Chapter 8

Fay spent most of the following day trying to locate both Charma’s records and the mysterious Major Irving. She did not have any luck on either account, and she was not particularly surprised at the results of her efforts.

Her day also included another meeting with Captain Towsley.

“Admiral Wallace is pressing me on the investigation,” Towsley said to Fay. “What do we know?”

“I met with the ME yesterday. It so happens a representative from the Marine Corps authorized the release of Charma’s remains.” Fay reached into her briefcase and extracted a file folder. “Here is the autopsy report on Charma,” she said as she handed the file to him. “There isn’t anything more than what I have already briefed you on, sir.”

Towsley frowned. “You say the Marines claimed Charma’s body?”

“Yes, sir. W. Irving had the release.”

“I think I know the answer to this but clarify it for me. Why is the Marine Corps claiming the remains of Navy personnel?”

“That question occurred to me as well, Captain. My supposition is since Charma was a SEAL, his duty assignment fell under the MEF. The Marine Expeditionary Force is made up of about fifty thousand personnel. About two thousand five hundred of those are Navy people.”

“Did you check with the MEF people on Major Irving?” Towsley asked.

“I did, sir. Like Paul Charma, they have no record of him. In fact, I have searched every possible resource I can think of and could not find him.” Fay sighed. “I feel like I’m not making any progress. So, I’ve decided to visit the Pollywog tonight to see if I can find anything there.”

“The Wog is a dangerous place, Fay.”

“So I hear. But don’t worry, sir. I’ve asked James Rayzon to meet me.”

Towsley’s eyebrows arched. “Rayzon?”

“I do not know why, but I feel absolutely safe with James, sir.”

“Back to Major Irving. It would seem our Major Irving is lost somewhere in the system. Not only has he disappeared, but he’s taken Charma with him.”

Fay knew operators were often involved in missions officially that did not exist. It did not surprise her Irving and Charma did not exist either.

“Sounds like a cover-up,” Towsley said. “Major Irving could very well be our mechanic. It’s possible Irving killed Charma and has done a nice job of tidying up by erasing Charma and his records.”

“If Pearce’s theory is correct, I would suspect it, sir.”

Winslow entered the office. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Mr. Clay is on the phone asking for Lieutenant Commander Green. He asked if he could interrupt. He said it was important.”

Fay looked to Towsley for his permission to take the call.

“Yes, Mr. Winslow,” Towsley decided. “Miss Green will take the call in here.” He motioned for her to use the phone on his desk.

She listened intently as Ford delivered his message. After a brief conversation with him, she hung up the phone. Fay smiled. “Ford had some information on Howard Carney. He had a private investigator watch Carney. It did not take the investigator long to discover he is not only an amiable student but a drug dealer as well.”

“He’s working his way through medical school selling drugs?”

“So it would appear.” Fay sat down. “I knew he was up to something.” She looked out of the window. “I think we have just added a third suspect to our list.”

“You think Carney had a motive?”

“I do.” Fay looked at Towsley. “A drug deal gone bad? Perhaps Charma stiffed him for some cash? An acrimonious Carney killed him?”

“In retrospect then, Sergeant Linn is a victim of circumstance,” Towsley theorized. “He passes the killer, who’s on his way to meet Charma. Charma is still alive but hiding because Charma hears Linn coming. He then meets Carney, who, after realizing he has been stiffed, kills Charma. Carney then calls for help, hoping to implicate Linn in the murder.” Towsley sat back in his chair and removed a pipe and a pouch of tobacco from the top of his desk. Carefully, he packed the tobacco into the pipe’s bowl, lit it with a wooden match, and snuffed the flame with a flick of his wrist. Smoke curled slowly from the pipe. “Who was the other person in the alley?”

Fay loved the cherry smell of Vern’s pipe tobacco. “A transient? Carney’s backup?” she proposed.

“We’re getting quite a list here.” Towsley rocked forward in his chair. The look of concern returned to his face. “All along, I’ve been warning you to move slowly and cautiously on this investigation. Sergeant Linn seems to be moving farther and farther away from the spotlight. I want to caution you again, don’t let your theory on Linn bias your thinking toward him. He may not be Charma’s killer, but he is still a dangerous man.”

“You are trying to scare me, aren’t you, sir?”

“Maybe. My point is, don’t let your heart fool your common sense into letting your guard down. Not for an instant, Fay.”

“I will remember what you said, sir.”

Fay returned to her office to ponder the latest twists in her investigation. “What do you have planned for this evening?” she asked Pearce.

“Tonight is my Tae Kwon Do class.”

“I’m meeting James at the Pollywog tonight. I wanted to call you afterward.”

“Stop by my apartment. I should be home by eleven,” Pearce said. As an afterthought, she warned, “The Wog is a rough place, ma’am.”

“So I have been warned. Thanks.” Fay shut herself into her office for the rest of the afternoon. By the time she left for home, Pearce and James had left for the day.

Fay spent about half an hour going through her closet, putting together the perfect outfit for the evening. She wanted something to attract attention—that way, she would have an opportunity to meet as many men as possible. Perhaps a short skirt or yoga pants with a tight sweater? A lot of legs and a little cleavage. Not so much as to look like a hooker, but enough to be interesting. She finally decided on a short, tight-knit dress with a V-neck. She wriggled into the dress, put on a pair of sexy pumps with a gold ankle bracelet as an accent, and checked the result in the full-length mirror in the hall. This will get attention. This little dress could almost be classified as a strategic weapon. She had bought the dress on a whim months before. She and Pearce had been shopping at the Nordstrom store in downtown Seattle.

The minute she had emerged from the dressing room, Pearce had said, “Wow, whatever it costs, slap it on your credit card if you have to, but don’t go home without it.”

Fay put the finishing touches on her transformation from naval officer to vamp. Adding a little more eye shadow than she would typically have used and a much redder lipstick, the change was dramatic. She then treated her ash blonde hair to a generous amount of hairspray—lots of volume.

“There,” Fay said, posing for Mr. Bill. The cat watched her from the hallway. He stared blankly at her as she asked, “What do you think, cat?” I gotta quit talking to the cat, she noted.

The air outside smelled fresh; it always did after rain. The raindrops on the roadster sparkled, reflected in the streetlamps. It was dusk.

Fay hoped to meet someone who knew Charma, nothing more. It was a quick twenty-minute drive from her home to the Pollywog. She arrived in the parking lot at 20:05 hours and immediately searched for James Rayzon. The parking lot was full of cars, but she eventually spotted him standing near his vehicle.

She would enter the club alone. James would hang back in the shadows, ready to come out should things get out of hand. She felt completely safe with the plan.

While they walked toward the door, James explained how to identify a MEU or SEAL from the predominantly military crowd. “Marine and SEAL operators often wear their hair much longer than the average male military person. The idea is to look more like a civilian to better blend in with the civilian population. You can also identify an operator, possibly, by the MEU tee shirt. It’ll have the words Long Distance Death, their slogan, printed across the front, or you may see a tattoo with the same slogan.”

“Gee, they sound like a violent group,” she said with a shiver. “And what if I should meet a mechanic, Mr. Rayzon?”

“You won’t meet a mechanic.” His voice expressed the chill of an Arctic blast. “Mechanics are not party-type guys. But if it were your misfortune to meet a wet-works mechanic, you’d be dead before you could say, ‘Hi, nice to know ya.’”

The tone of James’ voice changed. It had a reassuring manner to it when he said, “Just stay cool, girl. Remember, these guys are still Marines and sailors. And they’re more than just lethal.” He shrugged. “They’re lethal Americans. And they’re on our side.” He laughed. “After all, you’re an officer and their superior. You can order them to do whatever you want them to do.”

“Power!” Fay entered the club first, with James trailing about a minute behind her. She sat at the bar while he went to the video games.

Fay ordered a rum and fruit punch-flavored sports drink, her own unique concoction, and then surveyed the area. So, this is the infamous Wog, she thought. It wasn’t what its reputation made it out to be. She did not recall ever seeing a nightclub as large as this one, either. She noted twelve pool tables and a dance floor. The Wog must have been a supermarket at one time, judging by its size.

The bartender placed her drink down on the bar in front of her. “That’ll be two-twenty-five,” he said.

She handed him three dollars. “Keep the change.”

“What do you call your drink?” the bartender asked.

“An Okeechobee gator-punch.” Fay felt proud for coming up with that one, right off the top of her head.

“I’m not sure I know how to spell that,” he said as he wrote on a small notepad. The bartender seemed to take her seriously.

Even more daunting than having to actually spell Okeechobee was trying to sit in her little dress while maintaining some semblance of being a lady. The best she could do was tug it down to about mid-thigh.

Her squirming must have inadvertently drawn the attention of the young man sitting next to her. He swiveled on his barstool to face her. “Hi, I’m Rick.”

“Hey, Rick. I’m Faydra,” she said, heaping on her best southern drawl.

“Where y’all from?” he asked. “Unusual name,” he added.

“I’m a Florida gal. I thought y’all could tell.” She fluttered her eyelashes for effect and smiled. “My mom wanted to name me Faye, after her mother. My dad wanted to name me Zandra after his mother. They were both stubborn people. Hence, Faydra. A simple concoction, I think. How about you? Where y’all from?”

“A real concoction. Kind of like that drink of yours.” Rick laughed. “I knew you were from Florida. I heard you explain the Okeechobee thing to the bartender.” He smiled. “And Faydra is a pretty name. I’m from Nebraska. Near Lincoln. I’m stationed here with the Navy. How about you?”

“Navy. I do administrative things at the Thirteenth Naval District offices. What do you do?”

“I’m a torpedoman’s mate. I’m based at the Bangor Sub base.”

“Cool! Boomers?”

“Yeah, the nukes are easy duty,” he replied. “I like it.” Rick’s face looked as if something caught his eye across the room. “Hey, listen. I gotta go. Nice to meet you.”

He offered his hand. They shook hands, and he left.

Well, that seemed short-lived. Not a SEAL. Fay took a sip of her drink and looked around the club once again. The next young man she met looked to have more potential. He had the long hair, anyway.

“Can I buy you a drink, Miss?” he asked.

“I’m gonna nurse this one for a while, sailor, but thanks.” Fay patted the top of the barstool next to her and said, “Y’all can sit down and keep me company, though.”

The young man sat down slowly, never taking his gaze off her. “I’m Jason Welsh. I’m a Marine, not a sailor.”

“Hi, I’m Faye King, and I am a sailor.” A Secret Service agent had come up with the alias Faye King, years ago, as a variation on the word “faking.” “Pleased to meet ya.”

“Do you come here very often?”

“Not often. I’m here lookin’ for a friend,” she offered vaguely. “What do you do in the Marines?”

“I’m with the MEU. Do you know who we are?”

“I do.” She acted impressed. “In fact, the person I’m lookin’ for is a SEAL. Maybe y’all know him? His name is Paul Charma?”

Jason’s eyes looked straight into hers. “I don’t know Charma. I gotta go. Nice talking to you, Faye King.” He said her name deliberately as if he were committing it to memory. It sent a wave of goosebumps across her skin.

When he’d gone, Fay rubbed her arms briskly. Must have hit a nerve with that guy.

The band began to play. It turned out to be a western music band, Fay’s favorite kind of music. Several men asked Faye King to dance for the next hour, but none knew Charma. It seemed like a dry well to her. She had just signaled James they should go when a young man nonchalantly approached her.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said. “You’re an officer, aren’t you?”

“Busted! Do we know each other?”

“I visited your office the other day. You were just about to fillet some poor petty officer with a Ka-Bar when I walked in.”

“Oh, that was you?” She laughed. “I remember. Y’all darted in and out of the office so fast we didn’t have time to explain.”

While he did not offer her a reason for his aborted visit to her office, the man did offer her his name. “Andrew Lawrence, Lieutenant Commander.” He extended his hand. “I hear you’ve been asking about my friend, Paul.”

Turning off the drawl, she said, “Faydra Green,” as she shook his hand. “Yes, I’ve been asking about Paul Charma. Are you a SEAL?”

“Affirmative, ma’am.” Andrew seemed nervous. “Will you meet me outside?”

“Sure, see you there.” She glanced to the corner where James sat at a video game. He appeared to be concentrating on the screen, yet she knew he had all eyes on her. She flipped her hair by quickly moving her head in the direction of the door and picked up her pocketbook. The moment she made a move, James stood up slowly and began moving casually toward the door.