Richard Marsten - Murder in the navy

“Please let me go.”

“Not until you answer.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That you’ll go out with me.”

“I have to think. Please...”

“Or is it the bar?” he asked.

There was no bitterness in his voice. There was, instead, an overwhelming sadness that instantly aroused her sympathy and her rage at the same time.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped.

“It’s against Navy Regs, you know.”

“I know that. That has nothing to do with it.”

“No?”

“No, nothing whatever.”

He was close to home now. He sensed it instinctively, the way a fighter will sense the moment for the kill.

“You could get into trouble.” He paused. “If we’re not careful. Aren’t you afraid of trouble?”

“Nursing—” She paused. “Nursing means a great deal to me.”

He saw that she meant it, and he was frightened for a moment, afraid he had taken the wrong tack, afraid the whole thing would blow up in his face now.

“Of course,” he said slowly, carefully, “no one would ever have to know, would they?”

“I... I suppose not.”

He put her hand to his mouth suddenly, kissing the palm, kissing her wrist. His lips were moist and feverish. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it tightly, pressing it to his cheek now.

“Say you’ll come with me, Jean. Please, please. Can’t you see how I feel about you? Doesn’t it show? Jesus, can’t you see I’d go nuts if I didn’t see you again?”

“No, no, don’t say that. Please, you mustn’t. You don’t know. We... we’ve hardly met. We just...”

“Jean?”

“What? Oh, please let my hand go, won’t you?”

“You’ll go out with me?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Please, I have to think it out.”

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and then he dropped her hand suddenly, and the hand felt curiously cold now that he’d released it. She brought the hand to her throat, avoiding his eyes. She could not deny that he had aroused something within her. She was confused and embarrassed by her own thoughts, and so she avoided his eyes and started for the door.

“Come back,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”

She hesitated and then looked back into the room. He was sitting up in bed, a sad smile on his face, looking pathetically weak. She wanted to hold him in her arms for a moment, wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t know, she didn’t know. She bit her lip.

“I will,” she said. “I will be back.”

“Understand you’re about ready to get out of bed,” Greg said.

“So they tell me,” he answered.

“Well, good. I guess you’re pretty damned anxious to get back to the Sykes. Must be an exciting ship, a destroyer.”

“Stop snowing me, Greg. There isn’t an exciting ship in the whole damn fleet.”

“No?” Greg said, eying him carefully. He didn’t like the way this was going. He could always get a rise out of 107, and today he wasn’t doing so hot. The bastard looked too complacent today. That annoyed Greg. He liked needling this sonofabitch, he enjoyed it immensely. “Why, the Sykes seems to be a real exciting vessel, from where I sit. It ain’t every ship in the fleet that gets a dead nurse.” Greg watched. The bastard’s eyes had flicked just a little bit. He didn’t like talking about the ship or the nurse, especially the nurse. Well, if he didn’t like it, that was just what Greg wanted.

Deftly, expertly, outraged by the idea of this malingering sonofabitch in 107, Greg applied the needle.

“They found her in the radar shack, huh?”

“Yes.”

“You see her there?”

“No. How the hell would I get to see her?”

“I thought maybe you did.”

“Say, what the hell’s the matter? Were you in love with that broad or something?”

“Me?” Greg asked. “Hell, no. I’m just inquisitive.”

“Well, go ask questions someplace else, will you? I’m gonna report you to the doc, you don’t watch out.”

“Oh, can it, pal!” Greg snapped. “You ain’t reporting nobody to nobody.”

“No, huh?”

“No! Don’t you like talking about that dead nurse?”

“No, I don’t I don’t like talking about anybody who’s dead.”

“That’s ’cause you’re a sickly type yourself.”

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m a sickly type. And I’m sick of your crap, too, if you want to know something!”

“Now, what the hell are you getting excited about? Just because I happen to mention Miss Cole, and just because you had a sweet tooth for her last time you were—”

“Shut up! I didn’t have a sweet tooth for nobody!”

That one had really got a rise, all right. He had damn near jumped out of the bed at that one. Greg’s eyes narrowed. Carefully he pressed his advantage.

“You got to admit she was a nice-looking doll,” he said sweetly.

“I never even saw her.”

“But you were on her ward, pal. Don’t you remember?”

“I don’t remember anything about Claire Cole.”

“Oh, you know her first name?”

“Of course I know her first name! What the hell’s so unusual about that? Everybody on the Sykes knows her name. Damnit, she was killed on our ship!”

“Sure, I know that.”

“O.K. O.K., if you know it, knock off. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Aw, now ain’t that too bad? I didn’t think talking about Miss Cole would give you a headache. Aw, now I’m real sorry, mate.”

“It’s not talking about her that’s giving me a headache. It’s just talking.”

“She was a nice girl. Shame that Schaefer bastard killed her, ain’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You think he was getting some of that?”

“I don’t know.”

“It ain’t impossible, you know. She was a hot number, Miss Cole. The way I get it, she was spreading it around everywhere. She was—”

“What do I care what Claire was—” He stopped short.

The room was suddenly silent. Greg watched and waited.

“—what Claire Cole was doing in her spare time? It’s none of my business.”

“No,” Greg said, “of course not.”

“So lay off.”

“Sure. I just hate to see anybody knocking off the goose that laid, you follow? Hell, she might have enlarged her sphere of operations. Might have let some of us poor slobs in on it, hey chum? Wouldn’t you have liked a little of that, chum?”

“I don’t even know what she looked like!”

“A nice-looking piece like Miss Cole? How could you have missed her?”

“I don’t know what she looked like,” he insisted.

“Mmm,” Greg said, “then you sure missed something. She was a looker, mate, something to write home to Mother about.”

“So why the hell don’t you write home?”

Greg watched. Something was happening. The bastard was beginning to clam up. Something had clammed him up, and Greg was sure he wouldn’t get another rise out of him, not today he wouldn’t He tried anyway.

“Schaefer ever tell you what she was like?”

“No.”

“No kiss-and-tell stuff, huh?”

“I never asked.”

“I’d think you’d be interested.”

“Schaefer’s business was Schaefer’s business.”

“Sure. Even though you were sweet on her, huh?”

“You said it pal, not me.”

“Yeah, but we both know it’s the truth, don’t we?”

“I only know what I read in the base newspaper.”

“Did you read about how they found her? The bruises on her throat, skirt hiked all the way up? Did you read that mate?”

“Yes, I read it.”

“Must have been interesting.”

“Very.”

Greg rose. “I’ll be seeing you, mate.” He paused at the door. “A damn shame Schaefer knocked off your sweetie, ain’t it?”