The Evil Men Do

by H. Paul Doucette

  “Anything else?”

  I briefly filled him in on what we got from the girlfriends and the descriptions of the two men she was last seen with and Pete’s suggestion about taking the girls with us. Afterward, he said he’d run Pete’s idea past the legal department and suggested I should give Mulroney a call if I needed help tracking down the sailor. I agreed.

  “Right. On another matter. I received a call from the General Manager at the shipyards. His name is Phillip Trudeau. He’s asking for someone to go to the shipyard and look into an accident that happened earlier today. I want you to take a run down there.”

  “An accident?” I asked. “Isn’t that out of our jurisdiction?”

  “Usually, yes, but in this instance, I think it might be something we need to look at.”

  I gave him a questioning look.

  “He says that this is the fifth incident to happen in the last month and a half. All have been on board ships under repair, mostly in their engine rooms.”

  “Sabotage?”

  “That was my first thought. He says he’s not sure. But he’s concerned with the number of similar accidents happening over such a short time period. However, the fact the accidents happened in non-sensitive areas and weren’t significant enough to cause any major delays or damage; more like nuisances than anything else, that’s why he wants someone from here to take a look.”

  “Still, isn’t this something for Parks’ people, or maybe Mulroney down at Intelligence?”

  “I agree,” Morrison said. “Trudeau’s reason for calling us is he wants to be sure before he reports this to the authorities. Something about them shutting down his operations and the delays that would cause.”

  “I don’t really know anythin’ ‘bout that kind of investigation, so I’m not sure what I can do.”

  “I know. Just go down and have a look see, see if there are any reasons to suspect sabotage or if it was just an unfortunate accident.”

  “Yes sir. Mind if I ask if there another reason he called you?”

  “What’re you suggesting, detective?”

  “Nothing sir. It jus’ seems unusual he’d call the police.”

  Morrison looked me for a moment before answering. “He’s connected to the Mayor.”

  I nodded, signalling that I got the picture, then turned and left the office.

  When I got back to the squad room, I told Pete where I was going and suggested he take a run down to where the girl was found and take one more look around.

  It was a slow drive as I maneuvered the squad car through the traffic and another convoy of military trucks heading south to the docks for loading onto a waiting transport ship. I was getting used to dealing with the traffic congestion but the delays were still annoying.

  I finally made it to the shipyard and, after clearing the armed security at the gate, reached the main office building and parked the car. I went inside the foyer and stepped to a desk where a Wave sat. She was about twenty and looked attractive in her navy uniform: white shirt, black tie and black double-breasted serge jacket with eight brass buttons set four to a side.

  “Yes sir,” she said. She had a nice sounding voice, I thought as I presented my ID to her. She took it and made an entry in a logbook on the desk then returned it to me. “Thank you.”

  “I’m here to see Mr. Trudeau,” I said.

  “Yes sir.” She raised an arm and signaled to a young man, probably not much older that eighteen, dressed in a slightly ill-fitting suit. He came over and stood beside me.

  “Please escort this police officer to Mr. Trudeau’s office,” she said.

  “Yes miss,” the teen said. I saw her pick up the phone as we walked to the stairs.

  Trudeau’s office was on the second floor. The teenager led me to a glass paneled door and knocked twice then opened it. He stepped to one side as I entered the outer office.

  A middle-aged woman dressed in a two-piece suit stood up. “Detective Robichaud?”

  “That’s right,” I said, reaching for my ID again.

  “That’s fine,” she said, “no need. Please come this way.”

  I followed her into the office behind her desk. Phillip Trudeau and another man stood over a drafting table with several drawings on it. He was pointing to something on one of them.

  “That should fix the issue, wouldn’t you agree?” he said to the other man who was dressed in overalls and a dark blue workman’s smock.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I see what you’re gettin’ at, sir. I’ll get on that right away. Thanks.”

  “Ahem,” the secretary coughed. “Excuse me, sir. This is Detective Robichaud from the police.”

  Trudeau stood upright and turned toward us and stepped forward with his hand outstretched.

  “That’s all, Fred,” he said to the man, who turned and left the office.

  I stepped ahead and accepted his hand. He had a fairly firm grip for a man who spent his days behind a desk.

  “Detective,” he said with a warm smile. “Please. Take a seat.” He gestured to a leather chair in front of a large oaken desk. I sat down.

  “Can I offer you a coffee? Tea?” he offered as he went to his chair.

  “No thanks.”

  “That’ll be all, Miss Kendrick.” His secretary left the office, quietly closing the door behind her.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly. I know this may seem an unusual request. Truth be told, I’m not entirely certain that there is a crime here. It may just be a case of a series of unfortunate accidents. It is, well, just that it seems odd there would be so many incidents in such a short period of time and in similar circumstances.”

  “Sabotage?” I suggested.

  “God, I hope not,” he said. “However, it is a possibility, I suppose.”

  “What leads you to think it might not be?’

  “I suppose it would be where the incidents occurred and the lack of any significant damage.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In all but one of the incidents, a valve failed causing only minor damage, more of a nuisance than anything else. I mean, it didn’t even stop work.”

  “I see your point. What is it you think I can do?” I asked.

  “As I told your superior, this last accident was the most serious one so far. One man was injured. and another killed.”

  “And this happened in an engine room?”

  “That’s right. An Australian registered freighter. It was in for minor repairs from an aerial attack on the return voyage from the last convoy. The last of the repairs had been made and she would have been sent back to sea after the last tests.”

  “Can you tell me anything about this accident?”

  “Yes, of course. Work was being done on the damaged valve connected to the steam pipes running from the boilers. The second engineer, who was overseeing the work, ordered the main steam line opened and when it hit the new valve, it ruptured, scalding one man and sending shards into a second man’s face, killing him.”

  “These men, were they yard workers or crewmen?”

  “I believe one was a crewmen.”

  “And the dead man, was he one of your people or the crew?”

  “He was a pipefitter from one of our shops.”

  “An’ all this happened today?”

  Trudeau nodded.

  “So, you haven’t had time for any internal investigation?” I knew the shipyard was set up internally to look into any accidents.

  “No, not yet, however, we have taken steps to do so. We do have someone looking at the damaged valve. One of our engineers.”

  “Good. I’d like to have a talk with him before I go, if that’s possible.”

  “Certainly. I will arrange it right away. Anything else?”

  “Yes. If it’s possible, I’d also like to get copies of any reports you have and the names of everyone who was in the area of the accident at the time.”

  Trudeau nodded as he wrote something on a notepad on his desk.

  “Of c
ourse. I’ve already prepared as much as we have so far. There were only five people in the engine room at the time. My secretary will have everything ready when you come back, including a preliminary report by one of our engineers who has looked at the faulty valve.”

  “Thanks. I assume you arranged for the dead man’s body to be sent to the VG?”

  “Yes, of course, along with the injured man.”

  “I’m curious ‘bout one thing. Why the reluctance to report this to the proper authorities?”

  “Fair question,” he said. “At the present time, the yard is running at full capacity and we cannot afford any delays. Calling the authorities in would result in them shutting down operations in that part of the yard while they investigate, which would likely take them a couple of days. I’m simply trying to avoid that if I can find a, um, less sinister reason for the accident. However, if you come back and say that there appears to be a justification to call them, rest assured, I will.”

  “Right. I think I’ll go down to the ship an’ have a look around.”

  Trudeau depressed a button on an intercom unit on his desk and spoke into it.

  “Miss Kendrick, can you come in here for a moment, please.”

  A moment later the door opened, and she stepped inside.

  Sir?” she said.

  Please have one of the runners ready to take Detective Robichaud down to the Alice, then come back. I need you to do a few things.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Would you come back and let me know what you find, if anything?” he asked me as we shook hands once again.

  “Okay,” I said, following Miss Kendrick out of the office.

  Ten minutes later I was following the young man in a slightly oversized brown serge suit. He didn’t look much older than sixteen or seventeen. A lot of young people were working these days as telegraph runners, waitresses, clerks and so on.

  We arrived at a dock where a navy corvette was tied alongside. It had suffered some major structural damage which I guessed was from a surface engagement. A dozen or more men — welders and metalworkers — were busy facilitating repairs. My destination, the Alice, was tied on the vessel’s outboard side.

  “The Alice is just on the other side there,” my escort said, pointing. “If that’s all sir, I’ll be gettin’ back.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said. The boy nodded then turned back up the yard to the office building. I stepped onto the gangway and worked my way over hoses and electrical wires and past workers to the deck of the corvette where I was stopped by an armed sailor.

  “Can I help you?” a naval sentry challenged me. He held the sling of the rifle that hung on his shoulder.

  I pulled my ID and showed it to him. He took it and carefully inspected it.

  “I’ve got business on that ship over there,” I said, indicating the Alice.

  “Yes sir,” he said, passing my ID back. I didn’t put it away, expecting I’d have to show it again. I crossed over the cluttered deck to the short-planked gangway, crossing over to the freighter. A man in civilian clothes met me and, after showing him my ID, I asked to see the captain.

  “Oh aye,” he said. “We’ve been tole ta keep an eye open for ya.”

  He said the captain was on the bridge and led me to a set of steel stairs, or ladders, as they are usually called. We reached the bridge and he announced me to a tall, stocky man with a full head of white hair and a ruddy complexion from many years at sea.

  “Cap’n,” the man said. “This ‘ere is a policeman ta see ya.”

  The old man looked up and said, “Thanks Jack. That’s all.”

  “Aye sir,” Jack said as he went back to his work.

  “Name’s Ian McAllister,” the captain said, offering his hand. “I’m the Master of this vessel. I’ve been expectin’ you. The office told me they were sendin’ someone down.”

  “Detective John Robichaud,” I said, accepting his hand. Mr. Trudeau has asked me to have a look into the accident that happened on board this morning.”

  “They said as much,” McAllister said.

  “I take it you’re not Australian?” I asked. I was expecting to hear a heavy accent and was surprised to hear none.

  He shook his head slightly, saying, “No. I’m originally from Vancouver. Ended up on the beach in Melbourne back in twenty-eight. Signed on with a company there. Been with them since then. Now, how can I help you?”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure,” I said, being completely honest with him. “All I know is there was an accident an’ a man died. Mr. Trudeau doesn’t think it was sabotage but he’s concerned because of a rash of similar accidents lately.”

  “So, what exactly do you hope to find?”

  “Don’t know. What do you think? Was this sabotage?”

  “I don’t think so. The incident was too insignificant to be sabotage. It was just a control valve that burst when the steam hit it. Apart from the burst valve and the break in the steam line, there wasn’t any damage of note. I think it best if you talk with my Second Engineer, William Taggart. He was overseeing the repair.”

  He stepped to a bulkhead with several voice pipes bracketed against it. He pulled the plug from one and blew into it.

  “Have Mr. Taggart report to the bridge,” McAllister said, placing his mouth to the open end, then turned his head slightly and put his ear against the pipe for a moment. When he finished, he stood up, replacing the plug into the pipe.

  “He’ll be here momentarily.”

  “So, what’s your guess?”

  “Personally, I think it was faulty metal.”

  “Faulty?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but those valves are built to withstand the steam that hits them. The only thing I can assume is that there was something wrong with the metallurgy.”

  “Couldn’t it be just a fluke?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” he said, “but I’ve heard that similar valves have failed on other ships recently. One might be a fluke, as you call it, but several...?”

  “So, you think the problem might be with the manufacturing of these valves?”

  That’d be my guess. I know you’ve got questions, but I suggest we wait for my engineer to arrive before we go further.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “No point goin’ over everythin’ twice.”

  Five minutes later a man dressed in soiled pants and shirt with an open black double-breasted jacket stepped onto the bridge. I noted the two wavy blue bands around the cuffs. He also wore a black hat with a visor set on the back of his head. I estimated him to be in his forties and he looked to be on the thin side.

  “Cap’n?” he said, wiping his hands with an oil stained rag.

  “Bill, thanks for comin’ up. This here is Detective John Robichaud. He’s with the local police. The yard manager has asked him to look into the accident.”

  Parker looked at me and nodded. He didn’t offer his hand.

  “William Taggart,” he said. “Pardon if I don’t shake, but I dinna reckon you’d wanna get any a this crud on ya.”

  He had a definite Scottish accent.

  “That’s okay, thanks.”

  “The yard manager sent him down to look into the accident. Can you run him through what happened?” McAllister asked.

  “Fair enough, aye,” Taggart said.

  He spent the next five minutes giving me a detailed description of everything that happened in the engine room earlier that morning. When he finished, he looked first at the captain then back to me.

  “So, do you think this was sabotage?” I asked, knowing what his answer was likely to be.

  “Sabotage? Don’t be daft, pardon my saying. The only sabotage was to those poor bastards what got hurt an’ killed.”

  “What’s your opinion ‘bout what caused the accident?” I asked.

  “Bad workmanship, that’s what. These things are built to handle the pressure sent at them. You wanna place to look, then I’d say you wanna look at whoever built the thin
g.”

  “In your opinion, what do you think would cause it to rupture like it did?”

  “Could’a been a coupla things: somethin’ not right inside the valve, bad metal.”

  “Okay, thanks. I think I got everythin’ I need. I’ll leave you gentlemen to your tasks an’ get outta your hair. Good luck. Thanks again, Captain. Mr. Taggart,” I said, shaking their hands.

  I returned to the office and spoke briefly with Mr. Trudeau as requested. I told him that as far as I could see this didn’t appear to be sabotage. This seemed to put his mind at ease, and he thanked me for coming down. His secretary met me when I exited his office. She had several sheets of paper which she passed to me.

  “This is the information you asked for. I’ve included the copies of the employment records for the injured man and the poor man who died.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking and putting them in my pocket. Then a thought occurred to me. “If you find anythin’ else please give me a call. Mr. Trudeau said that the damaged valve was sent to one of the yard’s engineers. Do know who that is and where I can find him?”

  “Yes, one moment,” she said, going back to her desk and she sifted through a number of papers on her desk.

  “Ah, here it is. It was sent to Mr. James. You can find him in this building, on the third floor.”

  “Thanks again,” I said then left.

  I found the engineering department and Mr. James easily enough. He was a stocky man in his fifties and balding. He was sitting at his desk smoking a pipe as he bent over several sheets of technical drawings.

  “Mr. James?” I asked, holding out my ID. “My name is Robichaud. I’m a detective with the Halifax Police. Got a few minutes?”

  He looked up a bit startled when he saw my badge.

  “Of course, yes,” he said, sounding a bit nervous. “Have I done...?”

  “No, no. It’s nothin’ like that. I’ve been asked to look into that accident on the Alice and I got a few questions I’d like to ask ‘bout that damaged valve.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course,” he said, sounding relieved. “What would you like to know?”

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps you could jus’ tell me what you think happened.”

  “Hmm, yes. Well, the valve is a standard piece of equipment commonly used in engine rooms to regulate the flow of either fuel, water or steam, though in this instance, it was steam.”