Decker's Dilemma (3 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

0800, Thursday, December 26

Captain Girard lumbered into the stateroom in crisply pressed khakis, making a beeline to the coffee pot. “Sit down, sit down. Don't let me interrupt. Just looking for Cheng and the coffee.”

Bogen looked at Decker, confused.

“The Chief Engineer,” Decker whispered to the investigator. “He hasn't been in here the past half hour, sir,” he replied to the captain.

Captain Girard glanced up from pouring coffee. “Okay well, he must be hiding from me.” He turned to Bogen. “Have you talked with whomever you needed to?”

“Yes, sir, I've been able to interview most of the people on my list. Some of the others have been on watch or asleep. I'll talk to them later tonight, or tomorrow morning.”

“Just do what you have to do,” said the captain. “I'm saddened about the whole thing. An injury on board my ship is bad enough. To have someone fall overboard just makes me sick to my stomach.”

“I understand, sir. It's a tragedy,” Bogen said, sympathetically.

The captain nodded and sipped from his mug. “What's your assessment of it?”

Bogen caught Decker's eye. “That'll be all.” The investigator closed his notebook and extended a hand. “Petty Officer Decker, thank you for your time. If you think of anything else that Kippen may have said to you, here is my card. Call me anytime. I'm at the embassy in Manila, so I can be here quickly if need be. When you get to the mess decks, please tell Wilson I'm ready for him.”

Decker took the card and put it in his shirt pocket. “I will, sir. But that's all I know.”

He walked out of the wardroom, closing the door behind him. He paused at the top of the ladder and realized that a bead of sweat had formed on his forehead. He took a deep breath, collected himself, and started to walk down the ladder. Then it hit him. A low, but audible, conversation coming through the thin metal door. He knelt to tie his shoes, his head as close to the door as he could get it without looking too obvious.

“At this stage, I haven't reached a conclusion,” Bogen said. “But it looks like either an accident or suicide.”

“Suicide?” the captain grunted.

“Kippen's girlfriend broke up with him the day before you got underway. Of course I'll need to talk to a few more people, but that's the way it's looking.”

The captain grunted. “Yeah? Well, my money's on it being an accident. I've warned these damn sailors about walking around the ship at night. Especially on a night when the seas were a little rough.”

“How rough were the seas, sir?” Bogen asked.

“Oh, nothing too terrible. Had some swells big enough to rock the ship a little.”

“That doesn't sound too bad, sir,” Bogen said. “Especially for a ship this size.”

“You ever been to sea?”

“No, sir.”

“Yeah? Well, let me tell you about the waves. It doesn't take much to rock a ship, even a ship of this size. Get a little water on deck and a sailor can lose his footing pretty easily.”

“I'm sure that can happen, sir.”

“You're damn right it can happen. I was just telling the supply officer that it happens to me, maybe half a dozen times every cruise. The problem isn't the waves, as much as the rolling of the sea. It can be smooth for a long stretch of ocean, then the ship hits a rolling wave, and wham, we get knocked to one side. It can take a person by surprise. Hell, we have enough broken furniture to prove that point.”

“I don't doubt that, sir,” Bogen said. “Most everyone I've talk to has said the same thing. And they've all been very helpful.”

“What did they have to say?” asked the captain. “As far as I know, Kippen didn't have any enemies. He was 4.0 all the way in his evaluations. Never had a problem with him. And that's saying something, being stationed in a place like Subic Bay with all sorts of distractions for young men.”

“From what I can gather, Kippen was well liked,” Bogen said. “Everyone had nice things to say about him. I couldn't find a motive for anything malicious.”

“Another reason it makes me believe it was an accident,” said the captain. “Did you talk with the boiler techs who were on the fantail?”

“I did, sir. Their story is straightforward. Heard something in the water. Thought they saw a body float by. Went to the ship's store to call the bridge about the man overboard.”

“We're lucky they saw him. It annoys me that they were out there smoking at night, but I'm glad they saw him,” said the captain.

“It was very fortunate,” Bogen said. “We also spoke to Chief Fray. Apparently, he was also on the fantail prior to Kippen falling overboard, but went inside before it happened.”

“That's what Suppo told me,” the captain said.

“What can you tell us about the chief?” asked Bogen.

“Solid perfomer. The top chief on board. I'm lucky to have several top-notch chiefs with me,” the captain added. “Hell, they run the ship. They get things done. And Chief Fray is as good as it gets.”

“That confirms what I've learned,” Bogen said. “Oh, and there is one more thing, sir. “It's probably nothing, but something about missing inventory items came up in my interviews with Kippen's shipmates.”

“What about it?”

“Petty Officer Decker told me just now that Kippen said he was looking for missing parts.”

“I'm sure it's nothing,” said the captain. “We have thousands of parts on board this ship. Hell, there are more storerooms than I know about, and I'm the captain. I'll check on it and let you know if I find out anything.”

“I'd appreciate that, sir,” Bogen said. “As for now, I've done all I can do. I'll interview the others and be out of your hair when the ship returns to port.”

“That'd be much appreciated,” the captain said. “We'll need to do a lot of work when we get back to Subic. I want you to do your job, but I also have a ship to run. We're leaving on a six-month deployment to the Persian Gulf in a few months and I'm going to need all hands working when we return to base.”

“I'll be out of your way, sir. I can promise you that,” Bogen said. “I'll touch base with you before I leave the ship.”

Decker heard a door open and close from within the wardroom. Then silence. He sprang to his feet and slid down the ladder handrails, his feet never touching the steps. He hustled over to Hack, who was sitting alone at a table on the starboard side drinking a coke. “You're up.”

Hack stood and nervously adjusted his uniform. “How'd it go? I'm sure you sailed through it.”

Decker looked at the ladder leading to the wardroom. “Not exactly.”

CHAPTER FIVE

1430, Friday, December 27

As the ship drew closer to the pier, a handful of sailors stood at attention topside fore and aft, waiting patiently to throw mooring lines ashore and step off the ship after five days at sea. A couple hundred yards from land, the ship turned to port and sat motionless, with its starboard side facing the pier. Pushed by a tugboat the last few feet to its resting place, the
Harvey
inched its way closer, until finally, sailors heaved mooring lines onto the pier where stevedores scooped them up, tossing them over bollards. With precision and almost without notice, the U.S. flag dropped from high amidships the instant a sailor raised an ensign on the fantail's flagpole. The
Harvey
was home, minus one of its crewmembers.

A fleet of forklifts ferried pallets of supplies toward the ship, and a large blue crane on rails moved into position, lowering the gangway. A throng of Filipino welders, machinists, and pipefitters gathered at the foot of the brow, waiting to board the ship to begin the around-the-clock work necessary to keep a navy vessel at sea.

After two hours of loading supplies, Decker and Hack finished the workday, precisely at 1700. They changed into civilian clothes. Decker into his usual polo shirt and khaki shorts, Hack into T-shirt and jeans. They walked to the quarterdeck, where Decker spent a few minutes in quiet conversation with the petty officer-of-the-watch. He finally turned to Hack. “What are you waiting on?”

“You,” said Hack, waiting patiently.

“Let's go then.”

They walked down the gangway and spotted Commander Doerr and his wife waiting to go up the brow. Piper Doerr stood nearly five foot ten with her yellow sundress providing a stark contrast against her tanned skin and shoulder-length auburn hair. The supply officer stood to her left, noticeably a couple inches shorter than his wife. A dedicated gym rat, the commander has maintained a trim figure and athletic build from a childhood spent roaming the mountains of northern Vermont. A khaki garrison cap covered his retreating hairline. A Naval Academy class ring on his left hand, perched above a wedding band, glistened in the sunlight. The two sailors stepped onto the pier and saluted the supply officer. The commander returned their salutes. “Decker, you know my wife, Piper.”

“Nice to see you again, ma'am,” said Decker.

“Piper, this is Lewis Wilson. He's been on board about a month. You go by Hack, though, right?”

It surprised Hack that the supply officer knew that about him already. “Yes, sir. But Lewis is fine, too.”

Mrs. Doerr flashed a smile. She turned to Decker, took his hand, and held the handshake a bit too long. “It's nice to see you again.”

Decker looked at Commander Doerr, who luckily was scrutinizing something on the ship. Piper turned to Hack. “And nice to meet you.”

The commander turned his head towards the sailors and put his arm around his wife's waist, signaling it was time to go. “You guys stay out of trouble tonight. We don't need another accident to hit the department.”

“We always try to,” said Decker.

The commander laughed, and Decker and Hack watched the supply officer and his wife walk up the gangway to the quarterdeck. Piper's yellow sundress showing off her long, tanned legs.

Decker grabbed Hack by the shirtsleeve, nudging him to start moving. “Don't look at that. It's the boss's wife.”

The walk to the main gate at the north end of the base cut through the heart of Subic Bay Naval Station. A slice of Americana in the Far East. Palm-tree-lined streets with softball fields, a Baskin Robbins, bookstore, and taxi stand. Moderate traffic with people walking—mostly sailors—heading to town on liberty. And Filipino workers heading home after the workweek.

Twenty minutes later, the sailors stopped at the entrance to the main gate complex, a two-lane street and a sidewalk that passed over a small river on the Philippine side. A security checkpoint stood on the base side in the middle of the road, with Marine guards inspecting every vehicle that entered or exited. A similar checkpoint blocked the sidewalk, causing a bottleneck of foot traffic. The sailors decided to wait for the line to thin.

“Where are we going?” asked Hack.

“To California Jam,” said Decker. “As soon as we make it through the crowd.”

“I've never been there.”

“You're missing out. Cal Jam's the best club on Magsaysay Drive. And I know the owner, Pong Dango, so I get free beer sometimes.”

“I knew there had to be a reason.”

“I go for the music,” Decker said. “But the free beer helps.”

“How do you know the owner?”

“He was my landlord when I rented a place in Olongapo for a few months. Good old man. Nightclub owner, man about town, and an avid collector of WWII memorabilia. I paid my rent on time, and he took care of me. He even lets me in the bar when it's closed.”

“So, you do know a Pong,” Hack mused.

“You doubted me?”

“A little. I still think it's a funny nickname.”

“And here comes another example.”

Hack saw a man in khakis pass. “Senior Chief Wall?”

“Senior Chief Dingding,” whispered Decker. “It's the Tagalog word for ‘wall'.”

“That's his nickname?”

“In a way. That's what the Filipino sailors have started calling him. They find it amusing that some American names sound like everyday words. Wright, Carr, Hart, House, Byrd.”

“Woods, Day, Field, Dahl,” Hack added.

“Exactly,” Decker agreed.

“What's he think of the nickname?”

“He doesn't,” Decker said. “No one says it to his face. Everyone does it the proper way and only calls him Dingding behind his back.” He nodded towards the dwindling crowd making their way off base. “Let's go.”

The sailors passed through the checkpoint with a grunt from the Marine and exited the main gate onto the Shit River Bridge. The “river” was, in fact, a drainage canal that skirted the southern edge of town, separating the naval base from Olongapo. Sailors gave the canal its epithet decades ago from the water's raw-sewage smell. The name stuck. Decker and Hack were half way across the bridge when Decker spotted a crowd of sailors throwing coins in the water. “Damn.”

“What's wrong?”

Decker pointed towards the canal. “They're throwing coins in the river. It's disgusting. Making those kids dive in that filth to fish them out.”

Hack watched a gaggle of grade-school-aged boys swimming in the muddy brown water. “Let's keep going.”

The sailors continued their walk along Magsaysay Avenue, the main strip, with the smell of the bars, of food cooking in the streets, of fumes from the hordes of trikes and jeepneys mixing with the hot, humid air that drifted in from the sea. A sprinkling of restaurants, barbershops, pawn dealers, and massage parlors nestled among the multitude of nightclubs that lined the street. Vivid neon signs lit the sidewalk, drawing attention away from scruffy, indiscreet exteriors that belied the sumptuousness of the clubs' interiors. Music blared from each open door, creating a symphony of rock, hip-hop, and country as one walked down the street.

Up to this point, Decker had not told anyone, except the navy investigator, about his conversation with Kippen the night he went overboard. Decker looked at Hack as they walked along the bustle of Magsaysay and figured it was time.

He
had
to tell someone.

Hack listened to the story without saying a word. When they approached the entrance to Cal Jam, he turned to Decker and put a hand on his shoulder. “Let's tell Mo and Vega.”

The sailors climbed the three-step staircase. A rush of cool air hit their faces as a young Filipino opened the door, escorting them into the interior. Half full, but it was early. The two-story club featured a stage along the west wall, with floor-to-ceiling speakers towering along either side of the platform. A dance floor next to the stage was nearly empty as groups of two, three, and four sailors sat at round tables and flirted with bar girls, company-owned prostitutes who floated between tables endlessly searching for their one true love for the evening. A bevy of waitresses scurried across the scene, distinguished from the bar girls by their modest wardrobe of black shirts and sensible skirts.

Big Mo sat at a corner table nursing a San Miguel. Six-foot-five inches and north of 250 pounds, he'd been coming to Cal Jam for the past three years. He liked the music, the atmosphere, and the bar girls. Depending on his mood, that order of preference often changed. Despite the heat and humidity of the evening, he sported a faded red-and-white, checkered long-sleeve shirt over a black t-shirt. His brown cargo pants groaned at the seams. An old, discolored Atlanta Braves ball cap, turned backwards, sat atop his crew-cut black hair. Black, size 17 navy boondockers completed the ensemble.

Vega Magpantay sat opposite Mo, her back to the entrance. Her long black hair tied in a French-braid ponytail. A rooky police officer in Olongapo, she was one of only two women on the force. Tonight, she had on her favorite off-duty attire: a light-green cotton tank top, denim shorts, and white tennis shoes. Her silver diamond-shaped earrings sparkled when the lights from the dance floor hit them just right.

Raised in the U.S. with her American mother, Vega had moved to the Philippines at age twelve to live with her father. She spoke fluent English, Tagalog, and Ilocano, the predominant language of northern Luzon, her dad's home province. She had met Decker one night when she came to a nightclub in town with a group of police officers to make an arrest. Lovers briefly, they now were just friends, with their romance confined to occasional nights when loneliness and a desire for intimacy overpowered her wish to keep things platonic.

Mo saw them first and leaned in close to Vega. “Here come the tools. Hack and Decker.” They both giggled loudly.

“Greetings everyone,” Decker said. “What, may I ask, is so funny?”

Mo winked at Vega. “Nothing. You're late.”

“Sorry about that. Got held up with work. The supply business never stops, unlike the machinery on board the ship.”

“Then let's trade jobs,” Mo said.

“Not a chance,” said Decker. “I value my nice, clean workspace too much.”

Decker ordered a beer for himself and Hack and kissed Vega on the cheek. “You look lovely as ever. Merry belated Christmas.”

“Thanks,” Vega said, “And sorry about Kippen. Mo told me what happened.”

Decker sighed and put his elbows on the table. “I need a beer. Or three. It's been a long week.”

“Tell me about it,” Mo said. “It still bums me out. It's been four days and still no sign of him. He was an okay guy for a supply type. The idiot should've been more careful. It's a damn shame.”

Mo noticed Decker and Hack exchange glances. “I saw that look. What'd I say?”