Murder in the navy

Two

When Frederick Norton and Matthew Dickason stepped off the plane at Norfolk Air Base, there was probably not a man within a radius of three miles who did not know they were FBI agents.

Their appearance was in no way responsible for this widespread knowledge, for they looked like anything but federal men. They did not wear trench coats or low-slung fedoras. Their artillery did not form conspicuous bulges under their jackets. They did not move furtively, nor did they steal about with catlike treads.

Frederick Norton was a somewhat portly man of about forty-five, wearing a gray pin-stripe suit and a neat gray Homburg. His white-on-white shirt was clipped securely at the collar with a slender gold pin. He wore a narrow blue silk tie upon which a gold fleur-de-lis design had been skillfully embroidered. He looked like a tired businessman whose plane had accidentally put down in Norfolk rather than the Palm Beach for which it was bound. Even his jowly cheeks and cold eyes bore out the simile.

Matthew Dickason might have been Norton’s office boy. He wore a rumpled brown tweed suit and no hat. His hair was clipped close to his head, in the fashion he’d affected all through college and law school. He had clear blue eyes and a slightly pug nose, and though he was pushing thirty, he could have passed for a college freshman, and often did.

The two men stepped from the plane and into a waiting jeep, and every pilot and crewman within viewing distance knew that these were the two G-men who were coming to clear up the mess about the dead nurse. The jeep contained a coxswain and a full lieutenant. The full lieutenant shook hands with the two agents, snapped a terse order at the coxswain, and then leaned back as the jeep crossed the airfield and headed for the naval base.

“Have you ever been in Norfolk before?” the lieutenant asked Norton.

“No,” Norton said.

“A nice little town,” the lieutenant ventured. “You’ll like it.”

“Will I?” Norton said.

“Well, yes. Yes, I think you will.”

“I’m glad,” Norton said. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and took out a leather cigar case. He carefully removed and unwrapped one cigar. From his vest pocket he extracted a small pair of silver scissors, with which he promptly snipped off the end of the cigar. He did not offer one to Dickason because he knew Dickason did not smoke. He did not offer one to the lieutenant because he knew their relationship would be terminated as soon as the jeep reached the ship. He was sure as hell not going to waste a good cigar on someone he’d never see again. He lighted the cigar and relaxed, watching the scenery of the base unfold as the jeep bounced its way through the clean, well-ordered streets.

“Yes,” the lieutenant said, “I think you’ll enjoy your stay here.”

Norton puffed on his cigar and said nothing.

“Much to do in town?” Dickason asked. His voice, in contrast with his boyish appearance, was rather deep and full chested.

“Well, there’s always something to do,” the lieutenant said, “if you know where to look.”

“And you know where to look, is that it?” Norton asked.

The lieutenant smiled graciously. “I’ve been stationed here for three years now,” he said.

“You deserve the Navy Cross,” Norton answered.

The lieutenant didn’t know quite what to answer to that one. He blinked at Norton for a moment, and then retreated in silence for the remainder of the ride.

The U.S.S. Sykes was not a bad-looking ship. It had long clean lines, and it bristled with guns. The man in the street, who couldn’t tell a cruiser from a PT boat, would probably have considered the Sykes a superdreadnaught battleship. It was not a battleship. It was a destroyer, and the name was an aptly chosen one, with its connotations of great destructive power. The jeep pulled up to the gangway, and the lieutenant shook hands with Dickason and Norton before leaving them there.

“Well,” Dickason said, “here’s the boat.”

“The ship,” Norton corrected. “If these Navy morons hear you calling it a boat, they’ll keel-haul you.”

He puffed on his cigar and studied the low-slung litheness of the ship. He cleared his throat then, snorted, flipped his cigar butt into the water, and walked up the gangway. Dickason followed close behind him. A crowd of sailors had already gathered at the rails. Norton ignored the crowd. He walked with his head down, watching the wood of the gangway. He did not lift his head until he was standing on the quarter-deck, and then his eyes looked into the smiling cherub face that belonged to Ensign Le Page.

Le Page extended a chubby, freckled hand.

“Mr. Norton?” he asked. “Mr. Dickason?”

“Yes,” Norton said briefly.

“I’m Ensign Le Page, officer of the deck.”

“How do you do?” Norton said.

“The Captain is expecting you, gentlemen. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

Le Page picked up a hand phone resting on the platform amidships. He said something into the phone and then turned to face the two agents.

“He’ll see you now. He’s in the wardroom.” Le Page snapped his fingers at the gunner’s mate who was standing watch with him as messenger. “Take these gentlemen to the wardroom,” he said.

The gunner’s mate nodded and began walking forward. Norton snorted and followed him, aware of the inquisitive eyes on him. Dickason looked up at the stack, and then at the mast, and then at the bridge, like a sight-seer in New York City. The messenger took them into a passageway and knocked on a door.

“Yes?”

“OD asked me to bring these men to you, Captain,” the gunner’s mate said.

“Show them in,” Commander Glenburne said from behind the closed door.

The gunner’s mate opened the door and then stood at attention while Norton and Dickason stepped inside. He closed the door behind them, and Glenburne rose and extended a tanned hand. He was a man of about fifty-two, tall and lean, with a complexion burned brown from years of standing on an open bridge. His grip was firm, and Norton had never liked these manly characters with the too-firm grips.

“Gentlemen,” Glenburne said, “glad you arrived. Have a seat, won’t you?”

Norton and Dickason made themselves comfortable at the long table.

“Coffee?” Glenburne asked.

Dickason seemed ready to say, “Yes,” but Norton replied, “No,” for both of them.

“Have a nice trip?” Glenburne asked.

“We came by plane,” Norton answered.

“One of our Navy planes, eh? Got to hand it to—”

“The Army brought us,” Norton said.

“Oh.” Glenburne cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose we’d better get right down to business. You know all about the dead nurse, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Norton said.

“Hell of a thing. Haven’t got enough worries, they have to leave a corpse in my radar shack.” Glenburne shook his head. “Well, you boys will clear all that up.”

“Yes,” Norton said.

“I’ve already appointed an investigation board,” Glenburne smiled. “Figured we’d snoop around and see what—”

“Have you restricted all your men to the ship?” Norton asked.

“Why, no. I mean, that is, it never occurred to me. Do you suppose—”

“If one of them is a murderer, it might be a good idea,” Norton said dryly.

“Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll — I’ll do that. I’ll have that done at once.” The Captain walked to a phone and connected himself with the quarter-deck. “Le Page, get me the Executive Officer. Send him to the wardroom. Get me Masters, too, will you?” He listened for a moment, and then replaced the phone. “Masters is my communications officer. He’ll take you to the radar shack, show you where the girl was found. I imagine you’ll want to get started right away.”

“Yes,” Norton said.

“I’ll ask Mike... Reynolds, my executive officer, to restrict the men to the ship. I’m certainly glad you gentlemen are here. My investigation board hasn’t—”

“Captain,” Norton said, “I hope this board of yours isn’t going to get underfoot.”

“What?” Glenburne asked.

“Your investigation board. A lot of amateurs dickering in murder are liable to screw up the works. Do you understand, sir?”

“Well, yes. But...”

“You can have your board, if you like. Please don’t misunderstand me. I sincerely hope, though, that they’ll confine their investigation to—”

“I had hoped they could be of assistance. After all—”

“Con-fine their investigation,” Norton said over Glenburne’s voice, “to a compilation of the facts for the ship’s record. In other words, we’ll welcome evidence, but we don’t want them working at cross purposes with us.”

“I see.”

A discreet knock sounded on the wardroom door.

“Come in,” Glenburne said harshly.

Mike Reynolds opened the door and stepped into the room. “You sent for me. Captain?” he said.

“Yes. I want you to restrict all the men to the ship, starting at once. Cancel liberty for all watch sections.”

“Yes, sir,” Reynolds said.

“Captain,” Norton said.

“Yes?”

“That order includes officers, too, I hope.”

“Officers?”

“I assumed that ‘men,’ in Navy jargon, means ‘enlisted men.’ I want the officers restricted, too.”

“But surely you don’t think—”

“Captain, until I know better, even you may have killed that nurse.”

“I see.” Glenburne forced a smile that didn’t quite come off. “All right, Mike,” he said. “Restrict all officers and men to the ship.” He turned to Norton. “I hope this will not include my investigation board.”

Norton shrugged. “All right, give your board free rein.”

“Thank you. Take care of that, will you, Mike?”

“Yes, sir.” Reynolds walked to the door and opened it, catching Masters in the act of raising his fist to knock. Glenburne spotted Masters and said, “Come in, Chuck, come in.” Masters stood to one side while Reynolds stepped into the passageway. He winked at Reynolds and then went into the wardroom, closing the door behind him.

“Chuck.” Glenburne said, “Mr. Norton and Mr. Dickason, the FBI men we’ve been expecting. Gentlemen, this is Mr. Masters, my communications officer.” Glenburne cleared his throat. “He is also a member of the investigation board.”

Norton took Masters’ hand. “How do you do?”

Masters returned the grip, and then shook hands with Dickason. “Gentlemen,” he said.

“I told these gentlemen you’d show them the radar shack, Chuck. You can do that right now, if you like. That is, I have nothing further to say.” The Old Man looked miffed, and Masters wondered what had happened before he’d arrived.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “If you’ll come with me, gentle—”

“Oh, yes,” Glenburne said, “one other thing. If you’d like, I can find quarters for you on the ship. I’m sure some of my officers wouldn’t mind—”

“We’ll stay in town, thank you,” Norton said.

“I see.” Glenburne cleared his throat. “Well, good luck.”

“Thank you,” Norton said. He followed Masters and Dickason out of the wardroom and into the passageway.

“Right up this ladder,” Masters said over his shoulder. The FBI men followed soundlessly. When they were in the passageway outside C.I.C., Masters said, “This is the radar shack. We’ve kept it locked since the day of the murder.”

“The body’s been removed, hasn’t it?”

“Yes. But we chalked the deck for you. So you’ll know where she was lying. We haven’t touched anything in here.”

“Except the doorknob,” Norton said dryly.

“Sir?”

“You’ve got your hand all over it right this minute,” Norton said. “How many other people have smeared the prints that might have been on that knob?”

Masters drew his hand back suddenly, as if the brass knob had magically grown hot. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“Is the door locked?” Norton asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Has it been locked since the day of the murder?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was it locked when you discovered the body?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, open it. What’s down the hallway there?”

“The radio shack, sir,” Masters said. “And beyond that, the boat deck. Through the hatch there.”

“All right, open the door.”

Masters unlocked the door and swung it wide. The room was in absolute darkness.

“Were there any lights on when you found the body?” Norton asked.

“Only on one of the plotting boards,” Masters said. “The overhead lights were off.”

“Mmmm.” Norton looked around. “Where’s the light switch?”

“On your left, sir.”

Norton fished a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, opened it over his fingers, and turned the lights on. The radar gear was lined up on the bulkhead to his right. The plotting tables were opposite the gear, with a vertical plotting board diagonally in front of the door leading to the sound shack. Norton looked around the room silently.

“This where you found the body?” Dickason asked, indicating the chalked outline on the deck.

“Yes, sir.”

“She was strangled, that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll have to check that, Fred,” Dickason said. “May be prints on her throat.”

“May be,” Norton said pessimistically. “Those cigarettes there when you found her?”

“Yes, sir.”

Norton stooped and picked the cigarettes up with his handkerchief, carefully folding the linen around them. “Anyone touch these?”

“No, sir.”

“Where’s the girl’s body now?”

“At the base hospital, I believe,” Masters said. “They were holding it for you, I think. The girl’s parents—”

“All right, well take a look later,” Norton said. “You can go now, Mr. Masters.”

Masters hesitated, and then said, “I questioned the girl’s roommate. She told me—”

“What’s her name, Mr. Masters?”

“Jean Dvorak.”

“Where can we find her?”

“She’s a nurse here on the base. You can—”

“Thank you. We’ll get to her later.”

“She told me—”

“We’ll get to her later,” Norton said.

Masters nodded blankly. “Well, if you need me...”

“Well ask the Captain for you. Thanks again for your assistance, Mr. Masters.”

Masters nodded again and walked to the door. He hesitated, looked back into the room, and then left.

“An investigation board!” Norton said sourly.

Dickason shrugged. “They may turn up something, Fred. You never can tell.”

“You’re new at this business,” Norton said. “Take it from me, boy, they won’t turn up a damned thing. I’ve had experience with this kind of setup before.”

“A Navy ship, you mean?”

“No, but a similar setup. An American Legion post once. Entertainer killed there. We got in on the act because the girl had come over the state line. The veterans worked up what they called an investigating committee. Goddamnit, I wanted to shoot them all before I finally got off it.”

“Well, these guys—”

“These guys are all laymen. Like that doorknob. We might have got something from it. Now all we’ve got is a record of every slob who entered this room since the nurse got it. Oh, hell.”

“Think we’ll get anything from the cigarettes?”

“I don’t know. We’d better send those to Washington for a real run-through. I think you’d better dust this room to see what else you can pick up.”

“What are you going to do, Fred?”

“I want to take a look at the body. And then I’ll question this nurse. Maybe she knows something.”

“That officer said—”

“Yes, I know. He’s already questioned her. He’s probably confused her so that she’ll be worthless now. Why the hell can’t people leave technical jobs to technicians? Suppose I came in and started screwing around with his radar? Christ, he’d blow his top.”

Dickason began laughing suddenly.

“What’s so funny?” Norton asked.

“The Captain. You really laid down the law with him.”

“I had to. Look at it this way, Matt: He’s captain of this ship, used to bossing around everybody he runs into. All right, if I didn’t let him know where he stood, he’d think we were a couple more of his lackeys. He may be the boss here normally, but during the run of this investigation, we’re in charge. I wanted him to know that from go.”

“You really think the old guy might have killed her?”

Norton shrugged. “He doesn’t look as if he’d touch a fly.” He paused. “Unless it were unzipped.”

“Yok-yok,” Dickason said.

“Go down and get your gear,” Norton said. “You’d better get started here as soon as possible.”

“While you look at the stiff.”

“While I look at the stiff. Want to come along?”

“No, thanks.”

“I figured. They should have grown a beard on you and sent you to Russia, Matt. That’s the work for you. Cloak and dagger.”

“Up yours,” Dickason said.

Norton snorted and stamped out of the radar shack.