Wave of Death

by Charlie Vogel

  I threw the bedding back onto the bunk and started to hospital-fold the ends, when a voice interrupted me.

  “Did you find anything, Pencils?”

  When I found no disapproval in the XO’s face, I smiled and shrugged. “No, Sir. Nothing here to show a motive.”

  “I finished talking to the five seamen late last night. I decided to hold Seaman Garretson for Lt. Barnes’s murder.”

  “But-But Sir, you said you would let me handle the investigation.”

  “No, I advised you that you could collect facts on the incident and perhaps find the suspect. Garretson’s arrest is in line with my responsibilities as a military officer and as the Executive Officer aboard this ship. The statements he made were enough to be considered circumstantial evidence and warranted his arrest.”

  “Circumstantial evidence? Sir, you can’t charge someone on circumstantial—”

  “—Maybe in the civilian world, but this is the Navy. The Uniform Code of Military Justice prevails aboard a ship.”

  “May I ask what Garretson said that would be considered evidence?”

  “His statement was similar to what he told you. Mister Barnes paid two hundred and fifty pesos for some sort of costume jewelry. Garretson wanted the necklace for a girl friend in Honolulu. Since he didn’t have enough money and Mister Barnes did, you know who got the necklace.”

  “That doesn’t prove Garretson murdered Mister Barnes.”

  “We’ll let a court martial decide his guilt. I think our job is finished, so let’s secure this room and let the investigation team take it from here.”

  “I don’t think so, Sir.”

  He scowled. “And what does that mean?”

  “I didn’t find the necklace.”

  “Don’t you think Garretson stole the necklace after he killed the Lieutenant? Chief Barry is going through his belongings right now. I have no doubt it will be recovered.”

  I stubbornly shook my head. “If Garretson killed for the sole purpose of stealing a necklace, I can’t believe he even made it this far in the Navy. Secondly, I believe Mister Barnes was killed here, in his quarters. Other enlisted personnel do not have the freedom I do to come into officer’s quarters. The suspect needed a reason to be here. In other words, he had to be invited. And that means whoever killed Mister Barnes had something in common with him.”

  “What makes you draw that conclusion?”

  “I believe the assassin came here carrying a mug of coffee for Mister Barnes. A large dose of Oriental poison had already been mixed in it. Yes, I do think whoever it was, wanted Mister Barnes dead because of that necklace, but not for some girlfriend. It was not just a piece of costume jewelry, but much more valuable. I don’t know exactly, but it meant power, money, control of others, something greater to whoever got to Mister Barnes. I’m sure Garretson has no knowledge of where the necklace is nor does he know its importance.”

  “That’s a lot of assumptions, Pencils. But, let’s say you’re right. What would Barnes have wanted with it?”

  “Sir, how well did you know this officer?”

  “Well . . . I-I would have to review his service jacket. I wasn’t a person he confided in, if that’s what you’re asking. And why wouldn’t he have invited Garretson here? That’s possible.”

  “No. Garretson hated Mister Barnes. The man does have a record of minor violence, but to kill for a necklace? No. And to go out of his way to get a cup of coffee for an officer he hated? Never. Not Garretson.”

  Holcomb waved his hand as if disgusted and dismissing the idea. I worked not to grind my teeth. “I just don’t understand, Pencils, why you think a piece of crappy oriental jewelry is so important to this murder.”

  “It wasn’t crap, Sir. It was registered with Lloyds of London.”

  He blinked. “What did you say?”

  “I located a receipt identifying the necklace by description and by its Lloyds of London registration number. It was called the Storm of Pearls.”

  “You’re shitting me! Mister Barnes paid two hundred and fifty pesos for a trinket valuable enough to be registered—Wait a minute! Why would they have sold it to him at that price? That doesn’t sound like any of the Oriental shop owners I’ve ever encountered.”

  “They did. Garretson saw the transaction and I have the receipt.”

  “I’m into antique ornaments. Come with me. I want to look this up.”

  Not understanding what he intended, I followed to his state room. He pointed me to a seat on the chair near the door then removed a thick book from a metal shelf over his desk. He flipped pages for several minutes then stopped to run his finger down the page.

  “Yes, here it is. The Storm of Pearls. It even has a picture of it.” He turned the book for me to see. “Is that it?”

  “What is this book?”

  “I picked it up in Hong Kong several years ago. It lists jewelry and gold pieces registered with Lloyds of London and gives the value upon registration. Dealers then have a base line for bargaining. Since I can’t carry much while traveling I keep an eye out at the different ports for items that I can add to my collection, within my resources of course.”

  I stored that information away as I stared at the picture. “Well, Sir, that looks exactly like Garretson described it. I particularly remember him mentioning the bolt of lightning and the pearls around the edge.”

  The XO turned the book back around and read the description. “There were fifty of these made in England during the opium wars in China. Each ship captain wore one when he went ashore to identify him as a buyer to the opium lords. Hm, they are certainly worth more than two hundred and fifty pesos.”

  “If it were real, but you know the Orient and how the Chinese like to take advantage of others. They probably had fifty or a hundred copies made with the same serial number. No, I’m going to keep looking for this necklace. And are you going to release Garretson?”

  “No, Pencils. I’ve taken action and I won’t back down. We’ll let a court martial determine his fate.”

  I reached out one finger and flipped his book closed. “Well, Sir, you’re wrong.”

  He clamped his jaw and stared at me. “You’re dismissed, Yeoman. We both have work to do, don’t we?”

  * * *

  At mid-morning, I gathered several reports from my desk and placed them in folders for the XO’s signature. Teddy wanted to drop them off in the state room, but I decided to check on Mister Holcomb. I wanted to reassess his suddenly cold attitude toward me.

  I found him at his desk, studying the pages of a JAG manual. I placed the folders in his wire-mesh basket. “Take a seat, Pencils,” he said in a tired voice.

  “Aye, Sir,” I said as I complied.

  He had just picked up the folders I delivered when a thundering knock vibrated even the desk under my hand.

  “Yes, who is it?” the XO called out.

  Chief Berry’s deep growl roared, “The Chief Master of Arms, Sir. I have something to report.”

  “Come in, Chief.”

  The gunnery chief’s face turned a light pink as his mouth opened and closed in an effort to speak, then he blurted, “He’s dead, Sir. Garretson has been shot!”

  Chapter 5

  Seaman Garretson had been confined in the canvas locker. The wire-mash enclosure occupied a small space near after-steering, only a few yards from where I had found Lieutenant Barnes. Mister Holcomb stared with his mouth open, his face colorless. I grabbed the camera and package of flash bulbs from his hands just as Chief Berry pointed to the collapsed body.

  Popping a blue tinted flash bulb into the silver dish, I sighted the inexpensive, 126 cartridge camera towards the wire cage. Because of the dimness of the yellow overhead light, could only hope the body would appear in the exposed picture. After the second flash, I asked Chief Berry to open the door.

  Dressed only in a tee shirt and dungaree trousers, Sammy Garretson looked as if someone had propped him there for a drunk sailor cartoon, his legs awkwardly splayed, his
head flopped back on a folded stack of canvas awning. A quarter-sized dark circle of thick blood interrupted the hair line above his left eye. Bent at the elbow, his left arm stuck out, held in place by the open hand on his left leg. A .45 caliber, Navy-issued Colt lay in the palm of that hand.

  As I screwed in bulbs and snapped pictures, the XO’s hard breathing grew more noticeable. He repeatedly cleared his throat.

  Finally, I asked, “You okay, Sir?”

  “Ah, yeah, yeah, I think so. I witnessed combat in Korea, but never a dead person this . . . up close.”

  I smiled wryly. “Kinda sick, eh?”

  Just as I looked up, Mister Holcomb took a step back from the door, his eyes averted. He took out an ironed handkerchief and wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead. “It looks like a suicide, don’t you think?”

  I leaned over Garretson’s head and filled the camera’s frame. “No, Sir. Someone shot him.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Because Garretson’s right handed, and even if he was left handed, he could never have positioned the gun to shoot himself that way. Besides . . . I don’t see any powder burns.”

  “Pencils, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, Sir, swallow your vomit and look at him. The bullet entered above the left eye and exited behind his left ear.” I pointed. “If the gun was within six to eight inches, the discharge blast would’ve left powder burns on his face. There aren’t any.”

  “But . . . he’s holding the gun,” the XO stammered as he swallowed and looked away, his handkerchief swiping his face again. “And how in the hell did he get a gun anyway? The goddamn cage was supposed to be locked.”

  The XO and I looked to Chief Berry. The gunnery chief shifted his eyes from me to Mister Holcomb. “I left him alone for a few minutes to assign a guard for him. And I was told to pack his goddamn sea bag.” His wide chin lifted indignantly. “I didn’t give him the damn gun, and I locked the cage myself before I left him.”

  The XO shrugged in exasperation. “I believe you, Chief. That could only mean Garretson hid the gun down his pants when you took him from his quarters. Logically, he felt remorse for killing Mister Barnes, so he shot himself.”

  I shook my head. “But Sir, I can see from here that gun was not fired from his left hand. Didn’t you have to qualify with a handgun on the range?”

  “Of course, Pencils. Every man in the Navy has to at some point in his training and you damn well know it! So what’s your point?”

  “Shine your flashlight over here, Chief. Look at Garretson’s hand. His palm is open and his fingers aren’t anywhere near the trigger. More important, do you see any black powder on that hand? After you fired at the range, didn’t you have to wipe off residue? I know I did.”

  Mister Holcomb squinted then glared at Chief Berry, bent forward at his side and nodding in agreement. The XO shoved his handkerchief in his pocket as he stood.

  “You are entitled to your own opinion, Pencils. I’m writing the reports that this was a probable suicide.”

  “Just a minute, Sir!” I turned to Chief Berry. “Didn’t you search Garretson before you placed him in there?”

  The big man shrugged. “No. I had no reason. No one carries a gun aboard ship unless authorized by the Commanding Officer. All weapons, even personal ones, are locked in the armory. Everyone knows better than to break that rule,”

  Well, that blows my theory! Gut instinct forced me to try one more time. “Sir, we have a murderer aboard this vessel who has killed two people. He could kill again, or escape once we hit port. You have to believe me and take my investigation seriously.”

  Mister Holcomb’s eyes narrowed. “Pencils, I believe you may had been a good cop in civilian life, but you are no longer that detective. I’m in charge of all investigations of criminal activity on board this ship. Right now I’m ordering Chief Berry place Garretson’s remains in a body bag and move him to the reefer, right alongside Lt. Barnes. One last time, I’m telling you. My report will indicate this incident appears to be a suicide. The investigation team from JAG and ONI will follow-up on my findings once we get to Honolulu. Give me the camera, Pencils, and go back to your ship’s office.”

  I wanted to place the camera where surgery would be necessary to retrieve the film, but handed it to him with an extra crisp, “Aye, Sir!”

  * * *

  The deep blue of the open Pacific waters slowly turned to a green. What looked like clouds hovered on the distant eastern horizon. I knew they were the dark mountains of our destination separating water from sky. On my next trip topside later that morning, the sea looked soupy with patches of sea weed floating on the surface. Coconut shells bobbed over the waves with an occasional fragmented tree limb and dead fish. Hundreds of sea gulls escorted the ship towards port with two playful dolphins leading the way.

  The green water darkened with the mixture of mud and grease flowing out from Pearl Harbor. As Diamond Head came in full view, I breathed in the nauseous smell of aquatic organisms, dead and rotting in the tropical sun. Large, fluffy-white clouds capped the tops of the Koolau Mountains.

  A Navy transport flew low over the water in front of the ship as the plane made an approach to Barbers Point. Most of the deck force moved to the port side, hoping to see the girls sun bathing at Ewa Beach. Behind the clear sand and the green foliage, Waianae Mountains rolled low under a clear sky directly ahead of us.

  I moved to starboard to watch the hotels rise into view over Waikiki. Far out on the breakers I glimpsed a catamaran. In my imagination, the surfers shook their fists and cursed as the fourteen-foot sail boat plowed into the eight-foot surfs.

  The ship’s bow pointed directly to the narrow gap at the entrance of Pearl Harbor. Squinting my eyes against the mid-morning sun, I spotted a small Coast Guard Cutter speeding towards us. My only thought was the Admiral at CenPacFleet had decided to receive the documents at sea. But why on a cutter? I hurried through a hatch to below decks.

  As I passed near the officer’s stateroom, the boatswain’s pipe blared over the speakers, followed by a voice announcing “Stand-by to go alongside and take on boarders. Petty Officer Coleman report to the bridge, ASAP.”

  The tone of urgency forced me into an about-face. I ran through several passageways and climbed ladders. In less than two minutes, I stood on the bridge before the XO as he studied a navigation chart. Through the open door behind me, I heard orders being given to the helmsman and the engine indicator as the ship made maneuvers towards the cutter.

  Mister Holcomb drew a line on the map before acknowledging me. “Pencils, the FBI, JAG, and ONI are boarding. They’ll begin immediate investigations of the two deaths. Once we tie up, the bodies will be removed. While the investigators are aboard, you are confined to the ship’s office.”

  Realizing he did not want me arguing his evaluations of the incidents with the official investigators, I maintained a bland expression. As calmly and flatly as possible, I asked, “What about the documents, Sir?”

  “Entirely different matter. Keep them in the safe until Admiral Collins or one of his staff members comes aboard. That should be shortly after we tie up. A radio dispatch advised there’s a staff car on the pier. Carry on, Pencils . . . in the ship’s office.”

  As I stepped over the bottom door frame, the XO’s voice pierced the chatter on the bridge, “Remember Pencils, I order you not to talk to any of the investigation team, nor leave the ship’s office. If someone shows up asking for the deceased men’s service jackets, I want you to maintain a military perspective of this incident. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Aye, Sir!” I called back without facing him again. I wanted to appear occupied with weaving my way through the moving traffic on the bridge. He would not have the satisfaction of seeing the anger flooding my face.

  * * *

  The deserted office seemed quiet in comparison to the rest of the ship. The sounds of steel rubbing against steel and the endless roar of the engines
occupied the room as I leaned back in my chair. Routinely assigned to watches during the special sea detail, my crew had departed. Without the regular office chatter and the clicking of typewriters, I soon grew bored.

  The XO could confine me to the office, but he couldn’t stop me from thinking. Since Garretson’s murder, or rather his suicide, the XO’s attitude toward me had changed, and not for the better. Up to that point, we had enjoyed a mutually respectful and close working relationship. He had acted as though he depended on my decisions. In fact, we had shared a drink a time or two at the officer’s club. Of course, I could only go there as his invited guest.

  His treatment of me changed when Lieutenant Barnes was discovered, then Garretson’s death further distanced him. Not only from me, but the rest of the crew. Was it because he felt responsible for the incidents? The weight of command and all that bullshit? Or could he actually have been involved in the murders? I rubbed my forehead and took another deep swallow of coffee. Involvement was beyond comprehension. Mister Holcomb and the captain were the only two STEVENS’ officers who had graduated from the Naval academy. The Academy’s code of ethics was drilled into them as thoroughly as the Marine Corps brainwashed every jar-head.

  Time and again, Mister Holcomb had told me that the reserve officers were nothing but over-educated, enlisted men. I never took offense, because he often said I should enroll at OCS.

  Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling the XO was hiding something. Why? The most likely explanation would be to cover the deaths as quickly as possible because the Commanding Officer had been expecting a promotion upon arrival. Everyone understood you looked good if you made the next man up look good.

  The engine roar increased in volume. The passengers must have boarded and the two ships were breaking away from each other. We would take a large circle and again request permission from Pearl to enter the port of call.

  An hour later as I stowed the last of the paperwork from my desk, the engines vibrated the ship as the clutch forced the large propellers in reverse. The starboard side jerked as lines took hold from the pier. The final bump against the fenders alongside the wharf indicated we had tied up. The engines quieted, the lights flickered as power from the pier engaged, and the deck movement ceased.