Murder on the Naval Base

By Behcet Kaya

Murder on the Naval Base begins with a blurry account of a cold-blooded shooting of a couple, singled out while having dinner at an Officer's Club. The prime suspect is apprehended hours later while apparently attempting to flee the state. With over a dozen eyewitnesses collaborating the incident, little was left in the

• Language: English
• Publisher: WorkBook Press
• Release date: Mar 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960752109

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Copyright @2022 by (Behcet Kaya)

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ISBN-13: 978-1-960752-09-3 (Paperback Version)

978-1-960752-10-9 (Digital Version)

REV. DATE: 01/10/2023

MURDER

ON

THE

NAVAL

BASE

Behcet Kaya

ALSO BY BEHCET KAYA

NOVELS

(Literary fiction)

Voice of Conscience

SHORT STORIES

(Fiction)

Gone Wild

Greetings Fellow Members of the Universe

Timeless Love

Blizzard

Joana

Cappadocia

Daydreamer

The Town of Pergama

The Nomad and the Keeper

Autopsy

Payback

A Soldier’s Story

To my wife, Nancy

Many, many thanks to my editor, Lisa J. Jackson

PART 1

MURDER ON THE NAVAL BASE

Where does a story begin?

At the middle, the beginning, or the end?

But is there ever a beginning?

Is there ever an end?

And where does the beginning start?

Perhaps the best place is a moment that

presses indelibly on the brain.

A moment that will not ever be erased.

Arlene Webster (1921-2007)

Chapter 1

THE HEAVY DOUBLE DOORS of the Murat Officers’ Club flew open.

Fringe winds from Hurricane Lori rushed in, carrying dust and debris. It blew through the high-ceilinged, chandeliered lobby and back into the wide-open doors of the elegant and intimate dining room. White linen tablecloths fluttered and napkins flew in the air, sending plates and silverware crashing to the floor.

A solitary khaki-clad figure wearing tan combat boots, dark sunglasses, and a cap slung low over the face entered the lobby with a Beretta clutched in one hand. The shooter stood for only a moment, then trudged forward and entered the dining room.

The figure took a few steps forward into the room, found the intended targets and stepped backward without turning. With legs spread, the shooter raised the weapon with both hands and without hesitation pointed at a table occupied by a beautiful brunette and her male companion.

Two rapid shots were fired; the first shot directed at the woman, and the other shot to her companion.

In an instant, it was over.

The woman slumped against the back of her chair. The male officer, in the midst of jumping to his feet at seeing the danger, fell to the floor. Blood spurted from their fatal wounds.

A moment of eerie silence descended upon the room, and then chaos erupted, as the few remaining diners scrambled to get out of the way.

The dead officer lay on his right side with both hands balled up into tight fists. His eyes were wide open and took on the appearance of terror, as if he had been aware of his own death.

The woman’s body tilted to the side, as if suspended in mid-air. Her French-manicured fingernails were bloodied, and even more red liquid ran down her legs, pooling below her chair.

The stench of copper and gun powder filled the air.

With complete calmness, the murderer turned and walked out of the dining room, out of the heavy double doors.

Twelve hours earlier

FOR THE PAST HOUR Lieutenant Anderson Garrett Belguzar had hidden himself away with his body curled and his head resting on his knees. He slowly emerged from the closet and crawled into bed. He closed his eyes, but his body refused to relax.

Sliding back out from under the sheets, he dressed in a pair of khaki pants and shirt, put on a cap, slightly tilting it to the side, and pulled on his tan combat boots. Looking back at the bed, he smoothed the covers carefully and walked out of the apartment. Not wanting to disturb his neighbors, he quietly shut the back gate and passed under the dark shade of several large trees.

Anderson’s soul was turbulent. Sick at heart and restless, the two-bedroom apartment he shared with his wife had become too small, too cramped, too closed in. He could no longer endure its restraint. Feeling as if he had entered into a delirium state, his actions were capricious, and his mind was impervious to all that would soon happen.

It was a fine night, with a large bright moon just beginning to rise and zillions of stars beginning to twinkle. He walked out to the street and looked up at the night sky, but didn’t really see all that was there.

Unsure as to whether this was a dream, or if this was real, he found himself walking down the sidewalk. Occasionally, a car passed. The moon shone brilliantly and there was a solitude and stillness that seemed to precede him. He walked under palm trees; the sea breeze gently rustling the palm fronds.

He reached Canary Street. There, through the roar and the jar of many vehicles, many feet, many voices, with the blazing shop lights lighting his way, the west wind blowing him on, and the crowd pressing in upon him, he was pitilessly urged upon his way. No one stopped him. No one urged him, Don’t go there!

When he arrived at one of the gates to the base, he didn’t enter, but instead turned to the right and walked on.

The stars were shining more brightly than they had earlier and the moon had risen high over the great wilderness of swampland bordering the base; a massive mire of land where the inhabitants were wary creatures.

Anderson walked on alone, away from cars, away from people, and into the solitude. He came to an unpaved road that followed the edge of the wetlands. The night air had become still, the shadows of the trees long and hulking. Crushed shells crunched under his feet and only his own foot noise could be heard.

The surroundings spread away into a fringe of trees against the sky. As he walked further, he began to hear the sound of a stream flowing into the swamp. He reached the stream sparkling in the moonlight, moving slowly on its way to meet a greater home.

He walked and walked and walked.

Sometimes he talked silently to himself, repeating the same thoughts. How long has the persistent brother been eluding me? How long has he had an arrangement with my wife? Am I not the humiliated one? Trusting them both?

Returning to a paved road, he walked on the side facing oncoming traffic. Occasionally, a car passed, and from the light of the headlights he could clearly see the shape and flatness of the road. The moon had disappeared entirely, but there was enough starlight to guide him back toward town.

Chapter 2

ANDERSON OPENED HIS EYES, found himself face down and fully dressed. His left hand hung over the side of the bed; his right hand still clutched his wife Bevin’s hand-written note. He sat up and reread the message: Casino Hotel – Biloxi. Surrounding the words were several intricate doodles.

He took off his rumpled khakis and tossed them into the laundry basket. After a quick shower, he stood looking at himself in the mirror. His tall, slim frame was finely conditioned from years of training. His dark hair was still wet from his shower. The reflection of his face was that of a focused and controlled man, but his hazel eyes reflected agony and hurt.

Changing into shorts and a T-shirt, he went into the kitchen and took a container of orange juice from the refrigerator. In an uncharacteristic move, he drank straight from the carton. Unable to ignore his growling stomach, he tore open a package of bagels and, without bothering with the toaster, smothered one in cream cheese. He gobbled it down so quickly he started to hiccup. He took the orange juice carton and swallowed another gulp.

Glancing at the calendar on the wall, he noticed all the circled dates listing Bevin’s meetings and luncheons. There was nothing for today, July 21, 2008.

Locking the door of the apartment, he headed for his garage. His mind was made up. He would finally confront Bevin and Charles McPhearson, her lover and his former friend. To what end he didn’t know or even care.

Stopping at the first gas station he came to, he filled the tank and went inside for a cup of coffee to go. With little rest, he couldn’t afford falling asleep behind the wheel on his way to Biloxi. He left the radio off, not wanting any kind of distraction.

An hour later, just before the Alabama state line, he heard a loud bump and a drag on the car. Pulling carefully onto the side of the road, he got out, and to his disgust found the right rear tire blown out.

Just what I need, he muttered. To add insult to injury, when he checked his spare, it was also flat. Looking around, he spotted an exit up ahead and hoped there would be a gas station.

Driving as slowly as he could, he made the exit and was relieved to see a Chevron station.

He was just about to step out of his car when he heard the piercing sound of sirens and looked around to see two police cars skidding to a stop behind him.

What now? he said out loud.

Lieutenant Anderson Garrett Belguzar, step out of the car!

Anderson followed the instructions and watched as two officers carefully approached him.

You are Lieutenant Anderson Garrett Belguzar?

Yes, that’s me, replied Anderson.

One of the officers quickly frisked him for weapons. Upon finding none on him or in the car, he said, You’ll need to come with me, sir.

What? Are you arresting me?

No, sir. But we’ve been instructed to take you back to Groden County Sheriff’s Office.

Anderson was escorted to one of the police cars and ushered into the backseat. With that, the door was shut and he endured the ride in silence. Arriving back in Groden, he was taken into an interview room and left to himself for what seemed an eternity.

Barely able to hold his temper, Anderson snapped at the officer when he returned. Why are you holding me here?

We’ll get to that in a minute. Would you care for a cup of coffee?

Realizing there was no alternative but to go along with this, he replied, Sure. Make it black.

When the coffee arrived, Anderson took a sip and asked again, Why am I being detained?

Lieutenant, we responded to an all-points bulletin issued by the base commander at NAS Groden. We’re waiting for someone from NCIS to arrive. I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to discuss the reasons why.

So, this is a navy-related issue?

Yes.

And you don’t know why I’m being detained, as you put it?

Sir, the navy follows their own rules and regulations. This is really their bailiwick. Jeez, you don’t know do you?

Dumfounded, Anderson looked straight into the officer’s eyes.

Lieutenant, you haven’t heard? There’s been a murder on the naval base.

"What?"

Double homicide at the Murat Officers’ Club. That’s probably why you’re being detained. NCIS made it very clear that this wasn’t an arrest. I believe the term they used was apprehending the suspect.

"So, I am a suspect? Who was murdered?"

I think an officer and a civilian. That’s all I know. I shouldn’t have told you that much.

With that, the officer left Anderson and closed the door.

Arrangements were made to transport Anderson back to NAS Groden and the towing of his car to an impound lot. At the base, he was interrogated by NCIS for over three hours. Two investigators took turns in presenting the eyewitness accounts, the evidence of motive, and the fact that he had no concrete alibi.

Through it all, he repeatedly denied any wrongdoing, but in the end he was officially charged with the murder of his wife, Bevin O’Hara Belguzar and his former friend, Lieutenant Charles McPhearson III.

The events unfolded with such speed and efficiency that Anderson found himself in a state of shock. His anger with Bevin and McPhearson was quickly replaced with a sense of impending doom. An unbelievable stream of events had taken place since his training exercises in the Pacific.

The walls of his small cell soon began closing in on him and his mind went into overdrive.

That first night, Anderson woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare. Bevin - dead? McPhearson - dead? How could that possibly be? He simply couldn’t wrap his mind around the reality of what was happening.

He crawled out of his cot, took a few steps to the corner of his cell, and slid down into a sitting position. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around his legs, and put his forehead on his knees.

His anger was gone, replaced with profound sadness and confusion. He closed his eyes and the memories flooded in.

HE HAD NOTICED one of the secretaries in the flight school kept eyeing him. Despite the fact that other guys were constantly hitting on her, not one had succeeded in getting a date.

Well, why the heck not, he mumbled to himself.

One Friday afternoon, after returning from class, he approached the desk where the beautiful petite brunette sat typing on her computer. On her name plate was written BEVIN O’HARA.

Bevin looked up in anticipation as Anderson cleared his throat.

Hi, he said.

Hi, yourself.

What about you and I having a drink after work?

I thought you’d never ask, Bevin replied with a wide smile.

What time?

I get off at six-fifteen. How about around seven-thirty?

Officers’ club, seven-thirty.

Anderson returned to his apartment, showered, and dressed, and was at the officers’ lounge by six-thirty. He found a corner table facing the water and ordered a beer. As he sipped, his mind wandered back to his other infrequent dates. Since Savannah, two years before, he had actually only had three dates, all of which had ended in disaster.

He remembered his date with Bridget in Norfolk. She was a great-looking girl, but when they returned to her apartment, he didn’t even try to kiss her. How could he? He kept hearing his mother calling out, Anderson dear, you must go hide now. Mommy needs to entertain this nice gentleman. The more he tried, the louder the sounds became in his head. Bridget accused him of being gay. He, in turn, tried to explain he wasn’t, but she threw him out anyway.

Then there was Carlotta, a French-born brunette, eloquent and worldly, with beautiful skin, large eyes, and full lips. Even with her sexy French accent, he couldn’t detach himself from the sounds of his mother calling out for him to hide in the closet.

It was no use. He decided he wasn’t going to date another girl. He thought perhaps he should see the base psychiatrist, but then decided against it. He certainly didn’t want that on his record. And, if he was completely honest with himself, he knew why. No therapist had to tell him what the problem was.

The waitress interrupted his thoughts. Would you like to have another beer?

Flustered, Anderson looked up at her. Yes, yes. Please. Another one.

He checked his watch to find it was only seven. He closed his eyes and took a sip. For a split second he felt he was on top of a strange girl with his hands wrapped around her neck. He stood up quickly and went into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and returned to his table.

Still, it was only seven-fifteen. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a discarded newspaper on the next table. He reached out and grabbed the Groden Daily News, skipped through the pages and put it down.

His mind wandered again to another girl and another date he had in Jacksonville. Amber was a California blonde. When they were finally alone together in her car, she reached over and gave him a kiss. Anderson felt as if he was back in the cramped closet in his mother’s bedroom. Everything started closing in on him and he pushed her away.

She was surprised, confused, and then scared as she saw Anderson start to hyperventilate. She pushed him out of her car and sped away. That was the last Anderson saw of her.

Hello there.

He lifted his head to see Bevin smiling down at him. He was as uncomfortable as if Amber had just left him sitting at the side of the road.

Anderson? Are you okay? asked Bevin.

Yes, of course. I’m okay. Really. Please sit down.

Bevin pulled her chair close and sat, a concerned look on her face.

Would you like a beer or a glass of wine?

I’ll have a beer, thanks.

Anderson signaled the waitress. When Bevin’s drink arrived they clinked glasses.

Tough day? he asked.

No, not really. I’m glad the days are busy. They go by faster that way. How’s your training going?

Well, I’m realizing just how long a road it is. There’s so much to learn.

What made you choose flying?

I think I’ve always wanted to fly. My father was a navy pilot and even though I never knew him, I wanted to follow in his footsteps.

What happened to him?

He died before I was born. Training crash.

I’m so sorry. What about your mother?

She passed away when I was fourteen.

Ouch…well, I guess we have something in common.

Your parents?

I lost both my parents when I was fifteen.

Sorry to hear that. It’s rather a heavy thing to have in common.

True. So, let’s not dwell on the heavy stuff. Tell me something funny about yourself.

Something funny? Well, not funny, really. I’m amused at the fact that I am sitting here with you.

Why would that be amusing?

How many other guys have tried to ask you out?

But, I’m here with you, Anderson, because this is where I want to be.

As the evening progressed, Anderson found himself relaxing in the company of the beautiful and charming Bevin and had to admit how much he enjoyed her company.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING ANDERSON was taken to an interview room where he was introduced to his appointed attorney, JAG Officer Lieutenant Ashley Stevenson and her assistant, LN1 Pete Levinson.

For several hours, the young,