She watched as he left the quarter-deck and navigated across the wooden plank. He climbed down to where she was standing, and she saluted when he approached, and he returned the salute casually.
“Now then,” he said, “what can I do for you?”
She turned her back toward the ship. “I’m trying to locate Lieutenant Masters,” she said.
A smile began forming on the OD’s face, and she wondered, God, is that all every man thinks of?
“Well,” the OD drawled slowly, “I’m awfully sorry, miss, but Masters isn’t aboard. In fact, there’s hardly anyone aboard.”
“Yes, I know. But I was wondering... do you know where I can reach him?”
“In Atlantic City.” The smile was broader now.
“Where in Atlantic City?” Jean asked.
“Well, not exactly Atlantic City,” the OD said. “He’s at radar school, miss. Brigantine, New Jersey.”
“Brigantine,” she repeated thoughtfully.
“Maybe... ah... I can help, miss?”
“I don’t think so,” Jean said. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Yes, miss. In a week or so.”
“I see.” He kept smiling at her, and she felt warm and hoped she wasn’t blushing. “If I were to write a letter — I mean, do you know the address?”
“If you just address it U.S.N. Radar School, Brigantine, New Jersey, I’m sure he’d get it,” the OD said.
“Thank you.”
“Not at all.” He paused, seemingly debating his next words. “Are you sure I can’t help?” His voice rose hopefully.
“No, I’m afraid not. Thank you, sir.” She saluted smartly, and then turned, walking rapidly. She felt his eyes on her, and when she stepped over a girder and her skirt was caught by the wind, lifting at the back of her legs, she almost ran headlong away from the ship.
She did not turn, but she knew the OD was smiling.
There is something completely desolate and forsaken about a seashore resort in the winter, Masters thought. He looked out over the water as the PT boat sped for Brigantine Island. Beyond the waves rushing white and green against the sides of the boat, he could see the lobster joint that crouched alongside the boat landing. Far down the stretch of tan beach, the Steel Pier jutted out into the water, a huge structure that insinuated its presence on the seascape.
He lighted a cigarette and watched the coxswain at the wheel of the boat. He handles the boat well, Masters thought. And this was a damned fine jamming run. The boys are learning. If the boys back at the hotel did as well with the junk we threw them, we’re going to be all right. He puffed on the cigarette complacently and turned his eyes to the heavy gray clouds piling up on the horizon. Rain will be just dandy, he thought. Rain’ll ground the B-26, and that’ll shoot our night air exercise all to hell.
He flipped the cigarette over the side when the boat nudged the island’s dock. He counted heads as his radarmen leaped ashore, and then he returned the ensign’s salute and gave him permission to shove off. He watched while the crew of the boat, led by the young ensign CO, edged the boat away from the dock, and then swung it around in a wide, foaming arc out onto the water. He began walking back to the hotel with his men then.
The airmail special-delivery letter was waiting in his room.
He threw his cap onto his bunk and shrugged out of his coat, and then he picked up the letter. It was postmarked late Saturday, in Norfolk, Virginia, and this was Monday. The name J. R. Dvorak was in the left-hand corner, and for a moment the initials threw him. When he realized it was from Jean, he ripped open the flap rapidly, unfolded the letter, and sat on the edge of his bunk to read it.
She had a neat hand, he noticed. He put the letter in his lap, lighted a cigarette, and then leaned back against the pillow, picking up the letter again.
Dear Chuck:
I’d have written sooner, but I wasn’t sure in my own mind exactly what I was going to do until just a little while ago. I’m sure now, and I want you to know about it because I’m still not certain about how all this will turn out
I think I’ve found the man who murdered Claire Cole and Schaefer. I think, too, that he killed a pharmacist’s mate named Greg Barter, here at the hospital.
I know this will shock you, and I do wish you were here, Chuck, because I feel so desperately alone, and I’m not even sure I’m proceeding in the right way. But I have to find out if he is the right man, and there’s only one way of doing that.
He came into the hospital with catarrhal fever, or at least that’s what they diagnosed. He was placed on my ward, and I treated him just as I would any other patient, until just recently. He became very friendly, and he is really a charming sort of persistent person, Chuck, and I can see how he’d be able to sway a woman. He swayed me, at any rate, and I hope you know I was waiting for you to write or call me, but when you didn’t I just didn’t know what to do, and he seemed like a very nice person, so I hope you understand. I went out with him last night, Chuck. He told me that he’d dated another nurse, and I remembered then that he was one of the men you suspected.
He wouldn’t tell me who she was, Chuck, and I didn’t want to press him, because if he is the man, then I’m a little afraid of him. He asked me to go with him to Wilmington, which is where Claire went, you know, and he called me this morning, and I told him yes, I’d go.
I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing or not, Chuck, but it seemed to me I could find out if I were alone with him again, and it seemed to me that a murderer should be revealed, shouldn’t he? Chuck dearest, shouldn’t I take the chance if it means exposing him?
Well, we’re leaving Norfolk Monday morning at 8:15, and we’ll be in Wilmington at 3:42 in the afternoon. I don’t know where he’s taking me, and I don’t know what I’ll do when I find out whether or not he’s the killer, but even if I can’t get anything out of him, maybe I can find out where he took Claire in Wilmington, and even that is a start. I think this is the right way, but I wanted you to know about it just in case anything should go wrong.
His name, Chuck, as you probably know by now...
Fifteen
Masters read the name rapidly, and then crushed the latter in his fist. Of course. Jesus Christ, of course. It had to be. It couldn’t be otherwise; not now, it couldn’t. He got to his feet quickly.
What was today? Sunday? No, no, it was Monday already! Then... oh, Jesus, they were already on that train to Wilmington! Could he get to them? Could, hell! He had to!
He left his room and rang for the elevator in the hallway. When the car came, he got in quickly, taking it up to the Commanding Officer’s floor. He walked rapidly into the office, gave the yeoman there his name, and asked to see the CO immediately on an urgent matter. He looked at his watch and then paced the floor anxiously while he waited. The time was 1036.
At 1041, he was ushered into Lieutenant Commander Whitley’s office. The CO rose, extended his hand, and shook Masters’ hand warmly.
“Sit down,” he said, “sit down. Been keeping you hopping this past week, haven’t we?”
“Yes, sir,” Masters said. “Sir, I’d like permission to go ashore immediately on a matter of extreme importance.”
Whitley cocked his head and stared at Masters. “Important, huh?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Extremely so.”
“And you have to go into Atlantic City, eh? Well, I can’t see any reason why—”
“Not Atlantic City, sir. Wilmington. Delaware.”
“Wilmington?” Whitley was already shaking his head.