Boneyard Beach

by Bill Noel

  “Don’t suppose you’ll let me push you out in a wheelchair?” Charles said.

  I smiled even though it made my face sting more, and waved for him to follow me. We managed to avoid anyone who would want to keep me and I conceded to my condition by letting Charles drive.

  I closed my eyes as soon as he pulled out of the parking lot. I finally got my nap.

  Charles nudged my arm. “Now where?”

  I opened my eyes and realized we were on Folly. “Theo’s.”

  Theo’s new, black Mercedes was in the drive but no one answered the door. I suggested that we check the back door and Charles and I walked around the house and up the steps. The door to the screened-in porch was unlatched and we could see that the mahogany door into the house was standing open. From our higher vantage point, Charles looked around the back yard and out Theo’s private pier that ended at the river. I pushed the door the rest of the way open and called for Theo. Charles said he wasn’t outside and no one answered inside.

  I had a clear view of the kitchen and nothing looked out of place.

  “Think we need to call reinforcements?” Charles asked as we stepped into the kitchen.

  “Not time. Theo may be hurt.”

  Charles whispered, “And Robbie could be here waiting to kill us.”

  I shrugged and moved to the great room. Things appearing normal ended there. A lamp from an end table was on the floor, its bulb shattered, its shade twisted. A porcelain seahorse that had been on the table was in hundreds of pieces strewn across the floor. And, what looked like drops of blood were in a serpentine pattern leading toward the master bedroom.

  Charles whispered, “Now can we call the cops?”

  I put my finger to my lips, followed the stream of blood, and inched my way toward the bedroom. The only sounds I heard were my heart beating against my ribcage and a couple of creaks from the floor as Charles and I moved toward the bedroom.

  The bed was as neat as it would have been if it had been made by a five-star hotel housekeeper; nothing seemed out of place except the drops of blood leading to the master bath. I moved toward the bath, and I dreaded what I might find. I could picture Theo’s frail body, broken, bloody, and stuffed in the tub.

  Relief spread over me when there was no one in the room—dead or alive. What was there was a white, blood-soaked, TS monogrammed hand towel. The blood was still tacky so I knew whatever happened wasn’t too far in the past.

  I looked back at Charles. “Now we call the police.” Instead of dialing 911, I called Chief LaMond.

  She answered on the second ring. “Where the hell are you? I’m at the hospital with a freakin’ vase of flowers in my hand and there ain’t no Chris to give them to.”

  I told her where we were and a quick rundown on what we had found. Thankfully, she didn’t bombard me with questions and said she was on her way. I told Charles I wanted to check the rest of the house to make sure Theo wasn’t bleeding to death in another room. Charles said I must have a death wish, but followed me as I canvassed the rest of the rooms. Again, no body. No killer.

  Cindy didn’t come alone. Two patrol cars converged, sirens blaring, as the chief pulled her unmarked car in front of the house. I met her at the door.

  She shoved the vase of flowers in my stomach and walked past me into the great room. “Why aren’t you in the hospital?” Her eyes darted around the room and her hand rested on her firearm’s grip.

  “I thought…”

  “Crap,” she interrupted. “Never mind, whatever you say, it means you’re too stubborn for your own good. What happened?” She waved her hand around the room.

  I told her my suspicions about Robbie and why I was worried about Theo. She nodded when she came to the bedroom and face-to-face with Charles.

  “Don’t suppose you could’ve hogtied him and hitched him to the hospital bed?”

  Charles shook his head. “What do you think?”

  “The boy’s good at getting in the middle of trouble, isn’t he?” she said and walked around the room taking in everything.

  Charles watched Cindy check out the room and then walk into the bathroom and stared at the bloody towel. “Abe Lincoln said, ‘Whatever you are, be a good one.’ Chris’s the best trouble sniffer I’ve ever known.”

  Officer Spencer was next to arrive. He said, “We meet again,” and asked how I was without making any cutting remarks and asked Cindy what he could do.

  The chief looked at me. “Any idea what Robbie drives?”

  “Old, silver Nissan Maxima.”

  She turned to Spencer and told him to have dispatch get the license, put out an APB, and if anyone spotted it, to approach cautiously because he may have a hostage.

  “Looks like someone took Mr. Stoll,” Cindy said. “Hopefully alive. If it was Robbie, any idea where he may have gone?”

  “Off the top of my head, no,” I said. “I would guess somewhere far away, although he wouldn’t know that we found this as quickly as we did. He could still be on the island.”

  “Don’t suppose you know where he lives?” she said.

  Charles stepped close to Cindy. “I heard he has a small apartment somewhere around East Seventh Street, but not sure where.”

  Cindy turned to Officer Bishop, the second patrol officer in the house, and told her to have someone get her the address and to take another officer with her and check his apartment. Cindy asked Charles and me to sit on the patio so we wouldn’t mess up the crime scene any more than we already had, while she called the crime scene techs in Charleston and then Detective Adair and filled him in. My head still throbbed and she didn’t get an argument from me.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I sat on Theo’s patio with my head resting on my hands while Charles prowled around the patio like a lion trying to figure out which unsuspecting zebra to have for supper. Patience was not in his arsenal.

  “The crime scene guys are stuck behind a wreck in Charleston,” Cindy said. She had been inside the house and surprised me when she was standing in front of me on the patio. I must have dozed. “It’ll be a while before they get here. Why don’t you go back to the hospital?” She grinned. “Maybe they won’t notice that you skipped out on them.”

  I looked up at her and frowned.

  “Didn’t think you’d take my sage advice. So go home. I’ll know where you are if we need you.”

  Charles had stopped pacing and told Cindy that was a great idea and that the Charles Taxi Service would be leaving in five minutes. My head still throbbed but I knew when I was outnumbered, so I walked to the car and once again took the passenger’s seat, something that I wasn’t accustomed to. Besides, the mid-eighties temperature combined with direct sun, was beginning to add to my discomfort.

  We pulled to the stop sign at Center Street. Charles started to turn left toward the house. I said, “Turn right.”

  “Why?”

  “To see if his boat’s at Mariner’s Cay Marina.”

  He huffed. “You’re going to be the death of me yet.”

  The dock at Mariner’s Cay was visible from the bridge but several larger boats blocked my view and I couldn’t tell if Robbie’s skiff was there. A minute later, Charles punched in the access code and we weaved around the development to the parking area.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I skirted the truth and said that I was fine.

  Robbie’s boat was where he had docked it after our trip to Boneyard Beach and appeared unoccupied. Charles suggested that since we were this close, we should see if there was anything unusual on the craft. I knew he was trying to delicately say signs of a struggle, blood, or Theo.

  The floating dock bobbed up and down, and the fear of finding something gruesome on the boat, intensified my headache. Charles, trying to be inconspicuous, leaned close to me to keep me from staggering off the side of the dock. I appreciated how considerate he was being; perhaps I’ll thank him—someday.

  I blinked twice and looked over the craft’s fiberglass gun
wale. My fears and anxieties were unfounded. Nothing seemed amiss and the closest thing to a body was a large fly resting on the pilot’s seat. I realized that I had been holding my breath.

  “Now what?” Charles asked.

  I suggested getting back in the air-conditioned car while I called Cindy to let her know there was no need to send anyone here.

  Charles smiled. “I look forward to hearing her tell you that you are a nosy, stubborn cuss. Then she’ll ask if you forgot where you lived.”

  I returned his Cheshire grin. “I’ll tell her you were driving.”

  The air conditioner kicked-in full-blast and the sweat from under my Tilley had begun to dry. I called Cindy and had to yell so she could hear me over the roar of the air conditioner. I said where we were and what we had found. I was the recipient of an East Tennessee rant about the only difference between me and a jackass was the number of legs. To make it worse, I had to endure Charles sitting beside me muttering, “Un huh, un huh,” and nodding his head although he couldn’t hear everything the chief had been saying.

  Cindy finished her comparative anatomy lesson and told me that her officers had found Robbie’s apartment but not his car, nor had anyone answered the door. His neighbor told Officer Bishop that she had been working in the yard the last two hours and that she hadn’t seen anyone come or go from the apartment. Cindy added that Detective Adair had arrived and would want to talk to me later. And finally, she asked if I needed her to send one of her officers to the marina to give us a police escort to my house, because she knew that I was getting old, senile, and couldn’t find my way. I thanked her, but said that I would leave it in the able hands of Charles to get me there. She mumbled something about the “bald leading the bald” and hung up.

  I remembered the voicemail that Chester had left when I was trying to get Theo. I clicked on voicemail and the icon putting the phone on speakerphone; no sense in repeating whatever Chester had to say to Charles.

  “Chris, Chester here. Theo told me what he told you about thinking Robbie killed that kid. Something about Robbie knowing some detail that only the killer would know. He was talking so fast that I couldn’t follow all of it.” I heard a chuckle. “The poor man was talking a lot faster than he walks. He was mighty hopped up about it. Do you think it could be true? God, I find it hard to believe; he took us to Boneyard Beach; seemed like a nice man. Have you told the police? Should I call them? Umm, that’s enough questions. I was just worried and knew you’d know what to do. Sorry I missed you. Call when you get a chance.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes; the headache continued. I tapped in Chester’s number and listened as the phone rang five times before the answering machine kicked in. I hit End Call.

  “Why didn’t you leave a message?” Charles asked.

  I glanced at Charles and down at my phone. “Go to Chester’s.”

  Charles kept both hands on the wheel and made no effort to put the car in reverse. “I suppose that I could overlook it since you just got shot in the head, but didn’t you figure from Chester’s answering machine that he ain’t there?”

  I started to scream, “Drive!” but I owed Charles an explanation. “Robbie’s trying to tie-up loose ends. I think he has Theo. If I was Robbie, the first thing I’d ask Theo was who he told about his suspicions.”

  “True, and you’d be at the top of that list.” He hesitated and looked in the direction of town. “But since you’ve been doing your rolling-stone-gathers-no-moss imitation the last few hours, he doesn’t know where you are.”

  “How long do you think Theo could go without blurting out that he had talked to Chester?”

  “Seconds.”

  “How many hours ago was it when you called my house twice, got no answer, and still came over?”

  “And showed up and saved your butt,” Charles added as he rammed the gear shift into reverse and almost hit a mini-van that was parked behind us.

  Chester’s house was less than a mile from the marina and with little traffic we could have made the trip in three minutes tops. No such luck. A Chevy pick-up had chosen the wrong time to pull out of Indian Avenue and was broadsided by a Jeep Wrangler that had two surfboards perched on top. There didn’t appear to be serious injuries but the road leading on-island was blocked by two patrol cars, one fire engine, one badly damaged Jeep Wrangler, and two surfboards that had caught their last wave. I considered having Charles pull off the road and us walking the rest of the way, but my head still throbbed and didn’t know if I could make it on foot.

  I tried Chester’s number twice more while we waited. Still no answer. Both vehicles involved in the wreck were moveable and were pushed out of the roadway quicker than I had anticipated.

  Chester’s Buick was parked in front of his house but I didn’t see Robbie’s Nissan. I asked Charles to circle the block and see if Robbie’s car was nearby. An alley separated Chester’s house from the St. James Gate restaurant and a row of shrubs separated the house from the alley. The lot behind Chester’s was reserved for residents of a small apartment building and two large trash dumpsters blocked the view of Chester’s back door. What the dumpsters didn’t block was Robbie’s Nissan backed into the lot and not more than thirty feet from Chester’s porch.

  Charles looked over at Robbie’s vehicle. “Crap.”

  “Park around the corner,” I said, as we rolled passed the lot.

  Charles ignored three No Parking signs placed along the alley and stopped forty feet from the side of Chester’s residence. I was out of the car as soon as he shifted it in park and strode along the shrub row and out of sight of the two windows on the side of the small house. The air conditioner in the living room window closest to the front of the house was working at its peak. It was so loud that I suspected that I could have broken the window and crawled in before anyone would have heard me. Instead, I stood on my tiptoes and when I tilted my head just right, could see part of the room through the half-inch gap between the air conditioner’s steel frame and the plywood spacer closing the foot-wide area between the unit and the windowsill. I had to stand at an awkward angle and was having trouble adjusting my line of sight to see anything. The blinds above the air conditioner were open and there was enough sun streaming in for me to see part of the room. Charles had moved to the side of the window closest to the street but didn’t have the benefit of a gap. He reached around the air conditioner, tapped me on the arm, pointed at the window, held his hands out, and shrugged. I mouthed, “Patience,” and turned my attention back to the window.

  Theo was splayed out on one of the recliners. He wasn’t moving and had a yellow towel wrapped around his head. One corner of the towel had what appeared to be a large patch of blood on it. Chester startled me when he moved into my line of sight. He waved his hands around like he was trying to make a point; he darted around the room like he was on something stronger than lemonade. He pointed at Theo. Chester was talking, but the roar of the air conditioner obliterated his words. I couldn’t see Robbie, but I saw a hand holding a baseball bat in the direction Chester kept glancing. I assumed it was connected to Robbie.

  I didn’t think anyone in the house could see us, but to err on the side of caution, instead of telling Charles what was going on over the noise from the air conditioner, I waved for him to follow me to the back corner of the yard. I told him what little I knew and he said we needed to call the police.

  He was probably right, but I said, “Not yet. We don’t need a hostage situation. Theo looks in bad shape and no telling what would happen if a bunch of cops showed up. Chester seems so agitated that he could do something that’d get one or both of them killed.”

  “But, they—”

  I put my hand in front of his face. “I’ve got an idea. I’m going to call Chester.”

  “You’ve already called. He didn’t answer. Why think he will now?”

  “I hope he doesn’t.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I reached for my phone and realized
that it was in the car. I looked back at the window and at Charles. “Go see what happens when I call.”

  He didn’t demand a detailed explanation. He moved around the shrub and back to the window. The air conditioner continued to roar and I doubted that Robbie would’ve heard a helicopter land in the side yard much less Charles sneaking up to the window. I grabbed my phone from the console, thought about what I wanted to say, prayed that I wasn’t making a huge—possibly fatal—mistake, and hit redial.

  Five rings later, Chester’s voice mail message kicked in. I glanced at Charles standing on his toes as he peeked through the slot beside the air conditioner. I took a deep breath and said, “Chester, this is Chris. Listen, I just got off the phone with Detective Adair. He knows Robbie killed the student. I told him that Theo had said the same thing. I figured that Theo told you. The police are at Theo’s and it looks like Robbie may have killed him; there’s blood all over the place. I told Adair that you figured it was Robbie and Adair said he was afraid that Robbie may come after you next.” I paused and wondered what else to say. “I’m rambling, but you’re in danger. Get out of the house before Robbie gets there. Go to the police station. The police are pulling together the SWAT team and would be headed to your house and should be there soon. They’re worried that Robbie may get there first. Anyway, get out.”

  I punched End Call, closed my eyes, calculated the odds on my spur of the moment plan succeeding, and left the steaming-hot car and headed to Charles who had stepped back from the window and pointed to the back of the house.

  My ears still rang from the gunshot and the air conditioner’s roar didn’t help so we moved toward the back yard and away from the distracting noise. Charles leaned close and said, “Theo’s alive. Chester’s trying to get him out of the recliner. He looks wobbly, but he’s moving, moving at Theo speed. What’d you say to the machine?”