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“You ready for your ride along, Miller?” Tremont, the watch commander I was shadowing today, asked as we walked to his cruiser.
“Yep, can’t wait.”
“It sucks you even have to work today.”
I got in the passenger seat and looked across the car at him. “Why’s that?”
“Your platoon has a seventy-two this weekend, but since you’re shadowing me, you gotta be here all weekend and then still link up with them on Monday. Bummer.”
I looked toward the roof of the car, thinking back to the rotation schedule they’d briefed me on. “Okay, so, working today, the weekend, Monday and Tuesday, then off Wednesday and Thursday, then working again next weekend?”
Tremont nodded grimly. “It’ll be a rough start, but you’ll get your seventy-two the weekend after that at least.”
“Yeah, it’s cool that it alternates.” It was also cool that I’d be too busy over the next week to spend much time thinking about Layla. Good thing I had Jo to be with Grayson. I couldn’t imagine having this job if it were just me and him. It’d be impossible.
Just then, dispatch came over the radio saying we had a 10-26 to check out at one of the barracks buildings, and Tremont replied to let them know we were responding. Then he grinned at me as he pulled out of the parking spot. “Starting the day off with a bang.”
“A 10-26 here is …” I trailed off, racking my brain. “Larceny?”
“Yep.”
We drove to the dormitory-style barracks and made our way to the third floor. When we arrived at the right room, Tremont knocked on the door. “PMO.”
A Marine opened the door, not even making eye contact with us as he held it wider for us to enter. “Hey, thanks for coming.”
My gaze traveled around the room, noting another Marine—his roommate, presumably—lounging on one of the beds. He nodded at us before going back to whatever he was reading.
There was one thing that remained consistent across all military bases in my experience, and that was a general distaste—or even hatred—of PMO. Marines loved to think of us as narcs or snitches, even though in reality, none of us liked the idea of busting our brothers. But since our authority often trumped rank when we were on duty, the younger guys often let that get to their heads and acted like fools. Which, of course, gave us all a bad name.
I turned toward the first Marine, a corporal who’d introduced himself as Max, watching as Tremont pulled out his notepad and pen. “You called to report a theft?”
“Yeah. All of my dress uniforms are gone.” He shifted from one foot to the other, still not making eye contact with us. Then he moved to his closet and pointed to the empty space at the end of the bar. “They were all right here, and now they’re gone.”
“I see,” Tremont said, jotting it down. “When did you notice they were missing?”
“This morning when I got back from chow. But I was out late last night so they could have been taken then and I didn’t notice until today.”
I walked around the room, noting Max’s laundry basket was empty, and the roommate’s closet only held the usual number of blues for one person and displayed three chevrons below the jacket’s shoulder seam, conveying he was a sergeant not a corporal. That struck him from the suspect list since he wouldn’t have any use for his roommate’s blues.
Marines got a uniform allowance every year and were expected to look perfect in them at all times. Uniform inspections occurred regularly, so if another corporal had an inspection coming up with no money to replace an ill-fitting suit thanks to their bad spending habits, it wasn’t far-fetched to believe they’d steal someone else’s so they didn’t get in trouble.
“Cool if I talk to the roommate?” I asked Tremont. I was shadowing and didn’t want to step on his toes, but efficiency was big for me.
He shrugged. “Sure, I’ll finish up here and we can fill each other in after.”
I nodded and turned for the other Marine. “Hey, what’s your name?”
He put down his book and stood, his face neutral, but I wouldn’t say it was overly friendly. “Beau Devereux.”
Without pause, he spelled it for me as I wrote it on my notepad, then I looked back up at him. “Thanks. Were you here during the times your roommate was gone?”
There was a long beat, and I saw the wheels turning in his head. “Some of the time, but not all of it.”
“Okay. What times were you both out of the room?”
“I was at chow with friends from 1900 to 2100 last night, and I was at chow with my roommate this morning from 0600 to 0700.”
I noted the times, seeing more than enough time to get in, snag the uniforms, and bail before they came back. “Do you know of any corporals who needed uniforms for an inspection coming up?”
