JAG: Sarah Ch. 02

"Nothing I can't handle." she answered evasively. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh...body language, I guess. That, and the scuttlebutt that his last clerk transferred out to get away from him. Also, I've been around him for a while. He's pretty arrogant...not the type to take 'no' easily."

"Well, he's going to have to take it this time! I have no intention of becoming involved with my commanding officer, or anyone else for that matter."

Sam gave Mac a questioning look. Was that last comment directed at him?

"Well, if it gets too 'hairy'...you know that you can go to Colonel Farrow, the CO of the Headquarters and Service Battalion. He's an 'alright' guy. You don't have to put up with sexual harassment in the Corps anymore."

"I know, Sam. But I'm sure I can handle it. I hate to 'make waves'...but, thanks for being a friend. I can use all of the friends I can get."

Sam got the message. "Friend" seemed to be the operative word here. But...sometimes friendships developed into something more...didn't they? He looked at the alluring woman sitting beside him. One could only hope.

A few moments later Tricia and PC returned to the table. Mac made introductions all around, then noticed that PC was looking a little green around the gills. "PC? Are you okay? You look like you need to head back to the barracks."

PC's "ship" was definitely heading toward the bottom.

"Listen," Sam offered, taking in the young man's distress. "Why don't I give your friend a ride back to his barracks in my Jeep? It's easier to clean up if he...you know. Then, one of you can follow behind and drop off his car. Afterwards I can give her a lift back to the women's barracks." Sam looked hopefully at Mac.

Mac was attracted to Sam, but her resolve to remain "dateless" was unshakable. She was just starting to get her life together, and initiating a new romance would just complicate things. Besides, even though she and Chris were separated and headed for divorce, she was still a married woman.

"Tricia, " Mac stared at her roommate pointedly, "If you could do me a favor and drive PC's car back, then I'll drive yours to the women's barracks. I'm really tired...I think I need to hit the sack."

Tricia shifted her gaze discreetly between her roommate and the handsome corporal. "Are you sure about that?" she questioned. "I don't mind, but are you sure that's what you want?"

"Positively, Tricia. I'd be really grateful."

The look in Mac's eyes said the rest. A little puzzled, Tricia nodded her head and began to steer PC toward the parking lot.

Sam stayed behind for a moment longer. What he had to say was apparently difficult for him. "I hope you don't think I'm another Chaffee," he said softly. "I'm not, you know. I think you've figured out that I like you...but I CAN take 'no' for an answer. Trust me..." Then, turning, he made a beeline for the door.

Mac waited for a few minutes, then, she too made her way toward the parking area. Pensively, she leaned back in the driver's seat, acclimating herself to its right-side positioning, and breathed a cleansing sigh. Why did life have to be so complicated?

Silently, she turned the key, and aimed the aging Chevy toward home.

Mac had only gone a few miles, when Tricia's auto began to overheat. Smoke (or steam?) began to pour out from under the hood, causing her to pull onto the shoulder and "cut" the engine.

Now What?

Mac knew a little about motorbikes, but cars were a mystery to her. Stressed, Mac popped the hood and stuck her head underneath, hoping that something really obvious would "speak" to her. But in the dark, and without a flashlight, the task was totally futile.

It was then that a Jeep pulled up behind her, and a tall, athletically-built man in his late 30's, dressed in civilian clothing, stepped out and headed in her direction.

"Is there a problem here, Miss?" he asked, projecting a beam of light under the hood.

"Absolutely." she replied. "Thanks for stopping. I have no idea where to begin here." Mac described the problem, and the handsome stranger began to nod.

"Smoke, you say?" He began to smile, and what looked like a condescending grin began to play across his firm, strong features.

"Mind if I check something out?" he asked, reaching for the dipstick.

Mac felt foolish. Oil. That was it. Tricia hadn't been keeping track of her oil levels, and now the reservoir was all but dry.

"You know, Miss, if you're going to drive a car, you ought to learn how to care for it. It's not safe, even here on base, for a pretty girl to be standing out on the road alone at night."

Mac didn't like his tone. "It's not my car." she stated defensively. "It's my roommate's...and people DO make mistakes, you know."

"Yes Ma'am." he smiled. "That they do." The stranger looked at Mac in the soft shimmer of the moonlight, her eyes dark and luminous, and thought he had never seen anyone quite so beautiful.

"I've got some oil in the Jeep. I can lend you a few quarts if you like."

Mac breathed a sigh of relief. "That would be great. I really appreciate it. Are you sure you can spare it?"

"And if I said 'no', what would you do then?"

Mac didn't like the way this conversation was going. "It's only 1137 HOURS", she responded without looking at her watch. "If you can't help me, then I'll just start walking!"

The stranger looked at his watch. She was accurate to the minute. "How did you do that?"

"Some of us have it...some of us don't." she shot tartly. "Now, are you going to help me...or do I start walking?"

The stranger took the hint, and returned to his vehicle to retrieve the oil. Soon, her oil reserves were marginally acceptable, and she was ready to be on her way.

Mac reached for her purse and began to offer her "Good Samaritan" a twenty for his oil, and his time.

Wiping his hands on a rag from his Jeep, the stranger looked at the bill with disdain. "You know...In some parts of the world, people just say 'thank you".

Then, turning his back, he silently returned to his Jeep, and drove off into the darkness.

0600 HOURS
The Next Morning
Female Enlisted Barracks
Camp Butler

Tricia wasn't in her bed the next morning.

Mac paced the floor anxiously. Her roommate had never stayed out all night before, and Mac was beside herself with worry. What could have happened to her? Had she and Sam "hit it off" and gone AWOL for a night? It was an unlikely scenario at best. Could something unimaginable have happened to her...something terrible? Should she call base security, and risk placing her friend in line for a reprimand if the absence was benign? Mac had to know more.

Quickly, Mac looked up the base personnel listings and copied down Sam Wayne's number. Then, sighing deeply, she began to dial.

Sam wasn't at the barracks when she called. Instead, his roommate picked up the phone, and informed her that Sam was out running on one of the many trails that crisscrossed the base, a daily routine that he rarely missed.

Frustrated, Mac left a message for him to return her call, then started to get ready for work. By 0730 Mac had gotten ready for work, checked the base infirmary to see if Tricia had spent the night there, and stared at the phone for 30 minutes. The only other alternative now, was to call base security.

Slowly she began to dial the extension, then changed her mind and placed the receiver back in its cradle. In exactly 27 minutes, she would be seeing Sam at work. His input could mean all the difference. She decided to wait.

0800 HOURS
Legal Services Office
H&S Building /Camp Butler

Something was wrong.

All eyes turned to her, as she entered the office at Legal Services...some questioning...some pitying...all of them stunned.

Mac stopped in her tracks. What was happening? What had she done?

Finally, Major Chaffee's personal secretary approached the young private and took her aside.

"Mac...Sarah," she began, her voice conciliatory... soothing. "Something terrible's happened, Sarah. It's your roommate. She was found this morning near the base perimeter. I'm sorry...but she's dead."

Mac sank heavily into her chair. Dead? Tricia was dead? It couldn't be possible! What was happening?

But there was more. "Dear," the older woman began again, "Major Chaffee is in with Colonel Farrow at the moment, discussing this terrible tragedy. They want you to join them, ASAP."

Mac was in shock. She felt numb and drained of life.

"They want to talk to me?"

"Yes, Sarah. Come on...I'll walk you there." the secretary offered, unsure from the devastation in her eyes, that Mac could make it on her own.

The Colonel's office was a brief two-minute walk down the north corridor, and soon Mac was progressing, woodenly, through his open doorway.

Once inside, she found, Major Chaffee, a look of consternation on his face, and a middle-aged Asian man in civilian clothing, sitting in front of the large heavy laden desk. But the one who caught her full attention sat behind the desk. There, in full uniform, sat her Good Samaritan!

Mac snapped to attention.

"Private MacKenzie," the Colonel began, his demeanor giving no hint of recognition, "this is Sgt. Asaki from the homicide division of the Okinawa City Police Department. Have a seat, Private, this may take a while."

Sgt. Asaki now took the floor. "Private, we believe that your roommate was the victim of a serial killer that has been working, sporadically, in the area for the past 5 years. In each case, the victims were Caucasian females, young, attractive, and the bodies was found here on the base."

"Forgive me for interrupting, Sir," Mac interjected, "but how would the murder of a Marine Private, on the base, come under civilian jurisdiction?"

It was a good question, Col. Farrow shifted his gaze as though reassessing the young Private's intelligence and mettle.

"I'm glad you asked, Miss MacKenzie. You see, the first victim was a civilian from Okinawa City who had been visiting on base. That was five years ago. I was assigned to the case at that time. Since then, any subsequent victims of this serial killer have been referred to me."

"Please forgive my ignorance, Sergeant, but how do you know this serial killer was responsible for Tricia's...death?

The sergeant paused, assessing the vulnerability of the woman before him. "Miss MacKenzie...I'm not sure you want to hear this...it's pretty gruesome."

"Please, go on, Sir. Tricia and I had only known each other for a week, but I considered her a good friend...I'd like to know."

"Very well then...if you insist. All of the victims were murdered in the same way, using a large-bladed knife. Then, portions of their hair were cut off, and apparently saved or removed from the scene by the killer. The M.O. was identical in your friend's case. There is little doubt that we're looking for the same person."

Mac sat, pale and stone-face, digesting the information. How could this have happened?

"Now, Private MacKenzie," Asaki continued, remembering finally to address her by rank, "we need to know anything you can tell us about Private Montrose's activities, her friends, her dates, her agenda last night...anything that might help in our investigation."

Mac, her eyes glazed and troubled, stared past Col. Farrow, through the window at the blue, uncaring sky, and began to recall her memories of last night's visit to the "Globe and Anchor". When she got to the part about Tricia following Sam to the barracks, Col. Farrow reached for the intercom and ordered someone on his staff to retrieve Corporal Sam Wayne, ASAP.

Minutes later, just as Mac was finishing her recollection of the evening's events, Sam appeared at the door.

"Come in, Corporal." the colonel ordered. "Take a seat. I assume you've been told what this is all about?"

"Yes, Sir." Sam replied, the look on his face strained and shaken.

It was Asaki who continued. "Corporal, it is our understanding that Private Montrose followed you back to the enlisted men's barracks, and that you were to then give her a ride back to her own quarters. Is this true?"

"Yes, Sir. That was the plan, Sir, but that wasn't how it actually played out."

The sergeant's eyes scrutinized the corporal's reaction, apparently searching for signs of guilt. "And how is that, Corporal? What happened then?"

"Well, Sir, after we dropped off Private Wilberts, I started to take Private Montrose home, but she said she wasn't ready to go just yet."

The hush in the room was nearly tangible.

Sam continued. "Actually, there's not much more I can tell you. She wanted to be taken back to the "Globe and Anchor". She said she'd get a ride home from someone else. I...I just did what she asked." Now the guilt in his voice became evident. "...if I'd thought...I should have known...I should have insisted on taking her home last night. If I had, she'd still be alive."

Mac reached out and gently touched his hand. He was devastated with guilt. The colonel, accurately assessing the situation, attempted to mitigate the young man's distress.

"Take it easy on yourself, Corporal. You had no way of knowing. The guilt lies with the killer, not with you, or you either, Private." This last was directed at Mac, who had been voicing similar sentiments. "Not everything is within your control. You need to accept that...cut yourself some slack."

The sergeant and the major rose to leave, Chaffee placing a hand familiarly on Mac's shoulder as he passed. Mac stiffened, and the colonel glanced questioningly at the major.

Colonel Farrow spoke: "That will be all, Corporal...Private. Why don't the two of you take the rest of the day off, I think you could use it." Then, as an afterthought, the colonel once more directed his attention toward Mac.

"Oh, and Private...you still owe me three quarts of oil."

0600 HOURS
One Month Later
On A Running Path
Camp Butler

So far, Tricia's murder had gone unsolved, and it was feared that this would be another 'open case' to add to the serial killer's file.

While the 'buzz' over the tragedy had begun to die down, the additional security which patrolled the area at night was more than evident.

Over the past month, Mac had tried, unsuccessfully, to bury her feelings under the heavy academic, and professional burdens she was carrying. Finally, drawn to another troubled soul, she had gravitated toward Sam Wayne for comfort.

He'd proven to be good therapy, and true to his word, he did indeed know how to take "no" for an answer. After a few weeks, she'd even taken to sharing his morning run around the base, an activity that had never occurred to her before. She was finding that it cleared her head, and helped her, both physically and emotionally, to prepare for the day to come. There were even times when Mac chose solace over companionship, and ventured the trails alone. It was on one of those solitary runs, that she once again encountered the colonel.

Mac was running through a heavily wooded area in a remote section of the base, when she heard rapid footfalls closing in on her from behind. Always the Marine, she took stock of her surroundings, just in case, then glanced behind her. It was Colonel Farrow!

"Have you given up on cars already, Private?" the colonel joked as he pulled abreast. "At least you won't run out of oil."

"No, Sir!" Mac said as she snapped to attention.

Farrow smiled at her "gung ho" devotion to protocol. "As you were, Private. You can't just stop in the middle of a run..." he said, keeping time beside her.

"Sir. No, Sir." Mac replied, once again picking up the pace.

Mac had hoped that the colonel would rush on by, attending to his own agenda, but instead he matched his stride to hers and followed along behind her on the narrow path.

"Do you often come running alone, Private?" he questioned.

"Sir. No, Sir. The private was just out for some time alone. Sir." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she'd made a mistake.

Farrow smiled behind her back. "So I'm butting into your 'alone time', am I Private?" he joked.

Mac didn't see the humor. He made her nervous. "Sir. Yes, Sir...I mean NO Sir!"

"Relax, Private. You're the first person I've ever seen who could run at attention! I was only asking because these trails aren't patrolled by security, and you of all people should know that it isn't safe for a woman to be this far out alone right now."

Farrow noticed the slump in her shoulders at his reference to Tricia's murder. He was sorry to have brought it up, but for her own safety, she had to understand.

The trail now emptied out into the parking area where their two vehicles sat, waiting patiently for their owners to arrive. As they finished up their run with a few stretches, the colonel commented on her car.

"Isn't that the same car you were driving when I first met you?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir. It is." Mac replied, as "relaxed" as she could get. I bought it off of Private Montrose's parents after..."

"I understand." Farrow responded quickly, not wanting to cause her any more discomfort than necessary. "Have you gotten the oil problem fixed yet?"

"No, Sir. But I keep a close eye on the oil gauge, and I carry a six-pack of oil in the trunk, just in case."

"Well, whatever works, I guess, but you really should have it looked after at some time, if you plan on running it for much longer." He could have fixed it for her. He WANTED to fix it for her...but the offer could be easily misconstrued, and that was simply not acceptable. Sometimes it was tough being a C.O..

"Yes, Sir. I'll do that, but repairs are going to have to wait until my financial status catches up my with current bills. Until then...I have the situation under control."

"And about this trail, Private. If you must run alone, try one of the more populated trails. Understood? Or do I have to make that an order?" he smiled.

"Understood, Sir. I'll do that." He was a pretty nice guy...for a colonel, she thought.

Farrow began to climb into his Jeep, still worried that the brash, young private would venture into unsafe territory alone, then paused. Should he offer, he wondered. Would she misunderstand if he did?

He decided to make the gesture. "Private?" he called over to her as he slipped his Jeep into gear. "I hope you won't take this the wrong way...but if this particular trail is in your blood...I run here every day at this time. You're welcome to run along and protect me, if you want." he grinned.

Not waiting for an answer, John Farrow pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Mac speechless for the first time in ages.

Fall, 1988 - One Year Later
Kishaba Towers Apartments
Camp Butler, Okinawa

Lance Corporal Sarah MacKenzie looked around her new apartment. It was nice to finally be getting out of the barracks, and moving into her own space.

Her first year at Camp Butler had been a busy one. Mac had finished her freshman year at the University of Maryland via distance delivered courses at the base Educational Center. Then, at Colonel Farrow's suggestion, Mac had applied for, and been accepted to Officer's Candidate School. The young Marine had just returned from her first 6-week stint in the O.C.S. Platoon Leader Course at Quantico. She had come back to find not only a promotion waiting for her, but an apartment in base housing as well. Life was good.

But, as Mac looked around her new apartment, thoughts of Tricia Montrose once again began to creep into her mind. Her old roommate's murderer had never been caught, and her death had been added to the growing list of unsolved cases attributed to the base serial killer.

Mac had never taken Colonel Farrow up on his offer to have her "protect him" on the trail, but their exchange had made her more comfortable around him. She now found his infrequent presence a pleasure, and actually looked forward to interacting with him at H&S.