Richard Marsten - Murder in the navy

a) Schaefer knew Miss Cole, having made her acquaintance while confined to base hospital in late September of this year.

b) Schaefer had access to Combat Information Center (radar shack) key, which is available in Ship’s Office.

c) Schaefer was on week-end liberty same week end in which Cole kept alleged rendezvous with unidentified sailor.

Our contention is that Schaefer, driven by guilt, haunted by fear of exposure, took his life by simplest means at hand Records reveal that Schaefer was expert swimmer, but we believe he swam under fantail, lodging himself beneath screw. Shipmates agree he was acting strangely since death of nurse and ensuing investigation. Therefore respectfully request permission to close files on case and permit commanding officer Glenburne to resume normal activity aboard Skyes.

Dickason handed the signed report to Norton.

“Did you read it?” Norton asked.

“Yes. Yes, I read it.”

“Well?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Fred.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m convinced yet.”

“For Christ’s sake, Matt—”

“Oh, all right, I know you’ve had a lot of experience in this sort of thing, but I still don’t know, Fred.”

“What’s the trouble? What’s bothering you now, little boy?”

“Nothing. I guess it’s the only conclusion we can draw, but I still wish there was something more to go on. No fingerprints, no nothing, and a million damn people crawling all over the ship when the nurse was killed. I just hope we have the right man, Fred.”

“You worry too goddamn much,” Norton said. “In something like this, you’ve got to take the facts as they fall. I told you the killer would crack, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Well, he cracked. Look, Matt, I agree, either Daniels or Jones could have killed the goddamned nurse, too. But it was Schaefer that jumped off the fantail! You tack that onto the rest we’ve got, and he’s our man.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Do you like this Navy horse manure?” Norton said.

“No. Of course not.”

“Do you want to go back to Washington?”

“Yes.”

“Then you want some advice? Forget it. This is only one case, and not a very important one, at that.”

“Well, I don’t want to seem like an eager beaver...”

“Then don’t.”

“Is this standard operating procedure?”

“Nothing is standard operating procedure. You fit the facts to the case. As far as I’m concerned, Schaefer conclusively proved his guilt by taking his own life. That’s good enough for me.”

“But if reasonable doubt exists, shouldn’t we investigate further?”

“What reasonable doubt?”

“Well...” Dickason hesitated.

“See? There really isn’t any doubt in your mind. Admit it. Would you kill yourself if you hadn’t done anything?”

“I guess not.”

“All right, then. Sign the damned report, and let’s get it off. With a little luck, we’ll be back in Washington before the week is out.”

MR. FREDERICK NORTON

HOTEL FIELDS

NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

RETURN WASHINGTON FOR FURTHER ORDERS. ADVISE COMMANDER GLENBURNE RESUME NORMAL ACTIVITY ABOARD SYKES. CONSIDER FILES CLOSED.

MR. AND MRS. PETER SCHAEFER

831 EAST 217 STREET

BRONX 67, NEW YORK

THE MEN AND OFFICERS OF THE USS SYKES, DD 102, WISH TO EXPRESS THEIR SINCERE SYMPATHY ON THE DEATH OF YOUR SON RICHARD SCHAEFER. AS THE WAR DEPARTMENT INFORMED YOU AN ACCIDENT OF THIS NATURE IS EXTREMELY RARE AND ITS OCCURRENCE IS THUS DOUBLY SHOCKING. YOUR SON’S PERSONAL EFFECTS WILL BE FORWARDED WITHIN A MATTER OF DAYS AND MEANWHILE BE CERTAIN WE SHARE YOUR LOSS DEEPLY.

“It’s disgusting,” Masters said. “The old bastard sounds actually gleeful.”

“He had to send a wire,” Reynolds said. He shrugged. “He was good enough to leave out the fact that Schaefer was a goddamn murderer.”

“ If he was a murderer,” Masters said.

“The FBI seems to think so. Look, Chuck, let it lie. The nurse’s home town is happy and CinCLant is happy, and the Squadron Commander is happy, and most of all the Old Man is happy. Let it lie.”

“Sure, let it lie.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what’s the matter? You think Schaefer didn’t do it?”

“Didn’t do what? Didn’t commit suicide, or didn’t kill the nurse?”

“Take your choice.”

“I don’t think he did either.”

“How so?”

“Did you see his effects? I did.”

“I saw them.”

“All right. If you saw them, you know Schaefer was in the middle of a letter to his folks. The letter was dated the night of the alleged suicide. Now, you can’t tell me that a guy who’s ready to leap over the fantail is going to stop a letter in the middle of a sentence and then take his swim — without even mentioning anything to his own parents.”

“Not all suicides leave notes.”

“No. But most suicides like to leave things in some state of order. Hell, Schaefer had his soap and towel laid out on his sack.”

“What’s your theory?”

“Who the hell knows? Maybe he was troubled by something. Maybe he left the letter to take a walk, or maybe he went to the head. Maybe he saw someone and stopped to talk to him. Maybe somebody shoved him over the fantail.”

“I doubt it. I doubt it very much, Chuck.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should take a look at his records. And then maybe you can tell me why a guy like Schaefer chose drowning as his means of suicide.”

“I don’t get it,” Reynolds said, puzzled.

“You don’t, huh? Well, its all in his records. Schaefer was an expert swimmer. As a matter of fact, he applied for underwater demolition school when he first entered the Navy. Now you tell me how an expert swimmer expects to drown by jumping over the side!”

“Well...”

“Think it over, Mike. And think over motives while you’re at it. Let’s assume Schaefer did kill the nurse. If he’s caught, the Navy hangs him. That’s the penalty for murder, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“All right, all he has to lose is his life, right? He’s in the reserve, so he really doesn’t give a damn about a Navy career or honors or glory or what the hell have you? He’s just putting in time, waiting to get back into civvies. If he gets away with the murder, he’s out of the Navy and free. If he doesn’t, he hangs and loses his life. That’s all he can lose; his life. A man smart enough to kill Claire Cole would also be smart enough to take the gamble. But Schaefer didn’t, or at least you’re telling me he didn’t. He took his own life, the only thing he had to lose.” Masters paused. “I’m sorry. I don’t buy it.”

“What do you buy?”

“I buy a murderer still walking around this goddamned tub. Only now the score is two, and everything is all smoothed out. Activity resumed, nobody restricted to the ship any more. The sonofabitch must be in seventh heaven right now. It burns me up. It makes me sore that somebody thinks he can get away with something like this. And it makes me sorer to think of the meatheads up the chain of command who are tickled pink over Schaefer’s alleged suicide.”

“Stop calling it ‘alleged,’ Chuck. CinCLant—”

“CinCLant, my bloody foot! CinCLant is just as tickled as everyone else. Now the pressure’s off, and everybody can relax. Everybody can go on bucking for his fourth stripe or a few more scrambled eggs on his hat. Everybody can go to the Officers’ Club and drink a toast to the brilliant investigation board. And everybody can forget all about a dead nurse, and a poor slob who lived in the Bronx! It stinks! For two cents, I’d—”