Chapter 11

Fay’s plan for the afternoon included a visit to Charma’s quarters. The parking lot adjacent to building three was vacant. It was duty hours; naturally, the building’s residents would be away. The single gray main door to the building squeaked as she pulled open the door. Room two ten would be on the second floor of the two-story wood structure. The building had probably been built to house sailors during the Vietnam War and was in excellent condition. The stairway to the second floor ascended on her immediate right. The first step groaned as she stepped onto it. The noise reverberated down the long hallway. She tiptoed up the remaining steps to the building’s top floor.

The second floor mirrored the first, a long hallway with the same number of doors along either wall. The building seemed as quiet as a church mid-week. Fay tiptoed along the hallway to room two ten, fearing the noise created by the hard heels of her shoes on the linoleum floor would make a racket akin to a cattle stampede.

Fay arrived at the door, knocked softly, waited for a moment, and then knocked again, louder the second time. She twisted the doorknob, expecting it to be locked. She glanced both directions up and down the hall, as one would look up and down a busy street before crossing. She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Damn!” she said out loud. Out of frustration at the events in general, she kicked at the door with her right foot.

To her surprise, the door swung open. Huh. Once again, Fay looked up and down the hall, then quickly slipped through the door. She did not think anyone, including the SPD, would have visited Charma’s room. After all, not many knew of the man’s existence. Her gaze swept the room, taking everything in. But to her surprise, Charma’s quarters were vacant—except for a bunk, a desk, and a chair.

She dropped her pocketbook onto the desk and walked to the only closet in the room. When she opened the door, she found the closet’s interior to be the same as the room: barren. Being a tall woman, she could see along the top shelf’s length by rising on her toes. There was nothing there. She closed the closet door and continued to search the room. Someone had recently cleaned the room —there was no dust on the blinds and a slight hint of fresh floor wax lingered in the air.

Sailors tended to hide things, a skill they learned in basic training. You had your inspection razor, and you had the one you shaved with every day. The one you shaved with was hidden in a light fixture or the bunk tube frame, anywhere a drill instructor would not think to look for it. Although the DI had been a recruit once herself, so it seemed illogical she would not have thought to look in these places.

Fay sat down on the bunk, again surveying the room and thinking about these possible hiding places, glancing at each location as it came to her mind. Why not start by looking under the bunk?

She was on her elbows and knees, looking up at the underside of the bed’s springs, when she sensed she was not alone in the room. She froze and held her breath. She looked back at the floor behind her. In the reflection of the floor’s high polish, she could see the shape of a human form. She cursed herself for getting out of arm’s reach of her pocketbook and the derringer tucked in its side pocket. She would never make it to the bag.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the form disappeared. Fay released the air she had been holding in her lungs, relaxed the tension in her muscles, and gingerly backed out from under the bunk. When her head cleared the frame of the bed, she rolled over into a sitting position and rested on the bed frame, quickly surveying the room. Satisfied it was empty, Fay lunged for her pocketbook, opened it, and withdrew her derringer. She then stood up fully, cocked the derringer’s hammer, and inched her way across the polished floor toward the door.

Gingerly, she opened the door with the toe of her right foot. With caution, she poked her head out into the hallway. No one was there. She sighed in relief. Whoever it was had gone.

She slipped back into the room. She noticed the reflection from the nearby window cast light across the polished floor, revealing the track of her footsteps. She blinked her eyes. There were only her footprints. No one else had been in the room but her. The slight hint of perfume had replaced the smell of floor wax. No, on second thought, it was aftershave. L’Observe. Paranoia was getting the better of her. Was the scent coming from the ventilation system?

There was no time to ponder this curiosity. Fay’s head snapped back toward the door when she heard the entrance door on the first floor—the door she had entered through—squeak. Had someone left the building? Then, the first step leading to the second floor groaned under the weight of an intruder. All the terms she heard over the past several days - assassin, mechanic, sweeper, psychopath, Pennywise - flooded her mind. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck tingle as she faded back behind the open door and held her breath.

Like those of a large stalking cat, soft, almost inaudible footsteps approached room two ten. Fay’s right hand tightened on the derringer’s grip. The stalking cat stopped at the door. She fought the temptation to wipe off the tiny beads of sweat that formed on her brow. Not daring to breathe, she waited.

“Ma’am?”

She knew the voice, but did she trust the person who spoke? She took in a quick sip of air and remained silent.

“Lieutenant Commander, are you armed?”

No sound.

“Is everything all right?” the voice persisted.

Fay had trusted the man before. She now would trust him again. She relieved the tension on the derringer’s hammer and exhaled. “Yes, Timmy,” she said. “Come in.”

Andrew Lawrence eased his head around the edge of the doorjamb. “Lieutenant Commander,” he said, “I wanted to see if you were all right.”

Emerging from behind the door, Fay exclaimed, “Heavens! You startled me!” She looked down at the weapon in her hand. “I’m sorry. But I’m fine.”

“I saw the roadster outside and figured you’d be up here.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here, ma’am.” He pointed directly at his feet. “Downstairs.”

“Well, I do appreciate you cared enough to check on me.” She glanced over her shoulder, back into the room. “Did you see anyone leave the building?”

“I arrived just after you did. I didn’t see anyone go in or out of the building.”

She glanced back into the room once more. “Everything seems to be in order.” She paused. “Andrew, why did you think I may be armed?”

He looked at the derringer she held in her hand. “I’ve been trained to be cautious. And I can smell a weapon from a mile away.”

“Amazing,” she said. “Should I call the Shore Patrol?” she wondered. “They will search the building, find no one, ask many questions I do not want to answer, and take up a lot of my time.”

Still deciding, Fay closed the door to room two ten, and Andrew escorted her back to her car in the parking lot. Yes, this incident would go unreported.

Was it a coincidence Andrew had arrived at Charma’s quarters when he did? It was duty hours. He should have been at work - if one were to call it “work.”

****

Fay felt her stress level escalating by the day. It was time for a break. “JP, I’m going to take a drive out to the ocean after work,” she said. “To clear my head and reset my bearings. Would you like to join me?” She knew Pearce would enjoy the diversion.

“Yes, ma’am.”

A ninety-minute drive brought the women to Ocean City, a town on the shore of the Pacific Ocean, just as the sun touched the horizon. The chill of the westerly ocean breeze penetrated Fay’s thin windbreaker. Pearce built a small bonfire for warmth.

Fay said, “Considering what Andrew Lawrence told me, he seems to think someone more powerful than Howard Carney is responsible for Paul’s death.”

“Who would’ve had access to Paul’s records or his body?” Pearce asked. “Unless the killer was someone with the power to access records and release remains?”

“Something Andrew Lawrence said to me, ‘no SEAL has ever been left behind,’ I’m sure it is true. Paul’s records disappear, Paul disappears, and we have what is beginning to look like a cover-up,” Fay noted.

Pearce poked at the fire with a stick. “Too bad we didn’t think to bring marshmallows.” She sighed. The orange glow of the fire reflected on her face. “That thing that happened to you today in Paul’s room. Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, what was that? Creepy.”

“I saw an apparition,” Fay said softly. The fire was beginning to fade, along with the late afternoon sun. The cold ocean air was becoming uncomfortable. “Let’s go.”

Pearce put out the bonfire. As the women waded through the cool sand on their return to the car, Fay stopped, turning back to face the ocean for one last look. She held back the loose strands of her wind-whipped hair from her face and reflected long ago, back to when she had been a young girl sitting on a similar St. Augustine beach, mesmerized by the sea. A girl who had dreamt of someday becoming a part of its tremendous power and beauty. She recalled how she had felt that day—so full of hope, full of dreams, convinced she would make a difference.

Now, some thirty years later, those hopes and dreams made up the reality of things as they were. It was now a different ocean, a different life, and—sadly—the girl was gone. The woman watched the sea through now-jaded eyes. After all, the world was not so wonderful, and she knew she had not made the slightest difference. She wondered where the innocence of childhood ended and where the guilt and burden of adulthood began. Pearce had managed to hold on to her childlike innocence; Fay admired her for that. How she wished for the simple life, the life she had envisioned for herself.

“How can this be?” Fay asked. “A brave young man is dead—a man who pledged his life to defend the honor of his country to the death. Ironically, the same country who once embraced the man as its son may well be the one who betrayed him in the end.”

Pearce listened but remained silent.

“Oh, to be a child again,” Fay said distractedly. “Times were so much simpler then.”

“I know what ya mean, ma’am. Used to be, when I was small, it was a big deal to finally be tall enough to ride the ‘big people’ rides at one of those kids theme parks.”

Fay laughed affectionately. “Well, you do also recall at age twelve, you were almost six feet tall.”

“Yes, I recall,” Pearce replied. “I was hideous. Pardon me for sayin’ this, but I think somewhere along the way, as you were travelin’ down the freeway of life, your karma must have run over your dogma. And left y’all in a rut or somethin’.”

Fay was not entirely sure if what Pearce said made complete sense, but it did sound funny. “Thanks. I was thinking about something you said. Something about the tadpole croaking?”

“Ma’am. If Paul were a rat instead of a frog,” Pearce said, “what would he have done?”

“He would have eaten cheese or squealed?”

“What if we’re just about to sail right into the murky backwaters of the U.S. government’s dirty dealin’s? Paul squealed about somethin’ those government guys didn’t want nobody knowin’?”

Fay felt cold. “It would tie into what Andrew Lawrence said about Paul dying for what he knew. He told someone what he knew.”

“Either that, ma’am, or someone thought Paul was about to tell someone. I would bet the tadpole who killed Paul was a bullfrog,” Pearce speculated.

“You mean an officer? Someone like W. Irving. Right?” The thought had crossed Fay’s mind.

“That’s right,” Pearce replied.