Home Fires (29 page)

Well, she knew a good lawyer. Selecting her mobile phone brought a tune from the upper right-hand drawer of the bureau.

After dressing, he called the second-class bar. The barman knew Chelle and swore she had not been in that day. The first-class bar in that case.

“This is Chick, Mr. Grison. What can I do for you?”

“I’m trying to find Chelle. Mastergunner Chelle Blue. Do you know her?”

“Sure, Mr. Grison. She was in here with Mr. Tooley. They had a drink and talked, you know. The little table in the corner. They left, oh, maybe five minutes ago.”

Mick Tooley’s phone was out of service. Skip called his building instead and spoke with his manager.

When that call was over, he put on sunglasses and left the bedroom for the veranda, finding the rolling gray-green water of the Atlantic even more conducive to thought than the blue Caribbean had been. “Charles” White (whoever that was) might be prosecuted and Vanessa wanted him retained. Might he himself be prosecuted? He found, oddly enough, that he hoped he would be—and could not explain the hope even to himself. Guilt about Susan? It seemed possible, though the thought woke no shock of recognition. Where was Susan, anyway? Had somebody killed her? If so, who?

How many people had he defended whose sole crime was resisting criminals? A hundred, perhaps? Not so many as that, but the almighty law—which would defend no one but politicians—hated those who defended themselves. His guns, most of all his submachine gun, would be flourished to persuade a jury that he was a menace.

What about Chelle’s gun? With her mother still in danger, she would insist on keeping it.…

There was another veranda beneath his own, the veranda to which Lieutenant Jerry Brice had dropped when he had vaulted over this rail. Beyond that, E Deck. He might—or might not—succeed in throwing his pistol into the Atlantic from here. An athlete might have thrown the submachine gun too. He most certainly could not.

He pushed his pistol into his waistband, where it would be concealed by his untucked shirt. Everyone who had a pistol had been carrying it everywhere when he had been shot, most openly. Was it still like that? Formal Night implied that it was not. His laundry bag, plus a few soiled shirts and shorts, concealed the submachine gun.

It was much harder than he had expected to let that submachine gun drop into the Atlantic, but he did it. After vacillating for a minute and more, he returned his pistol to his waistband. There was plenty of time, after all.

*   *   *

The barmaid in the tourist-class bar knew Achille but had not seen him that day. “We open at eleven,” she said. “We get maybe half a dozen people then. Mostly they have a quick shot or maybe a double, then they’re gone. You want somethin’?”

Skip shook his head.

“I don’t think that guy with spikes drinks unless somebody else is buying.” She hesitated. “He did yesterday. Showed me his cabin card. It was him all right, only the name wasn’t what everybody calls him. You know?”

Skip nodded. “I don’t suppose you remember the cabin number?”

“Hell, no. But the computer will have it. All I got to do is search yesterday’s charges for a straight shot of white rum.” She touched buttons, scrolled something, and touched more buttons. “Two forty-four E.”

Skip put a five-nora bill into the big brandy glass on the bar. “If you see Achille—that’s the man with hooks and spikes—I’d like you to call me. I’d appreciate it.” He scribbled his mobile phone number on his business card and gave it to her.

“Hey! Skip Grison! You were big when everybody was fightin’ the hijackers. I guess that’s how you got that bandage on your head.”

“No,” Skip told her, “I was shot by a friend.”

No one answered the door of 244E. Where was Achille, and why hadn’t he been in Brice’s stateroom? Where was Susan? For that matter, where was Chelle? You found a thread, Skip reminded himself. You found a thread, any thread, and you pulled.

Out on deck, he called the offices of Burton, Grison, and Ibarra; prompted, he entered his new secretary’s number.

“You have Dianne Field.”

“This is Skip Grison. I’m still on the
Rani
but I should be back in the office soon, and I need a little inside information. I think you’ll probably have it.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Grison. If I don’t know I’ll try to find out.”

“Has Mick Tooley contracted?”

“No, sir. The girls talk about him all the time.”

“I didn’t think so. Living with somebody?”

“Not anymore, sir. It was some girl from the Sixth District Courthouse, but she got ticked when he went down south to try to get you off that ship, sir. He wanted her to go with him, but she wouldn’t so they split. I don’t remember her name, but Edna knows it. Want me to find out?”

“No.” Skip paused to think. “No, I don’t, Dianne. But if you happen to hear it, make a mental note. You never know.”

“I understand, sir. You sure don’t.”

On the signal deck, Skip was stopped by an officer. “Sorry, sir. No passengers on this deck.”

Skip sighed. “It’s like that again?”

“Yes, sir. I’m afraid it is.”

“I’m a friend of Captain Kain’s. I hesitate to bother him, but I will if I have to. I’m looking for Lieutenant Brice. Is he out of the infirmary?”

“Yes, sir. He’s returned to duty now.” The officer hesitated. “Or anyway, we say he is. He’s still taking it pretty easy. Doctor’s orders.”

“Is he on the bridge?”

The officer shook his head. He was a very young man, Skip decided. Probably not as old as Chelle.

“Then he might be in his stateroom?”

The officer shrugged.

“Let me knock on his door. If he admits me, I’ll be his guest. You know and I know that you ship’s officers entertain guests from time to time. If he’s not there, or will not admit me, I’ll leave without a fuss.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”

Skip’s shoulders rose and fell. “In that case, you get the fuss, Lieutenant…?”

“King, sir. Tom King.”

Reflecting that he needed to add his new secretary to his list of contacts, Skip dialed the number.

“You have Dianne Field.”

“This is Skip Grison again. I’m still on the cruise ship. It’s the
Rani
, Canaveral Cruises.”

“Yes, sir. I know.”

“Perhaps you also know that I was shot on Wednesday. Shot in the head.” Covertly, Skip watched Lieutenant King’s face.

“No, sir. Nobody told me that.”

“Then I’m telling you now. I was unconscious as a result of my wound until today, and I believe my faculties may be permanently impaired. The wound I suffered resulted from the negligence of the Canaveral—”

Lieutenant King broke in. “Just a moment, sir!”

“Cruise Line. We’ll ask twenty-five mil. Write a memo summarizing this call and get Bud Young on it. Tell him to call me when he needs more detail, the captain’s name and so forth. Have him get the paperwork ready. We’ll file as soon as I get back.”

“Yes, sir! Right away, sir!”

“Fine. Get on it.” Skip hung up and turned back to Lieutenant King. “Now you. I was shot in Lieutenant Brice’s stateroom. Perhaps you know that. I want access to that stateroom and to Brice, and I want it now. If I don’t get it, that will go into my suit, too.”

Lieutenant King backed away. “I need to talk to the captain.”

“You certainly do.” Skip went to the door of Brice’s cabin and knocked. When Brice opened, Skip said, “You need to talk to me, and I’d like to talk to you. If we talk, I may not file a suit for alienation of affection; but if we don’t, I most certainly will. May I come in?”

Brice nodded, still blocking the doorway. “You’ve been wounded, too, I see. Hit on the head?”

“Yes, by a bullet. I was standing right where you’re standing now. I don’t like threatening you, but I want to come in, have a look around, and ask a few questions.”

Brice stood aside. “Come in and sit down, sir.”

Skip did, taking the only armchair.

Gingerly, Brice lowered himself to the sofa. “Fire away.”

“First—you must know there was a shooting in here.”

“Right.” Brice’s grin was small but real. “You guys left a mess.”

“I’m sure we did. Do you know who was involved?”

“No, I don’t. Only I think a blonde I saw at the infirmary was. I don’t know her name, but I saw her brought in before I left.”

Skip nodded. “Short and a little plump? About thirty-five?”

“That’s her. From the look of my stateroom, she’d done a lot of bleeding.”

“Some of that was mine.” Skip drew a deep breath. “I passed out twice, Lieutenant; but I think the woman you saw must have been my secretary, Susan Clerkin. I ought to go down and see her.”

“I’m sorry she got hurt, sir.”

“So am I. Where was the blood?”

“On the rug in this room, and in the bathroom. The bathroom was a mess.”

“You cleaned it up?”

Brice shook his head. “I got our steward on it, and he brought in some maids.”

“What was found in the room? Besides the blood?”

“You’d like to make your suit stronger. I’m not going to help you with it.”

“No. I’m trying to find out what happened and why. A man named Rick Johnson was killed in here.”

“I didn’t know him. Listen, I don’t want a drink—I’ll be on duty in a couple of hours. But if you’d like something…?”

“Thank you. A sandwich and a glass of iced coffee.”

“I’ll join you. What kind of sandwich?”

“Any kind,” Skip said.

Brice picked up the telephone and ordered.

“I’m Chelle’s contracto. You know that.”

“Right.” Brice’s eyes were guarded, his nod almost imperceptible.

“When I came into our bedroom not so long ago, you were in bed with her. You grabbed your clothes and dashed out, vaulting over the rail of our veranda. I don’t know what you did after that, and to be honest I don’t care.”

“Then let’s not talk about it.”

“Earlier that evening, you had given Chelle a card for this stateroom. That’s the important point. Do you deny it?”

“I don’t, sir. I don’t, but you’ve got it wrong. Can I tell you the whole thing from my end?”

Skip nodded. “I wish you would.”

“Fine. There was a party for vets. I came off duty and decided to put on civvies, drop in, and see if there was anybody I knew. There was, and he bought me a drink. That meant I had to buy him one, so I hung around and talked. Somebody introduced me to Chelle, and she and I hit it off. Maybe it was just because I’m taller than she is. There aren’t a lot of guys who are.”

“Including me,” Skip said.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Well, anyway, she said it was getting too noisy, how about going to her stateroom? I jumped at it. I didn’t know she was contracted then. I hadn’t asked and she didn’t tell me. Do you want to hear what we did in bed? There wasn’t anything very freaky.”

“I think it would be better if I didn’t know.”

“I’ve got it, sir.” Brice pushed his chair back; the distance might have been three centimeters. “It would hit you hard. I can see that.”

“Go on, please.”

“I just wanted to say she was good—”

Skip’s phone vibrated. He answered it with alacrity.

“Mr. Grison? This is Lana. Remember me? The bar on E Deck?”
The tiny screen showed him a tired blonde.

“Yes. Certainly.”

“If you’re still lookin’ for the guy with the hooks, he just came in. He’s with three other guys.”

“Can you talk to him privately?”

“Sure. I’ll just get him to come over to the bar for a minute. They’re at a table.”

“Then tell him I was looking for him. Tell him I want information and I may have a job for him.”

“Got it. Will do.”

Skip hung up. “When will we make port? Your professional opinion.”

“If the weather cooperates, it could be as early as tomorrow.” Brice paused. “The old man’s anxious to get there, and I don’t blame him. We’ve got forty-three hijackers locked up, some on K Deck and some in the hold. If we can’t do it tomorrow, probably Monday. It could be later, but I doubt it.”

“Thanks. You must have known that Chelle and I were contracted, since you ran when I came in.”

“I didn’t,” Brice said. “Would I have gone up to your stateroom if I had? I don’t know. Probably I would have.”

Skip nodded.

“She said she had a boyfriend. Okay, but those doors lock every time they close, and I thought she meant some guy who didn’t have a card. You came in after that. I figured you’d take a punch at me, and I knew that if I got mixed up in a fight—that kind of fight—I could kiss my job goodbye. So I beat it.”

For a moment, Brice hesitated. “I’ve done that sort of thing before, sir, only it wasn’t your Chelle. This was another passenger on the last cruise.”