I couldn’t believe my bad luck. Despite the gun, I surely would have had the upper hand over Zane. I had the element of surprise and could have used that to my advantage.
But no. Some guy had to see me get on board.
I wanted to scream, “FUCK!!!!” at the top of my lungs, but what was the point?
Zane went downstairs and came back up with more meat. He took a two- or three-pound piece and wiped it on my thigh, trying to coat it with blood, even though most of it had dried at this point.
He took the meat and nonchalantly tossed it in the ocean.
I don’t think it mattered to him the blood was dry. This was more to make a point than anything else.
“Supposedly, there’s a lot of sharks fifteen to twenty miles off the coast of Santa Cruz. Did you know that, Quint? That’s quite a name, by the way.”
He wasn’t being subtle and I knew mentioning both Quint and sharks was not an accident.
“I know your old nickname,” I said.
Zane took a step back. That I was in on his sick little joke genuinely seemed to shock him. I could tell he was trying to figure out how I could know.
He went back downstairs and reemerged with a chair. He set it next to me and took a seat. And smiled down at me.
“Ah, I got it. Had to be Dennis McCarthy. How is that old asshole?”
“I think we both know he didn’t kill Griff Bauer.”
“Shit, I almost forgot. My letters to you are what got this all started,” he said, seeming to enjoy the moment.
I looked past Zane and saw the sun was probably thirty minutes from setting. Not that it really mattered. Sunup or sundown, the handcuffs weren’t going to magically disappear.
“What exactly did you expect me to do with the bullshit info you fed me?” I asked.
“In all honesty, not much. But on the slight chance you mentioned McCarthy as a potential suspect, I thought it was worth it. Even if it was just your shitty paper.”
I didn’t take the bait. “How did you find out who I was?”
Zane smiled at me, amused by this all.
I looked up at the human version of a pit bull. Not all that big, but strong, ugly, and ferocious.
“I generally like to drive around an area in which I’ve commissioned a crime. After the fact, and before the police show up, obviously. I’m not that dumb. Make sure nothing stands out that could get us in trouble. So I was loitering around the home of Griff Bauer on that Saturday morning when I saw you looking in the house.”
I was listening to every word he said. But I was also trying to slowly, subtly wiggle my feet around. The rope felt tight, but not immovable.
“And then,” he continued, “I drove by the next day and you were talking to some cops. Now, that made me more than just a little suspicious, so I found out everything I could about you. Your name. Your parents. But we’ll get back to that later.”
My thoughts turned to my father. But I tried to remain focused. I had to keep Zane talking. I wasn’t sure exactly how it could help me, but at the very least, it would delay the inevitable. “And that’s when you started sending me the letters?”
“That’s right. Once I found out you were a journalist. Seemed like a fun game to play.”
“Wasn’t that risky?”
“Not really. I wore gloves. And dropped the letters in the Walnut Creek Times’s mail slot late at night. No post office or anything to narrow down where or who the letter had been sent from.”
“You don’t leave much to chance, do you, Mr. Zane?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean I’m infallible. I mean, if I hadn’t gotten that phone call from Max, it might have been me who was tied up.”
“Want to switch?”
Charles Zane laughed, surprisingly loudly.
Then he said, “Stop being funny. It will make it harder to cut you up and feed you to the sharks.”
At that moment, he looked over the side of the boat.
“Nope, not here yet.”
He took another piece of meat and tossed it overboard.
“More than likely, we won’t see them until I start throwing pieces of you overboard.”
A shiver went up my spine. I tried wiggling my feet, but the rope still would barely budge. His chair sat near my upper body, so he didn’t have a view of my feet.
Still, I had to wiggle them very delicately so he wouldn’t notice.
It gave me an idea. It was a thousand to one, but what else did I have?
At some point, when he stood up, I’d swing my feet at his legs, trying to take him down with a blow from underneath. Hopefully, he’d be unprepared and hit his head on the fall backward. Then, when he went to the deck, I’d raise my feet up and repeatedly kick him over the skull with my roped-together feet.
A heel crashing down on a face could do a lot of damage.
So while it was a long shot, I didn’t think it was impossible.
I had to wait, however. His chair was a bit too far away at the moment. And knocking him from a chair wouldn’t do much, anyway. From a full standing position, damage could be done.
“I got it, Zane. You’ve got the upper hand and you’re going to feed me to the sharks. Can I at least find out all that’s happened first?”
“What if I decide to just start killing you now?”
“I think you want to tell me. So you can gloat.”
“You’re a smart man, Quint. That’s exactly what I want. But I have more questions first.”
“Go ahead,” I said. I wanted to say fuck off, but being polite might give me more time.
“Why did you go to Dennis McCarthy?”
“I didn’t. He came to me when he found out I was asking questions at Boyle’s Grocery Store.”
“Ah, yes. Paddy Roark. Quite a disagreeable gentleman.”
I ignored him. A deranged killer calling someone disagreeable.
“So, McCarthy found me and told me he assumed you were the one writing the letters. Trying to make him look bad.”
“Dennis was always a smart guy. And he recognized me as a different breed from day one. It’s amazing I lasted a few years with him.”
“I’ve got a question.”
“I’m all ears,” he said in a mocking tone.
“Did you kill Vern Coughlin?”
I was expecting a quick denial.
“Not personally. But yes.” And he laughed.
“Why?”
“The same reason I sent you the letters. To create trouble for Dennis McCarthy. You don’t fire Charles Zane without paying for it.”
“Vern Coughlin was an innocent man.”
“If you are trying to get me to develop some morals, you’re about fifty-six years late. I was the kid tripping other kids at school. Leaving small pieces of glass in the sandbox. Killing a neighborhood cat occasionally. For a while, I thought I was going to be a serial killer. I just hated everyone. But I loved the finer things in life. I wanted wealth. Beautiful girls. Yachts. So I thought about trying to get rich at the expense of other people’s addictions. Gambling came to a dead end once Dennis McCarthy fired me. But drugs have worked out just fine. You probably feel sad for all the opioid addicts these days. I see a prospective client. These drugs help ruin lives, ruin families, and meanwhile, I’m getting rich off of it. That’s perfection in my mind. Sometimes, if I see someone I know who has an addictive personality, I’ll have one of my subordinates give them a few pills for free. Get them a little taste. It’s a good investment, if you know what I mean. The money will come back to me tenfold.”
Charles Zane started laughing controllably.
I’d never heard a more disturbing statement in my life. You could argue he was worse than a serial killer. Who knows how many thousands of lives Zane had ruined? And the fact that he took pride in it disgusted me to no end.
“Why did you try to frame me for murder?” I asked, needing to change the subject. “I’m assuming it’s you who planted my DNA and that Starbucks cup.”
“It sounded like something fun to do. I’ve done a lot of crazy things, but never framed anyone for murder. It was a challenge.”
“And you hired someone to run into me at Starbucks and scratch me to get some DNA?”
“Wow, you’ve gotten a lot correct. Truly impressive, Quint. Yes.”
“And you had the guy pick up a cup I discarded?”
He looked down at me. Some form of admiration crossed his face. “Right again. And I had him take skin he’d scratched off of you and leave it around Bauer’s apartment. Best part is that a little skin might make it look like Griff Bauer was trying to scratch you. A defense wound.”
“You’re diabolical,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said.
I didn’t bother saying it wasn’t a compliment.
“And then had someone call the police?” I asked.
“Yeah. From a pay phone. Hard to find one of those these days. I had my subordinate call and say they were in Summit Hospital on the Saturday night in question and heard two people arguing. I knew Griff Bauer’s room number, so obviously we said that’s where the arguing came from. When they found out Griff’s roommate at the hospital was you, they’d immediately go back to the crime scene. And now they'd find your DNA.”
He’d literally thought of everything. Some sort of demonic genius.
So much of the puzzle was coming together. Sadly, there was no way to relay it to the police.
I continued slowly, subtly, rubbing my feet together.
“And when did you decide it was going to be easier to just try and kill me?”
“After you were bailed out, a few of my connections told me the DA’s office and police weren’t convinced it was an airtight case. And then I saw you at Golden Gate Fields a few times and I just figured it would be easier to kill you.”
“You almost did.”
“I’m curious, how did you manage to get away?”
“I heard a slight movement from my apartment as I put my key in the door. It gave me a fighting chance of getting down the hallway.”
A smile crossed his face. “Your demise is inevitable, but I’ve got a lot of respect for you, Quint.”
I wanted to keep him talking. The more time the better. Maybe he’d have a heart attack. Anything to give me a sliver of a chance.
“You had Griff Bauer kill Aubrey Durban and James Neil?”
“Yes,” he exclaimed, continuing to enjoy telling me all that happened. “Griff was a drug dealer for us, but he had a big batch stolen from him. He knew he was in deep. So we gave him an option.”
“And he found out that Aubrey had told Tricia Knox?”
“Yes, so she had to go.”
“She was a very nice person,” I said.
“I’m sure she was. As you may have gathered, that’s not going to affect me. It was just business.”
“Torture shouldn’t be part of business.”
“If you have to find things out, it’s sometimes necessary.”
“You plan on torturing me. I’ve got nothing to give.”
Zane smiled again. “You caught me. Sometimes I torture if someone has caused me an excessive amount of aggravation.”
“Like the man who nicknamed you Shark?”
“Precisely.”
I wanted to change the subject.
Zane was still seated and too far away for my legs to swivel and strike him. But I waited for the moment.
“I’ve got another question for you,” he said.
“Okay.”
“How did you know, and I’m assuming it was you, to go to Doug Anderson’s home last Friday night?”
He saw me pause. “If you don’t want to talk, we can get right to the torturous part of our scheduled program.”
God, I hated him. For a million reasons. Even his smugness made the list.
“I went to Paddy Roark and Dennis McCarthy. I told them I wanted something on you. An ex-wife. A disgruntled employee. Something to use against you.”
“And…”
“And they didn’t have anything in that regard. But they told me they had a friend who worked at the Cliff House and he’d be willing to put an audio bug in your car.”
He shuffled his chair as if this shocked him. “When I grabbed your phones earlier, I saw one had no apps except the link for ‘CZaudio’ on the home page.”
“That was it.”
“So you listened to me for days?”
“Yes.”
“Probably didn’t get much info. I try to keep quiet. But I trust, or I should say, I used to trust Doug Anderson. I felt comfortable talking to him. When I told him I’d send someone there that night, you showed up?”
“I did. And saw the two bodies get taken out. Annie Ivers was another very nice lady.”
“Collateral damage,” Zane said.
“I have a question.” I knew we were getting down to the nitty gritty. “Why have there been young girls running from Doug Anderson’s house? That’s what Aubrey and James saw as well, right?”
“You don’t pull punches, Quint. I respect that.”
“If you respect me so much, why don’t you let me go?” I asked.
He laughed. “Sorry, but we’re past the point of no return.”
I figured there was no need to go down a road that led nowhere.
“Were you guys trafficking women?” I asked.
“God, no. A little prostitution now and then, but no trafficking. Doug Anderson just has some peculiar habits. He likes young women. Although I guess, technically, they are girls. I can’t prevent all of my subordinates from partaking in their worst fantasies.”
“There’s a difference between liking young women and having them run from your house.” I paused. “Or being taken out in a body bag.”
“Doug is a tough case. He’s literally my number one dealer in the Bay Area. Any housewife within fifty miles who is doing Oxy or Vicodin or any of a number of other pills is either getting them from Doug or one of his subordinates.”
“A subordinate with his own subordinates.”
“Makes it much harder to get to the man on top.”
“Your business plan is similar to Dennis McCarthy’s.”
“Where do you think I came up with the idea? We’re both surrounded at the top by guys who would never turn on us. And the people near the bottom barely know they’re working for us. Take Griff Bauer for example. He never met me. Maybe he had an inkling he worked for me, but would never have any proof if arrested. And yet, I authorized hiring him. I gave the go-ahead to have him kill the couple on Oakland Avenue. And I’d even sanctioned his murder.”
I didn’t need to hear him toot his own horn.
“I’m assuming the girl that Aubrey and James saw is dead.”
“What do you think? We sent someone to that house almost immediately. Luckily, they hadn’t called the cops yet. Apparently, they were consoling the young woman. She was disposed of immediately. Just some runaway no one would miss. These Aubrey and James people were different. We had questions for them.”
“And let me guess, you disposed of the young woman’s body in the ocean?”
“Yes.”
“How many bodies are there in the water around the Bay Area?”
“Over the years?” He seemed to be pondering the question. “If I was still a gambling man, I’d set the over/under at twenty-five.”
He started laughing. I was disgusted.
I continued to move my feet back and forth, hoping to cause friction on the rope. If I kept him talking, maybe, just maybe, I could slowly wear it down. But, even then, I’d only have my legs free. I would have to do more.
“Who was the man who came to Bauer’s hospital room that first night?” I asked.
“You were there?”
“Yes, I thought you knew.”
“It’s the one part I couldn’t figure out. What brought you to his house the next morning?”
“I overheard him arguing with someone in the hospital. I took a picture of his addre
ss. And went there the next morning, hoping it would lead somewhere.”
Neither one of us said anything. It wasn’t necessary because we both knew where it had led me.
Defenseless, handcuffed to a boat, drifting on the Pacific Ocean.
“Your stitches were visible those first few days I saw you,” Zane said. “I should have put two and two together.”
“So who was the man who came to the hospital?” I repeated.
“That would be Max, the man you just saw me with at the Berkeley Marina. If I had anything close to a second in command, it would be him.”
“And he killed Griff Bauer?”
“No, no, no. I don’t ever have someone that close to me commit the murder itself. We hire someone down the totem pole, so if the jackass is caught, he has nothing of importance to tell. But once we heard Bauer was in the hospital, we knew we had to get him out of there. In case the police found out someone had crashed near a double homicide. They’d probably want to ask a few questions. So I sent Max to get him the hell out of there. Glad I did.”
He gloated. He loved to show how smart he was.
“So who killed Griff Bauer? Was it the same man who tried to kill me?”
I saw Zane genuinely thinking about it. “As a matter of fact, it was. He did such a good job on Bauer, we gave him a second job. He wasn’t as successful with you. So he’s probably on borrowed time himself.”
“When does it end?” I asked.
“I’m hoping with you.” He smiled again.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of smiling back.
“So all these murders happened because of Doug Anderson’s propensity for young women?”
“This latest round of murders. But trust me, there have been many bodies over the years with nothing to do with Anderson. And it’s almost never me doing the actual killing.”
A decent-sized wave rocked the boat. Zane had to regain his footing and sat back down.
“You still order the murders,” I finally said.
“Semantics. And if it makes you feel any better, once the attention around Doug Anderson’s house subsides, he’ll be meeting a bloody end as well.”
“You need to be stopped.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. But it’s not going to be by a guy with no free arms or legs. With a knife wound to boot.”
I started to sense that Zane was getting tired of talking. Once that happened, I was a dead man.
Revenge at Sea: (Quint Adler Book 1) Page 23
