Anchor In The Storm Part 30

Lillian doubled over. She'd thought she'd changed, but she was as coldhearted as ever.

29.

Boston

Monday, April 27, 1942

Arch climbed the gangway under a moonlit sky. If only he could have told Lillian in person. Not only was it improper to relay news of a death by telephone, but he should have held her.

At the top of the gangway, Arch faced aft and saluted the flag, then saluted the officer of the deck tonight, Lt. John Odom. "I report my return aboard, sir."

"Very well. Captain Buckner has called a meeting of all officers in the wardroom at 2200."

Arch glanced at his watch. Half an hour. "Yes, sir."

"Mr. Vandenberg, sir." Seaman Warren Palonsky greeted him with a salute. "I completed the inventory of the repair party lockers."

Their code that they needed to discuss the case. "Very well. Let's start with number five."

Arch led the way into the center superstructure and into the locker, a small compartment crammed with tools and supplies.

Palonsky shut the door behind them, took off his white "Dixie cup" cover, and ran his hand through his sandy hair. "Sir, I just met with Earl Kramer. He took Fish's position, which makes me the new middleman. I don't like it, sir. I'm supposed to sell to other men. I can't do that."

Arch rubbed the spot between his eyebrows. "I agree. You can't. It's wrong and it's dangerous."

"I'll tell you what's dangerous." Palonsky leaned his hand against the bulkhead by his head, his fingers drumming the steel. "As Kramer's apprentice, I'm supposed to meet the sources on sh.o.r.e."

"Sources? More than one?"

"Yes, sir. Civilians. A group of thugs, sounds like. A leader, a forger, and fellows who steal prescription pads, get the prescriptions filled, and deliver them. Some of the deliveries take place at the Navy Yard, some at the Rusty Barnacle."

Arch set his elbow on a shelf and rested his forehead in his hand. A full-blown ring, just as they'd feared. Far more than Fish's grandmother.

"Sir, I don't like this." Palonsky slapped the bulkhead. "I want out."

If he lost Palonsky, he'd never solve the case. "I did promise you could get out any time."

"The time is now, sir."

Arch puffed out a breath. "We're so close. If we could identify even one fellow on sh.o.r.e, we'd have something to take to the police."

"Sir, they framed Hobie. They probably killed Fish."

"What'll it look like if you back out now? You know too much."

Palonsky cussed. "Then get me out of here. Get me transferred to another s.h.i.+p, far from Boston."

He needed to solve this case to prevent more deaths. "Did Kramer say when you'd meet the sources?"

"After our next patrol. Next time we both get liberty."

"Can you wait until then? Soon as we get a name-just one man-submit your request. I'll see it goes through."

Palonsky scrunched up his face, wagging his head.

Arch needed to buy more time. He swallowed some bile at the thought of what he had to do. "Would more money help?"

The sailor leveled a hard expression at him. "Ten more dollars a month."

"Twenty." Arch shook Palonsky's hand, but his heart sank low in his belly. Once again using wealth and influence to get his way. What was wrong with him?

Lt. Cdr. Alvin Buckner stood at the head of the table in the wardroom. "I'm sure you've heard of the death of Torpedoman's Mate Gifford Payne."

The officers murmured their shock and grief.

"The doctors say he died from a combination of alcohol and a sedative called phen.o.barbital. He had an envelope containing the pills in his pocket. It seems we have a problem on the Ettinger. When Seaman Hobart McLachlan was arrested two weeks ago, he had withdrawal symptoms from the same drug."

Arch pressed his lips together. Hadn't he informed the captain about the problem over a month ago? Hadn't the captain told him just to make the men buck up?

Buckner leaned his fists on the table. "Some of the boys claim they saw Fish taking pills, even giving them to others, but no one will name names."

Arch studied his folded hands in his lap. It was too early to report what he knew. He needed at least one source on sh.o.r.e, a link between Dixon's Drugs and the Ettinger-a link other than the unbelievably unlikely Opal Harrison. If he spoke now, the investigation would fall apart and the ring would continue, supplying other s.h.i.+ps and incapacitating other sailors.

"Mr. Taylor, Mr. Avery," Buckner said. "Any problems in engineering?"

"No, sir," Emmett Taylor said. "Our boys haven't seen as much carnage as the men topside."

"Gunnery obviously has a problem." Buckner turned piercing dark eyes to Lt. Miles Gannett, the gunnery officer.

The knuckles of Gannett's clenched hands turned white. "Fish always did his duties well, sir. Stein, on the other hand . . . Melvin Stein. Bill Jenkins."

"Melvin Stein, Bill Jenkins." Buckner scribbled on a notepad. "Anyone else?"

"Not that I know of."

"Deck division." The captain's upper lip curled. "The worst division on board. What do you have to report?"

Odom's mouth pursed. "As I told you earlier, sir, many of my men have problems with their nerves."

Arch's eyebrows rose. Odom had talked to the captain too?

"No excuse for cowardice and dereliction of duty, much less using drugs." Buckner tapped his pen on the notepad. "Names?"

"Phil Carey, sir," Odom said. "He's always doping off. Possibly Warren Palonsky."

Arch forced himself not to react, to keep his breath even.

"Phil Carey . . ." Buckner said as he wrote. "Warren Palonsky."

"Mind you, no problems with Palonsky," Odom said. "He's a top-notch sailor. But I've heard rumors."

If Arch jumped on board, it would remove suspicion that he and Palonsky were connected. "I've had problems with Carey too, sir. Engelman complains about him all the time. And I've also heard rumors about Palonsky."

"Very well." Buckner tucked his pen in his s.h.i.+rt pocket. "We'll a.s.semble all hands for inspection. But give the suspects extra scrutiny. Each officer inspect your own men."

Chair legs sc.r.a.ped on the deck, and Arch's cheeks went cold. Palonsky didn't have any drugs in his possession, did he? He was supposed to flush them immediately.

Soon all the sailors stood at attention by their bunks while officers riffled through their possessions, feeling pockets and opening boxes and toiletry kits.

Arch wasn't surprised when he found an envelope filled with tablets in Phil Carey's locker.

Carey turned white. "Sir, those aren't mine. They're Fish's. He asked me to hide them for him. I-I didn't know what to do with them after he died."

A cry of protest rose from a bunk farther aft. "I swear those aren't mine, Mr. Gannett. Fish gave that envelope to me, told me to hold it for him. I had no idea what was inside."

So that was the story they'd agreed on. If anyone were caught, everyone else would point to that man and no one else. They needed some explanation for why they didn't have prescription bottles with their names on the labels.

"Looks clean." Odom shut Palonsky's locker.

Arch swallowed his sigh of relief and forced himself not to look at his collaborator.

Buckner strode down the crowded aisle. "What do we have?"

"Jenkins," Mr. Gannett said. "He has some pills, claims they were Fish's."

"I found this envelope in Carey's locker," Arch said. "The same story about Fish."

"I swear it, sir. Not mine." The bleariness in Carey's eyes said otherwise.

Arch handed the envelope to Buckner, and an idea leapt into his head. "Sir, we don't actually know what the pills are. Perhaps we should compare them to Doc's stock."

"Excellent idea, Mr. Vandenberg. Come with me. Mr. Hayes and Mr. Odom, take Carey and Jenkins to the brig on sh.o.r.e."

Arch followed the captain up the ladder and toward sick bay. Was that the first time the commanding officer had approved of something he'd done?

Pharmacist's Mate Parnell Lloyd met them in sick bay, and he gave Arch a strange look-suspicious perhaps, or angry.

Captain Buckner showed him the envelopes. "Do you know what these are?"

Doc peered inside. "Can't say I do. Do these have anything to do with Fish's death?"

While Buckner and Doc discussed the situation, Arch scanned the small compartment. More of Doc's art, each sketch and signature in the style of a master artist.

Arch's hands coiled into fists. So the man was skilled at forgery. He opened the medication cabinet and inspected the bottles. Phen.o.barbital . . . phen.o.barbital . . . there it was.

He pointed to the bottle. "May we look inside, Doc?"

"Yes, sir." Doc frowned at Arch and opened the bottle. "Not the same. Why do you ask?"

They weren't the same? Arch peered inside and composed himself. "We were both concerned about the men taking sedatives, possibly barbiturates, you said. Like that."

Doc shrugged. "If those tablets are phen.o.barbital, they come from a different supplier than the Navy uses. Perhaps they came from a civilian pharmacy-or a civilian pharmacist."

Arch's breath congealed in his chest as he stared into the pharmacist's mate's discerning, intelligent brown eyes.

It was no secret that Jim's sister was a pharmacist. Did Doc think Lillian was involved, that Arch was the link? Or was this a ploy to deflect attention from Doc? And just what had he done to Fish before he died?

"Thank you for your help, Doc." Buckner headed out of sick bay. "I'll turn these pills over to the authorities."

Arch followed the captain. He'd give Doc a wide berth.

30.

Boston

Tuesday, May 5, 1942