocked. “JAG? But this is a suicide.”

      “Yes, sir. It’s just part of the procedure.”

      “I see,” the lieutenant colonel said quietly. “Well, I haven’t had this happen before, thank heaven.”

      “I understand,” Sergeant Gillespie said sympathetically. He then exchanged salutes with the officer again and they turned to leave. When they were about to cross Old Ironsides Avenue, Cici’s dad said to her quietly, but with some definite excitement in his voice. “I think I could learn to like this. I have no idea what you smelled, but I can’t wait to find out. I wish you could give me a hint.”

      “Roof,” said Cici. Then she sneezed.

      “Hey,” he responded, “I can hope can’t I?” Cici jumped up in the truck and her dad got in quickly. “Number Nine does help a lot in my job, but I never thought of the possibility of being able to actually talk to her.”

      Truthfully, he had thought of it before, but Cici explained to him that it wasn’t really easy for her to talk to a wolf. She could understand the basics and demonstrate concepts, but there was no real way for her to communicate something as complex as a scent. A question such as, “What did the murderer look like?” was likely to be answered with “a big human” or “a human” or “a small human.” Not much else. Just as all wolves looked the same to a human, all humans looked the same to a wolf. Smells were a little more precise, but that also made them more useless for communicating, since there was rarely an understandable human reference. Adjectives often had multiple meanings. Sharp for a smell could mean slightly rotten. It could also mean old, or short for that matter. She wasn’t very good at communicating. There did seem to be a full language that was used by the wolves, even a fairly involved one, but she only knew the basics, those things that were instinctive. Wolves cared about different things than people did.

      Pulling into the parking lot shook Cici back from her thoughts. They didn’t have time to get out of the truck though, the First Sergeant was already there waiting for her dad. Sergeant Gillespie rolled down the window and the First Sergeant poked his head in. “How’d it go?” he asked. His voice was quiet, almost confidential. It seemed odd to Cici since she usually only heard him yelling in formations, but her dad didn’t notice anything odd. Apparently the First Sergeant could speak at a normal volume.

“Normal.”

      “I squared away that dispatcher already for you, the one that canceled the detective this morning. Let him know that most commanders don’t want a detective in their AO. Next time he knows to just say, ‘yes, sir,’ and send one anyway.”

      “Thanks First Sergeant.”

      “There’s some other stuff too though. We’ve received 20 calls already this morning from people saying that Sergeant Carpenter’s death was not a suicide.”

      “More than usual.”

      “Yes. I’d still ignore it, but Captain Tripp over at JAG called this morning. He was representing Sergeant Carpenter at the Court Marshall. Apparently, the deceased sent him a letter yesterday that arrived today. It’s coded, so he’s not sure what it says. I’ve asked 124 Signal to send a cryptologist over. They said she’ll be at the JAG office shortly. You ready to head over there?”

      “I’m waiting on the lab report is all. It’ll arrive with or without me.”

      “Good,” the First Sergeant answered, his voice a little louder. He thumped his hand down on the open window of the truck door. “The day is young.” He waved his hand and turned around to head back to the building.

      Cici’s dad rolled up the window and put the truck back in gear. “Well, you’re getting a more exciting day than you expected, I’m sure.”

            Now she was starting to see a downside to being a wolf for this. Her dad wasn’t the only one with lots of questions. She had plenty for him too. What was that smell she’d encountered and why was it both on the body and Colonel Sherman? What was the fifteen percent Chaplain Jones had mentioned to her dad? What was normal about Sergeant Taylor, and at least 20 others, thinking that the suicide was really a murder? Why had Sergeant Carpenter changed into uniform to hang himself? If it was suicide, where was the note? If the note was what they were about to see at JAG, then why did he bother sending it in code?

The stories continues in Chapter 3: http://sajanitails.com/index.php?/archives/5-Cici-and-Number-Nine-Chapter-3.html