The Last Heroes (Men at War 1)

Then he jerked the sheet off Whittaker’s body, bent over the bed, and hoisted it onto his shoulders.

Douglass glanced at Cynthia Chenowith. She was looking at the body, biting her lower lip.

‘‘Anytime you’re ready, miss,’’ Ellis said.

He carried Whittaker’s body down the stairs and across the driveway to the house. Upstairs, he arranged the body against the tile wall of the shower in the master bedroom.

Cynthia Chenowith put Whittaker’s clothing over an armchair, and his underwear in a hamper.

Then they left the house as they had entered it, through the kitchen. Cynthia opened the gate for them, and Ellis drove the Plymouth through, made a twelve-block circle through back streets, and returned.

He stopped in front of the small gate, and Captain Douglass got out and rang the bell. A moment later, the driveway gates opened, and Cynthia Chenowith’s La Salle convertible drove through. She pulled up on the wrong side of the street, nose to nose with the Navy Plymouth, and then unlocked the gate for Captain Douglass with her key.

Five minutes later, sirens screaming, a police car and an ambulance arrived.

By then, Cynthia Chenowith had telephoned Summer Place and gently broken the news to Barbara Whittaker.

The White House Washington, D.C. 9:25 P.M., December 7, 1941

After he left the President, Colonel William Donovan found Captain Peter Douglass in the staff cafeteria drinking coffee with boatswain’s mate Ellis.

Both stood up when he approached the table.

‘‘Colonel,’’ Douglass said, ‘‘this is Boatswain Ellis. I’ve learned he can be counted on in a pinch, and I’ve told him I’m going to have him reassigned to us.’’

Donovan gave Ellis a quick but penetrating look. It had obviously been necessary to bring this enlisted man into whatever was going on. Douglass would have done that only if he found it necessary, and then only if he believed Ellis could be trusted. Donovan put out his hand.

‘‘Welcome aboard,’’ he said.

‘‘Thank you, sir,’’ Ellis said.

‘‘You can tell me what’s happened on the way to the office,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘You have a Navy car?’’

‘‘Yes, sir,’’ Ellis said.

Donovan led the way out of the cafeteria to the parking lot.

‘‘I don’t know where to go, sir,’’ Ellis said after he’d gotten behind the wheel.

‘‘The office is at Twenty-fifth and E, the National Institute of Health,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘But what happened in the house on Q Street?"

‘‘Mr. Whittaker died of a stroke,’’ Douglass said, ‘‘in the bedroom of the garage apartment.’’

‘‘What was he doing in the garage apartment?’’ Donovan asked curiously.

‘‘The police believe that when I went to pick him up to bring him to the White House, I rang the bell in the gate in the wall. There was no response. But Miss Chenowith, who was leaving to have dinner with friends, stopped and asked if she could help. I told her why I was there, and she let me into the house. We found Mr. Whittaker in his shower. He had apparently suffered a stroke an hour before, shortly after you called to tell him when I would pick him up.’’

Donovan thought that over for a moment. The story was credible. It was unlikely that anyone would challenge it.

‘‘What shape is she in?’’ Donovan asked. ‘‘The girl, I mean?’’

‘‘Miss Chenowith telephoned Mrs. Whittaker and broke the news to her,’’ Douglass said. ‘‘And then made the arrangements for the funeral director to pick up Mr. Whittaker’s body from the morgue. I took it upon myself to ask Dr. Grubb to go to the morgue, examine the body, and sign the death certificate.’’

‘‘And he did?’’

‘‘Ellis took him there, and then home. Dr. Grubb felt there was no need for an autopsy; the cause of death was obvious to him.’’

‘‘Does Dr. Grubb know where the body was found?’’ Donovan asked.