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“That conniving bastard. You could have died, Otto. Christ.”
He pulled his knees up to his chest and dropped his chin onto them. “But the thing is… I was so confused and my memory was so spotty. I didn’t know for sure I hadn’t done it. I mean… I knew I wouldn’t have, but at the same time, why would he? There’s a difference between being an ass and being a criminal. It was hard to believe someone would set fire in a working sub on purpose. It’s suicide. And what if I’d somehow done it in my sleep? I was so doped up with antianxiety meds at that point, I couldn’t even think straight. And I was so afraid of accidentally incriminating myself, I just didn’t speak.”
“What happened after that?”
“I guess the guy was so desperate to get off the boat, he did it again. Only this time, I wasn’t there to blame, and he got caught. That’s when they offered to send me back, but by then I couldn’t stomach the idea of being trapped on a submarine again. I managed to get in touch with Saint and asked his advice. He’d heard through the grapevine about what happened—a fire on a sub is a big fucking deal—and he knew how upset I must have been. He said since both of our eight years were up, we could just separate from the navy instead of re-upping.”
“Wouldn’t that take time? To… I don’t know… give them your notice? How does that work in the navy?”
Otto looked away, off into the distance where the sun was just a sliver over the far side of the still lake. “I wound up getting offered a medical discharge for stress and PTSD, but I was afraid if I accepted it, it would prevent me from being able to get other jobs in the future. So Saint hooked me up with a buddy of his who told me how to negotiate to stay in the final six weeks without having to go back on a submarine. I was able to get a temporary transfer to dry land to work out the rest of my time. I stayed in Pearl Harbor until Saint was done; then we came home together.”
“How are you feeling about it now?” I asked carefully. I didn’t want him to feel like I was psychoanalyzing him, but I did want to know where his head was.
“Guilty for Saint leaving the navy. That’s my biggest regret.”
“Do you think he wanted to stay in? Has he told you that?”
He shrugged. “No. He said he was ready to get out. Said half the time he was stuck pushing paper and when he was actually on missions, the general consensus was bitterness that they didn’t get paid more for the amount of shit they went through. The private sector is pretty hard core about trying to recruit SEALs away from the navy, and I guess it gets pretty tempting.”
“He’s a big boy. I think he would have stayed in if he wanted to stay in. What about you? Do you wish you could have stayed in the navy?” I asked him. “I mean, if the fire hadn’t happened?”
Otto turned to look at me, and every shred of worry and fear he’d expressed went away in an instant. His smile was wide and bright before he answered.
“Hell no, Sheriff. Then I wouldn’t be sitting here with you. And I will never, ever regret that.”
We sat in silence for a while, listening to the frogs croak and the crickets chirrup in the long grass. Night bugs flew around but didn’t bother us much over the water. There was a slight breeze across the glassy surface that seemed to help cool off the warm night a bit and the two of us just enjoyed the peaceful moment together.
Otto’s words seemed to come out of nowhere. “It was hard enough thinking about naming Ken in that arson aboard the boat, Seth. I can’t imagine implicating someone I know in these Hobie fires. What if I was wrong? What if something I said implied an innocent person committed these crimes? I don’t think I could live with myself.”
I looked at him closely. Did he know something he was holding back from the investigation?
“But Otto, you can tell them facts. Facts are facts. They’re not implications.”
He shook his head. “Sometimes a bag full of facts can make a pretty damning implication. Look at my situation on the Poseyville. I was found at the scene with a fucking lighter, Seth. It was my rack, my personal belongings. Those are facts, and the implication was pretty clear at the time.”
I reached for his hand again and held it tightly. “If you couldn’t be a firefighter, what would you want to do?”
“I’ve always wanted to be a firefighter,” he argued.
