No Accidental Death

by Garrett Hutson

*

  When Doug entered, Farnsworth was sitting on the bench at the back of the tiny room, foot up on the bench, elbow on his knee, and hand on his forehead. He scrambled to his feet as the door locked behind Doug.

  “At ease, Scott,” Doug said before Farnsworth could snap to attention. “I’d like to talk to you about the reason for your arrest. First, I have to say that this conversation is officially part of my investigation—but I’m not convinced that you did what Commander Rose had you arrested for, and I’d like to help you.”

  Farnsworth nodded. “I appreciate that, sir.”

  “Are you willing to talk about it?”

  After a second’s hesitation, Farnsworth nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Have a seat.” The tiny room had a hard metal bench along three sides, Farnsworth sitting in the rear, and Doug sat along the left side. “As I said, I don’t think you killed Nick Bonadio. But, given the events of this evening, we have to talk about your gun, and what happened to the three missing bullets.”

  “I only fired one of them, sir,” Farnsworth said, his eyes pleading in a way that his voice did not. “I was telling the truth when I told you and Commander Rose that I fired my gun once while on shore last week, to scare off a pair of tough guys that wanted to rough me up.”

  Doug nodded. “I believe you—but to clear your name, I’ll need every detail you can remember. Let’s start with what day this was, and where it happened.”

  A cloud of wariness fell over Farnsworth’s deep blue eyes. They were almost the exact same color as Lucy’s. Doug nodded again to prompt him.

  “It was last Wednesday—the first night of my shore leave. It wasn’t long after dark—probably nine-thirty or so.” He stopped, a look of uncertainty crossing his face, and he pulled his head back a little as he looked at Doug warily.

  “Go on,” Doug said. When Farnsworth still hesitated, he asked, “Where was this? Be as exact as you can.”

  Farnsworth swallowed, and lowered his eyes. “It was in an alley behind some warehouses, just off the Chinese Bund. About a mile from the southern boundary of the French Concession.”

  Doug looked at Farnsworth’s hands, which were now shaking. The ensign crossed his left ankle over his right knee, and clasped his hands onto his left knee to hide the shaking, but Doug noticed a tiny tremor in the crease of Farnsworth’s white pants.

  “What took you to that alley on Wednesday night, Scott?”

  Farnsworth didn’t answer, just stared at his hands on his knee. Doug pictured an alley behind a row of sailors’ bars by the river in Yangtzepoo, where he had gone with Charlie and Bao two years ago to ask about some entries in Tim McIntyre’s date book. It was an alley where groups of young men and teenage boys plied their wares, to men who preferred them to the female streetwalkers.

  “Were you there seeking companionship?” Doug asked, trying hard to keep any judgement out of his voice.

  Farnsworth’s face snapped up, eyes wide, and mouth slightly open in surprise.

  “It’s ok, Scott,” Doug said, forcing a smile and taking on a reassuring tone. “I’m not the morality police. I won’t disclose your reasons for being there—unless it’s absolutely necessary to defend you against a murder charge. But otherwise, it’s our secret. OK?”

  Farnsworth looked down, licked his lips, and swallowed hard. After a couple of seconds’ indecision, he nodded.

  “Boys?”

  Farnsworth’s eyes widened to their fullest extent as he looked up at Doug.

  Doug suddenly felt the need to explain. “I’m familiar with alleys like that...but in Yangtzepoo.” He supposed there could be others along the riverfront, at a distance from downtown and its crowds.

  A weight seemed to lift of Farnsworth’s shoulders, and his entire body visibly relaxed. He exhaled hard, and a nervous laugh escaped his lips. “I didn’t know you’d... Yes, I know those alleys. They’re off-limits to westerners right now, with the battle not far to the north. But I know a lot of ships anchor far away from the Yangtzepoo docks, so I figured there were others like it elsewhere. I went down the Bund the other direction, looking for signs...” his voice trailed off.

  “And you found what you were looking for.” Doug said it as much to himself as to Farnsworth, no longer looking the ensign in the face. He’d looked down, until he realized with a start that he was staring at the inside of Farnsworth’s thigh. His face flushed hot, and he forced himself to look back at the ensign’s face. It had only been a couple of seconds, he couldn’t have noticed. Could he?

  But Farnsworth looked too preoccupied with the conversation to have given any notice to the direction of Doug’s gaze. He visibly swallowed again, and nodded without a word.

  “What happened?” Doug’s mouth grew dry.

  “I was...negotiating...with one of the, um...”

  “Nánjì,” Doug said, offering the Mandarin word for male prostitute.

  A look of recognition crossed Farnworth’s eyes, and a hint of smile raised the corners of his mouth. “Yes, I, um...I’ve heard that term.”

  “Go on,” Doug prompted.

  “Right. We’d just come to an agreement, and were about to go...find somewhere...when these two thugs come sauntering down the alley, holding two-by-fours like clubs, calling us foul names.” Farnsworth’s fingers started to tremble again. “I got out my pistol, and fired it in the air. They ran away. Like rats.” He looked Doug straight in the eye. “I didn’t say any of that in front of Commander Rose so I wouldn’t incriminate myself. I’ve had the feeling for a while now that he was on to me. If he ever found out for certain, he’d send me down for violating the navy’s morality code.”

  A puzzle piece clicked into place, and relief swept through Doug. If Scott Farnsworth had a feeling that Rose was onto him, that would have been from Rose’s close scrutiny in recent weeks—which he’d admitted to Doug—and had nothing to do with Nick Bonadio ratting Farnsworth out to Rose. He was more convinced than ever that Scott Farnsworth wasn’t the killer.

  “Let’s talk about the other two missing bullets,” he said, hoping Farnsworth would lead him where he wanted to go.

  “I don’t have any explanation for that, I swear, sir,” Farnsworth said, still looking Doug in the eye. “But I promise you, it doesn’t make any sense that my barrel would be dirty. I clean my gun spotless every night, I promise.”

  That was exactly what Doug had hoped he would say. “I know you do. I thought the same thing when you were arrested. It didn’t add up.”

  “I clean it right before bed every night,” Farnsworth said. “So it had to have been fired by someone within the last twenty-three-and-a-half hours between when I went to bed last night, and when Major Cartwright inspected it this evening.”

  Doug frowned. One thing still didn’t make sense. “But you have it on your person at all times, don’t you?”

  “Of course, sir,” Farnsworth said. Then he shrugged. “Except when I’m in the shower. Then I leave it locked in my quarters.”

  Their eyes met and held, and Doug could see from the look on Scott Farnsworth’s face that they were thinking the same thing.

  But how could they prove it?

  23

  Wednesday, August 25

  It was still several minutes before oh-eight-hundred when Doug walked up the ladder toward the radio room, but he spotted Petty Office Callahan waiting outside the locked door, leaning against the wall. He came to attention, but Doug waved him off. “At ease, Callahan. You’ve got the Forenoon watch with me?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve got Forenoon and First Dog today.”

  Callahan was, in Doug’s opinion, the best radio operator on the ship. Doug was always happy to see him working either the Forenoon watch—oh eight-hundred to twelve-hundred—or the Afternoon watch—twelve-hundred to sixteen-hundred. Doug usually only continued working for an hour or ninety minutes after the start of the First Dog watch at sixteen-hundred, so that assignment wasn’t as important, but he was still glad to see Callahan would be back.


  “Let’s get started, shall we?” Doug said, pulling the keys out of his pocket.

  “If we could wait just a moment, sir,” Callahan said, and then hesitated.

  “What is it?”

  Callahan’s pale blue eyes looked nervous. No, frightened. Doug glanced down at the motion of two of his fingers twitching at his side.

  “Word around the ship is that Ensign Farnsworth got arrested last night,” Callahan said. He was trying to sound casual, but Doug still detected the little tremor at the back of his voice.

  “That’s right,” Doug said, watching Callahan closely.

  “If you don’t mind, sir—do you know why? I mean—what was he arrested for?”

  “You mean you didn’t hear why through the grapevine?” Doug asked with a sardonic half-smile.

  “No, sir. Everyone’s whispering about it, wondering what he did to get locked up.” Still that slight tremor in his voice.

  So Commander Rose was keeping his lips tight about it. He must have also ordered the marines to maintain silence. That was curious.

  And why would Callahan be afraid of the reason Farnsworth was—

  An image popped into Doug’s mind, unbidden, and it made him blush. He made a show of peering down the ladder to make sure no one was in earshot, giving him several seconds for his face to return to normal color. Then he positioned himself between Callahan and the door to the Radio room.

  “I want you to tell me the truth, do you hear?” Doug said quietly, and Callahan nodded, a little too vigorously. “Are you and Ensign Farnsworth...”

  While he was searching for an appropriate word, Callahan’s eyes grew so wide the whites were visible all around. “What do you mean, sir?” he said, his voice suddenly half an octave higher than usual.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Doug said, holding up his hands and trying to sound reassuring. “I’m not the morality police here—” Callahan’s eyes grew even wider, if that were possible—“I’m not going to judge you, or say anything to anyone, I promise. But if there’s anything you’d like to get off your chest, about you and Ensign Farnsworth, I’m happy to listen.”

  “That’s why he was arrested, wasn’t it?” Callahan said, breathless.

  “No,” Doug said, shaking his head.

  “But you know about...?” Several of his fingers were twitching at his side now.

  Doug nodded. “Don’t worry—as I said, I’m not going to say a word to anyone. That’s a promise.”

  Callahan looked torn. “But how did you know?”

  The door of the Radio room opened, and Petty Officer Franklin poked his head out, still wearing the headset. “There you are. I was wondering where my relief was,” he said to Callahan.

  Doug looked at his watch. Oh eight-hundred on the dot. He followed Callahan inside, and readied his workspace while Franklin briefed Callahan. Once Franklin was gone, he walked over to Callahan’s chair in front of the radio.

  “Is it possible that someone saw you and Ensign Farnsworth doing...?” Doug asked, just above a whisper.

  Callahan’s eyes got as wide as before, and sweat beaded on his forehead. “I don’t think so...but maybe? Oh, God! Someone saw?”

  “Shh! Calm down. It’s not common knowledge.” At least, Doug hoped that was true. “But someone did tell Commander Rose that Ensign Farnsworth was...engaging in that sort of behavior, with enlisted men. The informant wouldn’t tell Commander Rose who the enlisted men were, so I’m almost positive he kept it to himself.”

  Callahan was visibly struggling to remain calm, his face beet-red, and every inch of visible skin was clammy. “Yeah, so, I guess maybe...I mean, Ensign Farnsworth and me got started because he saw me wi—” He cut off, and clamped his mouth shut mid-word. He turned away, and started messing with the dials on the radio in a way that even Doug knew was fake.

  He weighed the conversation in his mind as quickly as he could. Clearly, Patrick Callahan didn’t have a motive for killing Nick Bonadio, since he had no idea that Nick knew about his sexual relations with Scott Farnsworth—if Nick even knew that specifically; it could have been someone else that Nick witnessed with Farnsworth. Besides, Callahan had been aboard the Valparaiso on the night Nick was killed.

  “Alright, I’m going to tell you something in confidence—but you have to promise me that you’ll keep this to yourself. OK?”

  Callahan nodded vigorously. “Of course, sir. I’d never tell anyone about any of this.”

  Of course he wouldn’t. Doug felt foolish making him promise. “Nick Bonadio was the informant who told Commander Rose about Ensign Farnsworth and certain unnamed enlisted men. Since he was killed, it’s possible that was the reason. Do you know who else Nick might have seen Ensign Farnsworth with? Someone who might have tried to hurt him, tried to intimidate him to keep silent, and maybe it went too far?”

  Conflict tightened every feature of Callahan’s face. He slowly shook his head. “He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t—he and Bonadio were buddies.”

  Doug opened his mouth to ask who Callahan meant, but then a second later, he didn’t have to ask.

  **

  Shanghai

  Lucy’s heart jumped when George came back into the examining room after being gone more than twenty minutes. She couldn’t read his expression, and his smile seemed merely friendly, as usual.

  She’d been on pins and needles ever since coming to see him on Monday. Now she was so nervous her fingertips tingled in a strange way.

  “We did get the test results back from the hospital, not long before you walked through the door, in fact. They’re a bit behind schedule on a lot of things right now, as you can imagine.”

  Just tell me what it says. “Yes, I can only imagine how much extra work they have right now.”

  He laid the folder on the desk, sat on the stool, and rolled it up to the table so that he sat facing her. He put his hand on top of hers.

  “The result was positive. You are expecting.”

  She’d known that was the answer, but hearing it out-loud from a doctor still made her entire body tingle with overactive nerves. She’d never missed a period, and was one of the most regular women she knew—she could predict within a day or two when she would start every month. So when she hadn’t...

  “How do you feel?” George asked, his intense blue eyes starting at her, unblinking.

  “Fine, I think,” she said, not really sure how she felt, actually.

  “I don’t just mean how you feel physically,” he said. He patted her hand. “As your friend as well as your doctor, I wanna know how you feel about the news.”

  It was unplanned, the timing couldn’t be more inconvenient, and it would change everything—but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, was it?

  “I think—I mean, I feel OK. The trouble is, I don’t know where Doug is right now. He’s on his ship, but I don’t know where it is or when he’ll be back. He’s had so much responsibility lately, with the war raging all around us, and one of his crew getting killed, so I don’t know how he’ll feel about it whenever he comes home and I can tell him.”

  George smiled at her, his manner oozing reassurance. “I know he’ll be happy. He loves you, we all know it. And you know he wants to be with you forever. He’ll want to marry you when he hears—and not because he thinks he has to.”

  She smiled, too, picturing the scene. “You’re right, of course. The timing is just terrible.”

  “It usually is,” George replied with a wry chuckle.

  “We’re always so careful!” She sighed. “I replace my diaphragm every two years. Well, you know that, since you were my doctor when I replaced it last spring. Plus, we combine it with the old-fashioned rhythm method, for good measure.”

  “I’ve told you this before, but the diaphragm is about eighty percent preventive, not one hundred percent.”

  “I know—that’s why we combine it with the rhythm method, to improve our odds.”

  George chuckled. “Lots of things can change the timi
ng of your cycle—including the stress we’ve all been under the last few weeks. You probably misjudged your rhythm last month, that’s all.”

  Lucy took a deep breath, and released it slowly. This wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t what she would have chosen right now, but in the end hadn’t she always thought she and Doug would marry and have a family someday?

  She began to laugh.

  **

  Lucy left the little grocery on west Kiukiang Road, in the Chinese part of downtown west of Honan Road. The middle-aged Chinese woman behind the counter gave her a knowing look when she put the requested items in the bag.

  She supposed ginger root, cinnamon sticks, a full sprig of peppermint, and two lemons did give it away. But that was what George’s nurse had recommended.

  Prior to that, George had suggested eating plain boiled chicken, cutting back on alcohol, and increasing the number of cigarettes she smoked. While the latter two were possible, the thought of plain boiled chicken did not sound appetizing. Fortunately, his Chinese nurse had more practical suggestions.

  Walking down the crowded sidewalk on Honan Road through the heart of downtown, she couldn’t help feeling that everyone she passed could see through the brown paper grocery bag, seeing that she had no wedding ring, and was judging her. It was silly, but she couldn’t help it. She picked up her pace.

  Turning east onto Foochow Road, she spotted Jonesy ahead of her, walking toward the front door of the Metropole. She called his name without thought, but then a second’s panic made her fold up the top of her grocery bag after he turned back toward her.

  That was silly. Even if he saw what she’d bought, he wouldn’t put it together; he was just a man, after all.

  “I was coming to check on you,” Jonesy said when she reached him, and stepped aside to wait for her to go first while the doorman held it open. “I know you weren’t feeling well the other day, and I came to see if you were feeling batter.”

  “Yes, thank you.” In truth, she did still feel a little nauseated, but it wasn’t too bad right now. It seemed to come on in the middle of the afternoon, and last all evening, but have disappeared every night.