Grey Lady

by Paul Kemprecos

  “I’d like that, but some of my people are flying in and I’ve got to stick around here so I can update them on Chernko.”

  “Don’t forget I’m going to need your help getting my cousin Alex out of trouble.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Deadline’s tomorrow afternoon, you said. I got a plan that could roll things up real quick. You going to be at your place? I’ll see you after I deal with the folks from Spook Central.”

  We shook hands and I said I’d walk back into town. I wanted to clear my head. I stepped out of the station. The wind had come up, making the rain come in horizontally. The raindrops felt good splashing against my face.

  A few minutes later, I pushed through the door of the Rose and Crown into a noisy and well-oiled crowd that was dealing with the inclement weather by staying dry on the outside and wet on the inside. I bellied up to the bar and ordered a Jack Daniel’s neat. It went down too fast and I liked it so much I ordered a second. I slowly sipped the second glass as I tried to order my jumbled thoughts.

  My feud with Chernko was at an end. I’d had my revenge, but I still wondered why Chernko had denied being behind the shooting in the Serengeti. He’d almost been insulted. Chernko liked to set people on fire, so maybe it just wasn’t his style.

  What was clear was that someone still out there had a grudge against me. I suspected that it was linked to Henry Daggett. Finding Coffin’s killer would unravel the unholy mess. I was convinced of it. I was tempted to order another drink, and let myself slip into a blissful sea of forgetfulness, but I knew that before long, my guilt would conjure up Lisa’s face in the bottom of the glass.

  Leaving the bar, I struck out into the rain again and walked to Lisa’s office. The light was on in the second floor window. I climbed up the stairs with water sloshing in my sneakers. I didn’t want to startle her so I knocked softly on the door. “Hi, Lisa. It’s Soc.”

  She said to come in. I opened the door and stepped into her office. She looked up from her paperwork.

  “Dear God! What happened to you? Are you all right?”

  “I’m a little damp, but fine otherwise.”

  She went into the bathroom and came out with a towel which I used to dry off my face.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  I sat in a chair, took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll tell you later about my adventure on the high seas. I wondered how you were coming with the trial continuance.”

  She got behind her desk, smiled and put her hand palm down on the stack of papers in front of her.

  “I just finished the request for a delay in the trial. I’ve incorporated the findings of the new psychologist I’m bringing into the case, along with my own observations and those of Lillian.”

  “And what were those conclusions?”

  “He’s coming out of it, Soc. I’m sure seeing Lillian did it. He recognized her right away, called her by name. He’s remembering things he should know as Henry Daggett.”

  “What about Captain Ahab? Is he still chasing the white whale?”

  “Ahab is quite persistent. He doesn’t want to let go. Gramps has lapses, falls back into the Moby thing, but then he’ll smile as if he knows he’s being silly. It’s as if one personality is fighting to be in charge. Gramps is winning, I’m sure of it.”

  “Does he remember the night of Coffin’s murder?”

  “In fragments. Right now he is neither fully himself nor Ahab, but some personality in between.”

  “Once we get the trial delay, Henry’s doctor will have time to draw out the real self and banish Ahab.”

  “That’s right. As I told Michael—”

  “You saw Ramsey?”

  “He wanted to have dinner at Wauwinet. I said I was busy. I couldn’t see him, knowing something of what he’s involved in, but we chatted about Gramps’s improving condition.”

  Ramsey hadn’t left Nantucket as Chernko had advised. Something was keeping him here.

  “I’d better let you finish up your paperwork,” I said, rising from the chair. “Would it be all right to talk to Henry to see if he still thinks of me as Starbuck?”

  “Could you? You were the one who got him started on the road to normality.”

  “Maybe we can go in together. I’ll stop by my place first and clean up.”

  “That would be just fine. I’ve got to make copies of this stuff and I’ll be a few minutes behind you.”

  “See you at the house,” I said, pulling on my rain slicker.

  Polpis Road was practically deserted. Gusts of wind coming across the moors slammed against the little sports car. The miniature windshield wipers were practically useless against the driving rain, and I barely made it through puddles as deep as lakes. I was glad when I pulled into the driveway, but that feeling quickly vanished. Ramsey’s Bentley was in the driveway in front of the main house.

  I parked behind the car and went up onto the porch. The front door was unlocked. No one was in the kitchen. I went upstairs and knocked on the door of Daggett’s quarters. There was no answer.

  “Captain Ahab!” I called as I stepped inside. “Henry Daggett. Gramps.”

  None of the old man’s revolving personalities replied.

  I went back to the first floor and encountered Mr. Gomes coming in the front door.

  He removed his baseball cap and shook the water off. “Nasty night out there.”

  I was in no mood for a weather report. “Where’s Mr. Daggett?” I said.

  “He’s in his quarters. I was just going to check on him for the night.”

  “I’ve already done that. He’s not there.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I went inside and called for him. Lisa told me that Daggett never left his rooms.”

  “That’s right. He was afraid to leave. Thought the house was surrounded by the ocean. Maybe he went off with Mr. Ramsey?”

  “I saw the car, but there’s no sign of Ramsey. How long has he been here?”

  “He arrived about an hour ago. He said he wanted to chat with Mr. Daggett. I left to have dinner with my wife and was on my way to settle the old man in for the night.” Gomes looked as if he’d lost a winning lottery ticket. “I feel responsible for him wandering off. He’s not going to get into trouble, is he?”

  I was more worried about Ramsey than the police. I didn’t know what Michael was up to, but I was certain nothing good could come of it.

  “It isn’t your fault and maybe the police won’t mind if we get him back soon. Lisa will be home in a few minutes. I’d appreciate it if you could stay here and tell her what happened.”

  “Should she call the police?”

  “Yes. The police can track him through his ankle bracelet. Tell Lisa that I’ve gone off to look for him around the property.”

  I stepped out of the house onto the porch and squinted as if that could help penetrate the curtain of raindrops. Use your brain, Socarides. Daggett didn’t simply wander off on his own. He was with Ramsey, who obviously wanted to take him somewhere. Ramsey’s car was still in the driveway, which meant he was still around. As I stood there, I became aware of a sound that was a backdrop to the pelting drumbeat of rain on the roof. The low roar of pounding surf. And it was telling me exactly where I should look.

  CHAPTER 40

  Nothing is more humbling than a nighttime romp on a rain-swept beach in the teeth of a gale. You quickly discover that you might as well have left all six senses at home. You can’t see, and even if you know where to go, the mushy wet sand will grab at your feet or spiky clumps of beach grass will try to break your ankles. You can’t hear, because your auditory nerves are overwhelmed. The relentless army of waves thundering against the beach sounded like a fleet of locomotives at full throttle. Raindrops pelted my skull as if someone
were using it for a timpani.

  The flashlight Mr. Gomes had loaned me was practically useless. The beam was shredded by thousands of glittering raindrops. I pointed the light down, a few inches ahead of my slogging feet, which worked out better, because my head was bent to avoid the bullets of rain. I made my way slowly toward the crashing surf. Eventually I’d stumble onto the beach. If I fell in the ocean, I’d have gone too far.

  I lost my balance a few times and fell to my knees like a supplicant to King Neptune. Finally, after what seemed like hours of walking, my feet crossed from dune grass to sloping sand. The spray cast up by the waves breaking against the beach flew through the air like foamy birds. I guessed that the beach shack was off to the right. I wiped the water from my eyes with the back of my hand and saw a glint of yellowish light that quickly vanished. I struck out toward the direction I had last seen the light, trudging blindly through the rain like one of the surf men who used to patrol the beach on the lookout for ships in trouble.

  There was nothing but darkness ahead. I thought I had made the wrong choice. Then, I saw a pinpoint of light blink on and off again. I staggered on, buffeted by the wind, and glimpsed the blink again, brighter now. The light gained contours and I saw that it came from a window. The stroboscopic effect was caused by the intermittent sheets of rain.

  I made it to the shack and peered through the side window. The glow that had attracted me like a soggy moth came from an oil lantern sitting on a table. Next to the table was the rocking chair Flagg had used when he was guarding Malloy. And slumped in the chair was Henry Daggett.

  I stepped onto the porch, unlatched the door and pushed it wide enough to stick my head through the opening. With the lantern throwing the only light, half the cottage was in shadow.

  And it was from this darkness to my right that the muzzle of a rifle emerged and a voice said, “Don’t be shy. Come in out of the rain.”

  I did as I was told. I couldn’t see the person in the shadows, but I knew the voice.

  “Thanks for the invite. Any port in a storm.”

  Ramsey stepped out of the shadows. He held a stubby-looking rifle, chest-high, with his finger wrapped around the trigger. In his other hand was an unlit lamp similar to the one on the table.

  “Sit down and keep your hands folded on the table where I can see them,” he said.

  I lowered my dripping wet body into a chair.

  Ramsey placed the lamp on the floor and sat in a chair opposite me, resting the rifle on the tabletop, the muzzle pointing toward my heart. He saw me staring at the rifle. “If you’re thinking that you’d like to snatch the rifle out of my hands, I’d advise against it.”

  “I was admiring the telescopic sight. That’s a Walther sniper’s rifle, isn’t it?”

  “Good call, Socarides. It’s shorter than most rifles used for that purpose.”

  “Is that why you missed when you were using the gun in the Serengeti?”

  “How did you know that it was me?”

  “Three reasons. Lisa hired me to keep the Daggett case open. Someone didn’t want that to happen. And that someone is holding a sniper’s rifle.”

  “Have you figured out why someone would not want the case to remain open?”

  “Still working on it, but Rosen was the staff shrink for one of your companies, so maybe you can tell me why he was trying to keep the old man crazy and confused.”

  “What would have happened if Rosen hadn’t botched the job?” Ramsey said.

  “Daggett would have been sent off to a mental hospital for the rest of his life.”

  “Which would have been the kindest course of action, don’t you agree?”

  “That wasn’t the way it was going down, though, was it? Daggett was coming out of his Ahab delusion despite Rosen’s attempt to keep him in la-la land. When Lisa hired me, that messed up your plans.”

  “You have a high opinion of yourself, Socarides. You crash around like a bull and break a few pieces of china, but you can’t put the pieces back together.”

  “My detective skills weren’t an issue. I connected on a personal level with the old man, and in time, he could have told me things you didn’t want to hear. You tried to cut me out of the picture. I can’t figure how you’d miss an easy shot with the high tech piece of hardware you’re holding.”

  “Killing you would have brought even more attention to the case. I was trying to avoid that.

  It was only a matter of days to the trial. If I scared Lisa off until then, Daggett could be tried and committed. Case closed. But that didn’t happen.”

  “With Rosen gone, Daggett started to improve. Lisa told you tonight that he was getting back to normal, and you couldn’t let that happen.”

  “Would you have allowed that if you were in my place?”

  “I wouldn’t be in your place.” I nodded toward the old man. “Is he dead?”

  “Oh, no. He’s under the influence of a drug I acquired from Dr. Rosen. I administered it with a high pressure hypodermic after we came to the cottage.”

  Malloy and Tanya had both been put under using the same technique.

  “Why did you bring him here?”

  “After Lisa told me he was coming out of his Ahab hallucination, I wanted to see how far he had progressed. She wasn’t exaggerating. He was still slipping in and out, but his mental state was definitely improving.”

  “Improved enough to remember that you were at the whaling museum the night Coffin was murdered?”

  A tight smile came to Ramsey’s lips. “Nice try. You want me to say that he never saw me at the museum and was unconscious on the ride to the Serengeti.”

  “Sorry. It always works in the movies.”

  “It works in real life, too. Daggett never saw me.”

  “Then why worry about the old guy?”

  “Because the police would find out that I was supposed to be at the museum that night to meet with Coffin and Daggett.”

  “To talk about the Coffin scrimshaw collection?”

  “That’s right. Do you know what was so unusual about the collection?”

  I tap-danced around the question. “I talked to a couple of dealers. They said it was some of the best work done by possibly the best scrimshaw artist in the country.”

  “Very good. I told Chernko he shouldn’t underestimate you,” Ramsey said. “I did some research and saw where you’d broken some complicated cases.”

  “Is that why you set me up after our sailboat ride?”

  “I tried to warn you off the island. Chernko’s operation moved faster than I anticipated.”

  “Glad you brought up Ivan. That’s another thing I don’t get, Ramsey. Why kill old Coffin? He had nothing to do with your big score with Chernko.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Coffin had everything to do with the deal. Coffin had information that could have hurt a major acquisition my firm was involved in. The money from that deal was the foundation for an even bigger venture with Chernko.”

  “How could Coffin—?” I stopped short, remembering what Malloy had said about Nantucket Capital Investment Partnership. “Why do they call your company the Young Cannibals? Why not say you’re vulture capitalists like other outfits?”

  “Because vultures are scavengers who prey on the dead. Nantucket Capital Investment Partnership gobbles up companies that are weak but still alive.”

  “Just like your ancestor, William Swain, who gobbled up his weak shipmates?”

  Ramsey reacted as if I’d thrown a switch. A dark cloud passed over the smirking expression on his face and his features contorted into something brutish. I was no longer looking at the handsome business executive with the charming manner and expensive dental work. Maybe it was the shadows, but the broad sloping forehead, the wolfish expression in the eyes, the hungry, op
en mouth were those of the murderous cannibal that Coffin had etched into his scrimshaw.

  “How did you know that?”

  Even his voice had changed into a low hiss that was more reptilian than human. A shiver ran down my spine. This was how Coffin and Daggett must have felt when they realized that they were trapped on a boat with a monster who wanted to devour them.

  “The scrimshaw trail led me to a headstone in the cemetery. Interesting family lineage you have.”

  The Michael Ramsey persona reasserted itself. He gave the flashing car salesman smile.

  “My group was acquiring a fast-food company, and my family background would have made great fodder for the headline writers in the Wall Street Journal: Cannibal’s Descendant Wants Quick Meal.”

  “Not very catchy, but it isn’t the kind of thing that would get you invited to a celebrity roast.”

  “Very funny, Socarides. It would have killed the deal and made my company a laughing stock.”

  “So you killed Coffin instead.”

  “He should have left the past undisturbed. He showed me the photos, trying to get my support for the acquisition. ”

  “That was you who broke into this beach shack and Sutcliffe’s house, wasn’t it?”

  “Coffin didn’t have it with him at the museum. I was desperate to find the scrimshaw piece.”

  “And have you?”

  He shook his head. “That old fool says he doesn’t know where it is.”

  “You’d better think it through, Ramsey. I’m not the only one who knows you met with Daggett tonight. They’ll figure things out.”

  “I’m way ahead of them. I’ll say that Daggett wasn’t in his room. I went to look for him and found the beach shack on fire.” He placed the flickering kerosene lantern on the floor and picked up an unlit lamp, placing it on the table. “This one is filled with gasoline rather than lamp oil. I’ll toss it into the shack on my way out. Crazy old man escapes confines, knocks over that lamp and this one, and set himself on fire. I didn’t expect a visit from you, but that’s even better. Your body is found in the burned wreckage, apparently killed with the harpoon hanging on the wall. Kinda like Coffin. They’ll assume Ahab finally caught his white whale.”