Home Goes The Warrior (17 page)

He changed the subject. “Tell me about this guy Fred Mercier. What is his story. You saw him at the meeting this morning. Is he always like that?”

Tim nodded. “I figured you’d be asking about him. The truth is that he is one of the best men in the office. But he always has those headaches - at least half the time. He’s been to doctor after doctor, and no one can seem to find out his problem. So he lives with it. But it does make him irritable and he doesn’t take any crap from anyone. But when he speaks, I listen. He’s sharp as hell. The guys that work for him, love him.”

“Tim, tell me about this group that Fred leads. He’s the head of the coordination division, I know. But exactly what does the coordination division do for us?”

“Well, where to start? First, for info, there are only six people in his group. They’re all senior technical people who have years of experience in ship overhauls. They were hand-picked for these jobs by Fred. When a ship is assigned to the shipyard, Fred assigns one of these people to the ship. It’s their job to follow the ship’s overhaul from the get-go through to its finish. They even go to the ship before the overhaul to check out the planned work and meet the key Navy guys aboard the ship. They spend every day aboard their assigned ships, watching the weapons and electronic work as it progresses. If a problem arises, they either fix it or bring it back to Fred so we can take action to get it fixed. I swear by these guys. Not all shipyards have a group like this, but I wouldn’t want to have to do our jobs without them.”

“All right, Tim. That answers all of my important questions. But I do have one miscellaneous, gossip-type question that has been bothering me all day. Last night I was talking to some guys over dinner at the officer’s club and they started talking about some planner who fell into a drydock last month. Do you know about that?”

“Oh yeah. It was a major subject around here when it happened. What do you want to know?”

“Well, last night they were saying that he stumbled and fell into the dock while he was wandering around out there. So today, when I was walking around, I went by that drydock and took a look at it. I’m having
trouble understanding how a man could fall from the lip of the dock all the way to the bottom. It looks to me like the walkway would get in the way. What have you heard? Was this guy some kind of athlete or something?”

Tim laughed aloud at that. “No. No way. I knew him slightly - mainly because he was an electronic planner who wrote job orders for work on the equipment we’re responsible for. He wasn’t very good. I had to go chew him out and get job orders changed several times. As far as being athletic, he definitely wasn’t. He was a little dried-up kind of guy with a pot belly who always smelled like cheap booze and cigarettes.” Tim paused for breath, then continued, “How he got from the top to the bottom has been, as they say, the subject of much conjecture. Everyone has a theory. I don’t have a clue as to what the truth really is. I think the base cops just whitewashed the whole mess so the guy’s wife could get benefits. He was married and had a bunch of rug-rats.”

Again, Lee nodded. “Sounds right. Well, ye font of all knowledge, I thank you for sharing your wisdom. I guess I’d better knock off the gossip and get back to work.”

Tim laughed. “Anytime, boss.”

Lee crossed the reception area to his office, walking past the chief engineer’s office on the way. As he passed it, he heard the soft sounds of Julie Andrews’ singing drifting out the door. He smiled thoughtfully.
There’s the elevator music. Maybe I should get myself a radio.

That evening, Lee bought a newspaper and studied the real estate section. Unsure of himself, he drove across the Walt Whitman Bridge into New Jersey and spent the evening looking at communities. Several people had recommended that he find a home in the Cherry Hill area, but he wasn’t sure. It was a nice area, but he remembered living in a more hilly, forested area when he was a boy. He just didn’t feel at home in the flat land of South Jersey. He decided he’d take another drive, either tomorrow or over the weekend, and check out the Pennsylvania suburbs on the other side of Philadelphia. Anyway, he should go see his uncle and aunt. They didn’t even know he was in the area. Lee had a sudden guilty feeling. Yes, it was time that he visited them.

CHAPTER ELEVEN - THE INHERITANCE

ee and Tim made the rounds of the ships the next morning. There wasn’t much new except that the
King’
s missile crew was happy. They’d heard about the engineering team that was arriving next week and their relief was very obvious.

Since they were out of the office, Lee asked Tim to show him the office of the electrical/electronics group superintendent, Ed Carvell. Tim was happy to oblige. It turned out that Ed’s office was in a newer building, Building #1000, close to where the
King
was berthed. The two Navy men walked over and found their way to Ed’s office, an island of administrative lushness in an otherwise no-nonsense industrial facility.

True to his word, Ed got out the coffee cups for them, and the three men sat for a time talking about the ships and their status. Lee had the feeling that Ed was glad to see them and was going out of his way to make them comfortable here. This was confirmed after they had talked for a while about the ships and their progress. Lee and Tim were getting ready to depart when Ed stopped them. “This may sound strange to you, but I have a request. Can we meet like this once every week?”

Both Lee and Tim were surprised by the request. Tim looked at Lee for the answer. “Certainly, Ed. I’m not sure that both of us can make it every week, but at least one of us could meet with you every Friday if that’s all right with you. But why?”

Ed answered with more straightforward honesty than Lee had expected. “I don’t have enough time in my day to see every ship and
shop project every week. I have to depend on my two shop heads for status information. But, as you saw the other day, I don’t always get an honest assessment from them. I guess it’s a bit hard to admit that you’re screwed up sometimes. But whatever the reason, I do need an honest evaluation of progress. I trust the two of you. You don’t have any axes to grind and just want the best for the Navy. Me too. I can use your help.”

Lee, genuinely touched by this request, held out his hand. “Ed, you can count on us. At least one of us will be here every Friday morning at about ten.”

As the two walked back to the office, they talked some about this unusual turn of events. They both knew that often the relationship between Navy people and yard workers was very strained. It was highly unusual for them to form an alliance. But they both felt good about what had just happened. Somehow they knew that they had made a new friend.

Back at the office, all was quiet. Lee took care of some routine paperwork, then went back to searching the newspaper for homes to rent or buy. He wanted to have something nice when Maggie showed up. It would be another six weeks or so before she could get here, but he knew how long it could take if he decided to buy a home, and he was feeling anxious. He’d never owned a home, other than the one left to him by his family, but he knew it would be smarter to buy than to rent, if he could afford it.

Lee had money in the bank, left from the long year he had spent in Viet Nam and the recuperation period after that. The money had accumulated when he was unable to spend it, and he hadn’t touched it since. So he knew that he could afford a home if he saw one he liked. He scoured the paper but just wasn’t sure of the areas. He’d been gone a long time.

When lunchtime came around, the office was quiet, so he decided to take the afternoon off and drive down to Media to see his uncle. At the same time he could he would look around that area for neighborhoods and houses that looked livable.

He put on his hat and went to the outer office to let Jane know his plans. But just as he got to her desk, she looked up from the telephone and said, “Lee, you have a call. He says that he’s your Cousin Tom.”

“Okay, Jane. I’ll take it in my office. When I’m done, I’m going to leave for the day. Going out to Media to see my uncle who lives there.” He turned to go back to his office.

His quiet response to Jane didn’t reflect the inner turmoil that the phone call was bringing to him. “Cousin Tom” was the pseudonym they had chosen for the FBI agent, Tom Wright. They had agreed to not contact one another unless something serious occurred.
What in hell has happened?

He answered the phone casually, just in case someone was listening. “Hi, Tom. What’s happening?” The answer came back immediately.

“Not much, Cousin Lee. But I’m in the area and thought I’d drop by and let you know what the family’s doing. When is good for you?”

“Tom, I was just leaving the office to go see Uncle Mike out in Media. I guess we could meet there, or maybe on the road out that way.”

“Okay I’m just coming up I-95 right now. Just passed the Pennsylvania state border.”

“That works, Tom. Take the Chester exit. The one that has the signs for Widener University. Go left on Route 352 and find a wide spot to wait for me. I should get there a bit after you. I’m driving my Mustang.”

“I’m in a blue Ford Fairlane. See you there.”

The two hung up. Lee had a world of questions, but this wasn’t the time.

Leaving the shipyard, Lee was soon on I-95, headed south toward the rendezvous. The more he thought about it, the more he worried.
Why is Tom driving all the way up from D. C. just to talk to me?
This was getting a little scary.

It didn’t take long for the Mustang’s big engine to get him to the Chester exit. Carefully he threaded his way through the Widener campus, relying on ancient memories to find his way. Soon he was on Route 352 to Media, and he started watching for Tom. It didn’t take long. Tom had pulled up in front of a little mom and pop grocery store and was standing beside his car. Lee pulled in behind him. Tom came over and got in on the passenger side.

Tom held out his hand to Lee, saying, “Hello, my friend. How’s life in the shipyard?” Lee took the hand and smiled. “Just hunky-dory,
you asshole. Why’re you up here scaring me out of my shorts? Is anything wrong?”

“No, Lee. I was afraid you’d worry when I called. That’s why I waited until I was almost up here before I pulled over and found a phone booth. No, I’m just here to let you know what we’ve found out about the two guys who were killed outside the shipyard. Once I’ve briefed you, I’m going home for the weekend.”

Lee breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Great. I have to admit, I was worried. So, what’s the story on those guys?”

“Well, that first guy, Bernie Shapiro, who was shot. He was definitely killed somewhere else and then dumped in South Philly. It actually looks like he was killed by a 30-06 rifle slug, fired from a distance. There were no powder burns on him and the ballistics came back showing the bullet that killed him coming from a 30-06 hunting rifle. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard of a rifle like that being used in an urban killing. There is no way your godfather’s people use a gun like this. This guy was killed somewhere else, at long range. Then his body was scooped up and hauled to South Philly, probably hoping that the cops would just write it off as another mob hit. But it’s not. No way!”

Lee had listened silently. Now he asked, “Is there anything on him that would reveal his whereabouts that day? Or any relatives or friends who know where he was supposed to be when he was killed?”

“Nope. Dead ends all around. He was dressed in slacks and a shirt with a tie. Those were his normal work clothes. His family all thought he was at work. He had gone to work that day, even worked some overtime. But he’d clocked out at about six, so no one is sure where he was when he was killed.”

“Okay. What about the guy who got his throat slit in Camden?”

“Another very similar story. His name was George Carter. He definitely died from a slit throat. But he didn’t die in Camden. He was killed somewhere else and then brought to Camden in the passenger seat of his car. When he got to where they left him, they moved him into the driver’s seat, locked the car, and left him. The blood trail in the car told our forensics team the story. Also, there’s no blood spray in the car. That tells us that he wasn’t in the car when his throat was sliced. Oh yeah, it wasn’t a
hooker who did this. His wallet was in his pocket, his watch was on his wrist, his dick was in his pants, and the car was locked. So we ruled out any possibility of this being a streetwalker’s handiwork.”

Lee nodded soberly, absorbing this. “Tom, I think the drydock guy was murdered also.” When Tom’s eyebrows shot up, Lee told him about the drydock railing and walkway, emphasizing the impossibility of this man getting across all of the physical obstructions without help. “I think he was thrown over the side of that dock. The report says he had massive head injuries, so it’s possible that he was unconscious or dead before he was thrown. But he didn’t get from the top to where he landed without help.”

This seemed to startle Tom. “Lee, what in hell are we dealing with here? This started out as a simple little ‘possible embezzlement’ case. Now it’s looking like a truly big deal. A well-organized, deadly big deal. But what is it?”