Wave of Death

by Charlie Vogel

  “Certainly, Sir. But I do not believe any one of those five men are responsible for the missing Lieutenant.”

  “Say again.”

  “After talking to each person, I found no motivation for a murder. Oh, I could see why each of them wanted to see the Lieutenant dead, but a murderer would have a lot stronger desire to kill then what these five men demonstrated to me.”

  “Wait, wait!” He took up the report. “Pencils, look at this Mathews. He’s a trouble-maker. He’s been before the mast four times in less than a year.”

  “And always because of his mouth. He’s never been before the mast for fighting. When it gets to fist throwing, he’s out of there.”

  How about this Sam Garretson?”

  “Now, he’s been in a few fights, but if you’ll look again, Sir, you’ll see he didn’t start anything. He’s the type that has to get really pissed off before he does something.”

  “Well, didn’t Mister Barnes piss him off by sending him to the mess decks?”

  “Yes, but that didn’t push Sammy into a corner. He’ll bitch and complain for a few weeks, but turn violent over it, strike an officer or push someone overboard? I don’t think he’s got that kind of meanness in him.”

  Holcomb shook his head. “A man who’ll resort to violence is always capable of it, Pencils, especially if he harbors a grudge.”

  “Not Garretson. On that second page you’ll see it mentioned that he fought a fireman a couple of months ago. The man rolled across the deck after he was hit. It was Sammy who grabbed him and kept him from falling over the side. If he wanted to do something to Mister Barnes, he would have done it in Olonpago when the Lieutenant took a necklace from him.”

  The XO’s eyes lifted from the report. “What’s that?”

  “Sammy was bargaining for this necklace in some shop. The Lieutenant interrupted and slapped down the marked price. Sammy opened that smart mouth of his and ended up as a mess cook. Now, if he had wanted to do something, Olonpago would have been the place, not on board.”

  “Not even after he stewed a while and got madder?”

  “Like I said, Sir, Sammy’s not mean. It’s not in his eyes and it’s not even in his smart mouth.”

  The officer drummed his fingers on the report. “You seem to know people, Pencils. Why don’t you continue your investigation, but keep me informed of what’s going on. We’ll have to make a report soon on Mister Barnes.”

  “Yes, Sir, I will.” I stood up. “There is one other thing to think about, Sir. Before Lt. Barnes was reported missing, he talked with me on the mess decks. He seemed very well informed about the package I carried aboard. He knew exactly what it contained. Is it possible a spy infiltrated the ship and Mister Barnes compromised the documents?”

  “My God! Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”

  “At the time, I wasn’t sure the officers had been briefed. Since then I found out only you, the Captain, and I were supposed to know the contents. So, how did Mister Barnes find out?”

  The XO rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know. I certainly will have to investigate, though. This may be serious enough to report to the Task Group Commander.”

  “I’m afraid he wasn’t the only one who knew.” Holcomb head snapped up. “My yeoman asked about it when I put it in the safe. I know I didn’t tell him. I wonder just how far the word has spread?”

  “This is not good, Pencils. Something definitely has to be done. You’re dismissed.”

  As I slid past, the Captain handed me a letter to be typed. He was eligible for promotion to Commander and had drafted a nice letter of credibility to the Selection Board to help his chances. Obviously, a missing officer and a breech in security would not look good. He only knew about Mister Barnes, so far.

  Sympathetic to the Old Man’s plight, I settled in my office to type the letter myself. Opening the paper storage box, I pulled out a letter head, a pink, and a green, but found no white onion skin.

  “Teddy!”

  My sharp tone startled him. “What?”

  “Didn’t you get all the supplies back in Subic?”

  He finished changing a page in the BuPers Manual. “Yes, I did. What’d you need?”

  “White onion skin.”

  “I used the last sheet in the office just a bit ago. I’ll run to supply and get it now.”

  “Never mind. I’ll get it. I need to check the stores anyway.”

  With a typed requisition in hand, I headed down the passageway to the supply office. The clerk signed it then filed his copy, before I was free to climb down the ladders to the storage compartments on the third deck. My master key slid into the padlock.

  At the far end of the wire-caged compartment, I removed the securing straps and set boxes on an eight-foot long, army green, metal container. A couple of minutes later I removed a ream of onion skin from one of the boxes then restacked them. Picking up the needed paper, I hesitated, looking at the long container. It was a metal chest constructed to hold damage control tools and didn’t belong in a storage cage meant for office supplies. Damage control had an entirely separate locker. I hadn’t authorized this box to be here.

  I knelt and peered more closely at the deck. The deck paint had been scraped away and chips of green paint mixed with the gray. The marks were shiny and clean. No rust or corrosion. Someone had recently dragged the metal box into the cage.

  Intending to drag it back out, I started to lift one end, but found it unusually heavy for tools. I removed the cloth web straps and opened the lid.

  LT(JG) Barnes stared up at me with marble eyes. His only clothing was undershirt and shorts. The mouth hung open, the jaw forward, as if frozen in the struggle for air, as if choked. In a quick head-to-toe assessment, I knew Mister Barnes had been murdered prior to being placed in the box.

  Chapter 3

  In my hurry to get to the after steering, I tripped over the water-tight door frame. I regained my footing and searched the bulkheads for a sound-power phone. Finally tripping a light switch, I found the 1JV near the emergency helm.

  Turning the dial to the XO’s office, I cranked the handle creating a loud, buzzing sound at the receiving end. It stopped when the XO answered. I pressed the button on my headset. “Mister Holcomb, Pencils here. I found Lt. Barnes.”

  My anxiety must have communicated because Mister Holcomb’s voice sounded more nervous than hopeful with “Where is he?”

  “He’s dead, Sir. He’d been stuffed into a tool box. The box was stowed in a storage room at C-305-A. I’ll standby for you, Sir.”

  The shaken tired voice responded, “I’ll be right there with the CMAA.”

  I searched the compartment for a flashlight. In a maintenance box near the port rudder brace bar, I found a battery operated ship’s lantern.

  Returning to the storage compartment, I focused the incandescent beam on the damage control box and searched for latent prints. Near the end of the makeshift coffin, where the suspect would have held the box to drag it, I found several smudged areas. Then, directly on top of the lid, I almost smiled at the set of perfect prints on the metal surface. The suspect had apparently rested his hand on it or perhaps pushed the lid down. I considered how I could lift the prints without an actual kit.

  Steps sounded behind me. I turned as the XO’s slender form filled the opening to the caged area. Setting the lantern on the floor to illuminate the box, I waved at the scene. “Sir, I found some prints. Is there any chance you might have an evidence kit?”

  He stared at the metal container, his mouth opening then closing. “I . . . I don’t know. The CMAA’s on his way. Maybe he has something.”

  “Sir, would you mind if I left you here? I’ll chase down the gunnermate to open the armory. A little dust of lead powder should work.”

  Mister Holcomb looked a little pale and didn’t acknowledge my question. “Is he . . . Is he in that box?”

  “Yes, Sir. It appears someone killed him. Either that person found the damage control box to be big enou
gh to hold the body or had it waiting. I don’t know how Mister Barnes died. He hasn’t any wounds. There is a little blood at the corner of his mouth. But, right now, I need to lift those latent prints.”

  Mister Holcomb’s head moved, but I couldn’t tell if he was shaking or nodding it. He simply stared at the box in shock. Since he was an officer and an Academy graduate, his attitude made me uneasy.

  I stepped around him. “Please don’t let anyone move the body until I’m finished. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Returning to the main deck, I soon had a Third Class Gunnermate opening the door to the armory. I found nothing that would help. I needed finely ground lead to stick to the barely visible ridges of the prints. Then I would need wide, clear adhesive tape to seal the particles and lift the print in tact. The dust was crucial.

  In the ship’s office, I located sandpaper used by the crew when I had the place painted. Applying that to the sharpened pencils from my desk, it took me ten minutes to accumulate a small pile of graphite in the bottom of my empty paper clip jar. I took out the stash brush I used to clean my typewriter to complete my makeshift kit and rushed back to the storage room.

  The box was gone.

  Using the sound power phone again, I tried the XO’s office, but no answer. The chart room was next. Burt, the Second Class Quartermaster, answered.

  “Yeah, Pencils. He’s here making a course change. Can I have him call you back?”

  “I need him now!” My head hurt as I ground my teeth.

  Mister Holcomb finally came to the phone. “Yes, Pencils?”

  “Sorry to interrupt you, Sir, but where’s Mister Barnes?”

  “I had him carried to the reefer deck. He should be in the freezer by now. I ordered the CMAA to post a guard.”

  “Why did you do that, Sir? I needed to lift those prints.”

  “Pencils, I had no choice. Considering the heat and the circumstances. The Office of Naval Intelligence, the Judge Advocate General, and the FBI will look into this incident as soon as we tie up in Pearl. I am ordering you not to touch that body. The professionals will handle it.”

  “Damn it, Sir! I saw some good prints on that box. I told you! Now, the whole case is blown! The condensation in that freezer will wipe out everything! Unless . . . Did you take the body out of the box?”

  “Of course not. I left everything in tact for the investigative team. The freezer will keep everything preserved for their inquiry. Yeoman, I refer you to the Operating Procedures. There is nothing in there authorizing ship’s personnel to investigate a death.”

  I tried not to grind my teeth again. “Respectfully, Sir, this is not just a death. This is goddamn murder. I have the required skills to begin the investigation and collect the information for the team. Sir, you don’t realize the damage you may have done to vital evidence.”

  “What I did, Yeoman, was preserve a corpse. You go read your manuals. And do not call this a murder, not to any one else on this ship. Do I make myself clear, sailor?”

  “It is murder. Mister Barnes sure as hell didn’t strap himself in that goddamn box!”

  The line clicked dead.

  Knowing time was not on my side, I hurried to officer’s country and entered without knocking. Using my master key, I unlocked the door to Mister Barnes’s room. I sniffed. The room had recently been washed down by the stewards. I flicked on the light. The quarters were inspection neat.

  My gaze settled on the Naval OCS mug in the desk cup holder. I stepped closer. A small amount of over-looked cold coffee sloshed in the bottom. I dumped the aspirin from a bottle in the medicine cabinet, rinsed it out, then carefully poured the coffee through the bottle’s narrow neck.

  As the ship reversed a roll, a glass object rolled somewhere on the deck. I dropped to my knees to check the space between the locker and the bunk’s metal frame. With the ship’s gentle heave to starboard, a labeled six-inch vial rolled from my reach. I caught it on the return roll. Holding it to the light, I saw it contained about a teaspoon of clear liquid. The label had a picture of Mount Fuji and several columns of oriental writing. Very tiny English print across the bottom read “Arothrom Meleagris.” I slid the vial into the front pocket of my dungaree trousers.

  The speaker shrilled the boatswain’s pipe then the watch announced mess gear. I was surprised the time had passed so quickly. The noon meal would be served in a few minutes. I needed to get back to my office to examine what I had found.

  Since it was Wednesday, my men probably had secured and would not be back. Every Wednesday while underway, the Captain set Ropeyard Sunday. This gave the crew a chance to repair clothing or clean their birthing space. Most of the enlisted saw it as down time to sleep or play cards.

  Again locking the door to Barnes’s room, I stepped into the passageway and casually entered the officer’s dining area. Several men looked up from their food with puzzled stares.

  I spoke to no one in particular with “I’m looking for this month’s gunnery reports. Does anyone know where Mister Barnes put them?”

  Some continued staring at me, while a few others shook their head. I shrugged and left with my secreted little containers.

  The sick bay door opened as I passed. I nodded to Rex, the First Class Corpsman. We had been good friends for over two years. I usually accompanied him ashore to his favorite bar. His tall, lanky body expertly leaned into the ship’s roll. My hand brushed the pocket with the vial and I made an about face.

  “Rex, you got a minute?”

  He shifted his hat over black, unwashed hair, too long to be regulation. “Not if you’re going to screw up my lunch.”

  “Shit, you eat all the time! How the hell do you stay so skinny?”

  “I keep telling you, Pencils, I don’t hold my shit in. You have to get in the habit of going to the can twice a day.”

  “That doesn’t help, because you’re still full of shit! Can you tell me what’s in this bottle?”

  He took the vial and squinted at the label. “I can’t read Chinese.”

  “Look under Mount Fuji. There’s some English print. And I think it’s Japanese, not Chinese.”

  “Chinese, Japanese, I don’t give a shit. I still can’t read it.” He moved his lips trying to sound out the English words. “Hell if I know what that is either. I’ll have to look it up.” He unscrewed the lid and sniffed. “It smells sort of fishy.”

  “Why do you say that? What makes it smell that way?”

  “Fish?”

  “Ha, ha, funny man. I thought those words looked like Latin. Can you look them up.”

  “After lunch. Can you wait until then?”

  “I guess. Write them down. I want to lock the bottle in my safe. It might be important evidence.”

  “Evidence? For what?”

  “Has to do with Lt. Barnes’s death. You really don’t want to know any more, then you won’t have to confess to anything.”

  “What the shit are you doing, Pencils?”

  I shrugged.

  He pulled a ball point pen from his dungaree shirt pocket and wrote the two words on his palm with “You got that detective look in your eyes.”

  “What’s that suppose to mean?”

  “All brown because you’re full of bullshit.”

  I pointed a finger at him. “You don’t say anything to anybody.”

  He held his palms up in surrender, glanced to the left one with the incriminating words, and closed his fingers over them. “Not a word, Pencils. I guess once a cop, always a cop. Right?”

  I unlocked my office door and pointed a warning finger again. He grinned and headed toward the mess decks. As I turned, I glimpsed a man stepping out from between the exhaust ducts, near the office service window. Before I could step closer to identify him, he scrambled up the ladder there and out of sight. The hatch above opened and closed.

  Why would someone be squeezed behind the large metal tubes that vented air into the engine rooms? Whoever it was had to be pretty scrawny to fit in such a small space
. Was he hiding from me or following me?

  The USS STEVENS had one hundred and fifty men confined within the three hundred and sixty foot hull. Normally, I would visit each and every person once a day, just to say hello, if not to bullshit. It would have been easy to identify the fleeing man, but I had more urgent matters at the moment.

  Securing the office door, I glanced at the service window. Teddy had forgotten to secure it. Thinking of his reprimand, I knelt at the safe and twisted the dial. It moved stiffly. I peered closer. Scrapes and two gouges marred the edge of the mechanism. Then I saw a small hammer and narrow chisel hastily shoved under the corner of the safe. Obviously the man had heard me in the passageway talking to Rex and barely had time to get out the office window.

  Finishing the combination, I carefully placed the two vials against the back, propped by paperwork so they wouldn’t move with the ship. My fingers drummed on the in-tact classified material.

  Turning in thought, I saw Teddy’s full trash basket, the discarded pages of the Bupers Manual sticking out. In my desk I found an envelope matching the one in my safe. I murmured thanks to the people who believed in government standard issue. Since I didn’t have much call for it, my “Top Secret” stamp took a little longer to locate. I placed a handful of the BuPers pages in my envelope then sealed, stamped, and dated it to match the real thing.

  * * *

  Passing through the mess decks on my way to the XO’s, I spotted Teddy in line at the serving counter. Transferring the envelope to my left arm, I stepped up to him with “Teddy, don’t forget to dump the shit cans before you secure today.”

  His face tightened as if he knew he’d been caught slacking. He nodded curtly. “Okay, Pencils.” His gaze flicked to the package and he lowered his voice. “Why did you remove the documents?”

  “Hey, sailor!” Flanders yelled out. “You want more goddamn beans or not?”