Выбрать главу

In addition to checking attendance, the officer usually gave his men pertinent bits of information concerning the ship’s day. For example, he told them there would be an inspection at noon. Or he wanted every man in his division to get a haircut that day. Or pay would be distributed at 1500. Or everyone would be restricted to the ship because a dead nurse had been found in the radar shack. Things like that. For this sailor’s life was not a simple matter of waking up in the morning and going about your business. There were men who explained exactly how you should go about your business, and Masters was one of these men.

This morning, there was nothing special to say. He read off the names in his division listlessly, and each man answered with his own peculiar variation of “Here.” The variations ranged from “Yah” to “Yo” to “Yay” to “Present” to “On deck” to — in rare moments — “Here.” Jones answered to his name by saying, “Yo.” “Yo” was the saltiest answer. It didn’t take a sailor long to catch on to the fact that “Here” was an answer reserved strictly for guys straight out of boot camp. The muster-reading was accomplished without a hitch. Everyone was present and accounted for. The men hung around, slouching wearily, talking among themselves, until the boatswain tooted his pipe and announced cleaning stations. The men dispersed. Colombo took his time. He was a first-class petty officer. First-class petty officers didn’t have to rush.

Masters was only a lieutenant, so Masters went back to his sleeping quarters to see just what the hell was on tap for today. Today was the last day for submitting promotions. The list had already been typed up, but additions could be made today before the list was posted. He had already granted his quota of petty officers, but he thought it would be a good idea to give some of the strikers seaman first. He tossed some names around in his head, and then put them on paper. He thought he’d bring them to the Ship’s Office, leave them with the yeomen, and then get the hell ashore to make his call to Jean.

He took the starboard side of the ship down to the midships passageway, and then cut in to where the Ship’s Office was set in the bulkhead. He leaned on the counter railing and peeked in.

Perry Daniels was sitting at a desk, typing.

“Hello, Daniels,” Masters said.

Daniels did not look up until he reached the end of the line and threw the carriage. When he saw Masters, he said, “Oh, hello, Mr. Masters. What can I do for you?”

He shoved back his chair and walked to the counter.

“Few names I want added to the promotions list. From seaman second to seaman first.”

“We can take care of that, sir,” Daniels said.

“I imagine you’ve been pretty busy in here, eh, Daniels?”

Daniels looked at Masters levelly. “How do you mean, sir?”

“Now that Schaefer’s dead.”

“Oh.”

“Leaves you a little short-handed, doesn’t it?”

“Well, sir, O’Brien has been helping out a lot. He’s a striker, but he’s probably making third class today. He’s a good man.”

“Then you don’t miss Schaefer at all, eh, Daniels?”

“Oh, no, sir. I didn’t say that, sir.”

“Did you two get along well? You and Schaefer?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Daniels said. “We never had any trouble. Of course, I never even guessed he was the one killed that nurse. He seemed like such a nice fellow, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Masters answered.

“You never can tell, I suppose.”

“No, you never can.”

“I’ll take care of that promotions list for you, sir. Don’t worry about it.”

“I won’t, Daniels. And don’t worry about Wilmington.”

Daniels’ brows lifted just a fraction of an inch. He blinked his eyes and then said, “Sir?”

“We think the fellow who said he saw you there was lying,” Masters went on, improvising.

“Somebody said he saw me in Wilmington, sir?” Daniels asked. His complexion had turned a ghastly white, and he kept staring at Masters.

“Yes,” Masters said.

“Who? I mean, who would want to say something like that?”

“Why? What difference does it make, Daniels? Nothing wrong with going to Wilmington, is there?”

“Well, no. Hell, no. But I mean, why would I want to go all the way up there?”

“All the way up where, Daniels?”

“All the way up to Wilmington.”

“I thought you didn’t know where it was. Daniels.”

“Well, I don’t,” Daniels said, wetting his lips. “What I meant was, it must be up North someplace, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Masters said thoughtfully. “Yes, it is.”

“I’ve no reason for going up there, sir,” Daniels said.

“Not any more, no.”

“Sir?”

“Skip it, Daniels. Listen, may I come in and look at some of your records?”

Daniels hesitated again. “Well, uh, sure, if you want to. I... I had to see about something anyway. You’ll save me the trouble of locking up.”

Masters lifted the counter top and stepped into the office. Daniels walked past him and was stepping through the hatch when Masters caught his arm.

“You do know where Wilmington is, don’t you, Daniels?” he said.

“No, sir,” Daniels answered. “I do not.”

“Schaefer’s already taken the rap, Daniels. There’s no reason to lie any more.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Daniels said.

“Don’t your?”

“No, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to see someone.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be back soon, sir. You’ll find any keys you need on the board there.”

“The key to the radar shack, too?”

“Why, yes. Yes, that key, too.”

“All right, Daniels, shove off.”

“I’d appreciate it if you hung around until I got back, sir. This won’t take a minute.”

“Where are you going, Daniels?”

“Well, sir, I loaned a guy my fountain pen, and he didn’t return it. I want to grab him before he forgets and thinks it’s his own.”

“I see. You’ll handle that promotion stuff for me later?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“How’d you make out, Daniels?”

“You mean on the promotions list?”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t seen the yeomen list, sir. Arnecht — he’s our yeoman first — he doesn’t like us to see it until it’s posted. I’ve seen the list for every division, but he’s kept the yeomen promotions away from us.”

“I see.”

“May I go now, sir?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Masters watched Daniels as he crossed the midships passageway and headed aft. He stood in the hatchway and wondered why Daniels had lied about Wilmington. He had sure as hell lied, there was no question about that. Was Daniels his man? Was Daniels the bastard who’d shacked up with Claire Cole somewhere in Wilmington? Was he the one who’d strangled her in the radar shack? Had he shoved Schaefer overboard? He didn’t look like a killer. But neither did Jones, for that matter. And when you got right down to it, what the hell did a murderer look like? Shifty eyes? Slack mouth? Sinister nose? Horse manure.

Masters grunted and unlocked the file containing the service records of every man on the ship. He checked over Schaefer’s record again, looking through the folder, confirming what he’d seen earlier. Yes, Schaefer had applied for underwater demolition school. That fact hadn’t changed one damn bit, nossir. He continued looking through the folder. The yeoman had been twenty-two years old. This was his first hitch in the Navy, a move probably calculated to keep him out of the Infantry. Well, that was normal enough. He kept turning pages. At the end of Schaefer’s folder, the FBI and investigation-board reports terminated the yeoman’s naval career.