Chapter 5

Lieutenant Commander Green spent a good portion of Tuesday morning briefing Captain Towsley on her meeting with Ford Clay and Simon Linn. Miss Pearce’s version of the events had merit.

Towsley said, “There’s something very troubling about this. Assuming Mr. Charma was killed by another operator, then we have a case of botched wet-works.” 

“Botched wet-works, sir?” Fay repeated, confused.

“A bungled hit. An assassination. It’s messy.” Towsley rose from his chair and walked over to his office window. He paused, then pointed towards the numerous ships moored in the harbor. “We’ve got over two thousand five hundred Marine and Navy operators out there. They’re the cream of the crop. Among them are some of the most elite fighting men in the world. What concerns me is somewhere out there, we may have a loose cannon.” He hesitated for a moment, then turned back toward her. “Or…” he briefly pondered, as if he were still contemplating his next thought, “or, we have a mechanic at work.” 

“A clean-up guy, sir?”

He nodded. “Wet-works mechanics don’t make mistakes. If everything went as we now assume, a mistake was made when Mr. Charma’s body was left in that alley—a big mistake. Sergeant Linn blundered into it. If the killer thinks Linn saw something that could link him to the crime, Linn is in danger. If a mechanic dropped Paul Charma, then I’m deeply concerned.”

Fay understood the concern in his voice. “Sergeant Linn is an operator, sir,” she offered. “He must know what the dangers are.”

“I’m sorry to say Mr. Linn knows the danger all too well. The Sergeant can take care of himself.” Towsley leaned forward in his chair, the look of worry evident in his expression. “You, on the other hand, can’t take care of yourself. If the mechanic realizes you are investigating the death, then you, too, are in danger.”

The hairs on her neck tingled; she felt as if someone were sneaking up behind her.

“Fay, you’re the best I have.” He stroked his chin with his left hand. “I’m going to assign the rest of your workload to the other lawyers. We need to put this one to rest ASAP.”

“I will give it my best shot, sir.”

“Go slow,” he cautioned. “And keep me in the loop at all times. If things get too hot, back away. Is that understood?”

“Clearly understood, sir.”

Towsley continued, “Admiral Wallace asked me if we can release Sergeant Linn from base restriction. I told him it was the investigating officer’s call.”

“I do not have a problem with it, sir. I will clear it with Frank Farmer and notify the Shore Patrol.”

“Thank you. You’re dismissed.”

As Fay left Towsley’s office, Petty Officer Winslow came around the corner under a full head of steam. The two almost collided head-on, mid-channel.

Fay skillfully maneuvered out of his path. “Mr. Winslow,” she said.

“Yes, Lieutenant Commander,” he puffed, “what can I do for you?”

“Can I have a word?” Without waiting for a reply, she guided him to his desk. “What can you tell me about the SEALs?”

“What would you like to know, ma’am?”

“I wondered how many are stationed in Bremerton?”

He thought for a moment. “Approximately forty-one, most in training.”

“That’s all?”

“There are only about one hundred seventy-three in the entire Navy,” he said. “There are MEUs here too, close to seventy-three, I’d say.”

“What’s a MEU?”

“Marine Expeditionary Unit, Commander. The Marine equivalent of a SEAL.”

“All in training?”

“Either training or war games. It’s their job. Unless they’re on a mission, they train.”

War games, Fay thought. Only a man could make a game out of war. “Tell me, mister. Where do these guys hang out when they’re off duty?”

“The Wog. Actually, it’s the Pollywog. South of the base. Near the wharf.”

“I know of the Wog. It has a reputation for being a rough place.”

“A rough place for dangerous men, ma’am. Not a place for a lady,” he replied.

Fay thanked Winslow and returned to her office. As she entered, she could hear Pearce on the phone trying to reason with someone. She did not seem to be making any headway.

“I know, sir. I understand, sir. I will see if I can, sir.” Pearce looked visibly exasperated with the caller. Suddenly, while in mid-sentence, she put her finger on the hang-up button of the phone. As she did, she exclaimed, “Oops! Disconnected!”

Witnessing this exchange, a look of concern appeared on Fay’s face. “Who was that, sailor?” she asked Pearce.

“Ma’am, it was that no-load, butthead Lieutenant Junior Grade Rollie. What a geek. He’s upset he’s been assigned to some of your workloads. Rollie has a question on one of his new assignments.” Pearce sighed, frustrated, before shaking her head and saying, “He don’t got no class, ma’am.” 

“Don’t got no.” Fay shook her head. “That’s a double negative, sailor.”

“I reckon ma’am. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t use butthead and geek in the same breath.”

Fay smiled. She had heard it all before. Lieutenant Junior Grade Rollie was a young Navy lawyer. He was bright, arrogant, and dashing. It was Pearce’s opinion Mr. Rollie thought he was the Lord’s gift to all women. Based on this assumption, Pearce had come to the conclusion the JG part of the Lieutenant’s rating meant “junior geek.”

“Miss Pearce,” Fay asked, “when did the Navy add the rank of ‘no-load, butthead lieutenant junior geek’ to the officer ratings?”

“Just about the same time Mr. Rollie got his commission, ma’am. All I know is the love of my life is on his way over here, and he’s madder than a swamp bee trapped in a box a’ grits.” Pearce looked at her watch. “Oh! Lunchtime. Bye!” She promptly stood up, grabbed her hat, and left the office.

“Lunch. Very convenient,” Fay muttered. “Now, why didn’t I think of it first?”

“Lieutenant Commander, are you talking to me?” A voice from a corner of the office interrupted her.

Rayzon’s voice had startled her. “I thought you left before Pearce,” Fay said.

“No, Commander, I was filing.” James pointed to one of the lower filing cabinets.

She got an idea. “Listen, there’s a Lieutenant JG Rollie on his way over here. I’ve got like ten things I have to do before I can even begin to think about the ten things I need to do. So, I don’t have time to screw around with him. Could you talk with him, make sure he gets what he needs? You know where everything is. Make a note of anything I may need to tell him, and I’ll call you when I get to Seattle to answer any questions.”

“Happy to,” Rayzon said.

Fay knew Mr. Rollie would go easy on Rayzon—he was a man. That alone would cut the question-and-answer time considerably, if not eliminate it altogether. Her quick footsteps echoed through the long hallways as she practically ran from the building.