Once Burned (Task Force Eagle)

by Vaughan, Susan

  The chief’s shoulders shifted as a sigh escaped him. “Her sister. I heard you and her were asking around about Gail’s...lovers. Figured you’d reach me sooner or later. When it was Lani who asked, I saw the pain in her eyes. Just couldn’t tell her. Thought claiming not to remember Gail meant an end to questions. Looks like I was wrong on that score. Long list of lovers? I’m sorry for the family. You know who?” He headed around his desk toward the door.

  Galt had taken the interview exactly the direction Jake wanted. A small-town cop wouldn’t have had the money to pay off Tyson, but the small-town cop knew someone who did. “Most. And you know someone not on my list who might’ve taken Gail up on her offer.”

  The chief’s gaze shifted down to his left as he adjusted his cap.

  “Someone who couldn’t afford even a whisper about an affair,” Jake continued. “Especially not with an eighteen-year-old girl who worked on his campaign.”

  “J.T. Meagher.” Galt’s mouth turned down. “Kevin maybe. Not J.T.”

  “But you suspected J.T. Your reaction when I asked said so.” Jake edged around so Galt couldn’t pass, had to face him. “I’ll be giving my conclusions and the list of suspects to Sgt. Robichaud for use when the state re-opens the Cameron fire case. Looks like I’ll have to leave your name on the list and add J.T.”

  *****

  Lani was sitting on the cabin’s padded bench when Jake returned. She listened intently as he recounted his chat with Chief Galt. “Nice little bit of blackmail. How’d he react?”

  Since galley clean-up was Jake’s chore today, he loaded their lunch and breakfast dishes in the sink. Cooking odors mingled with dish soap in the cabin. Rather than domesticated, Jake looked lethally masculine in his jeans and a yellow polo, muscular forearms daubed with suds. She snapped to attention as he began to answer her.

  He chuckled. “I readied myself to duck if Galt had swung a punch but he acknowledged using the same technique with suspects. Even laughed about it. Then he told me he had asked J.T. about Gail.”

  Her jaw dropped. “No kidding. When? Twelve years ago or now?”

  “As soon as he heard we were asking around about Gail and men. J.T. was shocked and said something about all the college kids helping in his campaign, that he thought of us as kids.”

  “According to Galt,” she scoffed, remembering the chief as unreadable. Typical cop. She’d seen the same blank mask on Jake. “You believe him?”

  “About himself, yeah. About J.T., I don’t know. Kevin’s still a good bet even if he did deny hooking up with your sister. J.T. could’ve paid off Tyson to protect his son.”

  Lani lifted the laptop lid and opened their research file. She’d finished entering all their interviews and the background checks. “Too many suspects. More than a couple with the money to pay off Tyson. Mike Spear was the beneficiary of his grandfather’s insurance and estate to the tune of six million. That money helped set him up in the marina business.”

  “And could’ve left enough to siphon off for Tyson.”

  She nodded, scrolling down the list. “Steve Quimby leads a modest life now as a kitchen designer but his family is old money, stocks and investments from a lumber company. Both parents are influential attorneys, and were back then.”

  “And Kevin and his father,” added Jake. “After you talk to Nora at the church booth, we need to give all this information to Robichaud. Let them take over the investigation.”

  And the danger, words he’d left unsaid, understood. Only it wouldn’t work that way. Until there was solid evidence against the arsonist, she remained in jeopardy. A winter chill slid down her spine, but she firmed her chin. She climbed the few steps to the deck to go check her email in the sun’s warmth.

  *****

  Jake stared into the sink as he scrubbed a plate. What they knew and what they didn’t might as well have been this jumble of soapsuds. Still no further information on Brandon’s truck, and nothing in Ed Pascal’s background even so much as hinted at illegal activity. He rinsed a dish and set it in the drying rack.

  Lani had chatted with Pascal, who was open with about where he lived, a rental in the same development as Kevin and Nora. Brandon rented a mobile home not far from Ava Warren’s. Their meeting could have been totally innocent. Except for two things. Brandon pulled a gun at the noise Jake made, and that house was supposed to be unoccupied because the owners were away. How the hell should he proceed? Follow the guy? Hard to be invisible in a rural area where people know you and your vehicle.

  “Jake, you better come up here. Something’s going on.”

  At Lani’s announcement, the commotion topside broke through Jake’s thoughts. He joined her on deck.

  The main dock near the harbormaster’s building was lined with official boats of the Maine Marine Patrol. More official crafts surrounded two lobster boats at their moorings. Engine exhaust soured the more pleasant aromas of roasting beef and baking rolls from the inn’s kitchen.

  The dock swarmed with men and women in uniform. Chief Galt and his sergeant in their khakis and white shirts. Four or five others in the dark trousers and tan shirts of the Maine Marine Patrol. And two EMTs in jeans and blue shirts with epaulets. Police cars with their red lights rotating sat beside the open back doors of an ambulance.

  Jake saw no crime-scene tape but the DHPD sergeant and a couple of men with fire-department volunteer badges kept curious onlookers back from the action. He’d forgotten how small towns with five-man forces had to depend on partially trained volunteers. On land, more officious volunteers, clearly teenaged fire-department wannabes, herded the curious back and uphill toward the inn.

  Two MMP officers hoisted a black body bag from their patrol boat onto a gurney held by the EMTs, who hustled up the hill with their burden. Onlookers’ excited voices hushed as the body passed them.

  “You think it’s Ava?” Lani’s whispered words conveyed her horror as the ambulance pulled away.

  “A possibility. Could be a boating accident. Could be anything.” He didn’t want to scare her, but with the cops standing around, his bet was on the bartender. Her bragging might’ve gotten her killed.

  “Over there. David Brandon.” Lani pointed farther down the docks. She gripped his arm. “In handcuffs.”

  Three other men stood, their gazes downcast, with Brandon. He was the only one manacled. DHPD officers and an MMP officer then escorted them from a Marine Patrol boat along the docks, and to official cars.

  As soon as the vehicles drove away with the culprits, many people lost interest and wandered away. Others trailed down to the docks, apparently hoping for news or speculation. At a signal from Chief Galt, the volunteers ended their control and joined the crowd.

  “Brandon is involved in the trap cutting,” Jake said. “Probably so are the rest. Looks like the MMP has stepped in to stop it.”

  “Where’s Ed Pascal? Is he mixed up in this?”

  “There, by the harbormaster building,” he said. “With Galt.”

  But not under arrest. Galt pumped Pascal’s hand with both of his as if cranking a car jack. He beamed a smile for a woman holding up a mic. Jake recognized her as a classmate. Her byline regularly appeared in the Bayport paper.

  “Let’s get over there.” He swung a leg over the side and reached for Lani’s hand.

  Chapter 22

  They raced single file along the narrow finger dock and reached the press conference as Galt was launching into a speech.

  “Thanks to our intrepid harbormaster, Ed Pascal,” Galt announced, “at least two crimes and maybe three have been solved today. Disputes about fishing territory are centuries old. Generally we like to let lobster fishermen solve their own problems. But when trap wars turn nasty and dangerous, the law has to step in. Pascal here tipped off the Maine Marine Patrol. Surveillance yielded four arrests today, for allegedly cutting trap lines and firing shotgun blasts toward other boats.”

  Lani nudged Jake. “Didn’t you tell me you had your contact report the trap
cutting?”

  He nodded. “No reason Pascal couldn’t have reported it too.” But Pascal didn’t look happy at the praise and attention. His sun-lined features crimped deeper as he shrank back into the shadows of the building.

  Jake had learned more about Pascal from his grandfather’s buddies. The harbormaster had applied for the job after the previous man retired. Had the necessary experience, having worked as deputy to a harbormaster on Cape Cod. Maine had no specific regulations for harbormasters, as far as Jake had been able to find out. All municipal hires, they managed the harbor moorings and dockage, organized search and rescue operations, and enforced coastal laws. Pascal’s references checked out and no one else applied, so he was hired.

  “Got up to speed fast on town ordinances and state laws,” one of the old codgers had said. “Picked up where Murphy left off with managing the moorings and dock space. Don’t interfere too much with workin’ boats neither.”

  Except in this case, Jake mused now.

  “One of the men may also be charged with drug possession,” Galt continued. “David Brandon’s pockets contained bags containing an unidentified powder and some capsules. I’ll have more on that after DHPD searches his home.”

  “What about the body?” the reporter prompted. “Any identification?”

  “Female in her thirties,” Galt clipped out, suddenly all regs. “Have to notify the family before I can give you a name.”

  When she tried to ask more, he held up a hand. “MMP found the body washed up against the far side one of the smaller islands. Body’d been in the water a few days. Not clear yet if the death’s an accident or connected to the trap wars. We’re looking into the matter. If necessary, I’ll call in Major Crimes.”

  “State detectives’ll take over if it’s murder,” Jake murmured to Lani.

  “Thank you, Chief.” The reporter smiled. “I’d like a picture of you with Mr. Pascal before you go.”

  But the harbormaster had vanished. The harbor launch churned away from shore, its departing rumble floating back toward the docks. Ed Pascal, a cap pulled low over his forehead stood at the helm.

  “Camera shy,” Lani said. “What’s up with that?”

  Jake stared after the fleeing man. “I don’t know but I aim to find out.”

  *****

  Jake found no pictures of Ed Pascal in the library’s old newspapers, not even when the town had introduced him as the new harbormaster. He’d begged off, saying his ugly mug would break the camera.

  Strange for such a gregarious man. One who’d placed himself in the limelight as a hero.

  Later, Jake meandered around the docks, ostensibly gawking at the pleasure boats in town for the weekend’s festivities. His cell phone captured more than one image of Pascal in conversation with boaters. Then he detoured around Donovan, who was out of the office with the smuggling task force, and made a call to a primary source.

  *****

  On Saturday, Lani sprinkled flour on her hands and on the makeshift counter behind the fried dough and pie booth. Fruity aromas of home-baked blueberry and apple pies mingled with the greasy odor of hot oil. Perspiration dripped down her backbone, and she eased farther beneath the canvas cover to escape the sun.

  The denizens of Dragon Harbor worked hard on the annual festivities marking the village’s founding. All year long the Dragon Harbor Day Committee raised funds and organized the parade, fair, and fireworks. People from around the coastal area and beyond jammed village streets. On the truck-bed stage here at one end of the middle school grounds, politicians orated between musical performances but most people ignored them. They came to dunk the police chief or school principal in a water tank and to buy crafts and fair food.

  “The parade was great,” she said. “Just as I remembered.”

  Nora lifted one shoulder. “Not as good as it used to be. I miss the neighborhood floats.” She sighed as she slapped a hunk of bread dough onto the flour-smeared counter. “Most floats represent businesses or churches. The spirit’s there but folks don’t have the time. I wouldn’t have pushed myself to do a float either except for Kevin’s campaign.”

  Lani grinned, wiping one floury hand on her cotton-duck apron. “Ours was the best, no matter what the judges say. And I loved the school bands and the Revolutionary War re-enactors with their muskets.”

  She mashed the dough between her palms and began stretching it into a flat, round shape. “Ah, there’s a breeze.” She tilted her face into the salt-laced air.

  “Probably bringing in that rain they predicted.”

  “You two have enough ready for the fryolator? We have three orders waiting.” Always in motion, the booth organizer was a tall woman with short gray hair framing a long, narrow face. She shifted back and forth on sneaker-clad feet.

  “Enough to hold you for a while.” Nora left a dusting of white as she pushed hair from her forehead. She handed a tray of flattened dough to the woman, who promptly slapped two into the bubbling oil.

  Fried dough, doughboys, or elephant ears, whatever the name, Lani loved the decadent treat. Sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon and eaten warm. Yum. Her mouth watered. Next break she’d have one. Maybe a snack would take the edge off her nerves, jangling from having to quiz Nora.

  Her friend dusted off her hands and fanned herself with the newspaper. “Did you see this morning’s Chronicle?” She held up the front page with three-column-wide pictures of the four men being taken into custody.

  Lani’d read the story while she ate her cereal, but here was an opening. Her pulse kicked into an anxious two-step. “More developments?”

  “Says they identified the dead woman as Ava Warren but—get this—’Chief Galt refused to state the cause of death pending an autopsy.’ Unattended deaths require autopsies but maybe it wasn’t an accident? Ava was a wild one but I’d hate to think some guy killed her.” Nora looked up, her shoulders rigid. “Emergency room nurses see gruesome trauma to the human body. But not much is worse than what happens after several days in the ocean. I hope her mother didn’t have to look at her dead daughter that way.”

  Lani’d thought the same thing. “Maybe they used dental records. And Ava had lots of ink.” Jake had said as much. “What about the men who were arrested?”

  “Says here there’s no evidence to connect them to the body. One of the MMP boats found Ava while they were observing the suspects. More than six hundred traps were cut loose in the fishing dispute. All four men are charged with criminal mischief, reckless endangerment with firearms, and vandalism of property. David Brandon faces further charges of trafficking scheduled drugs—oxycodone and other opiate pills—and cocaine.”

  People in shorts and T-shirts chattered with neighbors in long lines to buy homemade pie or Italian sausage rolls or blooming onions among other artery-clogging delights. Children darted among the adults and raced to the game booths. Lani saw Kevin in the middle of the crowd.

  Jump in, Coward.

  When Nora set down the paper to return to dough stretching, Lani tilted her head toward Kevin, who was walking toward the platform. “I see Kevin’s headed to speak.”

  Nora glanced her husband’s way. Her brows bunched together. “Yeah. He looks ready. Confident.”

  Something in her friend’s tone and expression had the hairs on Lani’s neck prickling. She picked up another dough chunk so she had something to do with her shaky hands. “He isn’t always?”

  Nora tilted her head as if deciding how much to say. She lowered her voice. “Being J.T.’s son isn’t easy. Kev’s had some problems, some...issues. There’ve been rocky times, but things are better now.”

  “And the arrests. Isn’t David Brandon a Meagher employee?”

  Nora sighed. “Disappointing blot on the company. Kevin prepared a statement but the paper hasn’t run it yet.”

  Lani swallowed. “Kevin know anything about Brandon’s issues?”

  The other woman’s eyes narrowed at her anticipatory expression. Her fingers stilled on the sti
ll shapeless dough. “You’re interrogating me, aren’t you?”

  The accusation burned her stomach, sending acid up her throat. “Nora, I—”

  Nora’s plump face was red now, and not from the sun or the fryolator. “No! I’ve heard about all the questions you and Jake are asking. You think Kevin does drugs? Or do you think he set that fire? Killed your sister?”

  Behind the booth, a balloon popped and a child began to wail. The aroma of frying onions and hamburgers soured the salt breeze.

  “No, I don’t. I don’t believe that. I’m just trying to get the truth. All of the truth.” Her words sounded lame but the anguish of questioning her friend twisted her insides and short-circuited her brain.

  Nora stepped close, fury glistening in her eyes. She jabbed her index finger against Lani’s sternum. “I know Kevin hurt you. It was a long time ago. He was a boy. He has his faults but he’s a good man. A good father. I thought you were my friend. I guess I was wrong.” She tore off her apron and tossed it on the counter. “I’m taking a break,” she said to no one in particular as she hurried from the booth.

  Lani lowered her gaze. The white smear of accusation on her apron bib shamed her. Dough oozed between her clenched fingers.

  *****

  Jake met Lani at the church booth when her shift ended. A man and woman he didn’t know were donning flour-dusted aprons as she walked out into the afternoon sunlight. Her mouth was pinched.

  He didn’t see Nora anywhere around. Maybe she’d spilled some nugget that would help them. “What happened?”

  Lani slipped her arm into his and led him away toward the harbor. She bit her lip. “I’ll tell you later.”

  He squeezed her hand where it lay on his forearm. They fell silent as they joined others walking back into town.

  On the docks, the aroma of salmon sizzling on a grill drifted from a neighboring boat. Glasses and beer bottles clinked. A cormorant dived, hunting a meal in the deep. All normal for a holiday weekend.