Swimming With the Dead (17 page)

I continued down the dock.  The boats were ghostly shapes against the gray sky.  He had to be down here somewhere.  Careful, Sampson, I reminded myself.  I saw something move up ahead, one boat that was swaying out of sync with the others.  It was huge, had 502 etched on the side and under it the name,
Jubilation
, out of New York. 

I stepped silently on board.  The companionway was open, a black hole into the space below.  I was going to have to make my way down.  I crept across the cockpit, which for some reason had two steering wheels, one on each side.  I didn’t take the time to try to figure out why.

I peered into the opening but could see absolutely nothing.  I waited, trying to get some feel for the space below, hoping for some indication of where he might be.  I knew he was on this boat.  Then I heard it—a click.  It sounded like it came from right at the bottom of the stairs.

I started down, thankful now that I had left my shoes behind.  As I touched the bottom step, moonlight filtered into the cabin, illuminating the galley and eating area.  The boat smelled musty, like wet beach towels left in a heap for a week.  Evidence of recent inhabitants littered the countertops—cereal boxes, a peanut butter jar, opened cookies, some overripe bananas.  The only place one could hide in the main cabin was under the table.  Squatting, I discovered only a Snickers wrapper.

That left the four doors, one off each corner of the main cabin.  I checked the nearest, which was behind and to the left of the stairs.  A quick glance revealed a compact space with a double bunk and a small bench.  No one inside.  Another door opened off the sleeping quarters.  I opened it quickly, gun ready.  It was the damned head, about the size of a refrigerator, with a sink and toilet.  Empty.  I checked the cabin and head on the other side of the stairs.  They were a mirror image of the first.  Again nothing. 

Okay, I thought, he had to be in one of the other two in the front section of the boat.  I could sense his presence.  At the third door, I turned the handle and was about to burst in quickly with my gun raised when the door was pulled from my grasp and the man nailed me fullback fashion.  I ended up on the floor between the table and the seats, tangled in sticky plastic cushions.  I’d managed one shot, which I knew had missed.  Someone was not going to be happy about the hole I had put in the bottom of the boat.

I could hear him up top as I scrambled up the steps.  When I reached the cockpit, he was jumping onto the boat alongside.  I followed, making it onto one boat as he jumped to the next.

Lights were coming on belowdecks, and confused and angry voices mumbled, “What the hell was that?”  I supposed people didn’t like having others scrambling around on the bows of their boats in the middle of the night in a peaceful harbor.

Pretty soon we had run out of boats.  We were at the end of the line, so to speak, on the deck of the last boat in the row.  He had no place to go but into the water.  He turned.  He had a wrench in hand but immediately realized it was no match for the gun I had pointed at his chest.

“Hold it right there,” I said, hoping he would not jump and that I would not be forced to fire at him in the water.  I didn’t like shooting at people whose motives I didn’t know.  After all, this could be some punk after my loose change, but then I remembered the pillow.

“Okay,” he said, fear and resignation crossing his face, “don’ be shootin’ me, ma’am.”

About then I saw his expression change and his eyes focused on something at my feet.  Shit.

The next instant, my feet were yanked out from under me.  I caught a blurred glimpse of the other man, standing in the dinghy alongside the boat, right before my head made contact.  You know how it is when your feet fly out from beneath you on the ice?  Only then it’s usually your tailbone that is fractured and bruised for months.  My head made hard contact with the steel cleat and then the metal edge of the boat.  I was aware for only an instant of the salty liquid that flushed into my lungs.

Chapter 16

I awoke to that same awful salt.  I was sputtering and coughing it all over the front of my shirt.  A drenched Richard Head, hair stuck to his brow and water running down his face, leaned over me.  Obviously, he had been practicing his CPR. 

“Jeez, I didn’t think you were going to come back for a minute there,” he said, breathless.

A circle of boat shoes and flip-flops surrounded me.  I recognized Dick’s wife.  The others were strangers, no doubt the owners of those disgruntled voices, awakened by gunshots and the pounding of feet across their decks. 

When I tried to sit up, a wave of nausea and pain swept over me. 

“Better just lie still,” Dick’s wife said.  “You’ve got a really nasty cut above your eye, probably at minimum a concussion, maybe a skull fracture, not to mention all the bruising.  We’ve called an ambulance.”

“Oh, I don’t think I need an ambulance,” I said as I pulled a bloody hand away from my forehead and turned to deposit digested tuna steak on the dock.

“Sure,” she said. “You’re lucky to be alive.  You were in the process of sinking to the bottom for good when Dick dove in and pulled you out.  You’re in no shape to return to your room.  You need to be X-rayed and monitored for twenty-four hours.”

“Emma has raised four sons,” Dick said.  “Been through it all, broken arms, fractured ribs, concussions.  She’s not about to let you go anywhere but the hospital, so you better just lie back and relax.”

I was beginning to think they were right.  I was barely holding on to reality as the world kind of swirled around me.

Next thing I knew, I was lying between crisp white sheets in a room I did not recognize.  A large woman with a British accent was taking my blood pressure.

“About time you joined us for this fine day, love,” she said.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Gettin’ close to four o’clock in the afternoon.  You’ve been out for a good twelve hours.  The doctor will be in soon.”

I felt like shit.  My mouth was not only salty but dry, and my head felt like it was filled with wet cotton and gripped in a vise.  A strip of bandages was wrapped above my ears.  I hoped they’d used something colorful.

Before I could respond to the tap at the door, an Ichabod Crane look-alike came in.  “Hello, I’m Dr. Hall.  How are you feeling?”

“Oh, great,” I said. “I’m ready to be freed.”

“You’ve had a serious concussion.  You’re fortunate there was no fracture and there is very little swelling.  It took eleven stitches to close up the wound.  It would be best if you spent the night, just to make sure that swelling doesn’t develop.  Besides, you’re going to feel pretty punk for the next few days.”

He did a bit of poking and prodding, shone a light in my eyes, said he’d check in with me in the morning, and left. 

As he walked out, he ran into John Dunn.

“Ms. Sampson,” Dunn said.  “Glad to see you’re alive.  Not even a week in our fine country and already in the hospital.  I’d say trouble follows you.”

He planted himself in the chair next to the bed, opened the box of chocolates he’d brought, and helped himself to one before setting it beside my bed.  This guy was reminding me more of Mack every time I saw him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m fine.  Thanks for the chocolate.”

“You don’t look that great,” he said, choosing a peanut cluster from the box.  “Want to tell me what happened?  I’ve talked to the folks down at the marina, guy who pulled you out, a couple of others.  They couldn’t tell me much.  Most of them heard a gunshot and the footsteps across their bows.  By the time anyone was above deck, the speedboat was pulling away.  No one got much of a look.  Most agree it was one of those sleek racing affairs, fast and low in the water.  That describes about five hundred boats in the region.”

I told him about the guy in my room.  I figured the naked Adonis of my dream wasn’t relevant and started at the point when I woke up to a pillow crushed into my face.  “Last thing I remember is someone grabbing my ankles.”

“Can you describe the intruder?” he asked.

“It was pretty dark, but I think I’d know him if I saw him again.  He was big, black, around twenty-five or thirty.  He obviously had a partner.  God, I walked right into it.  How did he get into my room?”

“The lock on the sliding door has been jimmied.  It didn’t take much, probably just a quick turn with a screwdriver.  Did you get a look at the other man?”

“It happened too fast.  One minute I’ve got the guy cornered and the next I’m in the water.  Never heard or saw anyone.” 

“He must have been waiting out there the whole time.  Was probably standing down below you in his boat, grabbed you, and pulled you down and into the water.  Then they both took off.”

“I guess someone doesn’t like my being here, asking questions about Michael’s death,” I said.  “Unless of course you think this was some random act of violence.  Robbery.”  I hadn’t mentioned my encounter with the blue Honda to Dunn.

“Have to admit it doesn’t happen much down here.  Sure, we have plenty of burglaries, but usually of empty residences, and there are no murder attempts.  Just what have you come up with, anyway?  It would have to be important.  Otherwise all they’re doing by attacking you is raising more questions about Michael Duvall’s death.”

“Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be around today to talk about it,” I said.  “You know, just disappear, dispose of the body out to sea.  Then spread the word that I had returned to the States.”

“Who have you talked to?” Dunn asked.

“Peter O’Brien, Lydia Stewart.  Her dad came into the restaurant last night raging at me.  The guy was ballistic.”

“Yeah, Arthur,” he said.  “He’s a tyrant, all right, and he’s used to getting his way.  He’ll never control Lydia though.  It eats at him.  Anyone else?”

“Couple of guys down at the dock, Ralph Maynard over at Environment and Fisheries, James Constantine, Harry Acuff, and Edmund Carr.”

“No one you’ve mentioned stands out as trouble, except Stewart,” he said.  “Though by now, half the island knows who you are and what you’re up to.  By tomorrow, the other half will know too.  I’ll do some checking.  Maybe someone else saw something last night.” 

I hadn’t bothered to tell Dunn about the pipe I’d retrieved from under the compressor, or about the piece of netting and the schematic of the ship I found on Michael’s boat yesterday.  I’d intended to have the pipe checked for prints without involving Dunn.  When I mentioned it now, he was angry that I hadn’t turned evidence over to him the moment I’d found it.  But damn, I’d been sure he’d just dump the stuff in a closet.  So maybe I’d been wrong.

“You must have uncovered something or threatened someone,” he said.  “As soon as you’re up and around, we need to have a long conversation.  I want to be kept informed.”

“Okay, Chief,” I agreed.  I told him about the Honda and asked him to run the partial plate number and to dust the
Lucky Lady
for prints.

“Must be a couple of thousand blue Hondas on the island, but I’ll have it checked.  See what comes up.  And I’ll have someone over to dust the boat today.”

“One other thing.  Can you get Michael’s phone records?”

“I’ll work on it,” he said.  “And I want that pipe.  I’ll have it checked for prints and try to find out where it might have come from.”  He grabbed a couple more chocolates on his way out the door.

I found my clothes without a trace of salt or blood neatly folded in the closet.  It was a real chore getting into them.  Every once in a while things started floating around me, kind of like the feeling you have when the Tilt-A-Whirl has stopped and you’re still moving.  I spent a good ten minutes pulling on my pants and shirt. 

I was sitting on my bed working on restoring equilibrium and bemoaning the fact that I had no shoes when Peter O’Brien walked in.

“Hannah, are you supposed to be up?” he asked.  He held a bunch of pink and purple flowers in one hand.  In the other, he held a pair of flip-flops, same brilliant hues.

“I was here earlier.  You were asleep.  Nurse told me you were shoeless when you came in, so I picked these up.  Didn’t think you’d need them right away, though,” he said, noticing my amused look.  “Hey, they’re all I could find on such short notice.  I thought they were kind of colorful.  My practiced eye estimated a size seven.”

“Good guess.”  Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that O’Brien knew his way around women’s clothing.  “Thank you, and also for the flowers.”

“You don’t really look like you should be getting dressed.”

“I’m okay.  Just a little tipsy now and then.  I need to get out of here.  I hate hospitals, and you should see the doctor.  He looks half dead himself.  He gave me the okay to leave,” I lied. 

O’Brien insisted on driving me back to my hotel and on staying until he knew I was not going to pass out on the way to the bathroom.  He actually tucked me under the covers for a nap.

“You make a good mother,” I said.

“I’ve asked the staff to keep an eye on things and to call Dunn if anyone seems suspicious.  The hotel has repaired the lock on the sliding door, and it’s been reinforced with a metal bar across the bottom.  I’ll check on you later,” he said, pulling the door closed and ensuring that it locked behind him.

I was asleep when Dunn came by to pick up the pipe.  “You’re lucky I’m not going to charge you with withholding evidence,” he said.  I thought he was joking but with Dunn it was hard to tell.

I retrieved the pipe, still preserved in seawater inside the PVC tube, from the shelf of the closet.  Then it dawned on me.  I’d been too out of it to notice when I’d gotten back to the room.

“Damn,” I muttered.  I checked the bathroom, tore the bed covers apart, looked under the bed, then searched the entire place again as Dunn watched in confusion. 

My backpack, with the ship’s diagram inside, was gone.

Chapter 17

The side of my face, from hairline to just below my cheekbone, looked like the ugly paisley skirt that I’d considered cool at sixteen.  After Dunn left, I slept for another twelve hours.