Boneyard Beach

by Bill Noel

  “I don’t know anyone. Sorry.”

  He gave me a skeptical look and shook his head.

  “Mr. Landrum, you’re not off the hook. I don’t believe that you forgot to tell me about Larry. I’m not arresting you, and you can thank Karen, Detective Lawson, for that, but you’re walking on paper-thin ice. One more thing.” He gave a sly grin. “Here’s a line I love to throw at suspects. Don’t leave town.”

  I assured him that I wasn’t and he stood to leave and I should have walked him to the door, but instead asked, “Learn anything from the bullet?”

  He looked back at me. “The things I’ve heard about your meddling are true.”

  I shrugged.

  “It’s no secret. The damned reporters already have it and will be blabbing it to everyone. The bullet was .270 caliber. It’s been around for decades; it’s popular and easy to get; good for deer and elk hunting. There’s nothing to be learned there, unless we have a rifle to test it against.” He smiled, slightly more sincere this time. “If you come across one, please don’t forget to let me know.”

  I told him I would and asked, if that caliber bullet would have been accurate from the fence across the street from Abe’s.

  “Why, afraid you were the target and the shooter missed and hit Pottinger?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “Yeah, it’s accurate from longer distances than that, but it still took someone who’s done a lot of shooting, or the luckiest person on the island.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  April showers may bring May flowers, but May showers are prone to bring flooding and areas of standing water to the Lowcountry. Overnight rains left a small lake in the front yard, flooded several streets, and gave early-morning kayakers a couple of new temporary streams, one through the middle of the historic market in Charleston. The storm had moved out and it looked like another nice day for the group’s walk.

  As was becoming habit, Charles and I met at the foot of the pier before the rest of the group arrived. I shared my conversation with Detective Adair. Charles asked what flavor of cake to bake a saw in. I told him that I failed to see the humor and he said that was because I was looking at it through my obstructing-justice eyes. He also asked if Adair had any leads and I said he didn’t mention any, and that since I had become an obstructer of justice, I doubted that he would have been forthcoming with confidential information.

  Chester’s entourage arrived, followed by Cal’s car, and everyone piled out excited about today’s hike. More accurately, most of them moaned and groaned as they struggled to get out of the car, and Harriet complained about the cramped quarters and her aching back. After Chester acknowledged Charles and my presence and Cal joined us and said that William had to go to school for a meeting and wouldn’t be walking today, Chester assumed his self-anointed leadership role.

  He raised his hand in the air. “Okay walkers, here’s the plan. If we’re going to achieve our lofty goal, we must push harder, so we’re heading up Center Street to the Folly River Park. That’s about twice as far as we went the other day and more than half as far as our trek to Boneyard Beach.”

  I was pleased that Chester didn’t open today’s route for debate. That cut five minutes off the time we usually wasted arguing.

  Harriet shook her head and reminded all of us about her aching back. “Probably’ll take us two or three days to make it.”

  “We can do it,” David said.

  Cal took two steps toward the street. “Let’s head out.”

  Harriet looped her arm around Theo’s and nudged him toward Center Street and the group’s longest walk in recorded history.

  Cal was already twenty yards in front of David and Connie. Theo, with the aid of Harriet, came next, and Chester, Charles and I lagged behind.

  The black ribbons from the previous walk were absent.

  I looked at Chester. “No ribbons?”

  “Nope, we talked about it and decided the official mourning period’s over. We didn’t like him that much anyway.”

  Charles and I had made the walk from the pier to the Folly River Park many times. Unless Charles stopped to talk to everyone on the sidewalk, talk to each canine along the way, and stop for ice cream at Sugar Time, the trip took ten minutes. Today, after the first twenty-five minutes, I was beginning to believe Harriet’s prediction that it may take three days. Charles, David, Cal, and I had moved a block ahead of the rest of the group. Fifteen minutes later my group was at the small park and spread out on the picnic table under the gazebo. Cal and David were talking about some of the cities in which Cal had played his distinct form of traditional country music when he toured the south, and Chester leaned against the table and rested.

  Charles and I were nearby when Charles’s ears perked up when David said, “Did you hear about Abe?”

  The others had arrived and looked like they had walked across the Sahara desert. Cal gave his seat to Theo, and Harriet, who had been limping, squeezed in beside him. Chester leaned against the gazebo and Connie brought up the rear.

  Chester looked at Harriet who was massaging her ankle. “What happened?”

  “Twisted it on the sidewalk over there.” She turned, winced, and pointed to the steps into the park.

  “What about Abe?” Charles added. He wouldn’t let a twisted ankle stand in the way from finding out what David was talking about.

  David looked down at Harriet’s ankle and then at Charles. “They were talking about his death, and—”

  “Who was?” the information-bloodhound asked.

  “The radio. Last night on the news. Something about him being suspected in a stock fraud case in Georgia a few years back and running a Ponzi scheme somewhere else.”

  “What’s a Ponzi scheme?” Connie asked.

  David looked around to see if anyone was going to answer. Seeing blank stares, he continued, “Where a crook takes your money and says he’ll invest it and promises you great returns.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Connie asked.

  Again, David looked around and failed to see any takers. “The crook only pretends to invest the money.”

  “So how does he pay the investors?” Connie asked.

  “He pays the first few who bought in with money he gets from the next suckers. That way he tells others about how great the first group did, even gives them as references.”

  Chester had been taking in what David had been saying, and he interjected, “Then the crook skips town with all the money leaving everyone but the first people he brought in with an empty bank account and busted dreams?”

  David nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Are you sure it’s our Abe?” Connie asked.

  David said, “Guess so. The news guy said Abe wasn’t convicted but some others involved were in jail.”

  That was consistent with what Larry had said and I wondered if Detective Adair had known it when I was talking to him.

  “What else did they say?” Charles added.

  “That’s all.”

  Cal asked, “Could that Ponzi thingee work with reverse mortgages?”

  David looked around the group. “Suppose so, but I don’t know how he’d get his money. He’d have the title on the houses but how could he convert that to cash if someone still lived in them?”

  I wasn’t an expert but had owned two rental properties before moving to Folly and had some experience with companies that bought large numbers of rentals. Most were legitimate, but some were sharks with big smiles and little consciences.

  “Someone with deep pockets or investment companies could buy the paid-for houses from Abe at rock-bottom prices,” I said. “They would have time on their side and wait until the person living in the house either died or moved because the reverse mortgage check would stop coming, and then the investors sell the houses for market value.”

  Charles said, “So the investors were crooks too?”

  I nodded. “They would have had to know what was going on. And, Abe would have his money a
nd skip town before the scheme started tumbling down.”

  “So wouldn’t they get arrested?” Cal asked.

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “They would have legitimate titles to the houses they bought from Abe and could claim that they didn’t know anything about his activities and how he got the houses.”

  Cal said, “All so danged confusing.”

  “Yep,” Charles agreed. “Harry Truman said, ‘If you can’t convince them, confuse them.’”

  “Wonder if his murder had something to do with all that?” Cal asked, sharing the question that most of the rest of the group probably felt.

  “What?” Theo asked.

  Harriet leaned to about an inch from his ear, and repeated what David had said about the radio report. Theo’s faced dropped. “Oh my. It can’t be our Abe.”

  I knew it was and suspected everyone else did as well.

  David stepped forward. “Here’s what I think. One of the swindlers from Georgia who isn’t in jail shot Abe so he wouldn’t testify against him or maybe one of the Ponzi financiers wanted him eliminated. I bet Abe moved here to hide.”

  Harriet kept her arm around Theo’s neck and turned to the rest of us. “Doesn’t surprise me. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but after we walked the other day I was talking to him about the reverse mortgage plan. He was acting skittish so I asked him what was wrong.” She paused and looked around the park.

  Charles asked, “What’d he say?”

  “He hemmed and hawed but finally confided that he was afraid that someone from where he used to live had followed him. He said he was worried.”

  “Worried about what?” Charles asked.

  Harriet looked at each of us and then focused on Charles. “He wouldn’t say. I thought it was strange and asked him, but he laughed it off and said that he was just being paranoid. There was more to it than he was saying, but it was like he snapped out of it and continued talking about reverse mortgages.”

  “Did anybody else hear him mention being worried?” I asked.

  David and William shook their heads.

  Cal turned to me. “Tell you what pard, I may have. We were talking about stocks, bonds, and money-market stuff. Actually, he was doing all the talking; most of it went in one ear and out the other and the rest of it flew over my head like a jet plane. He said something about Atlanta and a friend who brought him into the business and how well he had done with it.”

  Charles said, “What’s that have to do with someone following him?”

  “He didn’t say someone was here,” Cal said. “But when he was talking about the other guy, he got more nervous.”

  I leaned close to Theo so he could hear. “Theo, you said that you’d seen Abe’s prospectus about the stock he was wanting you to buy.” Theo nodded. “You said he took it back.” Theo nodded again. I looked at the others. “Anybody have a brochure or other material from the stock or the reverse mortgage company that Abe said he was working for?”

  Chester shook his head and looked at Connie and David. Connie shook her head and David shrugged. Harriet said, “He told me that the product was so new that they hadn’t had time to print anything about it. I remember he called it a jumbo reverse mortgage, if that means anything.”

  Other than sounding better than a regular, run-of-the-mill reverse mortgage, I doubted it meant much, and said, “So nobody got marketing materials?”

  “He gave me a three-page application,” Connie said and turned to Chester. “Hard to believe, but it was longer than your stupid application to get in this group.”

  Chester smiled.

  Connie looked around the group. “You all got applications, didn’t you?”

  “Sure,” David said. “It was a standard application. Looked like the ones I use for insurance.”

  “Did it have the name of the company on it?”

  “Of course, but I don’t remember what it was.”

  “Alexander Lifetime Security Inc.” Harriet said. “Knew that because it was the same name that was on the paper that Theo filled out for the stock. Remember Theo?” She put her arm around his shoulder.

  “Yes.” Theo squeezed her arm and looked at me. “Are you saying that Abe wasn’t on the up-and-up?”

  The group didn’t have benefit of what I had learned from Larry, and I wasn’t going to get into it with them. It wouldn’t take much of a leap to see that Abe’s reverse mortgage, jumbo or otherwise, deal and the yet-to-go-public stock were scams.

  “That’s how it looks.”

  “Well, how’s that for a kicker,” Cal said.

  “And I was ready to give him a million dollars,” Theo said. “Am I stupid or what?”

  “Of course you’re not stupid, Theo,” Cal said. “Thievin’, egg-sucking, con artists are good at what they do. Anybody can be taken by them.”

  Harriet moved her arm from Theo’s shoulder and put it around his waist. “It’s lucky someone shot him when they did.”

  Chester stood and waved his hands. “Enough gruesome stuff. Sounds like we all got off lucky. I didn’t give him any money, did any of you?”

  No one responded.

  “Good,” Chester said. “Now I’ve got an important announcement.” We all stopped and stared at our leader. “It came to me after watching some of us huffing-and-puffing, some of us wheezing, some of us limping, and some of us taking about a week to walk from the pier to here. I realized that the river over there will freeze over before we can walk to Boneyard Beach.” He stopped and pointed in the general direction of the Lighthouse Inlet and Boneyard Beach.

  I wanted to shout, “Duh!” but Chester was serious so instead I frowned and nodded.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “don’t fret. We’re going to get to Boneyard Beach. After we get done today, I’m going to look for one of those marsh guides who can take us there without charging an arm and a leg. Seeing that our legs aren’t working too well nowadays, that’s important.” He smiled at his weak joke. “Now,” he turned serious, “don’t try to protest and get all upset, I’ve made my decision and it’s final.”

  I looked around the group and didn’t see a glimmer of protest; thrilled would have been how I would have described the reactions. Theo said that he thought it was the best idea he’d heard since, well, he said, “Since I don’t know when.” And Connie said that she was speaking for everyone else when she told him that he’d made a wise decision, and “probably prevented a heart attack or two.”

  We stayed at the park for another fifteen minutes until everyone’s heart rate lowered to a pre-stroke level, and then we headed back. Along the way, Connie told Chester that if it was okay with him, she’d ask her brother if he’d take us to Boneyard Beach. Chester grinned. “Sure, but he’d better be cheap.”

  Mel would have been the perfect person to ferry the group, but since he was restricted to a jail cell, he wasn’t an option.

  Harriet mumbled something about Chester being a tightwad and griped about her sore ankle the entire walk back, and I decided that Chester should win the Noble Peace Prize for calling off the .5 walk to Boneyard Beach.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Morning began with sounds of a delivery-truck driver unloading cartons of produce at Bert’s and a call from Cindy asking if I can meet her at her house. I asked when and she said the sooner the better; Larry was at work and she wanted to talk to me without him around. I said to give me fifteen minutes.

  Ten minutes later, Cindy poured me a cup of coffee, and we moved to the back patio and she thanked me for coming.

  Sun was rippling off the gently-rolling waves on the Folly River and a small fishing boat was beginning its morning quest for a bountiful catch. I sat back in a chair, sipped coffee, and waited for her to get to the reason for calling. She sat, looked around, and started to speak, hesitated, and shook her head. She was the picture of discomfort.

  “Last night, Detective Adair and three deputies showed up with scowls and a search warrant for here, Larry’s truck, and the store.
” She paused and I waited. “They were here two hours and then escorted Larry to the store and spent two more hours there. It was after midnight before he dragged his exhausted tush to bed.”

  I mumbled something about being sorry and asking what they were searching for.

  “Adair, of course, wasn’t specific; the warrant talked about pertaining to, knowledge of, blah, blah, blah about Abraham Pottinger. It’s obvious that Larry and Pottinger had a prior relationship, and anything that would tie him to being at the scene of the crime was fair game.”

  All I could think was that none of this would have happened if I hadn’t told Adair about Larry’s conversation about Abe. “I’m sorry. What can I do?”

  “You’re the only person I can talk to about it. Larry said that he didn’t do anything wrong so there wasn’t anything to be concerned about. I tried to explain that from the detective’s perspective, Larry was the most likely suspect.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He said he knew that but for me not to worry.” She shook her head. “I can’t talk to anyone at city hall; crap, I’m the police chief, for God’s sake. I don’t have any other close friends to yell and scream to about it. The way he’s acting, I can’t even have a sensible conversation with Larry. Chris. I know I can trust you, and you’ll level with me about what you think.”

  “I appreciate that, but I don’t know how I can help.”

  She looked at the river. “Talking helps.”

  “Did Adair find anything?”

  “They sure as hell didn’t find a rifle, but they took our computer, Larry’s cell phone, and two pairs of his shoes.”

  I said, “The soil where the shooter stood is sandy and so is the path beside the tennis court. I suppose they’re trying to trace samples from his shoes back to the park.”

  Cindy shook her head. “You’ve been in Pewter’s side lot, it’s covered with sand. Larry’s there all the time fiddling with the pipes and lumber. I’m sure there’s sand in his shoes. That doesn’t prove anything.”