Chapter 4 - The Confrontation
Ramsey's office was smaller than Rosa had expected.
It was a corner office with two windows that looked out over the parade field and a desk that had been in the Army since at least the 1970s and a wall of photographs, all of them of soldiers, most of them young, some of them with dates under the frames that made Rosa's throat tighten.
Ramsey was sitting behind the desk with a stack of papers in front of him. The provost marshal — a lieutenant colonel named Aaron Dees — was sitting to his left. Colonel Wynn sat to his right. A paralegal from the post legal office sat at the end of the table with a recorder.
"Sergeant Martinez," Ramsey said. "Sit down."
Rosa sat.
"Sergeant," Ramsey said, "before we begin, I want to tell you something. Last night, after you left the banquet hall, Colonel Fallon attempted to leave this installation. He was stopped at the Grant Avenue gate by the military police at 21:15. He told them he was going to a meeting. He did not have a meeting. He was in his personal vehicle and he had a duffel bag in the back seat containing approximately fourteen thousand dollars in cash and a laptop computer."
Rosa did not move.
"Colonel Fallon was returned to this installation at 21:40. He is currently in a conference room in the provost marshal's office, where he has been since 21:40, and where he will remain until he is either charged or released. He has not been charged yet. He has not been released. He has not spoken to anyone except his attorney, who arrived from Topeka at 23:30."
"Sir," Rosa said.
"Sergeant," Ramsey said, "I need you to understand something very clearly. You are not being asked to testify against Colonel Fallon. You are being asked to provide the evidence you have collected. What the Army does with that evidence is not your responsibility. What the Army does with that evidence is my responsibility. Do you understand the difference?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Ramsey set his hand flat on the stack of papers in front of him. "Now. I want to go through your log. Every entry. Every seal. Every photograph. If we are going to charge a colonel, the paperwork has to be perfect. It has to be so perfect that nobody — not his attorney, not the IG, not a congressional inquiry — can find a hole in it. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then let's begin."
They began with the first entry. April 14. The chicken breast and the temperature log and Private First Class Marcus Webb.
They worked through the log for four hours. They worked through April and May and June. They worked through the discrepancies in weights and lot numbers and seal sequences. They worked through the twenty-three seals in the shoebox and the twenty-three photographs on Rosa's phone and the twenty-three receipts that matched them.
At noon, Ramsey called a break.
"Sergeant," he said, "I want to ask you something off the record."
"Sir."
"Last night. When you refused to serve the tray. What were you thinking?"
Rosa thought about it.
"I was thinking that I was going to lose my career," she said. "And then I was thinking that I didn't care."
"Why didn't you care?"
"Because, sir, I have a daughter who is nineteen years old and who is going to graduate from Kansas State next spring with a degree in agricultural education. And when she was eleven years old, her father and I took her to a Memorial Day ceremony at the cemetery in Junction City, and she asked me what a Gold Star mother was. And I told her. And she cried in the car on the way home."
Rosa paused.
"Mrs. Pruitt's son was Specialist Fourth Class Thomas Pruitt. He was killed in Kandahar in 2011. He was twenty-three years old. He was a medic. He was pulling another soldier out of a burning vehicle when the vehicle exploded. He was awarded the Silver Star. Mrs. Pruitt has been to every Memorial Day ceremony at that cemetery for thirteen years. I have seen her there. I have shaken her hand. I have never spoken to her beyond that."
Ramsey did not say anything.
"Sir," Rosa said, "when I lifted the cover off that tray, I wasn't thinking about my career. I was thinking about a woman who has spent thirteen years going to a cemetery. And I was thinking that if I served that tray and something happened to her, I would be the person who did that. And I would have to live with it."
Ramsey looked at her for a long moment.
"Sergeant," he said, "you are not going to lose your career."
"Sir—"
"You are not going to lose your career." Ramsey's voice was flat. "Do you know how I know?"
"No, sir."
"Because as of 07:00 this morning, I have recommended to the installation commander that you be awarded the Army Commendation Medal for your actions last night. And because I have recommended to the regional contracting office that you be awarded the Department of the Army Civilian Achievement Medal — the civilian version, since the food service contract is a civilian contract — for your documentation of the discrepancies over the past six months. And because I am going to be the person who writes the citation, and I am going to make sure that citation is on your record for the rest of your career."
Rosa's eyes stung.
"Sir," she said. "I don't deserve that."
"Sergeant, you refused a direct order from a colonel in front of three hundred people because you were afraid a Gold Star mother would die. If that is not what the Army Commendation Medal is for, then I do not know what the Army Commendation Medal is for." Ramsey stood up. "Take the afternoon off. Go home. Eat something. Sleep. Tomorrow morning at eight, you and I are going to have a conversation about what comes next."
"Yes, sir."
Rosa stood up.
She got as far as the door.
"Sergeant Martinez."
She turned.
"Last night," Ramsey said, "you said something to me. You said, 'Ask who authorized the substitution.'"
"Yes, sir."
"I want you to know that I asked." Ramsey picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. "At 06:15 this morning, I called the regional contracting office and I asked them who authorized the substitution of the allergen-free plates from the certified allergen-free facility to the general vendor. They sent me this."
He held up the paper.
"It is a signed authorization. It is dated three weeks ago. It has been countersigned by the regional contracting officer and by the garrison contracting officer. And in the 'reason for substitution' block, in a hand that I recognize, someone wrote: 'Cost-saving measure approved at local level. Allergen-free protocol maintained through vendor certification.'"
Rosa's throat tightened.
"That signature, Sergeant," Ramsey said, "belongs to Colonel Derek Fallon."
Rosa closed her eyes.
May you like
"Go home," Ramsey said.
She went home.
