Thanks
to Fidelma for translating the title for me...
Chapter
1
He
was in the middle of solving the problems of the universe when the phone
rang, and it was an irritated Harriman Nelson who rolled over and groped
for the receiver in the dark. “Damn
it, who is it?”
“Admiral, it's Chip. Sorry
to wake you.”
Bad
news was in every syllable that Chip spoke.
Fully awake now, Harry turned on the bedside light and looked at
the clock. 0345. He'd only been in bed for a couple of hours.
Throwing the covers back, he said, “Never mind that.
What's wrong?”
“Sir, it's Lee.”
Harry's
heart dropped into his stomach. Outside
his apartment windows, open against a soft June morning to be, he was
aware of the faraway crash of breakers as the sea flung itself against the
Santa Barbara coastline. Inside,
the stillness in the room deepened as he fought to control the emotions
flooding his brain. He knew
that Chip and Lee had planned to have dinner together.
Chip sounded okay. Harry
closed his eyes.
“Admiral,
are you still there?”
“Yes, Chip,” Harry, said gruffly. “How badly is he hurt?”
“Sick to his stomach and groggy, sir.
But that's not the problem.”
He
couldn't help it. Relief
infused his voice. “Thank
God. What happened? He was going to the Solamar Hotel for dinner.
Weren't you supposed to go with him?
Was there a car accident? Are
you all right?”
Chip's
voice was full of misery when he answered.
“I'm fine, sir. I
wish I could say that a car accident was all it was.
Lee's down at police headquarters, Admiral. He's been accused of murder.”
*
* * * *
What the hell happened?
And where the hell am I?
His head
was stuck sideways
to a table, held down by some weight he couldn’t quite figure out. But at least his eyes were finally staying open.
It was like emerging out of a fog, only foggy conditions would have
been a lot less painful, Lee figured.
It took a real physical effort to straighten up, but he managed it
finally. The first thing he
noticed was that the clothes he remembered wearing were gone, replaced by
a faded blue shirt and dungarees. It
took only another few seconds to figure out he was in some sort of
interrogation room. The rooms
always looked the same: hard table, hard chairs, walls bare.
And freezing. Freezing
him to his very core.
Trying to put two thoughts together, which was hard with the
headache he had, Lee flashed through his ONI cases.
Was someone he’d acted against holding him?
No. There was no one
who had lived to come after him. His
assignments, his teams, had left no loose ends.
Lee
rested his forehead against the palms of his hands and concentrated on the
last things he remembered.
Chip and I were at the Solamar Hotel. We got a call
from the boat, Chip said he’d handle it and
take a rain check for dinner. I
was just about to go into the dining room when the girl walked in and sat down
next to me...great looking girl...got to talking. Invited her to dinner, then I started
feeling real sick.
That was a vivid memory, how sick he’d felt all of a sudden.
She said she had a room at the hotel, I could go up there and lie down for a
while...stumbled upstairs...she pointed me towards the head...think I
passed out...then what? Oh,
yeah.
The rough shock of hands shaking him by the shoulders.
His instinctive defensive reaction only got
him stronger hands and the cold steel of handcuffs.
That was another definite memory.
The rest was pretty much a blur.
How long had he been in here?
He automatically slapped his wrist to look at his watch, and
realized it was missing, too.
The
door opened and a tall, strongly built man walked in, fiddling with a
manila folder. He was dressed
in a cheap pair of pants, saggy jacket and a polyester shirt, the cuffs
frayed at the edges. Shadows
edged his narrow brown eyes. The
eyes weren't friendly, and the look of them matched the sharp, craggy
angles of his face, unshaved cheeks and chin strangely pink in the
unforgiving fluorescent light. He
stopped behind the other chair and regarded Lee with a hard and unwavering
stare, then raised a stubby hand and pushed back a wedge of black hair
that had fallen across his forehead.
Lee’s
eyes widened. He knew where
he had to be now. The guy had
a badge and a holster clipped to his belt.
Slowly, Lee turned his head. That
had to be a two-way window. God,
he had to be at a police station!
The
cop threw the file folder on the table and sat down, staring across
the table at Lee. His mouth was smiling, but the smile wasn't reaching his
eyes. “Glad to see you're
still among the living, Crane. Wish
I could say the same about your victim,” he said in a nasally Midwestern
accent, the voice deep in his chest.
“What vic.…”
Lee's mouth was dry as a bone, and he licked cracked lips before
trying to speak again. “Who
are you and why am I here? And
where is here?”
“The
name's Flynn. Detective,
Santa Barbara P.D. First
things first. You don't have
to talk to me if you don't want to. Just
thought I'd pass that along, don't want any fancy lawyer saying we forced
a confession out of you or anything like that.”
“Confession?
Confess to what?”
Lee fixed the detective with the steeliest gaze he could manage.
“Tell me what this is all about.
Right now.”
Flynn’s
expression tightened. “Oh,
you're not on the Seaview now,
Crane. I don't have to jump
when you say frog. I call the
shots around here.” Flynn
pulled the folder over to him and flipped it open.
“Let's see, where should I start?
Her name was Carla Banner. That
wasn't the name she gave you, though, was it?
According to her record she was five feet five inches tall, a
hundred and five pounds, brunette, hazel eyes.
And just 22 years old when you killed her.”
The room grew colder. “What
-- what are you talking about?”
Flynn
ignored that comment and continued to glance through the information in
the file, speaking in a soft undertone.
“Did I mention she was a working girl?
Didn't look like one, did she?
She had prior arrests for prostitution.
So I’ve seen ‘before’ pictures -- mug shots, of course.
She was smiling in them, like it was a joke.
She probably wasn't doing much smiling when you were beating her
up.”
Lee
shook his head violently, which was a mistake, because it took a few
seconds to get rid of the lights swimming in front of his eyes. “I didn't kill anybody,” he said weakly.
“The girl I met in the bar, she called herself…Jenny something.
We had drinks, I invited her to dinner, but right after that I
started to feel sick. She
took me up to her room. I
must have passed out, because that's all I remember.
Until your goons grabbed me and threw me into handcuffs.”
“Funny,
that's what they all say. Oh,
by the way, ‘those goons’ was just me, buddy.
We don't get too many murders in this little town, so just a couple
of us show up for calls like this. My
turn tonight. Now, if we were
in Chicago, where I used to work, there’d be a dozen cops in here,
talking to you. None of 'em
as nice as me.” He smiled
that cold smile again. “Did
she refuse to do what you wanted? Or
did you find the cameras right away?
Whatever it was, it made you mad.
So you--” he pulled a photograph from the folder and slammed it
down on the table “--cracked her skull with the table lamp. Take a good look at your
handiwork.”
Lee
looked down. The picture was
of the woman he remembered, but death had taken away any attractiveness.
She was lying on her side on a bed, eyes wide open and staring,
hair flattened down and matted with blood.
The blood had formed a grisly necklace under her chin.
Swallowing, he said, “I did not do this.
I didn't know she was a prostitute.
I don't know anything about a camera.
I told you, I was sick, she said she was staying at the hotel and
helped me upstairs. I went
straight to the head and got rid of everything I'd drunk.
And that's all I remember.”
Flynn
had a smirk on his face before Lee stopped talking. “Just like that. I
guess I should just say thanks for the info and let you go, huh?
Have you wondered where your clothes are, Crane?”
“Out to the laundry?”
“Wow,
a sense of humor. You Navy
boys are tough. We took your
clothes and your shoes for further analysis.
Not that we need it, you understand.
But you wouldn't want them now, anyway.
Nasty blood stains and all that.”
Flynn sat back in the chair with a satisfied, 'I've got you dead to
rights' grin.
Lee
turned away from that look. He
had to think of something else besides Flynn's smile and that photograph.
The
details of the evening were coming back to him. He and Chip had been in the bar having a couple of drinks,
enjoying the setting sun through the restaurant’s floor to ceiling
windows. The hostess had come
over and told Chip he had a phone call.
Chip had gone out, then returned and said there was a problem with
one of the men on Seaview,
nothing serious, he’d handle it. Told
Lee to stay and have dinner and he’d
catch up with him later. He
had finished his drink and was about to get up and go into the dining room
when the woman walked in and sat at the next table.
He’d smelled her perfume first, had turned his head and
immediately liked what he saw; big smile, a great body, and long brown
hair that she kept flipping over her shoulders.
What she’d poured herself into was designed for attention, and it
had definitely gotten his. He'd made no effort to conceal his interest, and after a word
or two she'd identified herself as Jenny Keller, on vacation from her work
at an ad agency in San Francisco. She'd
even produced a business card.
Always
reticent about who he was and what he did for a living, Lee had mentioned
only that he worked in Santa Barbara.
She'd been friendly, eager to talk to him, interested in everything
he had to say. No longer was
he sorry that Chip couldn't make it to dinner.
The evening was looking up. She'd
even bought him a drink, brought
it over herself. A pleasant
surprise.
The
new thought hit Lee like a cannonball.
She'd drugged that last drink!
He was suddenly very angry with himself. He’d be laughed out of ONI for this. The oldest trick in the book, and he'd fallen for it.
Would he have figured out what she was there for, he wondered,
before dinner was finished? Or
would he still have been thinking with a part of his body other than his
brain?
“I want to make a phone call.”
“Well,
that didn’t take long,” Flynn said, disgustedly. “I'll bring a phone in.
Very accommodating, I'm that kind of guy. What's your lawyer's name, just for the record?”
“Don't have a lawyer.
Want to call my X.O.” Chip
would understand, about the girl.
“Semper
fi, eh? Wait, no, that's the
Marines. Let's see.”
Flynn stood up, taking the folder with him.
“’Damn the torpedoes,’ full speed ahead?
Think you tried that already, and it didn't work out.
Oh, I've got it. How
about 'don't give up the ship?’ Might
be a little late for that, Crane. I'll
get that telephone for you. Oh
-- just the one call, got it? You’re
lucky I’m not making you get up and go to the back.
But I think you might just have a little trouble doing that, and I
sure don’t want you to complain about the fine service you’re getting
here at the Santa Barbara jail. We
take good care of our murderers.” He
left the room chuckling, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Lee
sagged back in the chair. His
strength was coming back, little by little, but it was still taking an
effort to keep his head off the table.
He’d been drugged, that’s all there was to it.
There was no way he'd been able to kill anybody.
They had the wrong guy. Of
course they had the wrong guy! They
had too!
*
* * * *
Chip
was sure the admiral had broken a personal record in getting dressed; it
had only been a few minutes and he was already outside the apartment when
Chip drove up in the Institute's duty car.
Once on their way he described the terse phone call, Lee talking
slowly, his voice strained. He
didn't mention that Lee had insisted the admiral be kept out of it; Chip
had won that argument. His
C.O. was crazy if he thought that Admiral Nelson wouldn’t want to be
there every step of the way. It
was just an example of the unreality of what was happening.
Chip
glanced sideways. The
admiral’s face was set like stone, a grim visage that said he was in no
mood to talk. Having been on
the receiving end of a Nelson tirade a time or
two, Chip knew what the cops were in for.
All Chip wanted to do was talk to Lee and make sure that he was
okay. The rest of it was just
a horrible misunderstanding that would be cleared up quickly.
The
lateness of the hour ensured a fast trip to police headquarters.
Harry was out of the car and starting up the steps as soon as Chip
braked to a stop.
The
sleepy policeman on duty, hand propping up his head as he sat at the
telephone desk, was unprepared for the red-haired figure that slammed the
front door open and confronted him, face flushed and anger flashing in his
eyes. The young man almost
fell off his chair as Harry halted against the counter and said angrily,
“You have a member of my crew here!
I demand to talk to him right now!”
The
cop sat up straighter, fingers moving away from his holster, reacting to
the unmistakable command in the admiral's voice.
He grabbed the telephone. “Yes,
sir! I'll get somebody out
here right away!”
Chip
had come in quietly and was now standing behind his boss, his body tense
and wary. He had been at the
police station a couple of times, when one of the Seaview’s
crewmembers had found himself a guest of the ‘graybar hotel.’
Never in his wildest dreams, though, could he have ever thought
that he’d be here to see Lee Crane behind those same bars.
The
duty cop spoke into the phone and then spoke directly to Chip, being
careful to avoid the admiral's eyes.
“Detective Flynn will be out here in a minute.
He says he knows what this is all about.”
“He'd better,” Harry said tersely.
The
minutes ticked by as both men waited, each growing more impatient.
The desk phone rang a few times, giving the cop a respite from
Harry’s unremitting glare. The
flush on the admiral's face was getting further into his hairline when the
inner door opened and Flynn emerged.
“Estevez,
go get me a cup of coffee,” Flynn said to the rookie, who didn't need to
be asked twice. He
disappeared through the same doorway that the detective had used.
Flynn’s eyes went from the admiral and then to Chip.
“What can I do for you gents?”
“You can let me see Commander Lee Crane.
We'll start with that,” Harry growled.
“’Fraid
that won't be possible -- Nelson, isn't it?”
His contempt was audible, and Chip bristled at it and the cop's
obvious lack of respect. “We're
not done processing him yet. He'll
be arraigned later this morning. You
can see him in court. Around
11 AM. Don't be late.” He turned to leave.
“You damn well will
let me see him, Flynn!”
The
cop spun on his heel and snarled, “Don't you even think about telling me
what to do! Who you are means
zero to me, Nelson. Maybe
you'd like to join Crane in his cell!
That can be arranged!”
Chip stepped up to Harry's side and deftly edged
him away. “Sir, this isn't
helping Lee any,” he said quietly, reading Flynn's face.
He could see the cop was as angry as the admiral was, was just
waiting for an excuse to throw Nelson into a cell -- and would get
pleasure out of doing it. “We
can wait a few hours. We need
to make some phone calls, sir.”
With
one final, contemptuous stare at Flynn, Harry backed down.
“You're right, Chip.” Visibly
getting control of his anger, he said, “I don’t suppose you have an
objection to me calling your Chief of Police, do you, Flynn?”
“Oh, personal friend of yours, is he?”
“As a matter of fact, he is.”
Flynn
looked taken aback for a moment, but recovered quickly.
“Knock yourself out. Wake
him up again, I'm sure he won't mind.
I called him soon as Crane asked to make a phone call.
Wanted to make sure he knew what was going on.
This is going to make the papers.
Maybe even TV.”
“Bet you can't wait for that, can you, Detective?”
Harry asked sourly.
“Oh,
no, you won't see me,” Flynn said, shaking his head. “I leave that to the big boys.
The boss gets to talk about it; me, I just catch the bad guys.”
“There’s
no bad guy here, Flynn,” Harry replied.
“Like
I told Crane, that’s what they all say.”
The detective took the coffee cup from Estevez, who had come
gingerly back into the room. He
took a big sip and made a face. “Damn
it, rookie, where’s the sugar?” Grinning,
he looked at Chip and the admiral. “Just
can’t get good help anymore. Weren’t
you two going somewhere?”
Chip
turned and walked to the door. “C'mon,
Admiral. We'll call from the
car.”
“Better
yet, we'll drive over to Jim's house,” Harry countered.
“You'll see us later, Flynn.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Flynn said, sarcasm dripping
with every word.
Chip
held the door open for the admiral, glancing back at Flynn as he did so.
The cop’s eyes were twinkling over the rim of the coffee cup as
he held it to his mouth, the other hand casually placed on his hip.
He was absolutely, thoroughly, enjoying this, Chip realized.
Chip had on more than one occasion seen the admiral's blue-eyed
stare freeze an incompetent into immobility.
There was no question of that happening with Flynn; the
detective’s undisguised scorn was written all over his face.
There was not a hint of understanding or compassion in his eyes.
A small town Santa Barbara might be, but this was no small town
cop.
*
* * * *
Two
times this morning Chief of Police Jim Johnson had been awakened, and his
expression was as dark as the pre-dawn hour as he met them at the door to
his home. Chip had persuaded
the admiral to make a call to Johnson first, reaching him when they were
only a few minutes away from the upscale bungalow in a hillside
neighborhood above the city.
Clad
in his pajamas and robe, the chief ushered the two men into his darkened
living room, where a
friendly German Shepherd puppy wagging his tail and jumping up and down
greeted them. “Some
watchdog, huh,” Johnson said, rubbing the puppy behind his ears.
His face hardened to seriousness. “Harry, I've already heard from Flynn. He says he’s got his murderer.
The circumstances don't sound
good.”
Pacing
up and down, Harry stopped moving long enough to roar, “I don't care
what that man says! Lee
hasn't murdered anybody! Sitting
in that jail cell is out of the question.”
The
admiral's voice was rising in volume, and Johnson shut the door into the
rest of the house. “Geez,
Harry, I don't want to catch hell any more tonight!”
Harry
waved that off impatiently. “Jim,
you and I have known each other a long time.
My personal guarantee that Commander Crane will be present if
there's a trial isn't good enough for you?
How can you even begin to think that he had anything to do with
this?” His voice softened.
“This boy is like a son to me, Jim.
You've got a son. If
Jeff told you he was innocent, wouldn't you believe him?”
“I’d want him to tell me the truth,” Chief Johnson
answered evasively.
Harry squinted his eyes thoughtfully.
How long had he known the Santa Barbara head cop?
Maybe he didn't know him at all.
“You don't think Lee is telling the truth?” he said, slowly and
evenly.
“Flynn
doesn't think so. He told me
about the crime scene. Says
it’s one of the worst things he’s ever seen, Harry.”
“Flynn’s
obviously talked to you about what they found.
I’d like the details, Jim.”
“I
don’t know that I should, this is official police business--”
“--You
owe me many favors, Chief Johnson,” Harry said evenly.
Johnson
stared down at the carpet for a long while.
Finally, he said, “If it was anyone else but you, Harry, we’d
be done here.” He faced the
two men, hands wrapped across his chest.
“It was obvious there’d been a struggle, the bed messed up,
chair knocked over, that sort of thing.
Weapon was one of the lamps from the nightstand.
Caught her on the left side of her head.
Cracked it pretty good, we’ll know the full extent after the
autopsy. The kicker that this
was no ordinary murder were the two hidden movie cameras, one concealed
behind the television stand and the other taped up behind the closet door.
The door was open a couple of inches, just enough to provide a
clear view. She probably
turned them on when the guy was occupied elsewhere and got quite the show.
Now, we don’t know if she
played this particular dodge on anybody else, but it was all set up in
advance, that’s for sure. Flynn
figures that Crane became suspicious over something, found the cameras
pretty quickly and got mad. Beat
her up some, then picked up the lamp and...well, that was that.”
Harry
turned to Chip and then back to Johnson.
“That’s ridiculous!
Lee told Chip here
that he was very sick to his stomach.
How does someone that nauseous have the strength to do what you say
-- no, what Flynn says -- he did?”
“Lee
had blood on his clothes, blood all over his shoes. There were footprints in it.
You’ve told me he’s done ONI work in the pas--”
He
got no further than that. Harry
began to roar again, practically pointing his finger in the Chief’s
face. “Whatever he did, you
can't hold that against him! You
can be damned sure that some of the security of this country is directly
attributable to what Lee Crane accomplished on those missions.
You and I have been in war, you know what it's like. I won’t tell you what Lee’s been through.
I'll admit he’s been forced to...silence people, people who were
fighting against this country and everything she stands for.
He has secrets, Jim, we all do.
But I know he didn't do this.
I'd stake my life on it.”
“And take his place, if you could.”
Face clouded with emotion, Harry couldn't answer that.
The
Chief walked over to the front door and held it open. “Flynn isn't going to be too happy, but I'll deal with him.
I'll talk to Todd. I can't promise that he'll cooperate, but I'll talk to him.
It'll have to wait until later today, Harry--“ He
stopped when he saw Harry’s anger rising again.
“For Christ’s sake, I'm not going to wake up the D.A.
right now! You want this to
be okay, don't you? This is
going to use up a lot of
favors.”
Harry’s eyes went cold.
“Whatever you say,” he agreed.
“We’ll see you later. Let’s
go, Chip.”
The puppy gave them a friendly send-off as the two men walked
back to the car. By now a
hint of dawn was creeping into the cloudless sky, a ghostly outline on the
tops of the trees that lined the street.
A day that had started out so badly was already transforming itself
into another beautiful California morning.
Chip looked up, unsmiling. “Admiral,
why do I get the impression that they're all lining up against Lee?”
Harry looked back towards the now dark house.
“You find out who your friends are in surprising ways sometimes,
Chip.”
They
returned to the Institute, going straight to the boat.
Chip went back to his duties while Harry shut himself up in his
lab. He soon found that
concentrating on equations was a losing battle.
When his latest calculation resulted in an error that a first
grader wouldn't have made he threw the pad down disgustedly.
This was no way to be; he needed to be clear-headed, to think
rationally about getting Lee out of this mess.
The initial elation that the boy wasn’t dead in a car accident
had given way to feelings of dread that went even deeper.
It was a mistake, of course. Whoever
had murdered this unfortunate girl, it wasn’t Lee Crane.
Detective Flynn’s smug expression indicated that it was going to
be a long, tough road to prove Lee innocent.
At least they’d have the benefit of experienced legal
representation. He had left a
message with the firm’s answering service for the senior partner of
Santa Barbara’s best legal team, another friend of long standing.
Like
a son to me.
It was, Harry knew, truer with every day that went by.
He had known Lee from his Naval Academy days, had undertaken a
deliberate, well-planned campaign to ensure that he -- and Chip Morton --
would chose pigboats as their career path upon graduation.
Their working relationship was strictly professional; both had
served in military careers long enough and well enough to know how to
separate public from private. A
bit of camaraderie was expected, of course; the Seaview
was crewed by men who got along well for the most part.
The bond that was growing between himself and the boat’s
commanding officer was well known to everyone on board, however. Harry
hadn't tried to hide it, but it was not a situation that he was completely
comfortable with. He had decided very early on to deliberately disassociate
himself from the usual conventions, had never had any intention of
marrying or having children. The
opportunity to change his frame of mind had never really arose; or, what
was more truthful, as the years went by he had persisted in his cold,
solitary behavior, wrapping it around himself like a blanket until a
barrier was created that no one ever seemed able or indeed willing, to
cross. It became easier, too,
as the promotions kept coming and he rose higher and higher through the
ranks. Staying aloof from his
fellow human beings had become automatic, or perhaps autocratic was a
better description, he thought. In
any event, he had made it a point to guard his emotions all his life.
No one would ever be able to accuse Harriman Nelson of wearing his
heart on his sleeve. It was
so much easier that way, no entanglements, no emotional ties.
Wearily,
Harry ran his hands through his hair and sank into the worktable chair,
mind churning. No emotional
ties, indeed. The only thing,
the only thing he was interested
in now was how to prove that a young man who had become as close to him as
a son was incapable of murder. Reaching
over, he drew his notebook and pen closer.
Could he, with his analytical, scientific mind, solve this by
logical means? He had to try. Otherwise, the hours waiting for the arraignment were going
to be agonizing.
*
* * * *
Alone
in the Engineering office, Chip was fighting his own battle of
concentration. With Sam Kent,
the Engineering Officer on the binnacle list, he had to use his energies
to see that Sam's responsibilities were covered and in the meantime figure
out a way to keep his best friend from being convicted of a terrible crime
-- all without letting the crew know anything was wrong.
On the trip back to the Institute Admiral Nelson had asked him not
to make any announcements until they had more information.
The time would come for that soon enough.
The
visit to the police chief kept running through his mind. Despite the situation, Chip smiled. It wasn't often that the admiral let his guard down about his
relationships with others. To
actually admit that his feelings went as deep as a father’s did love
revealed the seriousness of the situation.
And, Chip thought, what about his own feelings for Lee?
This was his best friend he was worried about. They were as close as brothers, maybe closer than
most were, given that each had saved the other's life a time or
two. Chip stared down into
his empty coffee cup, wondering how such a simple event as a sick crewmate
could have been the catalyst for the events of the evening.
It was a standing order that any type of medical emergency on Seaview
necessitated a call to the X.O. If
Sam hadn't come down with what looked to be appendicitis there wouldn’t
have been any reason to come back to the boat.
It would have been just two good friends getting together for
drinks, dinner and a few laughs. A
great sigh escaped him, one of both exhaustion and sorrow at how he'd let
his friend down. Lee wouldn't
see it like that, Chip knew. Sam’s
illness had just happened, there’d been no way to know it was coming.
But no way could he get past the fact that if he'd been there, the
evening would have passed without incident.
And what if -- NO!
He wouldn't even think the words.
A judge and jury would see that there was no way that someone like
Lee Crane could have murdered some girl he'd just met for dinner.
The
com system going off startled him from his reverie. “Mr. Morton, this is Chief Carey. I just found out you’re here,
sir. Thought you’d
like to know the heating system's acting up again.”
Chip
put down his cup and keyed the mike open.
“I'll be right there.” Work
first, worry later. Good ol' Seaview.
Chapter
2
Judge
Kevin Whitney's courtroom in the Santa Barbara County Courthouse was
already in session when Harry and Chip arrived.
They had dressed in civilian clothes, but that hadn't made any
difference. It was obvious
the press had been tipped off. They'd
been recognized immediately and surrounded by a gang of reporters and
photographers milling at the main entrance, the reporters shouting
questions while flashbulbs popped off like fireworks.
Getting past all that hadn’t been easy, and they had pushed their
way into the crowded courtroom just as Lee was brought in.
Harry
was appalled at Lee's haggard appearance in the awful prisoner clothing.
He looked like he'd lost ten pounds, and on his slim frame that was
saying a lot. His eyes,
usually full of fire, were dull against the gray pallor of his skin.
Halting at the railing, Harry reached out and gripped Lee’s
shoulder. “You'll be out of
here soon, lad. Jim Johnson
is going to talk to the D.A. and ask him not to oppose a request for bail.
I've got a lawyer on his way.”
Harry had gotten a return phone call just before he’d left the
sub, assuring him a lawyer would be there.
Lee
nodded slowly, then shook hands with Chip.
“Thanks for coming, Chip. I've
got myself in a mess this time,” he said dully, as if it hurt to talk.
“Nothing
we can't get you out of, Lee.”
The
door to the courtroom opened and Chief Johnson came in, followed by the
District Attorney, Ellison Todd. Chief
Johnson caught Harry's eye and shook his head.
The admiral started to turn purple.
The
bailiff cleared his throat and announced in a monotone, “The people of
the State of California versus Lee Crane, case number 6776.
The charge is murder in the second degree.”
Judge
Whitney made a point of scanning the courtroom. “Don't see a defense lawyer.
Am I missing something here?”
Harry
stepped forward and said, “Judge Whitney, a member of the firm of Slater
and Lowell should be here shortly, he’s--”
“Sorry I’m late, Your Honor!”
Everyone
in the courtroom turned towards the voice coming from the rear.
An individual who bore an astonishing resemblance to Harry was
standing in the doorway, a huge grin on his face.
A fringe of red hair ran around the back of his otherwise bald
head. Thick eyebrows arched
above a pair of glasses whose thick lenses made his blue eyes seem even
larger. He marched forward as
he said, “Excuse me, Your Honor, this will only take a minute!”
If there was a doubt of his country of origin, his brogue offered
no doubt. He stuck out a
chunky fist and took up first Harry's hand and then Chip's, shaking with
both of them vigorously. “Nice
to meet you, Admiral Nelson, and you, Commander Morton.
I see you've marked the resemblance, Admiral.
Been told that I look just like you.
We’ll have to compare ancestors once this is all over.”
He reached out and grabbed Lee's hand.
“Glad to meet you, too, Commander Crane.
We’ll be getting you through this, never fear.”
Judge Whitney found his voice first.
“Who the devil are you, sir?”
Moving
to the defense table, the newcomer said, “My name's Sean O'Shea.
That's Sean O'Shea, Esquire, Firm of O'Shea and nobody at the
moment, just me. And before
you ask, I’ve been a citizen of this fine country for many a year, even
if my heart’s in County Kildare. I’m
the lawyer assigned to this case.”
“My
lawyer?” Lee asked in an
incredulous voice, looking at Harry and then Chip, who were both staring
back with equal astonishment.
Sean
fixed Lee with a warm gaze. “It
would appear you need one, son. Word
travels fast from this lovely little city.
Seems I got here just in time.”
“Mr.
O'Shea,” Harry began, “I don't know who you are or where you came
from, but I have a lawyer from one of Santa Barbara's most experienced
firms on his way over here. If
you don’t mind---”
O’Shea
waved that off with a desultory hand.
“Oh, now, don’t be worrying about that, my good sir.
It has been explained to the other young man that I'll be taking
over this case. Would it help
if I mentioned that friends in the hallowed halls of Washington speak
highly of me? And that
Admiral Starke would do so, too? I’m
sure I can provide proof of that, if you’d find it necessary.”
Harry
hesitated, to look at O’Shea searchingly.
There was something about this little man…Harry nodded and
offered his hand again. “I'll
take your word on it for now.
Glad to have you on board, sir.”
Judge
Whitney cleared his throat. “I'm
getting old up here, Mr. O'Shea. But
I’ll give you a few minutes to confer with your client.”
“That
won’t be necessary, Your Honor. I
believe that Commander Crane is ready and eager to enter a plea.”
Lee
hesitated for a moment, long enough to worry Chip and the admiral into
thinking he was going to say ‘guilty.’
Sean put a hand on Lee's shoulder and squeezed.
Hard.
“Not guilty,” Lee said, wincing a little from Sean’s
‘helping’ hand.
The
D.A. stepped up to the podium. “Judge
Whitney, we ask that the defendant be denied bail and remanded into
custody. He's a definite
flight risk as the captain of a nuclear submarine, a vessel able to
disappear for months at a time.”
“Your point is well taken,” Judge Whitney replied.
“In that case--”
“Your
Honor, if you please!” Lee’s
new lawyer interjected. “As
a former Navy man yourself, you know that an officer's word is his bond.
Bein’ an honorable man, Commander Crane has absolutely no
intention of eluding the jurisdiction of this court.
And I’m sure that Admiral Nelson will personally guarantee
Commander Crane's continued appearance.
We ask the Court’s indulgence in granting bail to this young man,
who has been so falsely accused.”
Judge
Whitney’s brows knit together. “Hmmm.
Interesting that you know so much about me, but I don't believe
I've had you in my courtroom before, sir.
As this is a capital offense, I am not inclined to release
Commander Crane on his own or anyone else's personal recognizance, not
even Admiral Nelson's. By the
way, nice to see you again, Harry, sorry it has to be under these
circumstances. But I see no
compelling reason why bail cannot be granted in this case.
I'll set the amount at $1 million cash bond.”
He banged down his gavel.
“Your Honor!”
The
judge stared balefully down at defense counsel.
“Men in the Navy can be quite resourceful, Mr. O'Shea.
One million dollars, if you please.”
The gavel came down again. “Next
case!”
As
the proceedings moved on, O'Shea began pulling things out of his
briefcase. “We anticipated
this, lad. Everything's fine,
the arrangements for bail are being made even as we speak.
We'll be out of here in a few minutes.
We won't use the Institute car, too conspicuous.
The reporters are still hovering about the building.
We'll go out the police entrance.
I've got a car waiting outside to take us all back, and we’ll be
picking up the other car later.”
Lee sighed confusedly and
said, “Alright, whatever you say.”
“Now,
now, chin up, Commander! And
let's have a smile, can we? Remember
the reporters I mentioned?” He
handed Lee two packages. “Here's
a shirt and a pair of pants. Take
a minute to change, and sign the paperwork.
We're not going anywhere.”
Lee
did as he was told, bringing a big grin to his face, but his eyes said his
heart wasn't in it. Taking
the bundles he followed the bailiff back to the holding area.
Another
lawyer and his client were headed for the defense table, so Sean made way
for the lawyer coming up the aisle and turned to his lookalike.
“Well, Admiral, I expect there’s a lot you’d like to be
asking me.”
Harry
was shaking his head and rubbing his ear, all at the same time.
“I’m sure I’m supposed to know what’s going on here, but
I’m damned if I do. Mr.
O'Shea, what kind of resources do you have that can put together that kind
of money in a few minutes? My
property is substantial, I can make arrangements to transfer--”
“--I
know exactly what I'm doing, Admiral Nelson.
You'll just have to trust me.
Just as Commander Crane will be doing.
About the bail, that's easy: I have a powerful employer, sir -- who
shall remain anonymous -- who frowns upon miscarriages of justice.
A word, and I’m sent at the earliest possible opportunity to
mount a defense. Oh, and please, call me Sean.
And with your permission, I’ll call you Harry.”
Harry was surprised again by the man’s easy demeanor and replied
easily. “Not at all.
What I know about this case is
what Chip's told me, and what I’ve been able to found out with a bit of
arm-twisting. They wouldn't let me in to see the boy,” he said grimly.
“We’ll
need to talk, then, Harry. Ah,
here he is.” Lee came out
from behind the court clerk's desk, looking a bit better than when he'd
gone in. “C'mon, let's get
out of here. So many lawyers
around, the sharks are confused. Follow
me.”
Displaying
a remarkable grasp of the layout of the building, O'Shea led them down
several corridors and numerous doors until they reached one marked “For
Police Use Only.” Without
hesitating he pushed it open into the bright sunlight outside.
Flynn,
leaning casually against the wall, met them as they emerged.
The cheap clothes of the early morning had been replaced by a crisp
lightweight suit, silk shirt and expensive tie.
Gold cufflinks flashed as he took his hands out of his pockets and
straightened up, saying belligerently, “Just a little reminder, Crane.
Flight is an evidence of guilt in California.
Just thought you'd like to know that.”
Lee's hands clenched. “I
wouldn’t give you the satisfaction, Detective Flynn!”
“Seen
that submarine of yours. You
could get pretty far in something like that.”
Sean
stepped forward as Chip and the admiral pulled Lee past.
“Now, there's nothing we've got to say to you, detective.
Admiral, this is not the time,” he added as Harry started to open
his mouth. “As my old
friend Publius Syrus says, and I’ll translate for you, detective, since
Latin was probably not your strongest subject, 'He
who is bent on evil can never want occasion.'
See you in court, sir.”
Sean
led them right to a large four-door sedan parked in one of the closest
spots with a placard in the front window proclaiming ‘Fire Chief.’ “Let's go before anybody recollects the Fire Chief is on
vacation. Mr. Morton, you
drive. The keys are in the
car.”
“Where to?” Chip
asked.
“Someplace
on the Institute grounds,” Sean answered.
“Avoiding the fine members of the fourth estate is our first
priority. I was late getting
to the courtroom on account of my little statement to the press explaining
that the truth will be revealed shortly.
They've gotten enough from us for this day.”
“Guest
quarters, then, Chip. We'll
send someone to Lee's apartment to get anything he needs,” Harry said.
He pulled Chip aside just before he got into the car.
“I'd like you to stay with Lee,” he said quietly.
“He can use someone to talk to.
And I think I know what you’re going through, too.
It’ll be good for both of you.”
Chip, startled by the admiral’s insight, mumbled an “Aye,
sir” and got into the car. He’d
had no intention of leaving Lee alone.
He needed to talk to his friend, work out the guilt that was
roiling his insides.
The
atmosphere in the car was heavy as Chip maneuvered out of the lot and
started toward their destination. Lee
sat slumped in the front seat, head turned toward the window.
Harry started to say something a few times, but received a warning
finger from his seatmate, Sean holding a finger to his lips.
Not a word was spoken by anyone until Chip had driven through the
Institute's gate, maneuvering carefully through the pack of reporters and
their cars that filled either side of the road.
“Well,
now that we're home, anything you can tell me about all this, son?”
Sean asked.
“Don't
remember much,” Lee said coldly.
“Nothing?
A dhath ar bith?”
“If
that means no too, then no!”
“Lee....”
Harry said, but Sean held up a hand.
“It's alright, Harry. The
young man is understandably distraught.”
He rubbed his hands together and added, “Fine and dandy, then.
We do know what their side of the story is going to be, I’m sure.
A dead woman, and a young man found in the room with her.
If we can't explain how that happened, lad, Mr. Ellison Todd, he of
the 85 percent successful conviction rate, is going to have a field
day.”
Lee
whirled around in his seat and glared at the little man.
“Look, once and for all, I didn't kill this girl!
If you don't want to believe me, then you can just forget
trying to help me at all!”
Sean
looked at him as a father looks at his headstrong child.
“When did I ever say I didn’t believe you? I
know you didn't do it, son. And
very soon I'll have everybody else knowin’, too.”
As Chip pulled the car to the curb he added, “The admiral and I
have a bit to talk about, so we'll be leaving you two boys alone now.”
He got out of the back seat and moved to the driver’s side of the
car. “Leave the worrying to
me, Commander. That's where
Sean O'Shea, Esquire, comes in.”
*
* * * *
Sean
took the keys from Chip with a cheery “see you soon!” and drove off.
Chip wasted no time hustling his friend into the spacious VIP
residence. The Institute's
guest quarters were always kept well stocked, and Chip made a beeline for
the kitchen and liberated a couple of cold beers from the refrigerator.
Bottles in hand, Chip headed for the living room, only to find it
empty. There'd be only one other place his C.O. would be drawn to.
Chip made a 45 degree turn and headed outside.
Lee
was sitting in one of the beach chairs on the patio, head down, elbows on
his knees. Chip stepped in
front of him and offered the beer.
“Here,
Lee. Drinks on the house.”
Lee didn't move. “That's
what got me in trouble in the first place.”
Chip
tapped him on the head with the bottle.
Lee reached up and took the drink and dropped back into the
cushions.
Chip
lowered himself into the closest chair and took a swig of his beer,
staring across the open space in front of him, a carefully manicured lawn
that vanished at the edge of cliffs above the Pacific.
They were in Quarters One, the largest of the residences provided
for special visitors to NIMR. An
awning shaded the cottage’s lanai, the sun's rays beating
down just a few feet away. Chip
narrowed his eyes against the bright light.
It was very quiet. The
only sounds were the insistent calls of gulls overhead and the muffled
roar of pounding surf. The
rest of the world was very far away, which suited Chip's mood at the
moment. But sitting there glum and silent wasn’t what Lee needed,
nor would it do either of them any good to avoid the subject.
He looked over at his old friend, who still sat in the same
position, beer bottle balanced against his thigh, the drink seemingly
forgotten. “It's going to
get hot,” Chip intoned.
“Huh?” Lee
answered after a moment.
“Your beer. Won't
taste so good when it's hot.”
Lee
looked at the bottle as if he couldn't figure how it had gotten into his
hand. “Yeah, right.
Thanks.” He took a
long drink and went back to staring into space.
“Want something to eat?”
“What? Um,
no, they gave me a sandwich at the jail.”
“A sandwich won't cut it, Lee. Let me get you something.”
“No! I don't
want anything right now!” Lee
snapped“Okaaay,” Chip said, spreading his hands in submission.
“Sorry I asked.”
Lee's
head went back, and he looked sideways at Chip. “I'm sorry, Chip. I
didn't mean to bite your head off.”
“Not
a problem, Lee.” Carefully,
Chip asked, “You want me to call anybody?”
“No! Nobody
needs to know. Not...yet.”
“Let's just talk then, okay?”
Lee took another drink of his beer.
“Don't think I really want to do that, either.”
“Yeah,
you do. I haven’t forgotten
about all those late night bull sessions at The Hall.
I spent more time listenin' to you than studying.”
Lee's face broke into a tiny smile.
“Which is why you didn't graduate at the top of the class.”
“That is absolutely correct. Took everything I had to keep you in line.”
The smile faded. “Wish
you'd been with me last night, then.”
“Would
have, if Sam hadn't got sick. His
timing was lousy.” Making a
little joke was one thing, but the guilt was still there.
It wouldn't be going away any time soon, either.
“Talk to me, Lee. It'll help.”
Lee's
shoulders slumped. Chip could
see his jaw muscles working as he stared towards the lawn. Lee shook his head a couple of times and let the silence
lengthen. Lieutenant
Commander Charles Philip Morton was a patient man.
He would wait as long as it took Lee to say something.
Stubborn as Lee was, he had nothing on his X.O.
Coming
out of his reverie, Lee said, “She was pretty, Chip. Really pretty.”
“A knockout.”
“Absolutely.
Great hair, great body, and she smelled really, really good.
Had this red dress that clung in all the right places, and her
perfume...wow. Gave me a
story about visiting Santa Barbara on vacation from work, checking out the
university for grad school. We
sat there talking for a while, then she went over to the bar and brought
back new drinks. She wouldn't let me pay.
I remember her laughing, saying her trust fund was paying for
everything. Should have known
something was up. Some ONI
agent I am. But she kept
leaning over....” Lee's
face flushed, and he hurried to continue.
“I was looking forward to dinner and... maybe something later,
when all of a sudden I started to get really hot and then my stomach
started churning, and I knew I needed to get out of there fast.
I vaguely recall her saying we'd go to her room, which sounded
great to me, except that I was getting sicker and sicker.
I remember going through the door and making a run for the head. And that's it, until I woke up in the detective’s loving
arms. The next thing I know
I’m in jail, being told I’ve killed some girl I’ve known for ten
minutes.” He went through
the story that Flynn had told him, about the arrest of Carla Banner for
prostitution, about the cameras found in the room, and finally, the
photograph of the dead girl and the blood evidence.”
Chip
sat still for a long time and then took a long drink, smacking his lips.
“Must have been a shock, seeing that picture.”
Lee nodded slowly. “All
that proves is someone was really angry at this woman.
It couldn’t have been you, Lee.
Plain and simple. How
about another beer?”
Lee
did a slow double take. “Weren't
you listening? Did you miss
everything I just said? I
just confessed to making a fool of myself over a woman who then happened
to turn up dead.”
“Nope.
Didn't miss it. Heard every word. You
didn't kill that girl, Lee.” Very
deliberately, Chip put his bottle down on the little table between them.
“I’ve seen you get angry.
But I’ve never seen you angry enough to do something like this.
Think about it, Lee!”
Lee’s
eyes flashed. “I have been
thinking about it! That’s
all I’ve been doing since I woke up!
I just can’t remember,” he said quietly.
Chip
hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Maybe if we put our heads
together, you’ll come up with something.
Lee, I know you. I've
seen you at your best and your worst.
I like to think I'm a good judge of character.
You wouldn't be my friend otherwise.
I don’t want to get too melodramatic here, that's not my style.
But I am absolutely, 100 percent sure that you're innocent.
And O'Shea will prove it.”
Lee
studied Chip’s face, looking for anything less than calm certainty.
He couldn’t find it. Lee
thought that many people considered Chip Morton cold and unfeeling, like
the machines he was so fond of. Lee
knew that was as far from the truth as it was possible to be.
A deep-thinking, caring individual lurked behind those clear blue
eyes. Hard-nosed when
necessary, conciliatory when a softer touch was required, Chip was
everything a man needed in a friend and fellow officer.
Lee's determination took a turn for the better.
“You put it that way, I'd have to believe it myself.”
“Damn
straight.” Chip rose to his
feet and held out his hand. “We'll
get through this.
Lee grasped his friend's hand firmly.
“Thanks, Chip.”
“You
got it, pal. Now, sit tight.
I'm going to raid the kitchen.”
Lee
grinned. “You
don’t give up, do you? I
guess I am a little hungry. Just
not some of that hot plate grub you were famous for at Groton, okay?”
“For
that I should make you get it yourself, but you're the world's worst cook,
not me. Don't worry, I'll
whip something together that doesn't poison us both.”
As
Chip rose and went back into the house, Lee's grin faded and he fell back
in the chair again. That
photograph of the dead girl...he couldn’t have done that!
Killing a woman in that way, beating her to death in anger -- no.
But why wasn’t his memory coming back?
Not remembering was the worst.
With a grasp on the events of the evening he'd be able to provide
Sean with little details like who had actually murdered Jen-- Carla
Banner. The man -- he assumed
it was a man -- had come into the room and bashed her skull in while he
was passed out in the bathroom. Just
little details like that that he needed to remember -- how else was he
going to get out of this? Then
again, Flynn and the D.A. and the rest of them wouldn't have believed him,
anyway. He'd been in the
room, hadn't he? His clothes,
his shoes were obviously evidence to that fact
and hadn’t Detective Flynn said so, more than once?
What more did they need? They thought he was a murderer.
A
sudden gust of wind lashed the awning over his head, snapping it like a
whip. Startled, Lee looked
up. Damn
it, there's no way I killed her! What
the hell am I thinking! Feeling
sorry for himself was not in his nature.
He’d have something to say about it, that was a given.
Although he was still a little leery about him, he’d work with
Sean, figure something out. No way was he going to let anyone think he was capable of
such a base act. If they
tried, they’d have a real fight on their hands.
The truth would come out. They’d
find the real murderer. He
had to believe that. Sean
O’Shea would do...something.
Chapter
3
To
Harry's surprise, Sean drove straight to the Institute's administration
office without once asking for directions.
“You continue to surprise me, Sean.
You seem to know your way around here very well.”
“It
pays to be a quick leaner, my friend.”
He deftly swung the car into Admiral Nelson's parking space.
Harry led the way into the building, ushering Sean into the outer
office where Angie, the Admiral's secretary, was just finishing a call, a
perplexed look on her face. She was looking particularly harassed today, a look of
disbelief in her large round eyes as she put down the phone. Pushing her hair behind her ears, she said, “Admiral, I've
been getting the strangest calls all morning, about a murder, and Lee,
and---” She stopped talking at the expression on Harry's face. “Oh, no, Admiral, it can't be true!” Her hands went to her cheeks, and she looked back and forth
at the two men standing in front of her desk, her expression going from
horror to incredulity as she took in the resemblance.
“Angie,
I'm sorry, I should have spoken to you first thing this morning,” Harry
said, his consternation showing. “I'll
draft something for PR right away, and then you can refer all calls to
Michael--”
Sean
put a hand on Harry’s arm and produced a slip of paper out of his bag
with a flourish. “A
statement, if you please. Read
it over and tell me what you think.”
Harry
slowly reached out and took the sheet.
“Seems you've thought of everything.”
He quickly glanced at the handwritten words on the page. “Short and to the point.
Angie, type that up for Michael and get it over to him right
away.”
Sean
winked and gave Angie a little bow. “Sean
O'Shea, at your service. A
pleasure to meet you, miss. Don't
you worry about Commander Crane, either.
I'm on the job now.”
Angie
took the sheet from Harry while staring at Sean. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. O'Shea. I suppose you know... you two....”
Sean
nodded his head solemnly. “It's
been mentioned a time or two, my dear.
Harry, shall we?”
Harry
opened the door of his office and ushered Sean in. “Coffee?”
“It
would be appreciated, thank you,” Sean answered, settling himself into
the chair in front of Harry's desk.
Harry
filled two cups from the carafe that Angie always kept filled on his
credenza. He carried the cups
over to the desk and handed one to Sean.
“To
your health, sir.” Sean
said, taking a satisfying
sip. “Miss Angela
makes a fine cup of coffee, I must say.”
Harry
picked his mug up and leaned forward.
“Tell me how I can help you, Sean.”
Sean
took another long drink and said, “Let’s begin with what the police
believe. They know that the
room was bugged, not with one camera but two.
They know that Commander Crane was found in the bathroom, shirt and
shoes stained with blood. Those
same shoes left marks on the carpet, indicating he had walked from the bed
to the bathroom, where he passed out.
They know that the dead woman was known by the police in Santa
Barbara for being a working girl, shall we say.”
He paused and took another drink.
“I believe this was not the first time Miss Banner had worked this
little scheme. Ergo, I’m
thinking that someone at the hotel was partnering with her, or at least
looking the other way.”
Harry
was stunned. “You’ve
found all this out in the few hours you’ve been with us?”
“Not
exactly, my good sir. My...people
have been on the case almost from the beginning. They are in a position to listen, and to learn.”
“Apparently.
It would almost appear that you have someone on the inside at the
police station,” Harry responded, never taking his eyes off Sean’s
face.
The
other man laughed heartedly, staring back with equal fervor.
“That’s a good way of putting it.”
He drained the coffee cup and held it out for more.
“I’m going to press for an early preliminary hearing.
Santa Barbara being a small town, it shouldn’t be a problem.
Then, I'd like to borrow Mr. Morton for a little assistance, with
your permission, of course.”
“Chip?
Yes, of course.
But what will you have him do?”
“Man's
got a fine mind, sharp and analytical.
Soaks up information like a sponge.
Mr. Morton can be my eyes and ears, looking for more information.
I’d like him to talk to some of the employees at the hotel.
They don’t have to talk to him, a’course, but I’m thinking
our young XO will know how to do the asking just right.
A quickly scheduled preliminary hearing will then give me a chance
to cross-examine their witnesses before they’ve had a chance to drill
their stories into ‘em.”
Harry
nodded. “Chip will be eager
to help Lee in any way he can.”
“Speaking
of the Commander, you, sir, will need to find something to keep him
occupied, better for him than too much dwelling
on things. Can't take
the Seaview out, won't look good. A
little shore duty it'll have to be, I'm afraid.”
“I'm
behind in a couple of experiments. He
can help me with those in the Institute's main lab.”
“He
won’t like it, but it’ll do.” Sean
settled back in his chair. “'It’s
sure the D.A. thinks he's got an open and shut case.
I’m expecting
that he believes that every single thing that's been uncovered
points directly at our young man. However...Coimhéad
fearg fhear na foighde.” Harry
looked puzzled, and Sean added, “Did your forebears teach you nothing,
Harry? It means 'beware of
the anger of a patient man.' When
the time comes, I’ll be ready.” Putting
the coffee cup down, he brushed a spot off his tie.
“I'll be leaving now, time to get the car back before it's
reported stolen.”
“What! Sean,
what, how...?”
“Careful, Harry, careful.
All's fine, think of your blood pressure!” He rose from the chair and said with a wink, “I'll be in
touch.”
Harry sat in his office for a few minutes after
Sean had left, drumming his fingers heavily against the stack of papers on
his desk. The paperwork
needed attending to, but it would have to wait.
First...he went to press the intercom button on his phone but had
second thoughts. He got up
and walked into Angie’s office.
“Angie, put your detective skills to work.
I’d like you to find out everything you can about Mr. Sean
O’Shea, Esquire. Get hold
of that clipping service you’ve used in the past.
Put together something as quickly as possible.
And don’t let him know you’re doing it.”
“I’ll get on it immediately, sir.”
“I’m going down to see Lee.
Clear everything off my calendar and ... well, just deal with
everything.”
“Yes, sir,” his secretary replied. “Is there anything else?”
Harry paused at the door and turned back to her.
There was a little too much sparkle in Angie's eyes, but he was
pleased to see she was keeping her emotions in check.
“We’re going to keep as tight a lid on this as we can, Angie.
No public announcement until Michael gives the go-ahead; even then,
I expect you to act as if it’s just business as usual.
We haven’t told the crew yet, that’ll be soon.
See if you can’t work with Michael, take some of the heat off his
PR people. I’ll be at
Quarters One.”
Angie waited until the door had firmly closed behind him
before she buried her face in her fingers and let the tears flow.
Never would she let the admiral see her this way, never allow any
weakness to show, nor let him see her as anything less than a cool and
composed individual incapable of breaking down.
She had learned early on that that was what he preferred.
Consequently, she had trained herself to be what he wanted her to
be. But this was a time like no other, and the tears weren’t
going to stay pent-up. In
fact, they were soon falling from her eyes like a waterfall.
The door opened with a crash. “Angie, I just thought about some--”
Harry’s eyes were as wide as hers were as she frantically
reached for the tissue box in the top drawer of her desk.
Dashing a hand across her cheeks, she straightened up, took a deep
breath and said in her best professional voice, “I’m very sorry,
Admiral Nelson. It’s
inexcusable, I know. It
won’t happen again. What is
it, sir?”
Harry came around the corner of the desk
and gathered her to him. “Angie,
never apologize for caring about a friend.”
Angie came into his chest with a muffled, “Oh, Admiral”
and began weeping again. Between
patting her on the back and uttering “It’ll be alright, Angie,” the
notion of how completely he relied upon this young woman to keep his life
on shore organized leapt to the surface of his mind.
Just like Lee, she was a vital member of the Seaview
family. Had she ever uttered
a word of complaint about working sessions that went far into the night or
the phone calls on weekends when he’d been angry that he couldn’t find
a particular file, and Angie had told him precisely where it was?
Or being the recipient of an outburst when he’d just been angry,
period? He’d never forget
the look on her face when he opened his office door.
Like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
Or worse. It had been
brought home to him pretty forcibly right then how he could run roughshod
over people, good people, and their feelings.
God, he could be an SOB.
* * * * *
He’d left Angie drying her tears. He was the one needing the time to come to grips with
everything now. Luckily, the
walk to the housing area would take a few minutes.
Far down the block someone in a white coat stepped out of one
of the many laboratories that occupied this part of the Institute and
began crossing the street. Catching
sight of Harry, the man raised a hand, and after a moment, Harry waved
back. Scientists kept
working, the ocean kept thundering, and the sun rose and set over Santa
Barbara. Life went on. Life went on...he
stumbled for a moment, his heart clutching at the thought of what that
could mean for Lee. Life in
prison. Harry had already
given up hope of ending this with the preliminary hearing. It
was inevitable as far as he could see.
Todd was too good, the evidence enough to bind Lee over for trial.
Then it would be up to the mysterious Mr. O’Shea.
Why did he have a feeling he could trust the man?
It went against his very nature.
Perhaps because time was of the essence. Whatever other reasons there were, it was enough for now to
accept Sean and allow him to conduct Lee’s defense. ‘For now’ being the operating words. He’d reserve final judgment until Angie had done her
detective work.
He had come to an intersection. The tiny street that ran crossways to the way he was headed
ended in a little cliffside park, a postage stamp-sized area that
consisted of a bench underneath a tall pine tree and only one other thing
-- an obelisk commemorating the men who had lost their lives serving
aboard submarines. There were
no signs identifying the memorial. But
everyone at NIMR knew where it was and what it was for.
He had not been there in many months.
His feet turned that way now.
The park was very tiny indeed. A brick wall about four feet high kept visitors from tumbling
over the cliffs. In the
center of the wall was the obelisk, its black marble spidered with white
threads. The hand-carved pair
of dolphins on its face flanked a small granite plaque containing three
simple words: ‘We Shall
Remember.’ He softly
fingered the cold stone, and then sat down on the bench, staring out to
sea.
So intent was he on nothing at all that only a small foot
scuff alerted him to the presence of another human being.
He started a bit and looked up over his shoulder.
“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d heard me walk up.
Mind if I sit down, Harry?”
“Not at all, Jamie. Sit.”
Seaview’s
medical officer stepped around Harry and took a seat on the bench.
“Saw you from my office window.
Just so you know, I gave Angie a call.
She sounded very upset about something, but don’t worry, even I
got the patented “you’ll have to ask Admiral Nelson” speech. So here I am.”
Harry sat very still for a few moments, then said, “It’s
bad, Jamie.” He began going
over the details, Dr. Jamison sitting silently, occasionally uttering a
quiet grunt in response to what Harry was saying.
“...I’ve got Angie checking on Mr. O’Shea, just to make sure
he’s on the up and up. I
want to make absolutely, positively sure that he knows what he’s doing.
He’s saying he can get Lee out of this mess, and I want to
believe him.”
“I’ll help in any way I can, you know that.
I’ve got contacts at the lab that the Police Department uses,
I’ll see if they can tell me anything.
Have Lee come see me as soon as he can so that I can do my own
blood test. It’ll also give
me a chance to talk to him and gauge how he’s doing.
We already know how good he can be at hiding what he’s
feeling.”
“Thanks,
Jamie. Your help has always
been appreciated. I want you
to know that.”
Jamie turned slightly sideways and regarded Harry with a
speculative eye. “Is this a
new Harriman Nelson in the making? Angie
told me how you'd actually acted human for once -- no, she didn’t say it
in those words, Harry, that’s my interpretation of what she said,”
Jamie added, chuckling. “But
this goes way deeper than anything you’ve been faced with in a very long
while. Something’s
stirring, that’s obvious.” He
stood up and Harry followed suit. “I’m
heading back. I’ll talk to Lee when he comes in, and give you a full
report. And if you just want
to talk, I’m always available.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Both men fell silent again.
Harry had found himself in this situation before, just visiting
with Jamie, using him as a sounding board.
They had met each other during the war, a chance encounter in a
Pearl Harbor hospital with a young corpsman encouraged by then-Lieutenant
Nelson to pursue his dream of medical school.
They had kept in touch during the years following, and Harry had
been delighted when his old friend had expressed interest in the CMO
position at the Institute. Jamie
had given up a prestigious career as personal physician to the President
of the United States to take on the role of running NIMR's Medical
Department, and it had been gratifying to Harry that such a man had been
willing to join him in making his dream of the marine research facility a
reality. He was a friend of long standing, another individual who had
touched his life.
The Pacific was quiet today, waves gently rolling inland to a
hidden beach. Off in the
distance a trio of pelicans flew stately by, heading south. Harry was thinking about loss and remembrance, and he
imagined that Jamie was, too. This
little park in its quiet eloquence, with its silent salute to men on
eternal patrol was a sobering reminder of the vulnerability of life. And how nothing should ever be taken for granted.
“I don’t come here nearly often enough,” Harry said
quietly.
“Nor do I.”
With a nod to each other both men turned away, Jamie to his
clinic office and Harry headed in the opposite direction.
* * * * *
Chip came to the door in response to his knock, brandishing a
kitchen towel. “Thanks
again, Chip. Where's Lee?”
“Patio, sir.”
“Give us a few minutes.”
“Of course, sir. Can
you stay for an early dinner? I'm
cooking.”
“As long as it's not that hot plate food I've heard
about--”
“--No, sir!” Chip
interrupted.
“Then I accept, with many thanks.” Harry waited until Chip had disappeared into the kitchen and
then walked out to the patio. Lee
started to rise, but Harry put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back
into his seat. “Relax, lad.
Just came to see how you're doing.”
Lee watched as Harry settled into the chair that Chip had
vacated. “You put that bail
money up all by yourself, didn't you, Admiral?”
Harry made a protesting gesture with his hands.
“Actually, I didn't. You'd
have to ask Sean about that. We
have him to thank for it.” His
face crinkled up into a smile. “Of
course, he’ll be getting it back very soon.”
“Good thing they don’t keep it if you’re found guilty,
sir,” Lee said wearily. He
stood up and faced Harry squarely. “Admiral
Nelson, as soon as I can find a pen and some paper, you’ll have my
resignation. I
think it would be best for your reputation and that of the Institute if I
were no longer associated with it.”
“Resignation!” Harry
shot back, visibly put off by the suggestion.
“You’ll do no such thing, Commander Crane. The idea is ridiculous!
I will not hear of it!” Softer this time, Harry said, “Talk to me, son.”
Lee settled back into his chair, hands eloquently
illustrating his words. “I’ve
sat here for the longest time, Admiral, going backwards and forwards over
everything I remember, which really isn’t anything at all.
Maybe...I just had a sort of breakdown,
Admiral, maybe the drugs messed up my head enough that I...what if I did
it, sir?” Lee asked softly.
“What if I did kill that girl?”
Harry shook his head from side to side decisively.
“Lee, I've known you for a long time.
There is no way, drugged or otherwise,
that you hurt that woman.”
“But I've done things, Admiral, things that I--”
“--Under
orders, Lee!” Harry
interrupted. They sat quietly
for a few moments, Harry struggling with something that he wanted to say,
and then making up his mind to say it.
“Lee, I’ve got something to tell you.
There are only a few people that know this story, and it’s
something that happened long ago, best told and forgotten.”
As Lee nodded, Harry continued.
“Many years ago I had a friend who loved a girl very much.
They had been together and in love all
through high school. The
night of graduation, they had a huge fight over
a silly misunderstanding. He
was going away, and in his teenage torment refused to believe her when she
said she would wait for him to return.
In fact, he accused her of already cheating on him
with his
close friend.
She protested, crying, telling him it wasn't true, but he
wasn't having any of it. He
had brought the ring he had been planning to
give her, but he threw it in her face and stormed out.
The next day word came that she was dead, dead from a fall from the
bell tower at school. Now,
Catholic girls don't commit suicide, it's a mortal sin.
Her father insisted that she would never hurt herself, and besides,
no suicide note was found. Since
there had been many witnesses to the argument
who had seen how angry my friend had been, the girl's father
demanded that he be arrested for her murder.
That came about quickly; the girl came from a very prestigious
family, and her father was a pillar of the community.
His word was law, as far as many people were concerned.
The trial came, and it looked hopeless.
As good as his lawyer was, and he was very good, there was nothing
he seemed to be able to come up with to keep my friend from being
convicted. It was a foregone
conclusion that the jury would find him guilty.
“And
then her father, who'd aged 100 years during the trial, came forward and
admitted to the police that she had left a suicide note, had gone up to
that tower alone and thrown herself off.
He'd been so angry with my friend for making her so unhappy, you
see. He didn’t want this to
be the last act of his daughter, to do away with herself, so he had hidden
the note. But in the end, his
sense of right and wrong prevailed. The
truth will come out, Lee. No
one, absolutely no one, is going to do this to you.
I won't allow it.”
Lee
stared at Harry, a speculative look in his eyes. “Admiral, did your...friend ever get over what
happened?”
“Eventually,
Lee,” Harry said slowly. “He
had the support of his family, and his friends.
And he threw himself into his career.
John Gibson Starke became a fine officer in the United States
Navy.”
Lee
looked shocked, and Harry realized that he had thought it was himself the
story was about. This was a
part of his past that Jiggs never mentioned, for good reason.
At the time he had wished that he could take Jiggs’ place.
It had been, after all, an innocent conversation with Theresa that
had set Jiggs to thinking that Harry was after his girl.
The remorse that he carried about that, combined with the trial had
kept Harry in agony for a frantic few months, long sleepless nights
worrying about the outcome, racking his brain for a way to help his friend
and coming up with nothing. To be wrongly accused of a terrible crime, to feel the weight
of evidence against you, false or not...it didn’t matter that it
wasn’t him it was happening to. It
was happening again to someone that he cared
about, and that made it his problem, too!
“Thank
you, Admiral. I’m
sure you’re right.”
“What?”
“I
can see the wheels turning, sir,” Lee said, a small grin coming to his
lips. “I
find myself trusting Sean. Maybe
it's because he looks so much like you.
He says he's the best, I’m willing to believe him.”
“I’m
willing, too. But just in
case,” Harry said with a wry grin, “I’m having Angie do some
discreet checking.”
Lee smiled. He
wasn’t surprised the Admiral was checking on the strange little lawyer.
Harry took a steadying breath.
“Uh, since
the boat’s going to be dockside for a while, you
won’t have much to keep your mind occupied.
Maybe you could help me out in the lab some days.
I know I’ll be grateful for the company.”
Lee
grimaced, but he knew that was the best situation
in the circumstances. There
was another matter to discuss. “We'll
need to tell the crew, sir.”
“Yes.
We'll meet with the department heads on Monday.”
“I
can do it, Admiral.”
Harry
shook his head. “You will
consider this a joint operation, Commander.”
“Dinner!”
Chip called from the kitchen.
As
Lee rose from the chair Harry grasped his arm.
“Just so you know, if
you persist in giving me that resignation, it goes in my desk
unopened. Understood?”
It wasn’t often that Lee needed help, but some situations were
even behind his capacity to fix. He would have that help, would have it in spades if Harry had
anything to say about it. Resignation
was out, plain and simple.
Chapter
4
With
Chip and the admiral at his side Lee held a special meeting with the Seaview’s
officers, with instructions to pass along the news to their men.
Thereafter each member of the ship’s crew he encountered d
pledged his support. It was
one of the few positives in the days that followed, as Sean prepared his
defense.
“What
do you mean?”
*
* * * *
Chip
was at the hotel bright and early. In
his phone call the admiral hadn't said much beyond Sean wanting him to
assist in the defense's investigation.
Whatever it was, he would do it gladly.
Running a hand through his hair -- he was sure that the blond
strands had been replaced by gray overnight -- Chip knocked at the
entrance to Room 316.
*
* * * *
There
was a bench on the sidewalk that led from the parking lot to the
employee’s entrance, and Chip had taken a seat on it.
Even this area, the back of the hotel was fully landscaped, and he
had to admit, the gardens were pretty – if you were interested in lots
of flowers. He preferred the
vast, surging seas that raced past the boat, the white spray flying from
the wave tops as the Seaview
plowed through the water. He
knew that he was lucky to live in Santa Barbara, where the wide beaches
and green hillsides were a photographer’s delight.
But his home was the sea. That
was where he wanted to be now, certainly not at this place.
He and Lee had always looked forward to coming to this hotel, one
of their favorite places in town. He
doubted if he’d ever come here again.
*
* * * *
Chip
soon found there was no need to phone.
He’d gone straight back to Quarters One to find Lee, the Admiral
and Sean deep in conversation, the dining room table covered with
paperwork and coffee cups.
“Neither
one of those guys I talked to has a really good alibi, Lee.
I think that Sean will be able to work with this.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“Then the real fun can begin.”
“Jury?”
Chip questioned. “We haven’t gotten to the preliminary hearing yet,
Lee.”
“That’s
just a formality. There’s
going to be a trial, you can count on it.”
Chapter
5
The
day of the preliminary hearing saw a long caravan of cars emerge from
NIMR’s main gate and turn onto the winding road that led up to the
highway. The duty driver was
piloting the first car with Harry, Chip, Lee and Sean, and behind them
were a dozen other cars. The
crew had all asked to be allowed to go along, so many that a drawing had
to be made up to pick those unlucky enough to stay behind on the boat for
the port watch. The group
that was going, including men like Chief Jones, Patterson and Kowalski,
crewmen who were only too happy to run interference for the captain.
Following behind them was Angie, in a car with members of the
administrative staff. The
admiral's phone calls would just have to wait.
There would be a formidable cheering section inside Judge John
Edrington’s courtroom.
“Yes,
sir.”
She
smiled a dazzling smile at Judge Edrington.
“That's what I'm trying to do, Judge.”
“Absolutely.”
“Quite
right, Mr. Todd. Miss Rossi,
I won’t ask you again.”
“I
was checking some of the accounts when Detective Flynn came to the desk
and told me he had received a call saying there was a disturbance in one
of our suites. He asked me to
locate the hotel manager, and I immediately paged Mr. Griffin.
He arrived almost immediately, and they went upstairs to the
room.”
“And
you can confirm that the defendant, Lee Crane,” Todd turned around and
pointed to the defense table, “was in the bathroom of Room 225 when
Detective Flynn and yourself entered the room?”
“And
you can also confirm there were cameras in the rooms, items that certainly
no one employed by the Solamar Hotel would have placed there?”
“Objected
to as argumentative and not proper cross-examination!”
Todd cried.
*
* * * *
Angie
turned and hugged Harry, and spoke into his ear. Smiling, he turned to Sean.
“It appears we're having a victory barbecue at Quarters One.
I hope you'll be joining us, Sean.”
*
* * * *
The
Seaview crew had formed a
semicircle at the edge of the sidewalk as Lee and Harry pushed their way
through the mass of bodies, ignoring the shouted questions.
Undeterred, the reporters swung around and thrust their microphones
and notebooks into Sean’s face. “Settle
down, boys, settle down! There’s
story enough for the likes of all of you!”
*
* * * *
The
barbeque had been fun. Sean
had been gratified to see a restored Lee Crane enjoying himself and the
tension lifted from the whole crew. Everyone
that was there had come by, thanking him for his help, thanking him for
saving their C.O. The esteem
that Lee was held in was evident. If
any proof was needed that a good man had been saved to fight another day,
he had received all he needed.
Chapter
6
It
was late, and the State Street pier was deserted, only his footsteps
echoing against the wooden planks as he sauntered toward the end that
jutted out into the Pacific. It
was a fine night to be walking, and he wanted to savor his last
evening in this beautiful corner of California, so green and lush it
reminded him of his homeland. As
lovely as it was, he hoped he would never find it necessary to be here
again.
Chapter
7
A
bright morning’s sunlight was streaming through the windows of Harry’s
apartment office as Harry and Sean seated themselves.
Sean had dressed casually today, in a soft shirt and cotton pants;
gone were the three-piece suits he’d worn in the courtroom.
He looked relaxed and happy.
Sean
inclined his head and picked up his glass.
“Tá fáilte
romhat, my fine friend. I
knew we'd get along splendidly, Harry.
Your brains and my beauty!”
Glossary
(nothing
whatsoever)
(the person is not wise until the deed is done)
Fillean meal ar an
meallaire
(evil returns to the evil doer)
Moraie -- Greek word for The Fates, those who determine men’s
destiny
Tá’n fharraige ag
seinn
(the
sea sings)
Is binn béal ina thost
(Sweet
is the silent mouth; a close equivalent to “silence is golden”)
Mo chara
(my
friend)
Go raibh maith agat
(thank you)
Tá fáilte romhat
(you’re welcome)
