Home Fires (24 page)

Five minutes later, they found Dr. Prescott’s body behind his desk in his consulting room.

*   *   *

Hours later, Skip told the captain, “He had been dragged there. He’d heard them shoot his nurse and had come out of his office. The gunman shot him three times and dragged him back inside. I don’t know why.”

“We’ll find him,” Captain Kain promised.

“Will we? We’ve spent three hours looking without finding him.” Skip took a long swallow of a vodka-and-tonic he felt sure he should not have asked for. “Can he get off the ship?”

“No.”

Skip raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that. You’re going to suggest that he could escape in a lifeboat.”

“Couldn’t he?”

“No. It takes two people to launch one, one at each davit—two able-bodied men with strong arms. If they were going to ride in the boat themselves, they’d have to jump into the sea after they had it down. That’s how it would be done if we were sinking. Do you want to hear more?”

Skip nodded.

“Very well. That wouldn’t be possible if it’s only one man. He could threaten Ms. Blue with death and force her to help, agreed. He could also force her to jump before he did. But you say she has a broken arm. I doubt that the strongest man in my crew could operate one of those davits without two sound arms. No doubt Ms. Blue is strong for a woman, but with her right arm broken? There’s not a chance.”

“Suppose—”

“That there are more than one. Exactly. That’s the chance we cannot take. Here’s another, one you may not have thought of. Suppose he’s got a great deal of money. He finds a couple of my sailors and offers them … Oh, ten thousand noras to let down a lifeboat for him. Some of my men wouldn’t take it, I know. Others might. I’ve got patrols on the Boat Deck watching the boats for just that reason.”

“An inflatable raft,” Skip suggested. “He forces her to jump, jumps in after her, and inflates his raft. She’d have to climb aboard or drown.”

“Normally, we have only one lookout, a man who looks forward. Now I’ve stationed a man aft to watch for that, or a suicide attempt.” The captain sighed. “For a raft or dinghy of some kind, or a body overboard.”

“You think he might kill her.”

“Of course I do. Who is he? Why does he want her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then we can’t even begin to guess—”

The captain was interrupted by his phone. When he hung up, he told Skip, “That was Dr. Ueda. She’s a passenger, but she’s agreed to fill in for Dr. Prescott until we reach port. There are a lot of wounded in the infirmary, and she’s found women with medical backgrounds to help her take care of them.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” Skip said.

“Naturally not. But it was my duty to find somebody, and I did. While we were searching she’s been looking at bodies, Dr. Prescott’s and Nurse Eagan’s, and those poor girls who used to work for Virginia.” The captain paused. “If I weren’t so damned tired I could probably think of their names.”

“Amelia was one,” Skip told him. “The other was Polly, I think. Or Paula. I don’t remember the last names.”

“Amelia Nelson, I believe, and Polly Lutz. They were both killed by the explosion. No bullets.”

“I’d assumed that.”

“You were right,” the captain said, “but now we know. Eagan was shot once through the heart. Prescott was shot three times.” The captain paused.

“You’ve got something.” Putting aside his drink, Skip leaned forward. “What is it?”

“I do. Or rather, Dr. Ueda does and I don’t know what it means. Prescott was shot once in the abdomen and twice in the chest. The bullets in his chest probably came from the gun that killed Nurse Eagan. Dr. Ueda can’t be sure of that, but she says the wounds look the same. The third bullet is from another gun.”

When Skip said nothing, the captain added, “It’s about the same size, or she thinks it is. Everything else is different. It didn’t expand, and the metal doesn’t look the same. She weighed them, and that third bullet is quite a bit heavier. The bullet that killed Eagan looks like the ones from Prescott’s chest.”

“There are two of them. Two shooters.”

“That’s how it looks. Did Ms. Blue have a gun?”

Skip nodded. “She did when I came to see her. Yes.”

“Could she have been one of the killers?”

“Of course not.” Skip made it as positive as he could.

“Why not?” The captain smiled to take the sting out of his question.

“Chelle isn’t a criminal, just to start with. I’ve talked to people who believe that the Army turns its soldiers into heartless killers, but I’m in the business of defending people accused of crime and I know how low the crime rate is among returned veterans.”

“It doesn’t bother you, defending criminals?”

“I’m not finished yet, and in fact I’ve hardly begun. I’ll get to that in a moment. Second, Chelle was badly hurt. She’d be killing the people who were trying to help her.”

Skip raised three fingers. “And third, she didn’t have a ghost of a motive. The real killers had a clear one: they wanted Chelle.”

“Why?”

“I could guess, but I’m not going to. It would only be a guess, and I prefer to deal with facts. Fourth, Chelle is right-handed and her right arm is broken. She said your doctor put in a plate and held it in place with screws driven into the bone. She could hold her gun when I handed it to her. But could she have shot it? I’d like your honest opinion.”

“Yes,” the captain said. “With her left hand.”

“Possibly, but notice how unlikely it is. Fifth, from what I saw at the scene, the nurse was standing behind her desk when she was shot in the chest. If Chelle had left her room and shot her— Just a minute.”

Skip’s mobile phone was vibrating. He took it out and flipped it open.

Susan appeared in its small screen.
“ ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ Do you remember saying that, Mr. Grison? You quoted it during the Zayas trial.”

“Correct.”

“I’m going to disprove it.”
Susan’s smile was bitter.
“We’ve got your precious Chelle. She’s a mess, but…”

Skip said, “Please don’t hurt her.”

“But I feel sorry for her, and for you, too.”
Susan paused for so long a time that he feared she would hang up.
“I still love you. Does that surprise you?”

“Yes. Yes, it does. I still love you, too, Susan. I love you and I’m terribly sorry I hurt you.”

“I love you, but I love him more and we’re going to kill her.”
The words brought the ghost of a smile.
“It will be fast, I promise. And soon. He’s promised me that.”

“Who is he, Susan?”

“But I’m going to let you talk to her first. Just for a few minutes, because I’m not sure when he’s coming back. I think you should have a chance to say goodbye.”
Susan’s face disappeared from the tiny screen.

Chelle’s replaced it.
“Don? Is this Don?”

There was a knock at the door, which Skip ignored. “I’m afraid not. I’m S. W. Grison, Don’s attorney. How can I help you?”

“I want to tell Don how much I love him. I—I’m going away again. Going away for good. That’s what they say. Please let me speak to him.”

The captain had risen and admitted Rick Johnson.

“He’s not here, I’m afraid, but I’ll find him and send him to you at once. Where are you?”

“In Jerry’s room.”
Chelle turned to speak to someone out of frame.
“This is Jerry’s room, isn’t it?”

Susan’s face replaced Chelle’s.
“Did you say goodbye? I hope so.”

The screen went black as Johnson whispered, “Something up?”

Skip snapped his phone shut. “We need the number of Sergeant Kent-Jermyn’s cabin. That’s where Chelle is.”

“Half a minute.” The captain turned to his computer. “Thank God his name’s not Smith.”

REFLECTION 12

Women and Men

Defending criminals doesn’t bother me in the slightest, and I ought to have told the captain that. Criminality depends upon circumstances much more often than not. “I know you to be a man of the most scrupulous honor, one who cannot be tempted to a shameful or dishonest act, save by money.” I read that somewhere.

It’s not me. If defending criminals is somehow dishonest, why, I can be tempted by nothing at all. I often take pro bono cases.

Nor is it Susan. I would be amazed to learn that the man using her has tempted her with money. Or jewelry, or any such thing. With the offer of a contract? Perhaps, but I would bet against it and give odds. Susan has found a new Mr. Grison, a Mr. Grison who has not betrayed her yet. How I wish that I might find a new Mr. Grison!

Don Miles will never find a new Jane. He will find another girl, and why not? He’s levelheaded, decent, and quite smart. Get him a good job—and I will—and he’ll be able to pick and choose. But not another Jane. For him there can never be another Jane Sims.

Just as there can never be another Chelle Sea Blue for me. We hurried to the elevator, and now we wait. In the elevator we will wait again. And I know that I must save Chelle if I can, and that I’ll lose her—and very soon—whether I save her or not. I long to be the white knight riding to her rescue, Sir Galahad in spotless armor, astride a white stallion. I’ll save her from the bastard who’s got her; and after that, for a night or two, possibly three, I’ll be Sir Galahad.

No longer than three, I’m sure.

What is it women look for in a man? Don’s wanting his Jane back, I understand easily. But why did Jane want her Don all over again? Was it the shared background? They’d been schoolmates after all.

Or was it just that Don was someone she could rely upon? There could not have been many such men, for her. She would’ve had to look for spies everywhere, just as we—but here’s the elevator.

13

JERRY’S ROOM

The captain inserted his master cabin card and twisted the knob. With his submachine gun off-safe, Skip kicked the door open and burst into the room. Rick Johnson was at his heels, gun drawn.

A pretty brunet looked up from her book and screamed. Skip froze. Johnson pushed past him, flung the bathroom door open, and stepped in.

“Please,” Skip said. “Please. It’s all right.”

The brunet screamed again.

Over Skip’s shoulder, the captain asked, “Are these men bothering you, ma’am?”

“I … You’re searchers.”

“We are,” the captain said. “We’re sorry we disturbed you. Both these men will apologize, I’m sure.”

“I do,” Skip said. “Profoundly. I’m very sorry.”

Johnson shook his head. “Not until I’ve looked in the closet.” He did, and apologized.

The brunet smiled weakly, although she seemed on the point of tears. “I knew the ship was being searched. I … I guess I just never thought they’d search here.”

“We’ll leave at once,” the captain told her.

“Almost at once.” Skip sat down on the bed, with his submachine gun across his lap. “Please let me introduce myself. My name’s Skip Grison.”

“I know that,” the brunet said. “I’m Nan Olivera.”

“You know our captain? Captain Kain?”

“I know who he is.”

The captain cleared his throat. “I don’t get to see as much of the passengers in this class as I would like, Ms. Olivera. You’re here with Sergeant Kent-Jermyn?”

She nodded. “We’re contracted. I—well, I know that Mr. Grison is contracted with Mastergunner Blue, the woman they’re searching for. I don’t think I’ve said I forgive him yet, but I do. I know Gerald would look for me until he was too tired to stand up.”

She turned back to Skip. “You are, you know. You ought to see yourself.”

He shrugged. “Nothing a few hours’ sleep won’t fix. You spoke of the sergeant a moment ago. You called him Gerald?”

“Yes. That’s his name.”

“I know it is. Don’t you call him Jerry sometimes? I thought people did.”

“Oh, no! He hates it. I’ve got—sometimes I use a pet name, only never in public. I won’t tell you what it is.”

“Not even if it might help us find Chelle? Find Mastergunner Blue? Because it might. You could whisper it, if you like.”

The brunet’s mouth opened, then closed again.

“I’ll go,” the captain said. “I’m sure Mr. Johnson will, too.”

Johnson nodded.

“Will you promise never to tell anybody? All three of you? It’s supposed to be something private between Gerald and me.”

Johnson said, “I promise.”

Captain Kain added, “We all do.”

“All right. It’s Pickle. That’s what his mother called him when he was little, only she’d never tell me why. But I’ve called him that ever since, when … You know. When we’re in bed and like that.”