Schaefer said nothing.
“Why do you suppose, Schaefer?”
“Perhaps he’s frightened, sir.”
“Are you frightened, Schaefer?”
Schaefer hesitated a long time before answering. Finally he said, “Why should I be, Mr. Masters?”
In the wardroom that evening, after the Old Man had gone up to his cabin, Reynolds and Masters shared a pot of coffee. Reynolds held his steaming white mug in his browned hands, and the vapor framed his face, giving him an evil satanic look. Masters looked at the exec through the rising steam and said, “You look like hell.”
“What?”
“Nothing. A private pun.”
“Did you see the Old Man?” Reynolds asked suddenly.
“I saw.”
“Brother, don’t cross his path, that’s all. He could scar the paint off a gun turret, the way he feels.”
“Tough,” Masters said. “Why the hell doesn’t he leave it all to the FBI, the way he’s supposed to?”
“He is. But he’s still getting chewed out. Homicide on a Navy ship. Hell, it’s like the chain of command in reverse. The dead broad’s family and friends write letters and send wires to their Congressmen. The Congressmen read them and then begin pressuring BuPers. BuPers hops on its white horse and starts riding CinCLant. CinCLant turns the screws on the squadron commander, and that old bastard jumps on the Old Man, wanting to know why and what for. Now the Old Man has a hair across, and if the FBI or somebody doesn’t find out who killed that nurse, this ship is going to resemble nothing in the Atlantic Fleet, brother. I can’t blame the Old Man. They’re acting as if he killed the goddamn broad.”
“Maybe he did,” Masters said.
“Maybe flippant attitude is unbecoming,” Reynolds said. “Oh, relax, Mike. What the hell are we supposed to do? We’re sailors, not policemen!”
“The nurse was killed on this ship. Everyone is making it the Old Man’s headache.”
“Sure. Except it’s our headache.”
“How’d you make out with Jones?”
“He’s a snotty bastard, you know? As soon as this is over, I’m going to ride him hard.”
“Unless he’s the murderer.”
“If he’s the murderer,” Masters said, “he’s beyond riding.”
“You talk to Daniels or Schaefer yet?”
“I’ll talk to Daniels in the morning. I’m saving Schaefer.”
“Why?”
“First of all, he knows all the questions I’m going to ask. He’s our recorder, remember?”
“And second of all?”
“That’s all. Just first of all.”
Masters found Perry Daniels in the aft sleeping compartment the next morning after sweep-down. The yeoman was sitting on a foot locker, polishing his shoes. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, and the smoke trailed up past the short-cropped hair on his head. Masters stood at the top of the ladder and studied the man for a few moments. Daniels was twenty-six or so, narrow-boned, with tough sinew covering those bones. He worked the brush over his shoes, and the muscles of his arm rippled with the movement. His eyes were squinted against the rising smoke of the cigarette, and his dog tags rattled as he worked.
Masters cleared his throat and started down into the compartment. There was the sweaty odor of cramped living in the compartment, and Masters wondered if it had been a good idea to come here to talk to the man. Well, it was too late now.
“Daniels?” he asked.
The yeoman looked up still squinting past the smoke from his cigarette. He put down the brush, plucked the cigarette from his lips, and dropped it to the deck. He was barefoot, so he did not step on it.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
He made a motion to rise, and Masters said, “At ease.”
With his hand inside one shoe, Daniels reached down for the glowing butt on the deck, crushing it beneath the heel of the shoe.
“I want to ask you a few questions, Daniels,” Masters said.
“Certainly, sir.” Daniels seemed completely at ease, but Masters wondered if that weren’t just a pose. The yeoman unwrapped a polishing cloth, slipped one shoe onto a bare foot, and proceeded to polish it.
“Were you ever confined to the hospital ashore, Daniels?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you remember a nurse named Claire Cole?”
“Yes, sir. She was the one got killed in the radar shack.”
Masters sat down on the locker opposite Daniels. Daniels spat onto the top of his shoe and began working the cloth in earnest, giving the shoe a high gleam.
“You knew her at the hospital?” Masters asked.
“Yes, sir. To talk to. She was very pleasant. Always a cheerful word. A nice girl.” Daniels slipped the remaining shoe onto his other foot, spat on it, and got to work with the cloth again.
“Did you ever try to date her?”
Daniels’ eyes opened wide. “Me, sir?”
“Yes, you. Why not?”
“Hell, sir, she was a j.g. I mean, you know.”
“What? What do I know?”
“Well, sir, that’s fraternization. That ain’t allowed.”
Daniels’ voice held a combination of awe and solemn respect for authority, and Masters wondered if such naive innocence weren’t affected. The squawk box on the bulkhead suddenly cleared its throat, and Masters grimaced. He heard the bosun’s whistle, and then a raucous voice announced, “Now hear this. Now hear this. All hands air your bedding. All hands air your bedding.”
Masters cursed silently. That meant there’d be a rush into the compartment. Daniels was standing already, stepping out of the shoes and reaching into his locker for a pair of regulation black socks. He pulled the socks on quickly, laced the shoes, and then put his shine kit back into the locker.
“Forget your bedding,” Masters said to him. “Come on topside before the rest of the men come down.”
“I want to get a spot up there, sir,” Daniels said. “If I don’t take my bedding up now—”
“I’ll find a spot for you, Daniels. Later. Come on.”
“All right, sir,” Daniels said doubtfully.
They climbed the ladder together and Masters walked to the twin five-inch mount forward of the fantail. He leaned against the mount and looked out over the water. Daniels stood beside him, breathing softly.
“You married, Daniels?”
Daniels hesitated a moment. “Sir?”
“Are you married?”
“No, sir. No, I’m not.”
“Got a girl?”
“No, sir,” he said quickly.
“What’d you think of this Cole dame?”
“Sir?”
“Climb off it, Daniels. Man to man, what’d you think of her?”
“Well, sir, I really...”
“Forget my bars, Daniels. What’d you think of Claire Cole?”
Daniels grinned briefly. “I wouldn’t kick her out of bed, sir.”
“Where’d you go on your week end, Daniels?”
“Norfolk, sir.”
“Why that rat town?”
“I was broke, sir.”
“Did you see anyone in town?”
“Few of the boys, I guess. I don’t really remember.”
“Were you alone, then?”
“Yes, sir.” Daniels paused. “I like to operate alone, sir. A sailor wolf pack don’t get no place.”
“Who were the boys you saw in town?”
“I don’t remember, sir.”
“You didn’t go to Wilmington?”
“Sir?”
“Wilmington. Did you go there on your week end?”
“Where’s that, sir?”
The men were coming topside with their mattresses now, cursing or laughing or joking. Masters watched them as they plopped their bedding down on top of the depth charges, over the rails, on ammo boxes, everywhere. Daniels shifted uneasily.