Dead in the Water (9 page)

"Off'cer, quick, there's a dead man in the boat."

I nodded. "I know. Just a minute."

The man leaned against the wall, looking as if he was going to throw up while at the other end of the phone line Murphy read back the description of Pardoe. I heard it through, then went over the instructions again. He said "Check" and I asked him, "One last thing, have you got the funeral parlor's number handy?" He had it in the office book of primary numbers. He read it off and I scribbled it on the wall. "Thanks, Murph. See you soon."

I hung up and dialed the funeral parlor.

A somber voice said, "McKenney's, at your service."

I told him, "Chief Bennett. Is Mr. Fullwell still there, please?"

The voice lost its professional ring, became humanly excited. "Sure is, going over the same stuff you did."

"Great, can I speak to him, please?"

"Right away." The phone was laid down and I could hear the faint sugar of organ music over the wire for a moment. Then a clatter and Fullwell spoke: "Yes, Chief?"

"Hi. There's been another development. I've found the body of our second missing guy."

"Which one?"

I told him and added: "His throat was cut, professionally it looks to me."

"Where was he?"

"The police boat he stole. I'd say he was rendezvousing with another boat. I'm up at the north lock with him now."

Fullwell asked the obvious question. "Any chance of isolating the boat that was involved?"

"I figure to close the locks at both ends. We'll check every boat that comes through for bloodstains or obvious clues of any kind. Plus any boats going in get a slip stamped with something from the office, that way we know who was in here at the time of the killing."

There was a pause, then he asked, "Who's going to seal off this end while you investigate?"

"Any chance of your doing it?" It was unfair of me, but I needed help quick.

"I'll get down there right away. I'll explain I'm your deputy and give people a slip marked with my initials if they come in. Keep me posted, will you?"

"Count on it. Meantime, I've got Pardoe on the telex, wanted for questioning."

"Good. Maybe the sonofabitch did them both." He hung up in mid-thought.

I hung up and got a tarpaulin from the lockkeeper. Then I went back down to the boat. The crowd had already gathered. They were staying out of Sam's way, but there was a picnic table on the grass and they were clambering on one another's shoulders to get a look into the boat. The camera flashbulbs were going off like it was opening night at the theater. I went by them all and into the patroled area, pausing to stoop and pat Sam on the head and tell him he was a good dog. Without him the boat would have become a mass of useless fingerprints by now.

I unfolded the tarp and swung it over the body, shaking it a couple of times first to shoosh off the flies. I was glad to be rid of the vision of the blind, staring face and the ugly mouth of the wound, peeling back minute by minute in the ferocity of the sun. It reminded me of Viet Nam after an ambush and dead friends, lying like spoiled meat. My stomach heaved with the memory of times I had caused wounds as fatal.

I went past Sam, patting him again, and picked up the lockkeeper from the crowd where he stood bristling, angry that he hadn't been able to get through to look at Winslow. I asked him, "How many boats have come north, out of the basin, since one o'clock?"

People called out numbers like it was a bingo game. "Thirty." "Twenty." "Fifteen."

I told the lockkeeper, "Let's go inside."

He puffed after me up the slope, playing his scene to the hilt. "What about these people? I can't keep them all hanging around all day."

I ignored him till we were inside. He was puffing, pinker than ever. The others packed behind him to the door, a clutter of vacationers, guys and girls in shorts, one or two of them in swimsuits. I smiled at them like an idiot and shut the door. "I'm investigating a homicide," I reminded him. "Ross Winslow's dead with his throat cut. I figure homicide comes higher on the list than holidays."

He digested the thought for a moment, then said, "Shit" in a voice that showed he had finally gotten the message.

"So okay, how many boats have come up from the basin?"

He rubbed a few of his chins. "I don't have to keep records, you know."

"And you don't have to drink beer in a public place, either, so let's try to remember."

He looked blank. His head wasn't working. Maybe it never had worked worth a damn. He was some councilor's brother-in-law and the job had come to him because he happened to be there. I gave him a lead. "It takes what-five minutes-for the lock to fill?"

He nodded, slowly.

"So it's now—" I checked my watch—"two thirty. If you'd let six boats at a time through, that would be a maximum of fifteen times six; ninety boats."

He adjusted the figure for me. "No, it takes just as long to let a load down again."

"Okay, so you've let a maximum of fifty-four boats out."

He thought about it and nodded again. "Yeah, that sounds right."

Outside the shack Sam was barking like a metronome as he patroled. And the sunworshipers were jammed against the shack door as if we were the last lifeboat on the
Titanic
. They were talking, laughing, animated by the greatest excitement of their lifetime. I looked at them and felt the same sense of futility that every policeman fights when someone is killed. It's an event, a cause for celebration. I could have sold tickets at ten bucks a throw.

The fat man was looking out at them, licking lips made dry by fear and pressure. His armpits were seeping and the shack was filled with the smell of his fear.

I asked him, "Remember anyone excited, nervous?"

The heavy head shook.

"Anybody noisy? Or too quiet?"

He started to whine. "Come on. I see a coupla hundred boats a day this time o' year."

I leaned back against the wall. "It's gonna get a lot hotter in here," I said easily.

He got the message. I watched him as he frowned, mentally turning his eyes inside out to get the replay of his afternoon. "There was a big American boat, from Ohio. There was a woman on board, kind of drunk."

I nodded. It didn't sound like my boat, but at least his head was working again. He spluttered on, remembering all he could, including the yacht whose captain had handed him the beer. None of it made any sense to my idea of what had happened, but I noted down the things he thought were different. It gave me nothing. He was a dull man doing a repetitious job. He might possibly have remembered a nude; other than that, he never noticed a damn thing until somebody pointed it out to him. I thanked him and turned him loose while I phoned the marina and spoke to the boss, Walter Puckrin.

He was breathing hard with exertion. When I spoke he said, "You sure pick your times, Reid; I was just beaching a cruiser."

"That's why I'm calling, Walt. There's been a homicide. Must have been done by somebody in a boat. I want you to keep a check on anybody who takes a boat out of the lake. Like the cruiser—how long's it been at your place?"

"Since 'leven. The people had their lunch over at the hotel." He was unusual for a countryman. He gave his facts first before asking his questions. "Who got killed?"

I told him and said it might be a suicide, then cut off his run of questions. He promised to keep a good lookout for anything unusual going out of the lake. He also told me what I didn't want to hear. "There's gotta be a hundred places around this lake where a feller could take out his boat. How you gonna watch them all?"

It took me a minute to think of a way. I dialed information and got the number of a radio station in Toronto. Then I bargained with them to send their helicopter up to mind the store for me, keeping tabs on boats coming out of the lake until dark. In return, they were the only place I gave news to about the killing. I was lucky. There wasn't a rock concert or a ball game or an earthquake or any other entertainment going on, so they settled for murder and helping the police.

I was hanging up as Murphy came in, white faced. He looked as if he was on the edge. One touch of sympathy and he'd fall into a well of misery. I kept it business. "Thanks. Got the trailer?"

He nodded. "Where's the boat?"

"Down the end of the grass, there's a beaching ramp there."

"I'll back down," he said and limped out to the car.

I waited for him at the edge of the crowd as they flowed into a new shape around me, like flies looking for fresh meat. I smiled nice and blankly and ignored them, keeping them back out of the way of the trailer as Murphy backed down into the magic circle where Sam patroled, tirelessly barking and snarling. I untied the bowline from the boat I'd borrowed and towed the police boat to the beaching ramp. It was easier to wade in knee deep than screw around at the edge and take the risk of touching the inside of the boat, so I stepped in. The crowd cheered as if I'd scored a goal. We winched the bowline up and pulled the boat up on the trailer. Everybody wanted to be part of it. I saw Murphy stiffen when somebody said, "Why'n't he let me help? That old guy's a goddamn cripple." He said nothing and we snugged up the rope that held the boat on. Then I went around to the driver's side. "Did you bring the date stamp from the station?"

"Right here." He reached down beside him and held it up, not looking at what he was doing.

"Can you take over checking the boats?" I should have been sterner. It sounded like I didn't trust him.

"If it doesn't take running, I can do it," he said savagely.

"Okay. I know it seems thin, but it's all we can do for now. I wouldn't want a boat to get through with bloodstains on it."

"And if one of them does have, do you think he'll come up when he sees a search? He'll get out some place else."

"I thought of that. I've got it covered. There's a helicopter coming up right now."

"You called the OPP?" He was alarmed. I guessed he could see his job evaporating in the whirling blades of the chopper.

"No, a radio station." I filled him in and he nodded, seeming relieved.

"All right. I'll take the car. You take Sam," I said.

Murphy climbed out and I gave him Sam, who dropped silent immediately and padded with him toward the lockhouse. I was worried about Murphy's head being able to take the shock of losing his old friend, but with Sam along I wasn't worried about his having any trouble, even if he did find the guy with the knife.

I drove up and away as quickly as I could. I knew it would jolt the boat and disturb the body slightly but I was afraid that the souvenir hunters would mess up the boat if I let them get a slow pass at it.

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B
y the time I reached the station the radio helicopter was overhead. And I paid the price. There was a crowd around the station house as big as the one I'd just left at the lock. The roadway was packed with cars parked down both sides and the center of the road was jammed with young people, guys in muscle shirts, girls in next to nothing, all of them tuned to the blast of the radio station that was coming out of a dozen car speakers.

They didn't even notice that it was the police car. The beer was out and it seemed to me that at least one of the kids was stoned. But when I flicked the siren on, they parted quick enough and I drove up behind the station. The crowd came in after me, flashbulbs going off as if I had Jackie Onassis in the boat, not a stinking corpse. I stopped the car and went back to keep them off. They shouted and jostled until I stared them down, smiling the whole time so nobody would take offense and give me trouble.

When they were quiet I said, "Thanks. I am one and lo… you are many…" that got a roar. "And I've got a lot to do. I'd appreciate it if nobody comes close to the boat." Somebody called out, "Aw, why not?" in a groaning voice and the others laughed. I waited and then answered him.

"Because there's a dead man in there. I'm not sure if he's been murdered. But if somebody messes up one of the clues that I could find, then the guy who did it could get away. Will you help me?" They all cheered and roared and I knew I had them on my side—for five minutes.

I used the time well, ducking into the station for the things I would need. I was inside perhaps a minute but in that time the first wiseass moved into action. I came out to find him trying to tug the tarp off the boat. A lot of people were hissing at him but nobody was stopping him. They were too eager to see what was inside.

I came out and took him by the wrist, smiling into his face like a big happy moon. Even the people within two yards didn't hear as I told him, "Touch anything else and I'll take you inside and kick you in the balls. Understand?" His face fell open and he backed off, nodding.

I dropped my stuff on the grass that grew alongside the station and waved everyone back another few feet. Then I started taking the tarp off and immediately a dozen of them sprang forward. I stopped and stared them down and they backed off. I realized it was going to be hopeless. Then I saw an adult back in the crowd, a small guy in a shiny suit, a real estate salesman from the office in town. I called him over.

The kids parted to let him through, jeering and pulling him the way four year olds tussle the birthday boy, letting you know how much they want to be part of the action by acting casual.

He had the dignity of a lifetime's selling something people don't have much call for. He ignored the kids, pushing through them the way he would have pushed through the bush. His face was sweating and the armpits of his suit were dark, but he was my man, down to his six-dollar shoes.

"Yes, Chief?" he said politely.

I took him by the shoulder and led him down the side of the station, past the end of the boat. I had to turn and evil eye the crowd to keep them back. They came to the end of their string and paused, waiting for me to relax. I leveled with Curtis. "Listen, Bill, I've got a dead man in that boat and no help."

"Yeah?" It was a delighted question. I'd just offered him a ticket to the horror show and he was eager.