Murder in the Navy

Six

It was very pleasant here, Masters thought.

I like the lighting, and I like the soft music, and I even like the background of muted voices. Most of all, I like the Scotch. You have to hand it to the Navy, they certainly know how to choose Scotch.

And Scotch is a miraculous cure-all, a medicine for the soul. He grinned and twirled the liquid in his glass, listening to the ice cubes clink against its side. It even tastes like medicine the first few times, he thought. Only the first few times. After that, you get used to it, and the bloody stuff has no taste any more, and that’s the highest recommendation you can give any medicine.

He wondered if there were Scotch aboard for medicinal purposes. No, brandy, it would be — and the pharmacist’s mates had probably consumed all that a long time ago. Pity the poor bastard who fell overboa...

Well, now, he thought, here we are back again. Like a merry-go-round, Lieutenant Masters. Around and around, and always back to that poor sonofabitch yeoman who got shoved off the fantail.

One of them did it, that was certain. Either Jones, the radarman, or Daniels, the other yeoman. That was for certain. Now, if this wasn’t the Navy, we would take both those bastards and beat them black and blue until one of them confessed. If this wasn’t the Navy. But this is the Navy, Lieutenant Masters. God, you should certainly know that.

Yes, I most certainly do know that. This is the Navy, and the case is closed, and we’re ready to start another case, Scotch this time. Don’t you ever want to become a lieutenant commander, Lieutenant Masters? If you do, drink up and forget Claire Cole, and forget Richard Schaefer, and go about your business. Drink up.

Eat, drink, and make Mary, for tomorrow...

Tomorrow. Oh, well, tomorrow. Where’s Mary now? That’s the important question before the big investigation board. Where’s Mary now?

He sipped a little more Scotch, aware of the fact that his head was becoming a little muddled and his thinking a bit unclear. He drained the glass and looked around the dimly lighted room and his mind echoed, Where’s Mary?

The hell with Mary, he thought. I don’t even know any Mary. It’s time for another Scotch. Scotty, that’s who I know. He got unsteadily to his feet and made his way to the bar. He plunked down his glass and said, “Scotch and water, please. And go easy on the ice cubes.”

“Yes, sir,” a voice answered.

Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full. One snoot full that’s all I need. Where the hell’s that Scotch?

“Hey!” he called.

“Coming sir.”

“Yeah, well, today, not sometime next year.”

“Here you are, sir. Scotch and water, easy on the ice.”

Easy on the eyes, indeed! Who’s the punster in our midst! Lowest form of animal life is a punster.

He lifted his face and looked at the man behind the bar, the man who held his drink extended.

“Well, now,” he said aloud.

“Sir?”

“Well, now, Mr. Jones. Mr. Radarman Third Class Jones. Well, now, what the hell are you doing serving me drinks?”

Jones smiled and put the tall glass down on the bartop. “You ordered a Scotch and water, sir,” he said. His eyes secretly amused, as if the sight of an officer three sheets to the wind pleased him.

“I know what I ordered, Jones. I know damn well what I ordered. Now tell me what you’re doing behind that bar, Jones. You standing radar watch at the Officers’ Club?”

“I swung the duty, sir.”

“I thought the duty was reserved for steward’s mates and such, Jones.”

Jones winked slyly. “Not if you know the right people, sir.”

“And you know the right people, huh? Who are these right people, Jones?”

“Connections, sir. A ship ain’t all spit and polish, you know.”

“Maybe I should know your connections, huh, Jones? Maybe I’d stop getting mid-watches, huh?”

Jones smiled again. “Maybe, sir.”

“Tell me, Jones. What’s so special about Club duty? How come you need connections to get it?”

Jones shrugged. “You know, sir.”

“No, I don’t know. I honestly do not know, so help me. Tell me, Jones.”

“Well, there’s liquor around, you know.”

“Ahhh, liquor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Am I to believe that you have been copping a nip now and then, Jones?”

“Did I say that, sir?” Jones was grinning broadly at him now.

“No, you did not. You very carefully did not say that. You’re a smart cookie, Jones.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“A very smart cookie. You and the other one, only one is smarter than both of you together. He’d have to be to do what he did and do it the way he did it He’s the real smart one. Are you the real smart one, Jones?”

“Sir?”

“You see, that’s very smart Pretend ignorance. Very smart. You’re smart, all right Jones.”

A Wave officer staggered to the bar and banged her glass down on the top. She was a redhead and she’d taken off her jacket and her blouse hung out of her skirt in the back.

“Hey, Jonesy,” she called. “Let’s have a little service.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jones said. He walked down the bar to the Wave, smiled, and took her glass. “The same, ma’am?”

“I’m a miss, not a ma’am,” the Wave complained.

“Yes, miss. The same?”

“The same, Jonesy.”

Well, Masters thought here’s Mary now. God, is that Mary?

Jones poured a whisky sour and brought it to the Wave, setting it down before her. The Wave took the drink, threw off half of it, and then leaned forward, her breasts pressing against the edge of the bar.

“You’re cute, you know, Jonesy?”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Miss, not ma’am. I’m a miss, Jonesy. Remember that.”

“I will, miss.”

“Good. You goddamn better well remember it, ’cause I outrank you in spades.”

“Yes, miss,” Jones said.

“In spades.” She nodded her head in accord with herself, swept the glass from the bar, and walked with drunken dignity back to her table in the corner.

Masters said, “Nice, huh, Jones?”

“Sir?”

“The broad.”

“Oh. Yes, sir, if you say so, sir.”

“Is that another reason Club duty is desirable, Jones?”

“The broads, you mean?” Jones shrugged. “Officers’ stuff, sir. Not for the lowly.”

“You sound bitter, Jones.”

“Me? Perish it, sir. I’m the world’s happiest.”

“Why?”

“I just am. Why be bitter. Things are tough all—”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You want another drink, sir?”

“No. Thanks, Jones. I think I’ll see if I can’t find Mary.”

“Who, sir?”

“You wouldn’t know her, Jones. Officers’ stuff.”

He turned and put his elbows on the bar, and then began a methodical scrutiny of the room. The Wave with the whisky sour was sitting with a commander, so that was out; she sure as hell was not Mary, not for Masters, anyway. He kept turning his head in short jerks, scrutinizing the place the way he’d scan the horizon for an enemy ship. Perfect lookout procedure, he thought.

When he saw her, he didn’t recognize her at first. She was in dress uniform, and he remembered her in starched white. But he was glad to see her, and he was surprised she was sitting alone.

He lifted his glass and walked across the room, trying to maintain his sense of balance. She was toying with her drink, and she did not see him as he approached. When he reached her table, he cleared his throat.

“Miss Dvorak,” he said. “Jean Dvorak.”

She seemed flustered, and he hoped to hell she wouldn’t blush. Only roses should blush, not women. “Hello, Mr. Masters,” she said.

“Chuck,” he reminded her. “May I sit down?”

“Well...”

She hesitated and looked around the room, and he quickly asked, “Or are you with someone?”

She bit her lower lip. “Well, I was. But she seems to have disappeared or something.”

Masters sat down. “She?” he asked.

“Yes. She.”

He grinned, and Jean Dvorak grinned back, and her face opened again, and he knew he’d never get over what a smile could do for her.

“You should smile more often,” he said.

“Really? Why?”

He nodded his head. “That was the proper answer. When a gentleman gives a cue for a compliment, the lady should always supply the proper answer. That was the proper answer.”

Jean blushed, and he felt instantly sorry for what he’d said. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I had no intention of being coy.”

“Nor I of being a cavalier. You should smile more often because you’re quite beautiful when you do.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Not at all. What are you drinking?”

She looked down at her drink as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh, I really don’t know,” she said, seemingly flustered again. “Mary ordered it for me. She’s the one who was—”

“Mary!” He opened his eyes wide, and then the laugh bubbled from his mouth. “Mary! Oh, God, no. Oh, God, that can’t be true. Mary! Well, no wonder she’s lost.”

Jean looked bewildered. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“A private gag,” Masters said. “Forgive me, it was rude.”

“That’s quite all right.”

“No, really. I’m very sorry. It was a personal joke, and a somewhat low one, at that.”

“That’s all right.”

“And I’m forgiven?”

“Really, there’s no need for—”

“Say I’m forgiven. Please do.”

She smiled, and he unconsciously smiled back. “You’re forgiven.”

“Good. Excellent. I feel much better.”

“I’d say you were feeling pretty good to begin with.”

“Scotch,” he said. “The cure-all. I’m drowning my sorrows.”

“Your sorrows?”

“The postsuicide blues.”

“Oh. That boy on your ship.”

“Yes.”

“I saw it in the base newspaper. It was terrible, wasn’t it?”

“More so than you think.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The wrong man, sweetheart. The wrong man.”

She wrinkled her forehead, and he said, “Please don’t do that.”

“What?” she asked.

“Your forehead, the wrinkles. They’ll stay that way.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. What did you mean about the wrong man?”

“Forget it. It’s all part of the postsuicide blues.” He looked at her and said, “You’re doing it again. You’ll be sorry when you’re forty.”

“You mean you think he’s not the one who murdered Claire?”

“Ah. Yes, that’s what I think. Or that’s what I think I think. Listen, do we have to stay here? Don’t all these commanders and captains and assorted brass give you the willies?”

“Well...”

“I know. Don’t say it. You’re waiting for Mr. Right. I saw it on your face that day I asked you for dinner. O.K., apologies extended. I’ll fold my Scotch like the Arabs and silently steal away.”

She giggled suddenly, and then covered her mouth. “You’re really quite amusing when you’re... when you’re this way, you know. Forgive me, I shouldn’t have laughed.”

“Honey,” he said, “your laugh outdistances your smile.” He frowned. “That’s a hard word to say, the way I feel. Outdistances. Which is what I shall do right now. Thanks for the use of your table, Miss Dvorak.”

He stood, and she put her hand on his sleeve.

“No, don’t go,” she said. “It’s all right.”

He stared down at her. “What’s all right?”

“I mean...”

“You mean you’ll come with me? We’ll leave all these stripe-happy bastards, pardon me, behind and seek some fresh air that doesn’t stink of the Navy?”

She giggled again. “Well, I wasn’t going to put it exactly that way.”

“Ma’am,” he said, “miss, Jean, there’s only one way to put it. Only one way. Let’s get the hell out of here, but first let me say good-by to a remaining third of the triumvirate.”

“My heavens, who’s that?”

“He poses now as Bacchus, but he may really be Morpheus.”

“Morpheus?”

“The guy who puts people to sleep. I’ll be right back.”

He staggered across the room and stopped in front of the bar.

“Hey, Jones,” he said. “Hey, Jones, you bastard, c’mere.”

Jones moved over to Masters warily. “Yes, sir?”

“Don’t ‘yes’ me, and don’t ‘sir’ me. Just remember this, you bastard. I’ll be watching you. I got nothing to do on that goddamned ship, anyway, so I’ll be watching you. With all my eyes, Jones. Every one of them. I’ll be watching you and that other sonafabitch, and God help either of you the first time you step out of line. Just remember that.”

Jones eyed Masters levelly. “Why’ve you got the knife in me, sir?” he asked.

“Hah!” Masters snorted. He turned and reeled across the room, taking Jean’s arm and leading her to the door.

“I warned him,” he said. “I warned the bastard. Now I’ll watch him. Him and Daniels. Come on, Jean, miss, ma’am. I got a jeep out here someplace.”

“Do you think you should drive? I mean...”

“No, I shouldn’t,” Masters said. “But I will anyway. Do you fear for your life?”

“No,” she said in a small voice.

“You do. You do, and it’s sweet of you to say you don’t. Come on, we’ll walk.” He paused. “I haven’t got a jeep, anyway. Where the hell would I get a jeep?”

They walked down the tree-lined streets of the base. The barracks were unlighted, and the trees cast large shadows on the brick walls.

“This is a beautiful base,” he said. “One of the prettiest.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s a shame it’s in such a rat town. Rat towns shouldn’t have beautiful bases.”

“They shouldn’t.”

“My bit of philosophy for the day,” he said. “Where are we walking?”

“I don’t know. I’m following you.”

“Well, there are a variety of things available on this lovely base. We can wander around and look at the trees and the flowers. Would you like to do that?”

“If you want to.”

“Or we can stroll over to the air base and watch the Navy pilots make landings in the dark. That is apt to be dangerous.”

“Then let’s not do it.”

“You do not, I gather, appreciate danger.”

“Sometimes.”

“Fine. There then remains a magnificent ball field, complete with bleachers and tons of grass. The weather is uncommonly mild, and we can pretend there is a game in progress. What say?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“It is restricted,” he went on. “But methinks a mere enlisted man guards the portals. We can scare him away with all our assorted bars, Ensign Dvorak.”

“All right,” she said, and then she laughed softly and held his arm tighter. They walked in silence until the outline of the ball field loomed ahead. Standing near the gate was an enlisted man with a guard belt and a rifle.

Masters walked over and said, “You there! Snap to!”

The man leaped to attention. “Sorry, sir. I–I didn’t see you.”

“That’s a fine recommendation for a man on watch. I saw some Waves in their underwear trying to crawl under the fence at the far end of the field. Get over there and stop them.”

“Yes, sir.” The guard started running, and Jean began laughing.

“He must think you’re crazy,” she said.

“No. But he’s going to be mighty disappointed. After you, m’dear.”

They walked across the field, and he took off his jacket, over her protests, and spread it on the ground for her. They sat, and the stars were etched sharply overhead, and the world seemed to end at the perimeter of the ball field.

“I’m beginning to get sober,” he said.

“Are you? Well, good.”

“Why? I’m also beginning to remember why I got looped.”

“Schaefer again?”

“Schaefer again. Damnit, why’d they have to stick me on that damned investigation board?”

“Chuck, can’t you forget it? You know the Navy as well as I do. Look at it this way. How many men are killed when a ship goes down?”

“Sure.”

“Chuck...”

“Yes?”

“You’re not going to get morose, are you?”

“No, I’m not.” He laughed suddenly.

“What’s that for?”

“Mary. I was just thinking of Mary.”

“My girl friend?”

“No. Another Mary. A girl whom you are not — but I think I’ll kiss you anyway.”

“Chuck...”

He took her in his arms, and she tried to hold him away for just a moment, until his mouth found hers. And then she trembled slightly in the circle of his embrace and gave her lips to him.

“I’ll be seeing a lot of you, you know,” he said.

“I...”

“Yes, I will. Oh, yes, I will. You might as well get used to the way I kiss.”

She caught her breath, and when she spoke, her voice was very low. “I’m used to it already,” she said.