“What do you think of Mac’s analysis, Artie?”
“Hard to say, sir. All three seemed plausible enough.”
An audible snort, no doubt from Eagleberg.
“Occam’s razor, Artie, Occam’s razor. When did all this business start? I’ll tell you when: with Schofield, just two days after we took a certain guest into our midst. Which prompts a question, doesn’t it? If these really were homicides at the hand of one man…”
Finn sat on the deck of his broom closet, his back to the bulkhead so he faced the door, motionless, earbuds in, listening to his recording of the previous evening’s conversation in the bugged Lincoln Room. His sliced-up Sandburg Lincoln volume with its embedded bug was performing flawlessly.
And here came the punch line.
“…wouldn’t the most likely suspect be our good friend Chief Finn?”
He pressed PAUSE.
He’d known it was coming, even before Schofield disappeared. He’d known it from his first morning on this ship, from the moment he gazed up at the Vulture’s Nest and saw those steel-gray eyes fixed on him, radiating mistrust.
Sooner or later the man behind that eagle’s gaze would be coming for him.
He looked at the little electronic assembly in his lap, thinking.
After a moment he pressed START again.
“I can’t trust Jackson, Artie. So here’s what I want you to do. Talk to Scott Angler. Quietly. Explain our concerns. Have him look into the SEAL himself. His movements since arriving on the ship. Any possible connections with the three disappearances. Clear?”
“Aye, sir.”
“And have him keep a close eye on the man at all times.”
“Sir, that may be problematic. Logistically, I mean. He may need to recruit some manpower.”
“Whatever. A few people he trusts. But as few as possible. And—”
“On the QT, sir.”
“Exactly. Thank you, Artie. And make sure he understands that he reports directly to me, through you. No need to involve anyone else in this.”
Finn pressed STOP.
So. The captain was recruiting Supercop as his own secret police—without telling his CMC. Divide and control. Finn wondered which paperback had offered that particular leadership tip.
And he could hear the stress in Arthur’s voice. The XO knew how far out on a limb the captain was going. This was a wary career sailor who would cover his own six. He’d follow his CO’s orders but keep his eyes wide open. At some point the sewage was going to hit the propeller, and Commander Arthur Gaines would make sure he wasn’t standing next to whoever’s head it landed on.
Finn listened again to the conversation with Gordon MacDonald, then switched off the recorder.
Three working theories. Hate crimes; class resentment; crimes of opportunity. As Gaines said, all three seemed reasonable, on the face of it. But Finn thought there was something deeper going on. A more careful calibration at work.
All three scenarios were based on thinking two-dimensionally, drawing logical inferences from the facts in evidence. Viewing the disappearances as a straightforward, tactical sequence.
Not the killer.
The killer was operating on a strategic level.
Yes, he’d selected as his victims a strong woman, a gay man, and a Hispanic sailor. A misogynistic bigot? Maybe. But Finn didn’t think it was a simple sequence of events. There were layers to what the killer was doing.
Biker, Schofield, Santiago.
Pilot, officer, swab.
One snatched from the air wing; one from ship’s company officer corps; one from the lowly enlisted.
The meta-message? Eenie meenie miney mo. This wolf could snatch his sheep from any corral he chose. He could come and take anyone—which meant, in terms of psychological warfare, he’d already taken everyone.
And now Finn thought he knew why poor Luca had been directed to take his charcoal pencils.
He thought he knew why, and he didn’t like it.
Time to get into the fight.
He stood, stowed and secured his eavesdropping equipment in his locker along with his steel ring knife. He wouldn’t be needing either for the next few days.