sure, I guess,’ Whitfield said, surprised that a government investigator would offer him a drink.
After Whitfield had gotten his beer, Emma eased him along by saying, ‘Why don’t you tell us what you do. Let’s start there.’
‘I’m an instructor,’ Whitfield said. ‘I—’
‘Your uncle said you were an engineer,’ DeMarco said.
‘I am. I’m a nuclear engineer. And I’m an instructor. Basically what I do is teach the new engineers how the reactor plants in the ships work.’
‘That’s good,’ Emma said. ‘So now why don’t you tell us about these concerns you have.’ Emma kept speaking to Whitfield in this low, soothing voice, as if he was some skittish, balding horse. DeMarco found her talking this way unnatural; Emma rarely tried to soothe.
‘Okay,’ Whitfield said, ‘because somebody needs to look into this thing. Nobody at the shipyard believes me.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ DeMarco said impatiently.
‘It’s these two guys I used to work with. They worked at the shipyard about twenty-five years and then took an early out – meaning they retired when they were fifty-two or fifty-three instead of fifty-five. People don’t normally do that because they lose a percentage of their retirement pay. Anyway, as soon as they retired, they were hired by this company to do a study on how we train our engineers. For some jobs, the training takes about two years.’
‘Two years!’ DeMarco said.
‘We’re talking about reactor plants,’ Whitfield said, glaring at DeMarco. ‘We don’t let some kid right out of college run around a nuclear submarine unless he knows what he’s doing. Anyway, the company these guys went to work for told the navy – I don’t know who – that they could figure out a way to complete the training in half the time for half the cost. Sounds like total bullshit to me, but somebody bought their story.’
In other words, DeMarco was thinking, this company had been hired to figure out a way to do Whitfield’s job better than he was doing it, meaning Whitfield was probably more than a little biased.
‘But the thing is,’ Whitfield said, ‘these two guys are a couple of losers.’
‘Are you saying they’re not qualified to do this study, and you think this is fraudulent?’ Emma said.
‘No,’ Whitfield said. ‘They’re qualified, I guess. They’re ex-navy, they were reactor operators on subs, and like I said they worked in the shipyard for more than twenty years. So on paper, they’re qualified. But they’re just … I don’t know. Incompetent. Before they retired they were always in trouble for something, not paying attention to details, doing sloppy work, not showing up on time. Like I said, losers. It’s hard to believe somebody would hire them.’
‘I’m confused, Dave,’ Emma said. ‘What exactly is it that you think they’re doing that’s illegal.’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘What!’ DeMarco said.
‘Go on, Dave,’ Emma said, giving DeMarco a settle-down look.
‘You see,’ Whitfield said, ‘all of a sudden these guys have got gobs of money. One of them just bought a new fishing boat and the other guy, I heard him talking about getting a home-entertainment system that’s worth ten grand. And one day I asked one of them how much he was getting paid working for this company. He beats around the bush for a while, but he finally tells me he’s getting about twice what he used to make working for the government.’
‘So that’s it?’ DeMarco said. ‘You don’t think these two guys oughta be doing this study and they’re making more money than you.’
‘No, damn it, that’s not what I’m saying,’ Whitfield snapped. ‘I’m saying there’s something funny going on here. These guys just shouldn’t be getting all this money for what they’re doing. Something’s wrong. And that’s not all.’
‘Yeah?’ DeMarco said. ‘What else is there?’
‘They don’t act like they’re reviewing our training program. They ought to be gathering data on class sizes and training costs and reviewing curriculums, that kinda thing. But they don’t seem to be doing that. They just seem to sit around a lot, bullshitting, and looking at the reactor plant manuals.’
‘What are those?’ DeMarco said.
‘They’re manuals that tell you how navy reactor plants work. You understand?’
By now DeMarco thought he had a pretty good sense of Whitfield. He was the type who was always outraged by something; he probably called up the mayor’s office and wrote passionate letters to the editor every time something got his goat.
‘So,’ DeMarco said, ‘let me see if I got all this straight. You got a couple of guys you don’t think are very good, who have come into some money recently that you can’t explain, and they’re going about this study all wrong. Is that it?’
‘Yeah,’ Whitfield said. ‘Something stinks.’
‘Can you believe that guy?’ DeMarco said to Emma after Whitfield had left. ‘No wonder Hathaway didn’t want NCIS talking to him. I mean, did you hear one damn thing that sounded like fraud to you? Anything?’
‘Take it easy, Joe,’ Emma said. ‘You’re in a beautiful part of the country. Take a walk. Go for a drive. Tomorrow we’ll meet these two people, talk to the company they work for, and get their side of the story. And we’ll talk to somebody in shipyard management who’s more objective than Whitfield.’
Christine was going to be in Seattle for another day with the symphony and DeMarco could tell that Emma – the new, laid-back, take-it-easy Emma – had decided that torturing consultants and shipyard managers would be more fun than sitting around doing nothing.
Emma rose from her chair and said, ‘I have to get going. I need to catch the next ferry to Seattle to meet Christine in time for dinner.’
‘And after we question these guys tomorrow and don’t find anything illegal going on, then what?’ DeMarco said.
‘Then you tell Hathaway to tell his sister to tell her son to quit being such a damn crybaby.’
After Emma left, DeMarco sat sipping his beer, thinking a little more about Whitfield. He still thought the guy was a whiny flake but Emma was right: he’d worry about Whitfield tomorrow. He looked around the bar. Other than the bartender, he was the only one there. On the television set, a baseball game was playing: the Seattle Mariners versus the Toronto Blue Jays, both teams at the bottom of their respective divisions. Professional bowling was more exciting.
He walked to a supermarket two blocks from the motel, bought half a dozen car magazines, and returned to the motel bar. He’d research the auto market, become an informed consumer. He’d probably still get screwed if he bought the Beemer convertible but he could console himself with the thought that he’d done his homework. He ordered another beer – it must have been his fourth and he was
