Official Privilege

by P. T. Deutermann

“Yes?”

  “We go downtown, talk to the FBI, get a couple of local Italian names.

  We go talk to them, let it drop that Mr. Body Beautiful here said some things implicating the family in our case.” She paused to let it sink in.

  “Why don’t you just leave Mr. Gutowski here a card. I think he’s going to need to find us before we’ll need to find him.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Dan said, moving to get up.

  “Hey, wait a god damned minute,” Gutowski protested.

  “You can’t do that! I didn’t say shit to you guys!”

  “But you will,” Dan said, fishing for his business cards. “I’m glad you enjoyed that booze.

  Careful of where you walk next couple of days.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a god damned minute here. Sid down. You guys fuckin’ nuts, or what?”

  “Your memory coming back, Mr. Gutowski?”

  Gutowski looked around to see how far away the bartender was before answering. He hunched his shoulders and lowered his head, not looking directly at Dan anymore.

  “I don’t know nuthin’, okay? I jist heard some shit, here’n there, around the yard. This is two years ago, awright? Shit’s kinda fuzzy.”

  “I understand. So what was the word?”

  “The black guy—the Navy said he was a paymaster.

  Word was that he shagged ass with the payroll from the ship.”

  “Was that the Luce?”

  “I dunno. One a the ships in the yard. Whatever.

  They was all lookin’ for him, but not in the yard. Word was he’d booked, see?”

  “But he hadn’t.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the funny thing, you talkin’ about the guineas. A coupla months after this ni—black guy splits, the word goes around that the payroll story is all bullshit, that what really happened is that it was a hit— the guy got whacked. Reason I remember is that the guy who told me got his ass kicked by some a the goombahs from the inside machine shop, runnin’ his mouth ‘bout shit that didn’t concern him, you know? They beat that guy up pretty good, and then there wasn’t no more said about it, you follow me?”

  “Nothing about stashing the guy in the battleship?”

  “Hell no. I mean, shit, those god damned battleships are spooky enough without no dead bodies in ‘em.

  Word like that ever got out, nobody in the Seventy-two shop would ever go in one again. Everybody knows them things are haunted-up.”

  Dan sat back and looked at Grace, who shrugged.

  The front door opened and two men came in, both sporting shipyard hard hats. Grace gave Dan the high sign, and Dan got up out of the booth. He was about to thank Gutowski, but something in Grace’s expression stopped him. She stepped around Dan and looked down at Gutowski.

  “Since you wouldn’t cooperate with us, Mr. Gutowski, we’re going to go get a bench warrant and bring you in for formal questioning,” she announced in a loud voice. “So maybe you’d better rethink your story between now and then. Thanks for nothing. Commander.”

  They walked past the two staring newcomers and out of the bar. Dan remembered that Broad Street, the main drag, was back to the right, so they turned in that direction.

  “You think Gutowski figured out you were doing him a favor?” Dan asked.

  “I very much doubt it,” she said. “His brain is so booze-soaked, he probably can’t figure out his name most of the time. But that was an interesting story.”

  Dan nodded as he looked around for a cab. When they reached Broad, there was a heavy volume of traffic coming from the direction of the shipyard, but no cabs in sight on their side of the avenue. Some of the locals were staring curiously at his uniform.

  “What the hell, you want to walk it? It’s not raining, and I think it was only about ten blocks.”

  “I suppose we can,” she said. “As long as it’s daylight.

  That area around the stadium did not look too promising.”

  “Don’t you carry a gun?” he asked as they started walking.

  “Not normally, although I am licensed to, or was.

  Now that I think about it, being in Career Services, I’m not sure that the license is still valid. Only the field investigators go armed, and then not all the time.”

  “Pity. I’d bet a lot of these guys around here are carrying.

  What’d you think of Gutowski’s story about this being a mob hit of some kind.”

  She concentrated on getting across the next street before replying. Dan found he had to shorten his stride so that she could walk without hurrying.

  “Kind of far-fetched. I mean, really, if the supply officer had been embezzling money, then I could see some kind of involvement with the mob, you know, loan-sharking, gambling, a drug habit. But if that was true, we would have stumbled across a separate NIS investigation file about that in connection with his name by now.”

  “Your guys at NIS were going to look into that, %M

  weren’t they? We really need to pull the string on that when we get back.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Dan paused at the next corner. “And,” he said, “I kind of think we ought to keep this angle to ourselves for the moment.”

  The light changed and they crossed. On the other side, Grace walked on for a few strides before responding.

  “Why do you say that?” she asked. “That almost sounds like you don’t trust Santini, the NIS, or the people at Navbase, for that matter.”

  He stopped on the sidewalk to face her. “I’m not really sure I do trust Santini or anybody in the Navbase organization right now. They’re angry that we’re here, for different reasons, but they are perfectly capable of making common cause out of it. In their eyes, whatever we turn up is going to make Navbase and the NISRA look bad, so I’m not really expecting much help.”

  She looked at him. “That’s going to make my working with you rather awkward. If you don’t trust the NIS, then you implicitly can’t trust me.”

  “I didn’t say that, Grace.”

  “I work for them, Dan. You work for Opnav. Opnav has initiated a potentially lethal gambit against NIS by appointing you to head this investigation. And frankly, I’m not convinced that actually solving this case is as important to Opnav as torpedoing the NIS.”

  Dan resumed walking up the street toward the shipyard.

  Grace followed, waiting for an answer. He stopped again.

  “Okay. I see your point. You may well be right,” he said. “I suspect that, from the Washington perspective, the power struggle between Opnav and NIS is paramount, and the case incidental. But that’s all the more reason for you and me to keep our findings to ourselves, ‘at least for now. If we get tangled up in the power game, we’re both going to get chewed up—this battle is being fought by people who are way above your pay grade and mine. I think the only safe thing for us to do is to focus on the investigation and go where it leads us. I mean, what the hell, a naval officer has been murdered here.” i She resumed walking this time, while he walked I alongside, waiting for her answer. He wondered if he had been wrong to assume they could be partners. She might have much more at stake careerwise than he had in this investigation. He could write his report and go on with his naval career. She was probably trying to salvage her career. Then he saw her nodding to herself.

  “All right,” she said. “That makes sense. But promise me this: We’ll play the investigation absolutely straight, with nothing held back between us. And when Opnav does or asks something that’s driven entirely by the rice-bowl issue, you have to let me know. And I’ll do the same for you, okay?”

  “But aren’t you required to relay that kind of information back to NIS?”

  “Aren’t you required to do the same thing for your bosses at Opnav?”

  He remembered Admiral Carson’s instructions—”Be like E. T.” He had been instructed to call home when he had something to tell about the NIS, but not about the investigation. “Of course,” he replied.

  “Well,
then,” she said. “If we both do it, we’re square with each other and we maintain the integrity of the investigation. What the rice-bowl pooh-bah’s do with our ‘intelligence’ is their problem.”

  He saw the logic of it. Maintaining the integrity of the investigation was their only protection, he as a line commander conducting a JAG investigation, she as a career investigator trying to reestablish her professional reputation.

  “You’re absolutely right. God, that’s scary.”

  “What’s scary?”

  “A woman who makes perfectly logical sense.”

  “Up thine, as the Quakers are wont to say,” she said, and he laughed out loud. She gave him a quick grin.

  They could see the main gates to the shipyard about five blocks ahead.

  “I presume you’re going to check right in with Navbase?” she asked sweetly. ;,,;,,

  Dan groaned above the noise of the traffic. “It’s four o’clock,” he said. “So, actually, I was hoping just to knock off ship’s work and go out on liberty. But I suspect there may be a phone call or six waiting for me from my new friends at Navbase. Mcgonagle is probably really unhappy with me by now.”

  Santini was waiting for them when they got back to the NIS office. The rest of the NIS crew was wrapping up for the day. Santini indeed had a handful of yellow phone message slips in his hand for Dan, and one for Grace.

  “Commander Popularity,” he said, handing Dan the phone messages. “The Navbase EA especially wants you to check in. Apparently, the press conference was not such a wonderful time. Lieutenant Commander Mcgonagle is not a happy camper just now.”

  “I can just imagine,” Dan said. “Grace, why don’t you go over what Mr.

  Santini here has produced from his local files while I go make some phone calls.”

  Dan sat down in his borrowed chair and scanned the messages. The first one caught his eye immediately: from Captain Manning, the 06 EA. There was another “call me” message from the Navbase EA, and three from Mcgonagle. The rest were from journalists. He checked his watch and decided to take the EAs in order of importance. He tried the 06 EA first.

  “Vice Admiral Layman’s office, Senior Chief Preston speaking, sir.”

  “Senior Chief, this is Commander Collins calling from Philly. Is Captain Manning available?”

  “Let me check, Commander,” the chief said, putting Dan on hold. The chief came back a minute later. “He’s attending the JCS debrief right now, Commander. He asked that you call back in thirty minutes.”

  “Right. Know what he called about, Senior Chief?”

  “Uh, not exactly, sir. I think the VCNO’s EA, Captain Randall, called him, but I don’t know the subject.”

  “Right. Okay. I’ll be back in thirty.”

  Dan hung up, took a deep breath, called the Navbase headquarters, and asked the yeoman who answered for the EA.

  “He’s in conference right now with the admiral and the PAO, Commander.

  But he did tell me that the admiral would realty like to see you.”

  Dan grimaced. “I can just imagine, Yeoman Hardy.

  Let me see if I can arrange a root canal first, and then I’ll run right over.”

  The yeoman laughed. “Between you and me, Commander, the admiral yells a lot, but he’s a pretty good guy, actually.”

  . “Okay, Hardy. I’m in the NIS field office. You guys are right next door, correct?”

  “Yes, sir. Second deck. Executive offices at the end of the hall nearest the river.”

  Dan grabbed his commander’s hat and found Grace huddled with Santini in his office. “Comnavbase requests the pleasure of my company on his very own scaffold,” he told her. “Want to come along?”

  “Not particularly, but I will,” she said, gathering her purse. “We’re done here. Carl, I guess we’ll see you in the morning.”

  As they went down the stairs, Dan asked her what Santini had produced.

  Grace stopped in the lobby to consult her notebook. Dan realized that he needed a notebook of his own.

  “Not much. The local NIS files did have a report of the assistant supply officer’s disappearance, but, according to Carl, no indications of any other kind of investigation.

  The ship did an audit of the disbursing operation and found everything in order. The file contained the standard form for cross-bureau notifications after thirty days and a copy of the Bupers declaration of deserter status for one It. (jg) Wesley Hardin.”

  “Had NIS interviewed anybody in connection with the disappearance?”

  “No, although there was a note taped to the declaration form that a Mrs.

  Hardin had called in and that the call had been returned by a Mr. Kent Friedman of the field office. But no info.”

  “Damn. Was Hardin married?”

  “I don’t know. Hope not.”

  they left the shipyard administration building and walked next door to the Navbase headquarters, a three story building made of brick that was almost black from industrial pollution. Dan wanted to ask Grace if she thought Santini was leveling with her, but he decided against it as they entered the admin building.

  The main lobby was decked out like a ship’s quarterdeck, complete with a large wooden steering wheel next to a brass engine-order telegraph, flags in wooden stands, pictures of all the previous Navbase commanders, and an entire picture wall of ships that had been built or overhauled in the Philadelphia yards.

  There was a reception desk to one side, but no one present for duty.

  They went up the wide staircase to the second floor and walked down the dusty linoleum hallway, past a row of silent and darkened offices, to the admiral’s office at the far end. Dan opened the glass paneled door and stood aside for Grace to precede him into the clerical and reception area. There was a single yeoman working on an antique Wang word processor, two other empty desks, and a set of bat-wing wooden doors behind the yeoman’s desk. The yeoman looked up, realizing who the visitors were.

  “Commander Collins? I’m YN Three Hardy.”

  “This is Miss. Snow from the NIS, Hardy. We’re here to see the admiral.

  But before we go in, I need you to do me a favor. Call this number—that’s the OP-Oh-six front office in the Pentagon—and leave a message for the EA that I’ll call in right after I’ve seen Admiral Bostick.”

  “Can do, Commander. Let me tell them you’re here.”

  But he did not have to; Lieutenant Commander Van Sladen appeared at the bat-wing doors and motioned for them to come into the admiral’s office.

  Dan was pleased to see that Vansladen looked just like he sounded: prissy, smug, and relatively small. Dan was surprised at how plush the inner office was—deep red carpet, mahogany desk and furniture, a window wall that gave an impressive view of the Delaware River, the shipyard, and the upper reaches of Philadelphia’s waterfront.

  There was a long library table along one picture-covered wall, surrounded by conference chairs.

  The admiral, dressed in his service dress blues minus his jacket, sat at the head of the table, with a harassed looking Lieutenant Commander Mcgonagle in a side chair. A large television was on but muted in the corner of the room. The admiral, an elderly, short man with white hair and a razor-thin mustache, peered at Collins and then Snow over half-lens glasses.

  “You the Washington weenies?” he asked. He sounded exasperated.

  “Yes, sir,” Dan answered, preempting the EA’s attempts to introduce them. “I’m Comdr. Dan Collins from Opnav, and this is Miss. Grace Snow from NIS headquarters.”

  The admiral grunted but did not invite them to sit down. The EA resumed his seat, smirking officiously.

  “Commander,” the admiral began, taking off his glasses. “Why weren’t you at the press conference as I asked you to be?”

  “We were conducting interviews with people for the investigation, Admiral. By the time we were finished, the conference was over.”

  The admiral shook his head. “Let me tell you something, young man. As lo
ng as you are operating in my area of responsibility, if I want you to be somewhere, I expect you to be there or to tell me why not. In advance, understand?”

  Dan had had enough. He thought this issue had been settled. “Admiral, have you spoken with Admiral Carson or Admiral Layman?”

  “Nope. And I don’t plan to just because you suggested to my EA here that I should.”

  Dan nodded. “Admiral, I’m conducting a JAGMAN investigation into what appears to be a homicide. I was designated as the investigating officer by direction of the VCNO. I didn’t ask for this assignment. But, sir, if m ‘ ‘p>

  '&

  //

  you propose to schedule my time and activities while I’m here, I will have to file a message report with the Navy JAG that my investigation is being manipulated by Comnavbase Philadelphia. I have had specific instructions from Op-Oh-six regarding command influence on this investigation.”

  The room went very quiet. Dan thought he heard Grace inhale sharply. The EA’s jaw dropped and the admiral stared hard at Dan, who stared back. He knew he was out of line in terms of the respect due a rear admiral from a commander, but he also knew that if he did not stake out his own turf right now, the admiral and his staff would run him all over the place until he left. The admiral blinked first. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then clamped his jaw shut and looked down at the table for a moment.

  “Okay,” he said. “Point taken. The integrity of the investigation must of course be preserved.” Dan felt the

  I room relax fractionally. “What I do have to do,” the admiral continued, “is to coordinate the public affairs response with Washington. With CHINFO. Do you wish to be a part of that coordination or not?”

  Dan was about to say yes when Grace Snow spoke up. “We do not, Admiral.

  What we need is as complete a screening from the media as we can get. We would ask that Lieutenant Commander Vansladen not give out our names or phone numbers to any more members of the press.”

  The admiral glanced sideways at his EA and then back at Grace. Dan noted that the EA appeared to be embarrassed. Score one for Grace.

  “And you are, again, Miss.—”

  “I’m Grace Ellen Snow, Admiral. I’m a GS-fifteen with the NIS. I’m the operational liaison between Commander Collins’s investigation and the investigative resources of the NIS.”