by B. V. Lawson
Chapter 33
Monday 22 March
Maida let Drayco sleep late on Monday, but a late-morning call from Sheriff Sailor lured Drayco to the downtown docks. Sailor had filled him in about a local man’s death the Sheriff and Nelia were involved with earlier, but Sailor didn’t think it was related to the Keys’ murders. It made Drayco feel a little guilty Sailor had been up and on the job early.
Drayco watched a man in a neoprene wetsuit slide down the tie rope into foamy water, dodging piles of driftwood, plastic bottles and Styrofoam containers washed against the pier’s stanchions. As the diver’s head sink beneath the waves, Sailor said, “That’s his third time down and his last. Water’s above freezing, but not much. You a diver?”
“I’m supposed to be diving in Cancun right now. I think I’ll let your deputy handle this one. I don’t fancy being turned into an ice cube.”
“Could suit you up anyway. Be good for that gimpy leg. Get the circulation flowing.”
“If I drink antifreeze first, perhaps. You say a witness swears they saw someone dump a gun down there?”
“A reliable fellow. It was dark so I’m not holding out much hope.” The sheriff clenched his jaw constantly now. Drayco hoped he had a good dental plan.
“I don’t think you’ve taken a day off since the day Oakley was killed, Sheriff.”
“Thanks to TV dramas, the public thinks I should’ve solved this thing in an hour.”
“More like forty minutes, if you don’t count the commercials.” Drayco concentrated on the spot where the diver descended, but no head emerged. A flash of a brown uniform caught his attention as it moved toward them from the side. “Tyler’s being given a trial by fire her first month on the job.”
“I told her not to get used to working a murder case. It’ll be back to bar fights and domestic disputes in no time.”
Nelia caught up to them and smiled at Drayco, “Hello again. I was hoping to see you.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I missed my vacation to Cancun, after all.” He pointed at a small notebook in her hand, identical to the type Sailor used. “What have you got there?”
She opened it up to show it was filled with her scribbled notations. “Per your suggestion, I located Oakley’s advisor from college. He said Oakley was hardworking and ambitious, with a double major in English and History.”
The sheriff butted in, “And here I expected geography or geology, so we might have a ‘G’ to go on.”
Nelia continued, “Oakley did a massive senior thesis on genealogy—there’s a ‘G’ for you—focusing on Europeans after World War II. I also scanned a few of Oakley’s books at his house. Books on the war, some tour guides. Decent writing, but they’re out of print. He didn’t have anything published beyond 2005, except a monthly column for a British expat magazine, à la Alistair Cooke. I haven’t gone through them, since there are a hundred or so.”
The sheriff added, “If you’d like some torture, Drayco, they’re all yours.”
“This professor couldn’t add anything else? Nothing unusual?”
Nelia consulted her notes. “No scandals, no skeletons, no controversy. Oakley wasn’t a sociable kid, bright but otherwise ordinary.”
Drayco asked, “You said Oakley’s senior thesis was on genealogy? Yet he never wrote a book on that subject. Wonder why?”
Nelia replied, “Perhaps he didn’t think it would be profitable. Or he couldn’t interest a publisher.”
“Was there a copy of that thesis?”
“The school doesn’t keep copies of undergrad works. The university also has no records of roommates.”
“Sorry to have wasted your time with a dead end, Tyler.”
“Ya never know.”
“As penance, I’ll check Oakley’s columns for clues.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s a big box.”
“I’ll be sure and drop it on my foot. I can sue the county government for pain and suffering and use the money to restore the Opera House.”
The sheriff grumbled, “Wish you better luck coaxing money out of the Board. They make Scrooge look like Andrew Carnegie.”
Drayco pulled a thick envelope out of the briefcase lying at his feet, and pulled out a rubber-banded sheaf of papers. “Here’s a copy of another Oakley manuscript, one Earl gave me. Note the unusual inscription.”
Sailor perused it. “Odd indeed.”
Nelia peered over the sheriff’s shoulder and read aloud, “‘May we find those valuable things that lie hidden from us and discover what is rightfully ours.’ Did he think there’s buried treasure on his property? And that’s why he didn’t want to sell?”
The sheriff replied, “If so, why isn’t there evidence of digging? Oakley’s lawn was more immaculate than Cypress Manor’s. Since he was murdered at the Opera House, maybe he thought something was buried there.”
Drayco sighed. “Ask me how excited I am about hiring an excavation crew. Yet Oakley didn’t have any tools on him and was hardly dressed for archaeology. Not so much as a pith helmet.”
Nelia grinned, “You do realize that’s an outdated stereotype.”
“Is it?” He put a hand over his heart. “There goes another one of my cherished romantic notions.” He was glad to see her impish grin and relaxed stance. He’d found out she was one of only two women on the force, and her body language was a sign she was holding her own with her new boss and testosterone-heavy co-workers.
Sailor gave the manuscript back to Drayco, who crammed it in the envelope and asked, “Who gets reading honors this time?”
Sailor pointed at Nelia. “Since she’s becoming Oakley’s librarian, I’ll have to go with Tyler.”
Drayco handed the envelope to Nelia, who asked, “I’ve been wanting to ask you something. Sheriff Sailor said your father was a former FBI agent? Did he retire or ...?”
“He decided to go into private practice. Got tired of paperwork.”
“Like you?”
“Me? I headed for the fabulous riches of self-employment.”
She sighted Drayco’s ancient car with its dents and dings. “And the riches the Opera House will bring.”
Drayco grinned. “After several million dollars spent restoring the place first. But don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll make that amount on my next case.”
“The case of the client who bequeaths you something practical?”
“A Van Gogh painting or the Hope Diamond? Hope so. Leonora needs body work and in D.C. nothing comes cheap.”
She stifled a laugh. “Leonora?”
“My car. She’s seen me through several murders, kidnappings, thefts, forgeries and other fun times. She’s a trouper.”
“Leonora—the Beethoven heroine?”
Drayco was momentarily speechless. “A literary sheriff and a musical deputy?”
Nelia rolled her eyes in mock indignation. “Not all small-town constabulary are uncultured savages, although I’m more of a blues girl, myself. But isn’t a Starfire too, well, eye-catching for surveillance?”
“I’ve got the GSC for that.”
“GSC?”
“My generic silver Camry. I keep it parked in the garage at my office. Although if I want to blend in around D.C. these days, I should get a Prius or a Jaguar, depending upon which end of the political spectrum you’re on.”
Nelia laughed. “I guess that leaves my Chevy Malibu square in the middle. I always did feel like an independent.” Nelia hesitated briefly, as if she was going to add something, but waved at them and headed over to the pier, where the diver stayed submerged.
As the sheriff looked from Drayco to the departing Nelia, he didn’t utter any warnings this time, but his voice was rough. “The techs got back to me on that newspaper clipping and the two orange powder capsules. The handwriting on the clipping matches Oakley’s, so it could be from his stolen files. The capsules turned out to be cayenne pepper.”
“Ordinary cayenne?”
“You can find the pills in health food st
ores and the corner Safeway. And we did get a partial cast on that shoe print. Haven’t matched it up yet. But we’ll need a suspect first. Then a warrant.”
Sailor grabbed his own pocket notebook and flipped it open. “Per your other tip, we tracked down a woman named O’Hannon who lived near London, first name Arlene.”
Drayco said, “Oakley’s adopted mother. She’s dead, isn’t she?”
“Ten years ago. How’d you know?”
“You and Nanette both said Oakley’s mysterious business trips ended around that time. I’d guessed they were visits to his mother. And he no longer needed to travel there after her death.”
Sailor slipped the notepad back into his pocket. “That’s a pretty big guess.”
“The adopted part was a hunch. Bendek started me thinking along those lines. And, although Oakley told Darcie he had a mother, he indicated to Major Jepson he was an orphan. Being adopted fits both. The fact the mystery trips involved his mother and not a mistress or shady business dealings—Oakley didn’t leave a paper trail, hard to believe from someone who didn’t own a computer. The missing file box was too small to store years of incriminating documents. He had no friends to cover for him. Except Darcie, who said he never gave her any papers to keep.”
The sheriff stayed silent for a moment. “Did Mrs. Squier tell you how her family, the Gentners, lost their land in a tax dispute? Be worth a small fortune now. I always wondered why Squier would marry a penniless woman, even a looker like Darcie. The Gentners may have a few secret money stashes. Darcie remains a suspect in my book.” Sailor rubbed the back of his neck. “Looks like you didn’t heed my warning about the councilman’s wife.”
“Whatever it takes to investigate.”
Sailor didn’t comment further. “But why all the secrecy on Oakley’s part over his heritage? Why the different last name, Keys and not O’Hannon?”
Drayco shook his head. “I’ve got a theory or two. Nothing concrete.”
The sheriff clenched his jaw. Their detente only stretched so far, and Drayco hated to withhold anything. But if he were wrong, having the sheriff follow his own line of investigation was best. If Drayco had trusted his instincts more on the Cadden case, two children might still be alive.
Sailor took off his hat and inspected the brim, which had picked up some debris from the wind, before putting it back on. “I’ll trade you wild theories. I’m bringing Reece Wable in for questioning.”
Reece was high on Drayco’s list at first. But now he realized how far down Reece had dropped, clinging to the page by a chad, despite the possible Reece-Squier link. “This is the first you’ve mentioned it. What’s changed?”
“An anonymous tip. Checked out the trunk of Reece’s car and lo’ and behold we found a bloodied knife wrapped in cloth. Dried blood, not fresh, no prints on the knife—”
“You can’t arrest him for that.”
“We’ll have to match that knife to the cuts on Oakley and get a blood type. The knife from the dumpster behind Earl’s gun shop might be the wrong one.”
“Even though the first knife was the right blood type? An anonymous tip, Sheriff? And a second knife with blood on it?”
“I admit it feels hinky. But I also checked up on that story Wable mentioned, the run-in with a private eye. Wable was driving a car involved in an accident that killed his passenger, an antiques dealer. The doctors said it was a pre-existing aneurysm. The deceased’s relatives claimed Wable had it in for the guy because he stole some document Wable wanted. They were pushing for manslaughter.”
“Any evidence for the charge?”
“The detective didn’t find anything. Neither did our department at the time.”
“You must have more than that to bring Reece in.”
“A witness heard Oakley and Reece arguing the day before he was murdered. Apparently Oakley accused Reece of having an affair with Nanette.”
Drayco wanted to cheer at the thought of Nanette getting back at Oakley for all those years of one affair after another, but he had a hard time imagining Reece and Nanette together, despite her indiscretions with Earl Yaegle. Perhaps there really was something in the water, an escaped mutagenic bug from Fort Detrick’s biomedical labs that altered pheromones. He’d listened to far too many of his former FBI partner’s summaries of his favorite sci-fi movies.
“Is this witness solid, Sheriff?”
“Well,” Sailor hemmed. “She’s one of these overly-eager lonely widows who’s always calling our office with tips. I think she’s too partial to peach schnapps, frankly. But Reece Wable has motive, opportunity and there’s the knife.”
Drayco wanted to point out that several others, including Earl Yaegle and especially Randolph Squier had equally good cases against them, but he didn’t. “Maida said you’d called about the coyote autopsy but didn’t give specifics.”
“Your arms are safe, no needles for you. The coyote—not an ordinary coyote, but a coyote-wolf hybrid—wasn’t rabid.”
“Then why did it attack?”
“She apparently gave birth not too long ago.”
Drayco’s spirits sank even more at that. A mother defending her brood. “Any way to find the litter?”
“I asked a wildlife rescue friend to check, but it’s been a couple days. Not much hope.”
One dead coyote mother, never to return to the hungry cubs. Was there anything he could have done differently during the attack? It was like being in the Bureau, second-guessing your actions. Wondering if only you’d chosen another course of action, the bad guy wouldn’t have gotten away. Or your partner wouldn’t be lying in the hospital. Or the Cadden twins would be alive to see their next birthday. Second-guessing broke more cops and agents than anything else.
A shout from the pier drew their attention toward Nelia as the diver handed her an object, and she dropped it into a plastic bag. The sheriff and Drayco walked over for a closer inspection. It was a gun all right, waterlogged with some seaweed clinging to it.
“Looks like a Webley to me,” the sheriff grinned.
Drayco studied the gun. “It’s the right vintage. Think the state lab will be able to run a quick comparison with the.455 bullet from the Opera House?”
“Wouldn’t count on it. Right now, I should get my depu-sicle back to drier quarters.”
Drayco waited until Nelia and the deputy diver took off in one car and the sheriff followed in the other, then surveyed the pier and dock. Not the best time of year to show them off, with only a couple of covered boats and lots of empty slips. It was a shame he couldn’t arrange a trip to the Atlantic-side barrier islands, closed for all but a few months to protect nesting birds.
With one last eyeballing of the pier, he headed to the Starfire. He didn’t get far, because Paddy Bakely was blocking the door. It wasn’t noon, yet Paddy’s speech was already slurred, his eyes and nose beet-red. “Why did you have to come here?” he shouted. “You’ve messed everything up.”
“What do you mean?” Drayco hoped engaging Paddy in conversation would calm him down.
“You’re in love with her. And the way she looks at you.”
“Who?”
“Worse than Rockingham, you are. You’ll tear the place down and my Daddy’ll be out of a job. But it’ll give all those wetbacks jobs, won’t it? Jobs that shoulda gone to law-abiding taxpayers, that’s what.”
Taxpayers? It was hard to believe Paddy paid any taxes in his life since he’d never held a steady job. And Drayco doubted anyone would place Paddy and “law-abiding” in the same sentence.
He didn’t think Paddy’s voice could get much louder, but it did. “All we want is what’s rightfully ours.” Paddy moved closer to Drayco and grabbed an arm with both of his hands. He was surprisingly strong. “Why don’t you go back to D.C. with those slimy maggots, goddamn you.”
Drayco heard a car pull up behind them, but Paddy’s eyes didn’t move toward it until a hand clapped Paddy on the shoulder, causing Paddy to spin around. The sheriff asked, “Is there a
problem?”
Drayco replied, “We were having ... a conversation.”
“Paddy’s had enough conversation for awhile. Why don’t you go over and get in the back of my car, Paddy. I’ll take you home.” Paddy’s defiant façade crumbled, and he started blubbering, tears streaming down his face. The sheriff nudged him toward the squad car. “Go on now.”
Drayco watched him lurch across the street. “Not a happy man.”
“He’s not going to find his answers inside a bottle.”
“If there are any answers to be had. Did you forget something, sheriff? Thought you were long gone.”
“Saw Paddy out the back of my rearview as I was leaving and had one of your famous hunches.”
“I like your hunches better.”
Sailor smiled grimly, “Just don’t go rogue on me, Drayco.”
Paddy’s face peered out the squad car window as the sheriff drove off a second time, resembling an abandoned puppy being hauled off to the pound. Who was the “she” he was afraid Drayco was stealing? Darcie? Paddy was a soul lost in a haze not entirely of his making. Drayco looked out over at the water of the Bay, a sight that usually made him feel at peace. Not this time. Only an empty horizon as far as the eyes could see.
Chapter 34
Drayco was alone at Cape Unity’s Powhatan Park this time. Both the sheriff and Maida would throw a fit if they knew he was here, but he wasn’t afraid of another animal attack. A human one, perhaps.
He headed toward the area where he discovered the Opera House clipping and orange capsule, but it was clear the sheriff’s team had been here, so he left well enough alone. That wasn’t the real reason he’d come, anyway.
Heading back toward the overlook, he stopped at the place where the coyote hybrid attacked him. The tree stump where he’d propped his leg sported a streak of his dried blood smeared against the side.
Drayco parked the mostly-empty box he was carrying onto the top of the rock, and using his compass, started a sweep to the north and then the west. A few steps forward, then listening, then a few more steps. It was a fool’s errand after three days, but he had to try.
