Wave of Death

by Charlie Vogel

  Teddy turned back. “Hell no! I ain’t going to eat the shit you already gave me!” He looked back at me, expecting an answer.

  Glancing at the nearby crew, I also confidentially lowered my voice. “Someone tried to break into the office safe, so I’m putting them in the XO’s safe.”

  Teddy frowned. “But his safe ain’t bolted to the floor. You can’t put Top Secret shit in there.”

  “Teddy,” I growled, “why don’t you talk a little louder so the whole goddamn ship will know.”

  His face reddened satisfactorily before I pushed through the line and knocked on the door to officer’s country. Without waiting for an acknowledgment, I entered. Eight officers sat at their places. Three officers on watch and an empty place mat for Lt. Barnes.

  I addressed the table, “Excuse me, but I need to see Mister Holcomb as soon as possible.”

  The XO stood at the end of the table, wiping his mouth with a Navy-embroidered cloth napkin. “This can’t wait, Pencils?”

  “No, Sir. In your room, please?”

  I preceded him. When I stared at the open curtains, he pulled them closed. He still held the napkin as he sat down in his desk chair. “I’m assuming this is about the classified documents. Are they secured?”

  “They’re right here, Sir.”

  “What? Why did you bring them here, Pencils? I can’t put them in my safe.”

  “I’m concerned about having it in my safe. It may be secure, but the office isn’t.”

  He rubbed his hand over his face. “There’s a controlled safe in the radio room. That’s a 24-hour duty room. I guess, we’ll have to put them there.”

  “As you wish, Sir. But, with your permission, I would like to put this envelope in your safe just for a day or two. Since these are classified documents, I need to check security classifications of each man who would have access to that safe.”

  Nodding, he leaned back in his chair. The perpetual rolling motion of the ship made him look like and old man in a rocker. He dropped the napkin and took up the pipe from its wall holder. After digging the bowl into a tobacco pouch, he tamped it down with one index finger, his expression thoughtful.

  “Is everything all right in the ship’s office?”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  He nodded. “The whole crew knows of Mister Barnes death. Just not the circumstances. Speculation can lead to nervous reactions. But not in your case. Over-reaction is not your style. Something else is troubling you.”

  He struck a match and pulled on the stem until the tobacco glowed. Aromatic smoke drifted around between us. He waited patiently for me to comment. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “At the moment, Sir, nothing is really bothering me . . . except that you pissed me off this morning.”

  He frowned in disbelief. “What-What are you talking about?”

  “I want to know why you moved the body.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I told you. Plain and simple. It has to be preserved for ONI and JAG’s investigation. The freezer was the only logical place.”

  “And I told you I had identified latent prints and I intended to lift them off the metal box before anything else was done. There were four distinct prints right on top of the lid. I only needed twenty minutes to do it. It would have been a simple matter of comparing those prints with crew records. We could have presented ONI and JAG with the suspect.”

  Mister Holcomb rubbed his forehead. “I guess I really didn’t listen to what you said. I couldn’t get my thoughts passed Barnes and my prescribed duties. Can you still lift the prints?”

  “No, Sir. Not after the box has set in the freezer long enough for condensation to smear them. And the men who carried the box created more of a problem. I don’t understand why you couldn’t have put him in a body bag, instead of carting the whole box in there.”

  “I’m sorry, Pencils. I wasn’t thinking beyond preserving Barnes as is. I’ve been military most of my life. My father’s a retired admiral. Duty and Navy regulations have been drummed into me. I didn’t think beyond that to the fact that you were once a policeman. Do you think you can solve Mister Barnes death?”

  “All I can do is try. It is a fact that the more time that passes after a crime, the harder it is to solve. I’ll need your help, Sir, so I can focus on it.”

  “You mean take that envelope off your mind?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Do you think you can finish your investigation before we tie up in Pearl?”

  “When will that be?”

  “If the ship can continue its course at twelve knots and if the seas remain calm, it will be a week from today.”

  “It will probably take longer, but I can get most of the basic work done before the investigation team starts theirs. At least mine will save them some lost time.”

  Mister Holcomb took the envelope from my hand. He studied the date and my signature. A smile twitched his lips. “Ah, I didn’t know your first name was Marinous.”

  “Yes, Sir, it is . . . but you’ve seen my signature before.”

  “But I never really paid that close attention. I’ve called you Pencils for so long, I forgot. From here on out, you attend to your investigation. If I interfere or do something you disapprove of, let me know. One thing, though: Do not tamper with the body. Leave the important shit to the military or they’ll have my ass. Is that clear, sailor?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Another thought for you. You know the Captain wants to make full Commander. If we have a suspect’s name before we enter port, it would benefit his chances. You’re dismissed to start your work. I’ll get this in the safe.”

  “If you don’t mind, Sir, since I was given responsibility for that envelope, I’d like to see it locked up, and, of course, once I’ve checked out the radiomen, I’ll walk it to their safe.”

  He smiled. “I should’ve remembered you know the regulations as well as I do, Pencils.”

  Chapter 4

  While Rex searched through the Navy’s Medical Manual, my finger traced down the columns of the index at the back of the Physician’s Drug Manual. Neither one of us could find “Arothon Meleagris.” I wondered if it could be words made up by the Orientals to confuse American clients. I closed the manual as Rex tossed his onto the fold-down rack in the corner of sick bay.

  “Why can’t you take a sample and test it?” I asked.

  “Shit, Pencils. I’d need a lab, plus I’d have to know what I was doing. Testing doesn’t mean looking under a goddamn microscope. Chemicals aren’t like human blood cells, you know.” He eyed his shelf of books and pulled down another manual. “What makes you think this small bottle has anything to do with Lt. Barnes’s death?”

  “I don’t know that it does. Its the only thing I found out of place in his room. The cleaning crew had gone through the officer’s quarters before I could get there. Since it’s all I got, I’m hoping for a clue. Remember that fish smell you found in the bottle? Well, it was also in the coffee left in his cup, just not as strong.”

  Rex shivered. “Fish-tasting coffee! Some people are weird.” He licked his thumb and flipped pages. “But, maybe it’s some drug he was taking and coffee helped get it down. His medical records didn’t show anything and I can’t think of any drugs that smell like fish . . . other than cod liver oil, but the liquid in that vial wasn’t oil-based.”

  “Let’s look at his medical record together . . .”

  “Wait a minute, Pencils!” he interrupted. “I might have found something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A manual on poisons. Here it is. I found it! Have you ever heard of fugu?”

  “No, should I?”

  “The poison is tetroadontoxin. It’s removed from the ovaries of blowfish. People eat the fish in Japan.”

  “That isn’t what was written on the vial.”

  “Arothron Meleagris is Latin for puffer fish, or blowfish.”

  “How strong is this poison?”

  Rex read o
n before closing the book and leaning back. “Depending on how much he swallowed, Mister Barnes could have died in less than ten minutes. According to the doctor who wrote this manual, the poison is put in vials for use by a religious cult in the Philippines. They use a small portion to induce a deep sleep during their rituals.”

  “Shit! You mean he could still be alive?”

  “No. He would have been thumping around when you found him. By your description he’s dead. My guess is he took a lethal dose in one swallow of his coffee.”

  “What keeps the Japanese from dying when they eat the fish?”

  “The guts are removed before it’s cooked, of course.”

  I ground my teeth a minute. “Rex, when you get a chance, could you go to the reefers and try to get a blood sample? Enough to run a test when we get to Honolulu.”

  “You said Mister Holcomb had posted a guard.”

  “Tell whoever it is that you need it for your medical records.”

  “You know the Navy will be doing all that as soon as we tie up.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to chance losing the evidence. How do we know how the poison reacts once the person is dead. Besides, I want to run it to a private lab. You know how the Navy sometimes screws up. Once I know how Mister Barnes died, I can focus on who did it. So . . . how would a person not in this cult buy the poison?”

  “Think about it, Pencils. Anybody with money can buy anything in Olongapo.”

  Rex twisted the filter from a cigarette, lit the tobacco, and, after only two deep drags, butted it in a stainless steel bedpan. I shook my head, wondering why he bothered to smoke, since he only bought the filtered brand, removed the damn filter, and never pulled more than two drags.

  His head came up with a sudden thought. “Who’s going to pay for the lab test?”

  “What lab test?”

  “The private lab you’re taking the sample to?”

  “Hm. I didn’t think about that. How much do you think it’ll run?”

  “Expensive and they’ll want it up front. That means you’ll be paying, Pencils. Is it worth it?”

  I shrugged and left him with a worried expression. Back in my office, Teddy pecked at his typewriter. I looked at the other three empty chairs.

  “Where’s everyone else?”

  “It’s Ropeyard Sunday, remember?”

  I had been so absorbed in the medical manuals, I’d forgotten about the afternoon off. “So what are you working on?” I asked Teddy.

  “A letter home.”

  My gaze drifted up to a spot of chipped paint. I would have to find time in port to assign my crew to paint the office bulkheads. I waited for the pinging of the Royal to stop.

  “Teddy, if you wanted to buy drugs in Olonpago, where would you go?”

  “Easy. I wouldn’t go anywhere, just stand on a street corner and look desperate for a roach. Some fish head would walk by and sell you whatever you want.”

  “But what if you want a certain type, something special, like a sleeping potion.”

  His eyebrows raised. “Jeez, Pencils, you don’t even smoke! Are you having trouble sleeping or thinking of doing someone in?”

  “No. I’m just curious. You know I don’t go ashore much in Olonpago. When a bunch of you talk about your liberty there, I feel kinda left out. What if I heard of someone who wants a drug that makes a death-like sleep. Where could that be bought?”

  “Chung’s Import. It’s on the strip near the base. Talk to the fat Chinese guy and ask for the Voo Doo Princess.”

  I frowned. “That was a quick answer. Do you buy this sort of stuff?”

  “Naw, but a few of the guys do. Some of the ugly goons on this boat will take a whore to bed and refuse to pay her. They brag about putting a drop or two in her drink before leaving the bar, just enough to get her drowsy. By the time the guy’s finished rolling her in the sack, she’s passed out. He leaves without forking out one peso.”

  “Except for the price of the drug,” I pointed out.

  Teddy turned back to his typing. “Yeah and it ain’t cheap, but a bottle will last a long time. One of the deck apes claimed he got fifty drops out of it.”

  The tapping of Teddy’s typewriter faded as I closed the door and moved down the passageway. With most of the officers in the state room observing Ropeyard Sunday, I decided to take advantage of the reduced corridor traffic and check over the Lieutenant’s body in the freezer.

  At the bottom rung of the ladder I turned from the dim twilight of the hatch above to peer into the refrigerator compartment. A yellowish streak escaped from the open door of the reefer. The guard’s chair sat empty. I waited a moment for the ship to finish a gentle roll to port then stepped to a large steel door. My hand caught it before it clanged against the closed latch.

  Not far from my shoulder the fire hose coiled in readiness on the bulkhead. I pulled the spider wrench from its holder beside the hose and hefted it. It definitely would do damage to whoever had crawled in that freezer. Pulling the door open enough for me to ease in, I stepped onto the wooden floor grate.

  Rex looked up from the body with “What the hell you gonna do with that?”

  I tossed the wrench onto a frozen tub of ice cream. “Do you really expect to get blood from a frozen corpse with that needle?”

  “This is a large bore, cardiac needle. I was thinking of drawing from his heart, since it would all be congealed, anyway, but can’t now. The body’s been in here too long. He’s popsicle. What if I sliced off a piece of his liver?”

  “You mean cut him open?”

  “You know another way to get to his liver?”

  “Hell, no! No, you better not. ONI would fry our asses. How long would it take to thaw him?”

  “Four, maybe five hours. Is getting the blood that important?”

  “I need the cause of death to track the suspect before he gets away and that means before we hit Pearl.”

  “Okay, Mr. Wise Guy, how can you know the suspect’s identity by finding poison in the blood?”

  “Proof of poisoning, then reasonable motive will logically back track me to possible suspects. Then it’s a matter of laying down the time line and identifying opportunity. By then I should be able to name the most likely suspect.”

  Rex nodded as if acknowledging that I really did know what I was doing. He unscrewed the needle from the glass syringe and rolled them in a sick bay towel. “Sorry I can’t help you Pencils. We should get out of the reefer before the guard gets back.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He had to use the head, so I relieved him a few minutes.”

  Turning, my attention caught on the dog tags around the Lieutenant’s neck. Instead of two tags, black tape had been wrapped around only one. I leaned closer. The chain had been broken and the torn tape stuck the single tag to his t-shirt.

  Why would someone steal a dead man’s dog tag?

  The following morning the bright orange of the false sun broke above the glass-still sea. I stood in my favorite vantage point, behind the protection shield of the forward gun mount. Folding my arms on the top edge of the shield, I rested my chin on my arms and watched the bow dip gracefully into the yellow-green, waveless mirror. A flying fish skidded across the deck then got caught up in the anchor chain, its tail frantically beating the thick metal links.

  Just as I took a sip of coffee spray coated my face with a thin layer of salt. A twelve-knot breeze from the ship’s forward motion immediately dried the burning crystals in my pores still raw from my morning shave. I inhaled deeply and savored the sting.

  I loved the sea more with each voyage. It possessed beauty, form, life, and compassion. Deep within, its body held more mysteries than any scientist could ever comprehend. At times, when it became angry, it lashed back at man with more power and strength than any woman could give, but after my first night of sleeping with her, I felt I had given my manhood to a Greek goddess, to something so beautiful, God had placed an ugly face on it to keep it a secret. Only I wasn’t
fooled.

  The sun’s brilliance blinded me as I searched toward the horizon. Being a veteran sailor, I had been trained to watch for objects floating. My eyes always scanned for other ships, friend or foe. And, since, I was an intruder upon the world of water, I always searched for land. Even so, I understood deep inside me that I had made a vow of commitment to the sea, to appreciate its facets and guard whatever secrets I discovered along the way. My mother, rooted to the fruitful soil, always prayed for my safe return to land, while I prayed for another opportunity to go out again.

  I turned my back to the forecastle and entered a dark vestibule. Undogging the steel door, I stepped into the red glow of a passageway and rushed by a sleepy-eyed junior officer apparently returning to his early-morning watch station. The greasy smell of breakfast escaped the officers’ pantry. On my way through the state room, I appropriately acknowledged the brass sitting around the table.

  Once again, my master key gave me access to Mister Barnes’s room. I had decided during the night that the XO could do what he wanted, even send me before the mast, but I was ignoring military procedures and handling this murder like a trained police officer who wanted the truth, not the cleanest version for the record keepers.

  Pulling open drawers, I was surprised to find that despite being commissioned, Lt. Barnes displayed a sloppy personality. Nothing had been folded and stowed per military protocol. Instead of being placed in the laundry bag, dirty socks and underwear filled a space under the wash sink.

  Several envelopes in a letter slot showed his mother’s return address. As I replaced the letters, a slip of paper fell to his fold-top desk. It was the receipt to the necklace bought at Chung’s Import. The item description read “Gold Pendant called Storm of Pearls.” The next line read “Sold to Lawrence Barnes.” I blinked at the third line. “Registered with Lloyds of London,” followed by the registration numbers. I carefully folded the paper and shoved it into my shirt pocket.

  After twenty more minutes of searching I gave up on the necklace. However, I did add a chop stick ring labeled “Lo’s Restaurant,” with an address on Hotel Street in Honolulu. Inside the paper band I found a hand-written message for Mister Barnes to phone “Lihua Liyi.” A Honolulu phone number followed the obviously female name.