Murder in the Navy

by Ed McBain

  “I think I remember Schaefer. Yeah, I think so,” Greg said. “He was here about when you were, wasn’t he?”

  “Who said I was here?”

  “I said. I checked your records.”

  “What for?”

  “I like to know my patients.”

  “Since when did you become a medic?”

  “What are you getting riled about, mate?” Greg asked, his eyes studious and alert now.

  “Who’s getting riled? I just like to eat my breakfast without having to listen to a lot of crap.”

  “Did you know Miss Cole?”

  “No,” he snapped.

  “Nice girl. You’da liked her, mate. The hot-pantsed type, but a nice girl.”

  “Too bad I didn’t know her,” he said warily.

  “Yeah, too bad,” Greg answered. “And you’ll never get to know her now, will you? I mean, Schaefer killing her like that. Too bad.”

  “You gonna read a mass, or what?”

  “What’s the matter, mate?” Greg asked sweetly. “Don’t you like me?”

  “Not particularly,” he answered. “Why the hell don’t you shove off?”

  “Sure,” Greg said, and then his voice turned hard. “You’d better start looking sick again, pal. The doc’ll be around any minute.”

  He turned his back and walked out of the room.

  She came into 107 like a burst of sunlight. He had been waiting for her all afternoon, and now that she was here, he was truly excited. She was a damn good-looking girl, with good legs, better maybe than Claire’s, and a nice innocent face that made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. She looked vulnerable, vulnerable as hell, and she was swallowing his line, he could see that. She didn’t wear much lipstick, and her lips were ripe and perfectly formed, and he wanted to kiss those lips until they were bruised and red.

  “Hi” she said from the doorway. “How’s the sick man today?”

  “Better, now that you’re here.”

  “You’re a fresh one,” she said.

  “Can I help it? A man comes in with plain old cat fever, and you cure that, but you give him a worse disease.”

  “Really? And what malicious ailment have you contracted here?”

  “Heart disease,” he said, his eyes serious.

  “That’s quite normal,” Jean said lightly. “Every man falls in love with his nurse.”

  “And his nurse?”

  “His nurse is here to take his temperature right now.”

  She shook down the thermometer, and he said, “The other side of the bed, Jean.”

  “Why?” she asked, puzzled.

  “I like it better that way. I’m superstitious.”

  Jean shrugged. “All right,” she said, sighing. “If you say so.”

  She walked around to the other side of the bed, so that the window was behind her, so that the sunlight streamed through the crisply starched uniform and the sheer slip beneath it, outlining her legs. He watched her legs, pleased with the way he had maneuvered her so that she was in silhouette, pleased with her vulnerability and her naïve innocence, thinking this one was going to be like falling off Pier Eight.

  “Open,” she said.

  “You’re pretty, Jean.”

  “Now stop that.”

  “You’re lovely.”

  “Stop, I said.”

  “You’re gorgeous.”

  “You’re too talkative. Here.” She rammed the thermometer into his mouth.

  “Y’ve n’right abbe s’pretty,” he said around the thermometer.

  “Don’t talk with the thermometer in your mouth,” she warned, looking at her watch.

  He took the thermometer out of his mouth for a moment. “You’ve no right to be so pretty,” he repeated.

  “Oh, now hush. And put that back in your mouth.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting.

  Jean giggled and turned away from him, walking to the window. He watched the lithe slender lines of her body. He could see the harsh elastic of her brassiere where it bit into the flesh of her back beneath the whitely transparent top of her uniform. This is better than a match, he thought. This is a damn fine way to raise a temperature. I wonder what she looks like in civvies. I wonder what she looks like in her underwear. Christ, she must look beautiful!

  She turned from the window, the smile still on her face. “All right,” she said, “let’s see how you’re doing.” She took the thermometer from his mouth and studied it. “Mmmm,” she said.

  “Am I dying?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t people ever tell you your temperature? Doctors and nurses always make such a big mystery out of a thermometer reading.”

  “You’re normal,” she said.

  “That’s good,” he answered. He paused. “But maybe it isn’t, either.”

  “Why not? I should think you’d want to get out of here.”

  “I do, but …” He shook his head.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Jean, when I leave … I won’t see you again, will I?”

  “You’re impossible, do you know that?”

  “I’m serious now, Jean. I’d like to stay here forever. I’d like to be here with you forever.”

  She tried to laugh it off. “Well, I’m afraid that’s a little impractical.”

  “I can think of something that isn’t,” he said rapidly.

  “Can you? Well, well.”

  “Or … or don’t you want to?”

  “I want to take your pulse now, if that’s what you’re talking about,” she said professionally. She took his wrist and looked at her watch.

  “My heart’s going like sixty,” he said.

  “It’s not too bad.”

  “Jean, could you—do you think it’s possible?”

  “Do I think what’s possible?”

  “Seeing me? After I’m released from the hospital?”

  She didn’t answer him.

  “Jean?”

  “Shhh. I’m counting!”

  “The hell with that,” he said, pulling his wrist away and then catching her hand with his. “Answer me, Jean!”

  He was holding her hand very tightly, and there was something electric about his grip. She thought of Chuck fleetingly, and the old debate rose in her mind again. Was she flinging herself at Chuck’s head? Surely he was in New Jersey by now! Why hadn’t he called? Or written?

  “I … I think you’d better let me go,” she said softly.

  “No! Will you see me when I’m released, Jean?”

  “I … I don’t know.”

  “When will you know?”

  “Please, someone may walk in.”

  “The hell with everybody, Jean! The hell with everybody but us! Just the two of us, honey, that’s all, that’s all that counts.”

  “Please let me go.”

  “Not until you answer.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “That you’ll go out with me.”

  “I have to think. Please …”

  “Or is it the bar?” he asked.

  There was no bitterness in his voice. There was, instead, an overwhelming sadness that instantly aroused her sympathy and her rage at the same time.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped.

  “It’s against Navy Regs, you know.”

  “I know that. That has nothing to do with it.”

  “No?”

  “No, nothing whatever.”

  He was close to home now. He sensed it instinctively, the way a fighter will sense the moment for the kill.

  “You could get into trouble.” He paused. “If we’re not careful. Aren’t you afraid of trouble?”

  “Nursing—” She paused. “Nursing means a great deal to me.”

  He saw that she meant it, and he was frightened for a moment, afraid he had taken the wrong tack, afraid the whole thing would blow up in his face now.

  “Of course,” he said slowly, carefully, “no one would ever have
to know, would they?”

  “I … I suppose not.”

  He put her hand to his mouth suddenly, kissing the palm, kissing her wrist. His lips were moist and feverish. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it tightly, pressing it to his cheek now.

  “Say you’ll come with me, Jean. Please, please. Can’t you see how I feel about you? Doesn’t it show? Jesus, can’t you see I’d go nuts if I didn’t see you again?”

  “No, no, don’t say that. Please, you mustn’t. You don’t know. We … we’ve hardly met. We just …”

  “Jean?”

  “What? Oh, please let my hand go, won’t you?”

  “You’ll go out with me?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. Please, I have to think it out.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and then he dropped her hand suddenly, and the hand felt curiously cold now that he’d released it. She brought the hand to her throat, avoiding his eyes. She could not deny that he had aroused something within her. She was confused and embarrassed by her own thoughts, and so she avoided his eyes and started for the door.

  “Come back,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”

  She hesitated and then looked back into the room. He was sitting up in bed, a sad smile on his face, looking pathetically weak. She wanted to hold him in her arms for a moment, wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t know, she didn’t know. She bit her lip.

  “I will,” she said. “I will be back.”

  “Understand you’re about ready to get out of bed,” Greg said.

  “So they tell me,” he answered.

  “Well, good. I guess you’re pretty damned anxious to get back to the Sykes. Must be an exciting ship, a destroyer.

  “Stop snowing me, Greg. There isn’t an exciting ship in the whole damn fleet.”

  “No?” Greg said, eying him carefully. He didn’t like the way this was going. He could always get a rise out of 107, and today he wasn’t doing so hot. The bastard looked too complacent today. That annoyed Greg. He liked needling this sonofabitch, he enjoyed it immensely. “Why, the Sykes seems to be a real exciting vessel, from where I sit, It ain’t every ship in the fleet that gets a dead nurse.” Greg watched. The bastard’s eyes had flicked just a little bit. He didn’t like talking about the ship or the nurse, especially the nurse. Well, if he didn’t like it, that was just what Greg wanted.

  Deftly, expertly, outraged by the idea of this malingering sonofabitch in 107, Greg applied the needle.

  “They found her in the radar shack, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “You see her there?”

  “No. How the hell would I get to see her?”

  “I thought maybe you did.”

  “Say, what the hell’s the matter? Were you in love with that broad or something?”

  “Me?” Greg asked. “Hell, no. I’m just inquisitive.”

  “Well, go ask questions someplace else, will you? I’m gonna report you to the doc, you don’t watch out.”

  “Oh, can it, pal!” Greg snapped. “You ain’t reporting nobody to nobody.”

  “No, huh?”

  “No! Don’t you like talking about that dead nurse?”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t like talking about anybody who’s dead.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re a sickly type yourself.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. I’m a sickly type. And I’m sick of your crap, too, if you want to know something!”

  “Now, what the hell are you getting excited about? Just because I happen to mention Miss Cole, and just because you had a sweet tooth for her last time you were—”

  “Shut up! I didn’t have a sweet tooth for nobody!”

  That one had really got a rise, all right. He had damn near jumped out of the bed at that one. Greg’s eyes narrowed. Carefully he pressed his advantage.

  “You got to admit she was a nice-looking doll,” he said sweetly.

  “I never even saw her.”

  “But you were on her ward, pal. Don’t you remember?”

  “I don’t remember anything about Claire Cole.”

  “Oh, you know her first name?”

  “Of course I know her first name! What the hell’s so unusual about that? Everybody on the Sykes knows her name. Damnit, she was killed on our ship!”

  “Sure, I know that.”

  “O.K. O.K., if you know it, knock off. You’re giving me a headache.”

  “Aw, now ain’t that too bad? I didn’t think talking about Miss Cole would give you a headache. Aw, now I’m real sorry, mate.”

  “It’s not talking about her that’s giving me a headache. It’s just talking.”

  “She was a nice girl. Shame that Schaefer bastard killed her, ain’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think he was getting some of that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It ain’t impossible, you know. She was a hot number, Miss Cole. The way I get it, she was spreading it around everywhere. She was—”

  “What do I care what Claire was—” He stopped short.

  The room was suddenly silent. Greg watched and waited.

  “—what Claire Cole was doing in her spare time? It’s none of my business.”

  “No,” Greg said, “of course not.”

  “So lay off.”

  “Sure. I just hate to see anybody knocking off the goose that laid, you follow? Hell, she might have enlarged her sphere of operations. Might have let some of us poor slobs in on it, hey, chum? Wouldn’t you have liked a little of that, chum?”

  “I don’t even know what she looked like!”

  “A nice-looking piece like Miss Cole? How could you have missed her?”

  “I don’t know what she looked like,” he insisted.

  “Mmm,” Greg said, “then you sure missed something. She was a looker, mate, something to write home to Mother about.”

  “So why the hell don’t you write home?”

  Greg watched. Something was happening. The bastard was beginning to clam up. Something had clammed him up, and Greg was sure he wouldn’t get another rise out of him, not today he wouldn’t. He tried anyway.

  “Schaefer ever tell you what she was like?”

  “No.”

  “No kiss-and-tell stuff, huh?”

  “I never asked.”

  “I’d think you’d be interested.”

  “Schaefer’s business was Schaefer’s business.”

  “Sure. Even though you were sweet on her, huh?”

  “You said it, pal, not me.”

  “Yeah, but we both know it’s the truth, don’t we?”

  “I only know what I read in the base newspaper.”

  “Did you read about how they found her? The bruises on her throat, skirt hiked all the way up? Did you read that, mate?”

  “Yes, I read it.”

  “Must have been interesting.”

  “Very.”

  Greg rose. “I’ll be seeing you, mate.” He paused at the door. “A damn shame Schaefer knocked off your sweetie, ain’t it?”

  “Blow it out your ass,” he replied, and then he rolled over and pulled the blanket to his neck.

  She had avoided his room because she was unsure of her own feelings, and she wanted time to think. There was something very charming about him, something very young and appealing, even though she knew he was undoubtedly older than she was. But there was this—this almost pristine frankness of youth about him, and she enjoyed his frankness, and she also enjoyed his … well, yes, his adoration.

  He was very different from Chuck, different in a sure, brash way, but at the same time the brashness wasn’t annoying. Somehow, it wasn’t annoying because she felt he wasn’t being fresh just for the sake of being a wise guy; he was being fresh because he spoke his mind, and you could hardly classify that as freshness at all.

  He was, too, a little frightening. Oh, not really frightening, but very masculine, she supposed that’s what it was, yes, masculine. You could almost smell malene
ss on him, you could see it in his eyes, see it in the almost cruel—and yet boyish—curve of his mouth. And this maleness frightened her, but it also aroused her until she had difficulty remembering that Chuck was also a male, and that Chuck had also aroused her. Why the devil didn’t he call or write or something?

  This is all happening to me too late, that’s the trouble, she thought. I’m a novice at the game, and all because I began playing it when most other girls were already expert at it.

  And there was, of course, the bar to think of. Not that the title of ensign itself meant anything. No, that didn’t really matter a damn, did it? It was what the bar stood for, the idea of nursing, the ideal of nursing, and she didn’t want all that to get washed out to sea simply because an enlisted man was giving her a rush. And yet … they could wear civvies, and who would know? And what harm was there, actually, in seeing a movie together, or having dinner together, both in civvies? How could anyone possibly know, and what harm was there? No harm, really, unless you were caught.

  But how could you get caught?

  Oh, lots of ways. They could run into an officer she knew, perhaps, an officer who knew her escort, too, and who knew he was an enlisted man. But the chances of that were remote, especially if they went to a movie, say, outside of Norfolk. They could even get up to Richmond and back, for a movie, or dinner, or whatever, and really there’d be no trouble at all, not if they were careful, and they’d certainly have to be careful.

  You simply had to figure whether or not it was worth it. If Chuck would only write or let me know he’s still alive … Well, he probably doesn’t care one way or the other. The good Lieutenant’s simply having himself a gay old time, and yet he seemed sincere, and oh, Chuck, why don’t you hurry up back, can’t you see I’m trying to decide something, and how can I really decide when you’re somewhere in New Jersey, and he’s here, right here, with those eyes of his and that cruel mouth, and those strong hands? Chuck, Chuck, can’t you call? Don’t you want to call me?

  She stayed away from Room 107 because she didn’t want the decision forced upon her. And so she was surprised, and so she felt trapped, when she ran into him in the hospital corridor one night, wearing the faded robe and slippers of the ambulatory patient. She ran into him rounding a corner, and he caught her in his arms, and then backed her around the corner again, into a little dead-end passageway at the end of which was a gear locker and nothing else.