Murder in the navy

Five

He was quite pleased with the way he’d come through all the questioning. They really had nothing to go on, of course, except the fact that he’d been at the hospital. Well, he’d handled that very nicely, he thought. With both the FBI and Mr. Masters.

There were undoubtedly a good many ways to react to questioning. The point, naturally, was not to appear suspicious, and you could do that by being arrogant about the whole thing, or by being innocent about it. He’d made his choice and then stuck to it, keeping up the pose all along.

They did suspect him. There was no question about that. But they suspected two others as well, and you can’t hang a man on suspicion. Somehow they’d learned about that Wilmington week end with Claire. Knowing how Claire had felt about the whole thing, knowing now in retrospect, he was fairly certain she had not discussed it with anyone. The Wilmington information must have been a slip, then, something she’d done or said unawares. Yes, they knew Claire had met someone in Wilmington on that week end. He didn’t care how they’d found out. That they knew was enough for him.

And once they knew that, they’d undoubtedly checked the ship’s liberty list, and then checked that against the list of men who’d been to the hospital recently, men who’d had a chance to know Claire. He’d turned up as a possible suspect. But that was the extent of it. He was sure they didn’t know more than that. If they did, they’d have already pulled him in.

He had never been seen together with Claire, and that was definitely in his favor. Oh, yes, they’d been very careful about that angle. It had been necessary at the time. You couldn’t expect a j.g. to go running around with an enlisted man. But it was all working to his advantage now, and that was fine.

Even the Wilmington thing had been completely under wraps. Claire had gone earlier by bus and train, and he had followed later. She had taken a room at the David Blake, telling the desk clerk she was expecting her husband later in the day. She’d registered as Mr. and Mrs. Mark Knowles. She’d had luggage. She looked respectable; Claire always had looked respectable. There’d been no questions asked.

When he arrived in Wilmington, he called the hotel and asked for Mrs. Mark Knowles. Claire had come to the phone breathless.

“Claire? Honey? I’m here.”

“Oh, baby, I’m so glad.”

“Why? Was it difficult?”

“No, no. No trouble at all. I’m just lonely.”

“Well, I’m here.”

“Good. Are you coming up?”

“Yes. What’s the room number?”

She’d given him the number. He’d left the pay phone and gone directly to the hotel He did not stop at the desk. He went straight to the elevator banks and up to Claire’s floor. He waited until the elevator door closed, waited until he heard the lift mechanism whir into motion again. Then he’d gone to the room.

They’d spent most of that week end in the room. Whenever they left the hotel for meals or a walk or a movie, they did so quietly. Claire never left the room key at the desk. They had both worn quiet civilian clothing. They had not become overly friendly with any of the hotel personnel or guests. They were, for all practical purposes, just another nice, quiet married couple stopping over in town for the week end. When they checked out, they did so as quietly and unobtrusively as they’d done everything else. Claire had paid for the room when she’d registered. When they checked out, he took their luggage and went to wait outside. Claire left their key at the desk, thanked the manager for a nice stay, and then left. They walked to the railroad station together. They boarded the train at separate cars, not seeing or speaking to each other again once they’d left Wilmington. It had all gone off without a hitch.

He stood near the fantail now, smelling the faint odor of the garbage cans stacked there, and smelling the deeper, brackish odor of the water slapping the metal skin of the ship. He drew in on his cigarette and thought, I’ll get away with it

He was sure of that. Even with all the questioning, even with all the secret horse manure, he knew he would get away with it. He was sure no one in Wilmington would remember either Claire or him. They’d given no one anything to remember. Yes, he would get away with it.

The thought didn’t please him, because he liked it better with her alive. She’d been something, all right. She’d certainly been something. Right from the start. One of those things where two people just click suddenly. That spark, sort of, flaring up in two pairs of eyes. She was officer’s stuff, all right, but she’d been all his. He thought of her body again, thought of it in his arms, thought of it as he’d seen it on that Wilmington week end. The thought pained him. She had been so much woman, more woman than he’d ever had before. Why’d she have to turn stupid on him? Why couldn’t she have let things roll along the way they were going? Christ, it had been a perfect setup, and they’d been good together.

Well, there were other women. That was something you could always count on. Women. No matter what else failed, no matter how hard the Navy hopped on you, there were always women. And once you got off the goddamned ship, even in a sad town like No Curse Nor Drink Norfolk, he’d always managed to make out. You could count on women. Still, Claire had been something better than most women.

Maybe he’d pull another hospital stint, get to meet another nurse. Hey, now, that wasn’t such a bad idea. After this was all over, of course. This damn restricted crap was beginning to wear on him. How long can you keep a guy cooped up? This was worse than boot camp. But that hospital idea was a good one. Hell, it had worked before, why not again? Sure, when this was all over. After all the Hawkshaws got through snooping around. Mr. Masters handed him a laugh, all right. Firing questions like a D.A. in court. Where was this, and when was that, and blah-blah-blah. A real laugh.

Those FBI characters were a pretty good comic routine themselves. Abbott and Costello, or Martin and Lewis. Hell, they couldn’t find the Missouri if someone hid it in their shower stall.

He chuckled at his own humor, took a last drag on the cigarette, and then flipped it over the side, watching it arc against the blackness of the sky, and then hiss momentarily when it struck the water.

The FBI boys had returned to the ship at around 2100. It was 2230 now, and he still hadn’t been called for further questioning, so he was willing to bet they hadn’t turned up anything new. He was safe. This was one cookie they weren’t going to grab. He chuckled again, and was turning to go when he heard the footsteps coming toward him. He panicked for just a moment, and then he told himself, Easy. Easy now.

He squinted his eyes against the darkness, wishing someone would open the hatch to the aft sleeping compartment so he’d have some light to see by. The figure was closer now, and he still couldn’t identify it. Maybe Masters coming to ask some more questions. Or maybe Martin and Lewis again. Maybe they had turned up something. Maybe... No, no, they couldn’t have. No one knew he’d gone to Wilmington. No one had seen him. He was safe.

“Who’s there?” he asked the darkness.

“Me.”

“Who’s me?”

“Schaefer.”

“Oh. What do you want?”

He watched Schaefer move closer, and he clenched his fists, prepared for whatever was coming. Schaefer moved noiselessly, stepping close to the garbage cans. He watched him warily.

“I was just about to turn in,” he said.

“That can wait,” Schaefer answered.

“Sure,” he said. He speared a single cigarette from the pocket on his denim shirt, changed his mind and let it drop back into the package again. “What’s on your mind, Schaefer?”

“The dead nurse,” Schaefer said softly.

He felt his hands shake a little, and he controlled the tremble and asked, “What about the dead nurse?”

“You know,” Schaefer said.

He looked around the fantail quickly. There was no one else on deck back there. The stern of the ship was in complete darkness.

“No,” he answered slowly. “I don’t know.”

“At the hospital,” Schaefer said. “You and the nurse.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know, all right. I was in the bed opposite yours, and I saw you playing up to her. I saw you, so don’t deny it.”

His mind raced back. Had Schaefer really been in the bed opposite? Or was this one of Mr. Masters’ tricks?

“All right,” he said cautiously, “I played up to her. So what?”

“You went to Wilmington, too,” Schaefer said. “On your week end. I know that.”

“You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m not crazy. I know because you asked for a Wilmington train schedule at the office a few days before that week end. I remember that. I was typing up the promotions list when you asked for it. I remember.”

“You’re crazy,” he said again, but he was thinking furiously now, trying to remember. Had he asked for a Wilmington schedule? Why the hell had he done that? Yes, yes, he remembered now. He had asked. Claire thought it would be safer for him to get the information aboard ship. A lot less conspicuous than her checking on it ashore, and men gossiped a lot less than women. Yes, he’d asked for the schedule, and Schaefer, that sonofabitch — remembered.

“So what? What are you driving at, Schaefer?”

“Mr. Masters thinks there’s a connection. I shut up before now because I didn’t want to be a squealer.”

“You mean you told Masters all this crap?”

“No. Not yet. But if you killed that nurse...”

He lashed out suddenly with his bunched fist, catching Schaefer on the point of his jaw. Schaefer staggered back a few paces, crashing into one of the garbage cans. He hit Schaefer again, and this time the man went limp, falling to the deck.

He was breathing harshly when he bent down for Schaefer. He looked over his shoulder, thankful when he saw no one there. He picked the man up then, dragged him past the garbage cans and to the fantail. He lifted him over the chains dangling there and then released him. He waited until he heard the body splash into the water.

Then he shouted. “Man overboard! Man overboard!” and he ran down the starboard side of the ship, climbing the ladder to the boat deck and merging with the shadows. Behind him, he could hear the men rushing up out of the aft sleeping compartment.

Dickason handed the signed report to Norton.

“Did you read it?” Norton asked.

“Yes. Yes, I read it.”

“Well?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Fred.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m convinced yet.”

“For Christ’s sake, Matt—”

“Oh, all right, I know you’ve had a lot of experience in this sort of thing, but I still don’t know, Fred.”

“What’s the trouble? What’s bothering you now, little boy?”

“Nothing. I guess it’s the only conclusion we can draw, but I still wish there was something more to go on. No fingerprints, no nothing, and a million damn people crawling all over the ship when the nurse was killed. I just hope we have the right man, Fred.”

“You worry too goddamn much,” Norton said. “In something like this, you’ve got to take the facts as they fall. I told you the killer would crack, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Well, he cracked. Look, Matt, I agree, either Daniels or Jones could have killed the goddamned nurse, too. But it was Schaefer that jumped off the fantail! You tack that onto the rest we’ve got, and he’s our man.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Do you like this Navy horse manure?” Norton said.

“No. Of course not.”

“Do you want to go back to Washington?”

“Yes.”

“Then you want some advice? Forget it. This is only one case, and not a very important one, at that.”

“Well, I don’t want to seem like an eager beaver...”

“Then don’t.”

“Is this standard operating procedure?”

“Nothing is standard operating procedure. You fit the facts to the case. As far as I’m concerned, Schaefer conclusively proved his guilt by taking his own life. That’s good enough for me.”

“But if reasonable doubt exists, shouldn’t we investigate further?”

“What reasonable doubt?”

“Well...” Dickason hesitated.

“See? There really isn’t any doubt in your mind. Admit it. Would you kill yourself if you hadn’t done anything?”

“I guess not.”

“All right, then. Sign the damned report, and let’s get it off. With a little luck, we’ll be back in Washington before the week is out.”

“It’s disgusting,” Masters said. “The old bastard sounds actually gleeful.”

“He had to send a wire,” Reynolds said. He shrugged. “He was good enough to leave out the fact that Schaefer was a goddamn murderer.”

“If he was a murderer,” Masters said.

“The FBI seems to think so. Look, Chuck, let it lie. The nurse’s home town is happy and CinCLant is happy, and the Squadron Commander is happy, and most of all the Old Man is happy. Let it lie.”

“Sure, let it lie.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what’s the matter? You think Schaefer didn’t do it?”

“Didn’t do what? Didn’t commit suicide, or didn’t kill the nurse?”

“Take your choice.”

“I don’t think he did either.”

“How so?”

“Did you see his effects? I did.”

“I saw them.”

“All right. If you saw them, you know Schaefer was in the middle of a letter to his folks. The letter was dated the night of the alleged suicide. Now, you can’t tell me that a guy who’s ready to leap over the fantail is going to stop a letter in the middle of a sentence and then take his swim — without even mentioning anything to his own parents.”

“Not all suicides leave notes.”

“No. But most suicides like to leave things in some state of order. Hell, Schaefer had his soap and towel laid out on his sack.”

“What’s your theory?”

“Who the hell knows? Maybe he was troubled by something. Maybe he left the letter to take a walk, or maybe he went to the head. Maybe he saw someone and stopped to talk to him. Maybe somebody shoved him over the fantail.”

“I doubt it. I doubt it very much, Chuck.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should take a look at his records. And then maybe you can tell me why a guy like Schaefer chose drowning as his means of suicide.”

“I don’t get it,” Reynolds said, puzzled.

“You don’t, huh? Well, its all in his records. Schaefer was an expert swimmer. As a matter of fact, he applied for underwater demolition school when he first entered the Navy. Now you tell me how an expert swimmer expects to drown by jumping over the side!”

“Well...”

“Think it over, Mike. And think over motives while you’re at it. Let’s assume Schaefer did kill the nurse. If he’s caught, the Navy hangs him. That’s the penalty for murder, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“All right, all he has to lose is his life, right? He’s in the reserve, so he really doesn’t give a damn about a Navy career or honors or glory or what the hell have you? He’s just putting in time, waiting to get back into civvies. If he gets away with the murder, he’s out of the Navy and free. If he doesn’t, he hangs and loses his life. That’s all he can lose; his life. A man smart enough to kill Claire Cole would also be smart enough to take the gamble. But Schaefer didn’t, or at least you’re telling me he didn’t. He took his own life, the only thing he had to lose.” Masters paused. “I’m sorry. I don’t buy it.”

“What do you buy?”

“I buy a murderer still walking around this goddamned tub. Only now the score is two, and everything is all smoothed out. Activity resumed, nobody restricted to the ship any more. The sonofabitch must be in seventh heaven right now. It burns me up. It makes me sore that somebody thinks he can get away with something like this. And it makes me sorer to think of the meatheads up the chain of command who are tickled pink over Schaefer’s alleged suicide.”

“Stop calling it ‘alleged,’ Chuck. CinCLant—”

“CinCLant, my bloody foot! CinCLant is just as tickled as everyone else. Now the pressure’s off, and everybody can relax. Everybody can go on bucking for his fourth stripe or a few more scrambled eggs on his hat. Everybody can go to the Officers’ Club and drink a toast to the brilliant investigation board. And everybody can forget all about a dead nurse, and a poor slob who lived in the Bronx! It stinks! For two cents, I’d—”

“Take it easy, Chuck. The case is closed.”

“I know.”

“There’s nothing more to be done.”

“I know.”

“Just relax, Chuck.”

“That’s just what I’m going to do. I’m going to the Club tonight, and I’m going to get stinking blind.”