Death Comes Ashore

by Corinne O'Flynn

  Dr. Harwing pointed to one of the photos. It showed the body as it was being dug out. The left arm, which had been under the sand, was tangled in the red fishing net. “When we found her, we thought she got caught up in this net in the water. Storms usually pull up all kinds of trash from the sea floor, I’m told. Would make sense for her to get caught in whatever was floating by. But that’s not what happened.”

  “What do you mean?” Corey asked, confused.

  “This net had been tied around her before she got in the water. It’s torn in several places. Probably got snagged on the same rocks that scraped her up.”

  “You think someone wrapped her in a net and drowned her?”

  Dr. Harwing turned back toward the body. Her voice grew distant. “Hmmm. She hasn’t told me the whole story. Not yet.” She turned back to Corey. “It’s too soon for a definitive cause of death, but I’m sure she didn’t drown. No seawater in the lungs.”

  “What then?”

  “I have a theory, but you can’t hold me to it yet.” She arched an eyebrow at Corey. “The blood and fluid analysis isn’t back from the lab.”

  “Okay. Let’s hear it,” Corey said. With Alicia missing and possibly in danger, Corey felt acutely aware of the time. “What’s your theory?”

  “Anaphylactic shock.”

  Corey thought about it. “Like an allergic reaction?”

  Dr. Harwing nodded. “Exactly.”

  “But I thought you said dark magic did this.”

  “Oh, this was definitely dark magic, but the actual cause of her death feels mundane to me. Come look.” Dr. Harwing went back to the table and opened Nikki’s mouth. She shined a light inside and leaned back, making room for Corey to see. Corey bent over the body.

  “The blotches in the skin are consistent with a cloth being pressed into the soft palate. A gag, maybe. She has lingual braces along the inside of her bottom teeth. I found a few threads of cotton fabric snagged in the metal. Also, upper airway edema—swelling in the throat—is common among fatal anaphylactic reactions, especially to food. Hyperinflation of the lungs and mucous plugging in the airways also support anaphylaxis. This, along with the petechiae in the eyes, all point to asphyxia, which I believe may have been caused by anaphylaxis.” She waved a hand at the spotlight which rolled away.

  “I’ll know for sure what caused it when I get the specific antibodies report. But look at this.” She pointed to the area under Nikki’s neck. “You see here, on her chin, and here around her ear? There is a faint square pattern of indentations in the skin. They also appear on her thighs and her back. The pattern is even and straight, uniform, which I would argue points to that net being laid out flat before it was wrapped around her. Possibly she’d been rolled up in it, intentionally.”

  “But an allergic… allergic…” Corey moved her hand and accidentally made brief contact with Nikki’s shoulder, sending a flash of heat through her body that started in her toes and shot up her legs into her abdomen. The sensation took on a heavy feeling as it moved up to her neck and filled her throat like something physical. She gripped the edge of the metal table and doubled over, coughing, unable to catch her breath.

  “Inspector?”

  It moved into her scalp, making her feel like she was going to either choke or explode. The coughing was unbearable.

  Dr. Harwing fluttered in her periphery, helping her stand up and walk, urging her into a chair, asking what she could do to help.

  It took everything in her to focus, focus. Settle down. She inhaled deeply, then coughed, but at least the intake of breath gave her mind a second to think. Settle down, Proctor. You are safe. She managed to take in another breath, repeat the mantra, concentrating all of her energy on sending the panic away.

  When she finally calmed, Dr. Harwing was there with a glass of water. “Oh my, Inspector. Are you all right?”

  Corey nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Harwing.”

  “Polly, please.”

  “Polly.” Corey smiled weakly. She needed to get out of here. What were they discussing when she had her attack? She traced back in her mind. Yes. The…

  “You were asking about my theory that it was an allergic reaction,” Polly offered.

  Corey looked at the doctor and froze for a second. Had she spoken that question? Her mind was so muddled she didn’t know what was happening to her. She nodded. “Right. An allergic reaction. Wouldn’t that mean her death was an accident?”

  Dr. Harwing shrugged. “Well, maybe she wasn’t supposed to die when she did, but she was magically bound and gagged when it happened. And that’s homicide.”

  Chapter Six

  Corey raced to her SUV and sat with the engine running and the air conditioning blasting in her face. For the second time today, she felt like she would burst into flames. When her body calmed down and her throat was no longer constricted, she dialed Young, still parked in the garage beneath the morgue.

  He picked up on the second ring. “Hey partner, how’d it go with the funky doctor?” he asked.

  Corey cleared her throat. “Dr. Harwing may be out there, but she seems to really know her stuff. I’m leaving the morgue now. The victim wasn’t drowned.” Corey swiveled the air vent, opening it wider. She had to get a handle on her panic attacks. They’d been happening with increasing frequency ever since she first laid eyes on the body of Nikki Soto.

  Young’s voice interrupted her thought. “No? Then what’s the cause of death?”

  “She isn’t totally sure. But Dr. Harwing says she was dead before she got dumped in the water. She’s sending over her report later.”

  “Okay, good. Hey, you all right, partner? You don’t sound good.”

  Corey ignored the probing question. She didn’t have time to delve into her psyche, and even if she did, it was not going to be with her partner. Maybe it was time to call and make an appointment to see Dr. Flowers again. She didn’t want to see her childhood therapist, but after all these years, who else could she trust?

  “Hey, Ethan? You know I talked to Bronwyn at the front desk this morning?”

  “Yeah, she’s all freaked out about her daughter missing. I saw your alert on Alicia. What’s up? They find her?”

  “No. But I talked to one of Wanika’s—the victim, they call her Nik, Nikki. I spoke to one of her roommates, Ellen Fischer. Says Nikki was meeting her boyfriend and another girl last night.”

  “Okay…”

  “The other girl? It’s Alicia—Bronwyn’s daughter.”

  “Damn, girl.” Young blew out a low whistle.

  “Yeah. Roommate also says Damien Cooper is still the boyfriend. I’m coming in. Going to see if we can track him down.”

  “Well, then you can just say it. I am the best partner. ‘Cause I’ve been calling around all the boat shops on the island. Took a bunch of calls, but I found him. The boyfriend. Damien Cooper.”

  Corey smiled. She could picture her partner leaning back in his chair, smiling up at the ceiling. “That’s great. Where?”

  “Down in Dorothy Cove. His shop has a few slips at Nahant Harbor. His boss says he’s doing work on a couple of sailboats the last few days. He sleeps on the boats, for security.”

  “You got an address?”

  Young read Corey the address and she jotted it down in her notebook. “They’ve got slips ninety-five, -six, and -seven out there. Two boats in right now. The boats are called Bottom’s Up and Penumbra. Cooper’s staying on the Bottom’s Up. The other one’s waiting for some custom motor part since Sunday.”

  “You know, Ethan? You really are the best. I’ll go talk to the boyfriend. Call you after?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. Sounds good. I’m sticking around the station. Halloran wants to be briefed. The blackcoats said we’d have their report soon. I already talked to the first Monitor on scene. Says he’s sure the ‘dane witnesses didn’t go near the body. I don’t expect anything special, but I’ll let you know.”

  “Good. I’ll catch you later.” Corey ended the call a
nd pulled her truck onto the road.

  As she drove through Dorothy Cove toward Nahant Harbor, she took in the increasingly industrial landscape. Strip malls and residential houses gave way to shipyards, storage lots, and a field of white propane tanks surrounded by chain-link fence. She passed the Nahant Yacht Club and continued to the far end of the long peninsula until she arrived at the marina.

  She parked the Toyota and stepped out, checking her Glock .40 and her badge clip before pulling on her jacket. The low building of the marina office overlooked the wide expanse of water as the cove gave way to Broad Sound and the Massachusetts Bay. Beyond the office, dozens of rocking boat masts poked the sky like rows of lazy white fingers.

  Corey followed the signs to the numbered slips and walked down the boardwalk. The odd and even slips were on opposite sides of the dock. A large, white fishing boat rocked gently in slip ninety-five, the name Penumbra painted in royal blue cursive on the side. Next door, slip ninety-seven contained a smaller but similar vessel, the Bottom’s Up. A man crouched on the deck of the smaller boat, the dark ends of his hair sticking out from under a red baseball cap.

  Corey called out, “Damien Cooper?”

  The man stood. He turned toward Corey and tipped his chin. “Yeah?”

  “I’m Inspector Corey Proctor.” She pulled her jacket aside to show him her badge that looked to mundane eyes like an Essex County Sheriff’s badge but was really her credentials as an officer in the Magical Crimes Unit. “I need to ask you a few questions. Mind if I come aboard?”

  He glanced around. “Uh, sure. I guess. Is something wrong?” Cooper scratched the stubble on his neck and stepped over to the ladder.

  Corey climbed the steps and stood on the boat’s narrow deck.

  Cooper made his way forward to the bow where he had a bunch of greased machine parts laid out on a sheet. He directed Corey to a blue bench seat and sat in the one facing her. “What’s up?”

  “It’s about your girlfriend, Nikki Soto. When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Nikki?” Damien Cooper took off his baseball cap and combed his hands through his hair, thinking. He slid the cap back on. “Day before yesterday? Yeah. That was Tuesday. We had lunch. What’s up with Nikki? Is she okay?”

  Corey watched Cooper’s movements, trying to cue in on his body language for hints of agitation or evasion that might indicate he was lying. “Yeah. Just trying to track her down, ask her some questions. You last saw her Tuesday, you sure? You didn’t see her last night?”

  “Nope. We were supposed to hang out last night. A bunch of her school friends were going to a beach bar to watch the storm. But I got a call. A boat came in to Black Rock Point with a bad pump. My boss sent me over to fix it so they could get out before the storm.”

  “What time was that? The call?”

  “I don’t know. Late afternoon sometime. I can look it up on my phone, one sec.” He pulled out his cell and slid his fingers along the glass. He found the record of the call and handed the phone to Corey and watched her for a moment. “Hey, you kinda look like her. Like Nik. You’re taller, but… yeah.”

  His words froze her in place, lifting memories that made her skin crawl. Corey blinked. “Um. Looks like your boss called at exactly three-oh-nine.”

  “Yeah. I was in the middle of this.” Damien indicated the mess of parts spread out on the deck at their feet. “It probably took a half hour to wrap this up and get over there. Maybe I got there a little before four?”

  “And the name of the boat you were working on over there?”

  “Blue Manatee. Hey, am I in trouble or something?”

  She shook her head. “I’m just doing my job. Need to figure out who was where, right? No worries.” Corey jotted notes in her pad. “How long were you there? Working on the Blue Manatee?”

  “A while. I had to drive in to town to buy a part. Didn’t get the repair done until after six, I think. It was raining by then. The owner was pissed he couldn’t ship out because of the storm.”

  “Where did you go after you finished the repair?”

  He shrugged. “I stopped at Seaside Pizza and grabbed a few slices and went by a friend’s place nearby. Crashed there,” Damien said.

  “Your friend have a name, number?”

  “Luke Williams,” Damien said. “But he wasn’t there. He lets me stay sometimes. I know where he hides the key.”

  “So you stayed there all night? Alone?”

  Damien nodded. “Didn’t feel like coming back in the rain. Been sleeping out here for weeks. It gets old. Figured nobody’d be out stealing parts in the storm.”

  “Anybody see you at your friend’s place?” Corey asked.

  He tilted his head to the side. “Hey, are you sure everything’s okay? ‘Cause I’m on probation, don’t need more trouble on me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m just covering everything, you know?” Corey smiled. “When Nikki showed up and you weren’t here, did she call you?”

  “I didn’t get a call, but that don’t mean nothing. Cell signal is crap out on the boat slips. Comes and goes.” He stood up suddenly. “Wait. She left a note, though. Hang on.” He stepped inside the threshold of the cabin and picked up a small trash can. He poked around inside and pulled out a crumpled piece of pink paper. He flattened it and held it out for Corey. “She left this on the table inside.”

  The paper appeared to be torn from a work order, one of those pads that transferred the writing from the main copy to a golden page and pink page beneath it. The note was written in black marker in large print. It read:

  D-

  You promised us drinks! Loser! Meet up later at Jimmy’s?

  -N

  A perfect lipstick kiss had been pressed onto the page, the neutral tawny shade clashing with the bright pink paper.

  Corey tipped her chin at the note. “Would you mind if I kept this?”

  “Sure. Hey, what’s going on? Is Nikki okay?”

  She pulled a plastic evidence bag from her pocket, opened it, and let Damien drop the note inside. “Yeah. Just trying to track her down.” She handed him one of her cards. “Here’s my number. Call me if you think of anything?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Corey climbed down the ladder and stepped onto the dock.

  “Hey, Detective?” Damien called.

  Corey turned to face him, and didn’t correct him on her title.

  “Nik was supposed to be with her friend Alicia. Alicia Turnkey? She goes to that new age school too. Maybe you should check with her?”

  “Thanks. I will.” Corey walked back along the dock, thinking. He might be into some shady stuff with the drugs, but Damien Cooper seemed like an okay guy. Then again, she’d been fooled before by the appearance of a seemingly good guy who was really a shark in disguise. And, no matter how nice he may have seemed, Damien didn’t have an alibi.

  She thought back to a big case when she was a new investigator in Salem, and how wrong they’d all been about the killer. How close she’d come to losing everything. She’d been someone’s prey that time, too. What was wrong with her? The name that Darby Paul had given her as a child whispered through her mind.

  Unworthy Trash.

  A blue drawstring laundry bag dropped to the boardwalk next to the boat in slip ninety-five, pulling Corey from her thoughts. She glanced up as a man stepped slowly down the interior stairs and disappeared into the cabin of the Penumbra. She walked to the laundry bag and waited for the man to return. She heard a short beep, then a door clicked shut and he stepped slowly up the stairs to the deck. He was tall and lean, about sixty years old, with salt-and-pepper hair cropped short. He wore khaki pants and a white collared shirt. He turned toward the stepladder and startled when he saw Corey.

  She pulled back her jacket, exposing her badge. “Excuse me? Is this your boat?”

  He glanced at the badge, then at Corey, and then at his watch. “Yes. The Penumbra is mine.” He spoke in a slow drawl from somewhere in the south.


  “It’s a nice boat. I’m Inspector Proctor. I wonder if you have a moment for a few questions?”

  “Marcus Wingate. I guess that would be fine. I was just heading in to town to drop off some laundry.” He smiled, his bleached white teeth shone like a light in his tanned face.

  “Thanks. Where are you from, Mr. Wingate?”

  “I’m originally from Pascagoula, Mississippi. But I live aboard my boat since I retired.”

  Corey made a note in her pad. “You live alone?”

  “I do.”

  “Were you here yesterday? Before the storm?”

  He paused for a moment, thinking. “I was in and out yesterday, running errands and such. Not sure really what time I got back.” He stepped back along the railing and picked up a towel. He had a slight limp. He balled up the towel and tossed it down near the laundry bag at Corey’s feet. “Why do you ask?”

  “Were you here around five-thirty or six? Did you see two young women visit the Bottom’s Up around that time?” She pointed her thumb toward Damien Cooper’s boat.

  He shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t. Has something happened, Inspector?” He turned toward the other boat. “Is young Damien in some kind of trouble?”

  “We’re just trying to track the girls down, that’s all.” She pulled out one of her business cards, lifted it to reach the deck. “Would you call me if you remember anything?”

  He took the card and read it. “Inspector Corey Proctor. Sure, I’ll be happy to call if something comes to mind.”

  She slid her pen into her pocket and walked back to the parking lot.

  When she got back on the road, her phone buzzed with three missed calls from Young. Cooper was right about the cell signal at the marina. She hit the speed dial for her partner.