In the Blink of An Eye

by Jerry Baggett

  “I see something in the water. We’d better check it out.”

  He saw a dark shape in the surf, grabbed what looked like long hair and lifted it out of the water enough to see the face of a young woman, unresponsive. “She’s dead,” he called out. “Grab hold of the other arm. Let’s get her on shore and call the authorities.”

  Chapter 7

  The middle-aged man checked into the St. Catherine Hotel in Avalon. A few minutes later, he pulled out a map of the small island community. He feared his late-night walks around the small-town community might cause someone to report him as suspicious if detected. He wanted to avoid undue complications by floating beneath the radar of the sheriff’s department, if possible. All or most of the late evening activity appeared to take place along the popular waterfront promenade. He would be moving away from there after the crowds receded back into their hotel rooms or yachts in the harbor, to sleep off the remnants of a good time. He hoped to accomplish his goal and leave without anyone realizing he’d even been on the island. The man knew his action would be suspicious to any who might be watching, but felt the risk worth taking. He intended to keep coming back until he had what he wanted.

  A week later he was back again. He’d considered approaching the young woman, decided that a bad idea, and decided on his other option. He saw the big man was there for the time being and decided time was on his side. He would be back. He returned to his hotel and stretched out in bed to think about his objective. He knew the best laid plans were only as good as the planner’s ability to adjust while in play.

  Twenty-five years ago, he’d been a successful business man. Today, he was just another ex-convict, unusual only because he was a wealthy man. He’d lost twenty-five years of his life, the most productive twenty-five years, and he would make sure that someone pay. He believed the evidence proving him innocent was there waiting for him. Proving his innocence was secondary to his primary goal. He’d served his time and didn’t particularly give a damn about anything beyond his cause.

  His defense attorney had been less than adequate during the trial and the evidence against him was considered overwhelming. His business attorneys proved themselves much better at their profession. His personal and business assets had been liquidated, spread out into established trusts, according to his plan. His personal wellbeing, of no concern, at this time. He had even been provided a new driver’s license with picture ID. Protecting his recognizable identity was his greatest concern. He was determined not to be looked at as another ex-convict troublemaker.

  While in prison, he’d carefully followed the life and career of the woman through his attorneys. He knew her Aunt Clara had left her the home in Santa Monica, as well as the beach cottage on Catalina Island. The mainland home had been sold to pay for the girl’s education, including nursing school. Through his attorneys, with the aid of a private detective, he believed a large toy box, holding most of the girl’s childhood possessions and a few of her mother’s things, were stored in a storage facility in Santa Monica, the rest, on the island with the girl. Most had been with the woman’s furniture since the home had been sold. He knew everything depended on confirming that reasonable assumption.

  He was tired, but his mind refused to leave him alone. The terrible night of the woman’s killing still haunted him. He’d been there, alright, to visit the girl’s mother. She’d refused to see him. It had been easy for him to enter through the unlocked door. His finger prints were scattered throughout the kitchen where he’d been searching for what he now needed to get from the girl, herself. The woman had returned home with the little girl and gone straight to bed, with the child in bed with her. He’d planned on confronting her, face to face, after the child had been put to bed. He knew facing her while she was in bed would be a bad idea and slipped out the back.

  He’d waited outside a couple of minutes, before going back to his car. He heard the woman scream, followed by three, gun shots. He ran back into the dark room, saw a man moving about. He appeared to be stuffing something into a child’s backpack, then throwing it into a large toy box. He yelled as the man ran past him, out the back door and disappeared across the dark yard.

  He decided his own best option was to get the hell out of the area quickly. The damn neighbor from across the alley from where he’d parked saw him start his car and back out onto the street. He’d made it no more than five blocks before a police car pulled behind him, with the lights flashing.

  He finally figured out the killer had known he was in the house and placed a bloody knife in the kitchen where he’d been handling items on the counter. He didn’t know about the knife until later. He couldn’t decide if the killer intended the gun be found. The police allowed the child’s things, including the toy box, be removed from the crime scene by Aunt Clara and the person helping her.

  His efforts to tell the court what he had seen, failed. They had their man, their own scenario of events had played out, they didn’t believe him. His attorney demanded they find the toy box with the backpack and gun. It was not to be. The police said he disposed of the weapon after leaving the scene. Later, there’d been numerous reports of a prowler in the vicinity of the child and her Aunt Clara, leading to police protection. Only later had it made perfect sense to him. The knife was used to connect him to the murder. He knew more now. The killer wants his gun back and he wants the killer.

  He knows who the bastard was working for and perhaps even the killer, himself. Everything had fallen into place, his last year in prison.

  Chapter 8

  He walked confidently through the front door of King Neptune’s Bar and Seafood restaurant and asked for the manager. He’d been there several times and liked what he saw. He sat down at the counter and waited for the owner. After his release from prison, Grant’s greatest pleasure had been stuffing himself with modern restaurant food, impressed, with the variety and preparation. It could be fun working here, he thought.

  Tony Langston entered from the kitchen, wiping his hands. “Hi, what can I do for you?”

  Grant extended his hand. “I’m Grant Davis. I retired from the US Coast Guard recently and I’m looking for something to keep me busy. I thought I might enjoy working with food preparation or something else in the restaurant business. Would you have something available or, perhaps, a suggestion?” He thought Langston might be in his early fifties, slightly overweight.

  Langston looked at Grant for several seconds, taking him in from head to toe before answering. “How would you feel about pouring coffee, seating customers, you know, act as host for us during lunch and dinner? We need a second person during the rush. Our hostess gets a bit overwhelmed and stressed out from the pressure.”

  “I could handle that. When do I start?”

  Tony said, “Dress decently, the way you are now, and show up at four o’clock this afternoon. We’ll need a social security number and picture ID.”

  Grant stretched out on the bed with his hands behind his head to think. Now fifty-eight, and reasonably healthy, thanks to the prison gym and his fortunate genetic makeup. The world had changed since his incarceration, with little effect on him. He’d been granted TV privileges, and access to daily newspapers, keeping him informed of society’s changes.

  While he didn’t need the money, he had needed a job in the area to accomplish his original purpose for being on the island. He was not a criminal, in spite of his record, and wanted to avoid trouble from the local law enforcement. He decided to use his real name and social on work applications. He doubted anyone would recognize the name and associate it with the twenty-five-year-old murder in San Francisco.

  After his first day on the job, the owner seemed pleased, and offered him the job for as long as he wished to stay. He quickly found himself enjoying meeting and greeting diners, re-filling coffee, and socializing with the staff.

  Grant Davis (Grant, his middle name) had worked at King Neptune’s Bar and Seafood, only three days when Samantha Brooks walked in with another woman, both
in a nurse’s uniform. He’d studied her from a distance since finding her on the island, now feeling a strange familiarity, even though they’d never met. He decided at once, to develop a friendship. His primary interest in Samantha would soon be satisfied. Perhaps he’d be able to approach the other matter, the toy box, in storage somewhere, for so many years. That would take time. So what, he thought. He answered to no one, and time was no longer a critical issue.

  Grant cleared away some of the dishes, as if he’d been doing it for ages. “Would you like more coffee or, perhaps some dessert?”

  Samantha shook her head from side to side. The older woman pointed at her cup. “Please, you’re new, aren’t you?”

  He refilled her cup, careful not to overfill into the saucer. “Yep, only been here a few days. A fellow could get used to this island. You ladies look like you’re in the medical profession. There must be a hospital on the island.”

  Samantha smiled. “No, there’s no hospital but we serve the medical needs of our island very well. We work for Doctor Stephen Peyton, a medical doctor with a well-known practice here.”

  Grant smiled inwardly. She seemed nice. He would have part of what he wanted from her before she left the restaurant.

  Chapter 9

  The night was young and she would be there until midnight. What if she left early? “Time to move,” Grant said to himself.

  He had the night off work and would make the most of it, convinced Maria was his key to secrets buried inside The Jolly Fisherman’s Club. It doesn’t take a degree in psychology to understand a beautiful young woman’s vulnerability. She’d started to open up about her personal life somewhat. Given time, he felt she’d become a great source of information. That meant playing his cards right, holding them carefully and close to his vest. Big tips and a sympathetic ear couldn’t hurt and might even work miracles.

  He found an open seat at the end of the bar and waited for Maria to recognize him as a regular. He’d been stopping by after work nearly every night. He picked up her signal. His usual? He signaled back by shaking his head up and down.

  “Hi, Grant. You’re early tonight. You’ve been great company at the bar on quiet nights like last night. It won’t slow down for a couple more hours. Can you hang out that long? You know, you had a few too many last night.” She looked around, to see who might be near. “Maybe you can nurse your drinks. I don’t want you leaving here with too much to drink. Sometime I think the cops are watching for our customers to leave just so they can roust them for public intoxication.”

  He smiled warmly. “I guess I should have waited a couple hours before coming in tonight, just another lonely old guy that enjoys your company. Are you sure you don’t have a break coming up? I don’t think I can handle another night like that. Maybe I can treat you to a bite to eat after your shift ends at midnight.”

  She looked startled and leaned in closer. “You think I get off at midnight?”

  “Yes, I’ve watched you put your bar apron away and leave every night at that time.”

  She leaned in close again. “I leave the bar to work somewhere else, here in the club, you know, like upstairs.” She waited for his reaction.

  A flash bulb exploded in his head. He should have considered that possibility. The prettier they are the more they’re taken advantage of. He felt guilty, using her for his own purposes.

  “I’m sorry, Maria. I didn’t know. I could still be your friend. That isn’t important to me.” He wrote his cell number down and passed it to Maria from a closed hand, paid his bill and left the bar.

  The doorman touched his arm as he approached the door. “Thanks for being a good customer, Grant. If you want time with an employee of the club it has to be arranged through me or whoever is here each evening. I know you’re a regular, so I thought you should know that.”

  Grant held the man’s gaze for several seconds. “What about their time away from the club? Does that require your approval as well?”

  “Yes, and, their time with customers away from the club costs you double the regular hourly rate. That’s their agreement while working here. You wouldn’t want Maria to get in trouble, would you?” He waited for Grant’s response. “The club treats the girls fairly and takes good care of any special problems they might have.”

  Grant started to leave. He made that clear enough. He turned back. “Do you give out your number?” The doorman passed him a business card with a phone number, no other information.

  Grant realized the situation had just become more difficult, just one more minor problem. He’d continue to develop the connection, regardless of consequences.

  He dreamed his cell phone was ringing. No, it wasn’t a dream. Grant looked at the red numerals on the cable box. His eyes were dry and blurry. He rubbed his eyes. Three fifteen a.m. The damn phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

  “This is Maria. I hope you don’t mind me calling and waking you like this. Please don’t take this wrong. You’re a nice man and I don’t want you in trouble with people at the club.”

  He attempted to clear his throat. “No! Maria, it’s OK. Are you all right?”

  “I saw you talking to the doorman. He’s the bouncer, among other things. They caught me talking to you at the bar. They even knew we talked a lot the night before. I can’t talk to you anymore unless you buy time with me at the club.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Can you talk freely, now, on the phone?”

  “Yes, I think so. This is my private cell phone. I’m afraid to make personal calls on the phone they gave me.”

  “OK, I feel better about talking with you. Don’t let them know you have a phone of your own. Are you in trouble at the club?”

  “That depends on what you mean. I can’t talk about things there, you know, things that are dangerous for me. It’s probably best that you not get too involved. You would be in trouble too.”

  “What can I do to help you? I can afford to buy time with you, if that would help.”

  “You don’t have to do that unless you really want to. It might lead to trouble. I have to be friendly with customers but can’t spend much time with any one person unless they are buying the extra time after my shift. I won’t feel comfortable talking to you at the club any more. I hate it, and wouldn’t be there if I had a choice. You’d better forget about me and watch out for yourself.”

  “What about something like a regular date. You know, go to a movie or something like that?”

  “You’re a nice man. I would like that, but it isn’t possible. All my time is taken up by the club. Mr. Marino demands it.”

  “If I buy an hour of your private time, away from the club, how would that work?”

  “I have a little boy at home and can’t take clients there. You could rent a motel room and call the club number from there. Tell them how long you want to pay for and they’ll call me. That’s how it works.”

  Chapter 10

  “What do we have here, Sam?” The sheriff’s deputy, Jonathan Bennett, looked at Samantha first, then at Dick. He stooped down, briefly, to look at the body on the sand.

  Dick extended his hand. “I’m US Navy Lieutenant Commander Dick McGowin, a friend of Samantha.”

  Samantha said, “Hi, Jonathan, that was a quick response. We only placed the call about eight minutes ago. Did the operator explain how we found the body?”

  “Briefly. Is the body just as you found it?”

  “No! We dragged it up onto the beach by the arms. That’s the only time it’s been touched,” Dick said. “We looked the body over as best we could in the moonlight. It seemed intact, with no evident sign of damage. Rigor has been lost.”

  Jonathan shined a light on the naked female body. “I’m going to share something with you. DEA has been investigating the bodies of young addicts in the area for some time. Agent Kevin Hunt is in charge of the special unit looking into these deaths. He’s been called and he asked that both of you stick around here, or nearby, until he arrives.”

  Sam looked
at Dick. “We can do that. Is he on his way?”

  “I believe so, Sam, with his team of investigators. I have to stay with the body until he arrives. The coroner’s been called. You live only a stone’s throw down the beach, don’t you? If you’d like to wait there, I can give you a call.”

  “We’re in no rush, might as well wait.”

  Dick said, “Shine your light on the left ear again, that looked like an ear full of dried blood.” All three leaned down to look at the dead woman’s ear. Dick said, “An icepick may have been jammed into her ear. Have there been reports of death from an icepick connected to the bodies?”

  Jonathan glared at Dick, then looked from one to the other. “I can’t confirm or deny that, Commander McGowin.”

  The deputy’s light illuminated the female body from head to toe. She’s unusually attractive, Dick thought. She must have been caught up in the drug culture early in life.

  Sam reacted to loud talking and turned toward the service road. “That looks like the Pharaoh’s Army’s charging the hill.”

  “I’m Special Agent Kevin Hunt, with DEA. You must be Samantha Brooks and Lieutenant Commander Dick McGowin.”

  “Yes, I’m Samantha and this is Dick McGowin.”

  “Tell me how you came about finding the body at this time of night.”

  Dick shaded his eyes against the flood lights. “It was sometime earlier. We were playing in the waves back from the surf line. Samantha first felt something brush against her backside, commented, and we looked around to see a dark object drifting toward shore. We moved in to check it out. I lifted what looked like a woman’s long hair, enough to identify the face of a woman. We pulled the body onto the beach, each holding an arm. It was obvious she had been dead for some time. Rigor had been lost. That’s when Samantha called the local authorities.”