Take a Dive for Murder

by Millie Mack

  This is the spot, Carrie thought.

  She tried to imagine Jamie standing on this pier his last night on earth. Suddenly Carrie saw what Stephen Beeker meant: an experienced swimmer like Jamie would have walked out to the end of the pier, not jumped in the water between two pilings. Carrie set her camera and started snapping pictures. She was concentrating on her picture-taking and thinking about the implications of her discovery when she became aware of a figure behind her.

  “Morbid curiosity or do you have some reason for being on this pier, in this spot?”

  Carrie spun around and faced one of TriCity’s beat cops. He looked to be in his late forties, a little pudgy in the middle, wearing a uniform shiny in spots from too much wear and probably known by every business owner in the area.

  “Good evening…” Carrie paused while she read his name tag and then added, “Officer Reynolds. I guess a little of both. I’m a friend of the Faraday family, and I was asked to take a look at facts surrounding Jamie Faraday’s death. So I thought I’d check out the pier.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re a detective? I saw you taking pictures. You look more like a tourist.”

  She laughed out loud. “No, I’m not a detective. Actually, I’m a photographer by profession. Since photography is what I know, I thought I’d take some pictures of this spot.”

  “And as a friend who’s looking into this case, what makes you think you will come to a different conclusion than the police? No doubt you believe you’ll find some undiscovered evidence and bust the case wide open,” he said with a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

  “At this point, I don’t believe anything. I’m a big supporter of the police and even went to school with the coroner on this case. In fact, I’m sure my conclusion will be that the death was an unfortunate accident. However, I did promise the family I’d look at all the possibilities.” Carrie spoke in a low, calm tone and then gave Officer Reynolds a gentle smile.

  Carrie could see that her answer was the right one, as Officer Reynolds visibly relaxed, and then she asked, “Were you on duty the night of Jamie Faraday’s death?”

  “Not only on duty, but I was walking only a five-block beat. There was a big convention in town that night, and we had extra police in the area. We want the tourist experience to be pleasant and safe so they come back.”

  “Hey, what about us local folk?” Carrie asked lightly. “We like to be safe.”

  “We all benefit if the tourists feel safe. They spend money. That gives the city money for more police, and the locals are protected year-round. It’s a lovely circle.”

  “Officer Reynolds, I like your approach.”

  He smiled. “Now I guess you want to know if I saw anything unusual that night.”

  “I do, but I wanted to ask you a question first. I see the remains of the yellow police tape. How do the police know that’s the spot where Jamie went into the water?”

  “See those two pilings?” Officer Reynolds said as he pointed at the wooden structures. “Faraday’s shoes were sitting neatly between the pilings, with a sock draped over each shoe. The investigators believe Faraday sat on the smaller piling and took off his shoes and socks. Then they assumed he most likely dived into the water next to where he placed his shoes.”

  “Makes sense to me.” Carrie also realized that the neat placement of the shoes dispelled the alcohol theory. Someone with too much to drink would probably have dumped their shoes haphazardly and not taken their socks off before they went in the water. “What else was happening that night?” prodded Carrie.

  “I hate to disappoint you, but about the only thing I saw were people. It had been a dark and stormy afternoon, and no one was around. And then just as quickly as the storm arrived, it was over, and a flood of people appeared on the boardwalk enjoying the shops, restaurants, and bars.”

  “What about after the stores and restaurants started to close?”

  “People want to get to their cars and go home or get back to their hotels. The crowds disperse just as quickly.”

  “How about out on the main streets?”

  “The avenues are patrolled by car, and then the cars drive down each of the side streets to the edge of the dock. Foot patrolmen like me walk the docks. Believe it or not, with all those people from the convention, there wasn’t a single incident, not even a drunk and disorderly. That was, until the body of your friend was discovered.”

  “Based on what you’ve said about the large crowds, it does seem unbelievable that no one saw anything.”

  “Well, fog was coming off the water that night. I walked back and forth many times, and I’ll admit it was difficult to see anything way out…” Officer Reynolds hesitated.

  Carrie heard his hesitation. “The fog made it tough to see, but did you hear something?”

  Officer Reynolds rubbed his chin as if he was remembering something. He chose his words carefully. “Talking to you reminded me of something I had forgotten.” He looked straight at Carrie. “You seem to be levelheaded, so I hope you won’t blow this little piece of information out of proportion. I did hear something around the time when your friend may have been on the pier. I may have heard a splash.”

  “A splash loud enough to be someone diving in the water?”

  “I’m not sure about that. I was several hundred feet down the boardwalk. When I got to Pier Seven, I stopped and listened, but I saw nothing, absolutely nothing.”

  “You didn’t see the shoes and socks?”

  “I didn’t see the shoes and socks because I didn’t come this far out. At that moment one of the shopkeepers called to me. She had the night’s receipts and wanted me to watch as she went to her car. So it was a few minutes before I returned to Pier Seven.”

  “You didn’t see anybody in the area?”

  “I did see three men about a hundred feet in front of me heading toward the hotel district. They appeared to be overly saturated and helping one another, if you know what I mean. You know, singing a bit and steadying each other as they walked. I think at the time I thought they might have thrown a bottle in the water, causing the splash.”

  “Do you remember what they looked like?”

  “The man being helped was well dressed. I remember him because most people who come down here are not in suits with white shirts. Even if they are in town on business, they dress casual for the evening. He had gray hair and was about five-foot-ten. The other two looked like Mutt and Jeff. The one guy was tall about six-foot-three, heavy, and looked like a football player. He was wearing khakis with a dark pullover. The third man was small, about five-foot-six and slight of build. He was dressed in jeans and a dark jacket. Unfortunately, I only saw them from the back and didn’t see their faces.”

  Carrie remembered Ben’s description of the man on the phone at the Admiral’s Saloon. Then she turned back to Reynolds. “That’s still a good description. Want a good description, ask a cop.” Reynolds smiled at the compliment. “Were these guys heading toward the hotels?” Carrie pointed with her hand.

  “Correct, but that doesn’t mean they were tourists. They could have been locals, heading for one of the uptown parking lots.”

  “You haven’t seen them around since that night?”

  “I haven’t seen a group of three men helping one another, but, like I said, I never saw their faces. I might be passing them every day, and I wouldn’t know.”

  A silence fell between them, and then Reynolds asked, “Are you planning on telling anyone about what I told you?”

  Carrie took his arm as they headed back from the end of the pier to the walkway. “Nothing to tell—probably three tourists who drank too much,” she said.

  “I can’t believe I forgot about that incident until now. I’m really good about reporting everything. I mean, I even report when a light is out on the pier.” He stopped and pointed to the one they were passing under. “The night of the Faraday incident, that light was out.”

  “This section of the pier was dark that night?” Carrie lo
oked up at a light, which was now burning brightly.

  “The light was broken, but with the fog, I’m not sure it would have mattered. I called it in, and maintenance fixed it within a day.” They had reached the end of the pier and were on the walkway.

  “It’s been a pleasure talking to you, miss. May I ask your name?”

  “Of course. My name is Carrie Kingsford.” She offered her hand and they shook.

  “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Kingsford. Up until this minute, I believed that Mr. Faraday decided to go for a swim and maybe didn’t realize the water was cold. Or maybe he had too much alcohol for a swim, but in any case it was an unfortunate accident. Now, talking with you, perhaps—and, mind you, just perhaps—there are some other possibilities.”

  “That’s why I’m rechecking all the facts. I’m looking at all those other possibilities.”

  “I should caution you to be careful. If Mr. Faraday’s death wasn’t an accident, then poking around could put you in danger. If you need anything, you have my name. You call the precinct and ask for me. I’ll get you help. Where are you heading now, Miss Kingsford?”

  “I’m done for the night. I’m heading home.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that. Should I walk you to your car?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m just in the parking lot at Pier Eight. Officer Reynolds, I’m glad TriCity has officers like you on duty.” She squeezed his arm.

  Reynolds watched Carrie Kingsford head for the Pier Eight parking lot. He turned and walked in the direction of the hotels. Carrie was deep in thought as she walked slowly back to her car, mulling over what she just learned from Officer Reynolds.

  She didn’t see the two men until she was almost upon them. They were standing by her car, facing away from her. One man was tall and looked like a football player. The other man was short and slight of build.

  She cut over quickly to another row of cars. As she walked between two cars, she lost her balance on the gravel and bumped against one. The car alarm went off. Damn alarms, she said to herself.

  The men looked over in her direction. She regained her balance and quickly started back to where she left Officer Reynolds. When she looked over her shoulder, the men started to move toward her. Without a doubt they recognized her.

  She broke into a dead run.

  21

  The night air may have been cool, but Carrie was sweating inside her clothing as she ran. What to do now? Think! She demanded of her brain. She checked once more over her shoulder. The men must have split up. One man was directly behind her, but where was the other man? Good grief, she thought, is this art imitating life? I seem to be reliving a chapter from my book.

  She decided to try to head back toward the Admiral’s Saloon, where there would be people. The minute she made the turn from the walkway, she got the answer to her earlier question. The other man was at the far end of the street, blocking her path back to the saloon.

  Then she remembered what Officer Reynolds said about police cars patrolling the main avenues. She headed straight for Harbor Avenue. Behind her she could hear the sound of both men running after her. She reached Harbor Avenue and looked for a patrol car. No such luck.

  Carrie turned onto Harbor Avenue at Olympic speed. She cut across the road to the other side, hoping it would buy her a few extra seconds, while the men’s eyes focused on their side of the street. However, she couldn’t silence the sound of her leather shoes on a quiet neighborhood sidewalk. She turned the corner and cut across to the opposite side of Water Street, heading toward Fleet Street, the other major thoroughfare. On Fleet she stopped for a minute, leaning against the edge of a building to catch her breath. She instinctively placed her hands in her pants pocket and felt the smooth leather of her card case.

  She heard a sound and carefully peeked around the edge of the building. They were coming. She thought of knocking on a door and trying to rouse one of the residents, but then another idea began to take shape.

  The answer was right next to her: a Citibank branch with an inside ATM. Carrie took out her ATM card and swiped it through the card reader to unlock the door. There was a buzz as the door released. She hoped the men hadn’t heard the door buzz as she entered the branch and pulled the door shut behind her.

  Carrie hit the floor and slid under the check-writing desk located below the window of the branch. The cool floor felt good as she wedged herself tight against the brick wall. The view from the only window gave the outsider limited sight into the branch. Carrie heard someone approach and decided this time she was going to get a look at these guys. She edged out from her hiding place to see the back of a man who was small and very thin. As she watched, she heard the second man approaching from the opposite direction. When the second man stood next to his friend, he was huge, over six feet and more than two hundred pounds. Carrie could just make out what they were saying.

  The bigger man spoke with a slight accent. “Bill, where she go? She should be here, between us, no.”

  Carrie realized that had she stayed on the street, she would have been trapped between the two of them. By thinking about being trapped, she almost missed the motion of the men turning. She barely had time to scoot back against the wall. Their jewelry clanked on the glass as they cupped their hands to look through the window. She wondered if either man carried a bank card.

  “Now what we do?” asked the larger man.

  “I don’t know. It’s possible she ran into one of those small alleys between the townhouses. What do you think?” said Bill.

  “Maybe she hid behind that row of trash bins on other side of street,” he offered

  “I’m pretty sure she didn’t get beyond this street. Let’s head back toward her car,” Bill suggested.

  Carrie heard the sounds of the men moving away from the window. “I don’t want to admit we missed her again. This time you call Mr.…”

  Carrie strained, but the men were out of her hearing range. She missed the name of the person they were going to call.

  She waited. Then she relaxed a little and looked at her watch. She forced herself to wait another five minutes. They wouldn’t be traveling that fast if they were checking trash cans and alleys. Should she venture out onto the street or use the customer service phone next to the ATM? She chose the phone.

  She was relieved when a person answered her call. It took only a few seconds to give her name and convince the bank representative she needed help and to send the police. Then she slid back into her hiding place. As she sat waiting for the police, she suddenly realized she also had a solution for the problem she had created in that alley for her character Ascot. She would have him hide out in the ATM lobby to escape the men chasing him, just as she had escaped her assailants. How strange that her book paralleled something in real life. Oh, well, she was sure she wasn’t the first writer who had this happen.

  It was only a few minutes before she saw the flashing red and blue police lights reflecting in the window. She opened the door of the bank and looked both ways before she fully emerged onto the sidewalk.

  “I can’t thank you enough for coming so quickly,” she said to the officer holding open the back door of the squad car. She climbed into the back seat, and the officer behind the wheel turned off the flashing lights. The first officer got in next to his partner and turned to look at Carrie through the metal frame of the wire cage.

  Carrie didn’t wait for the officer to ask her any questions. “I guess you gentlemen would like an explanation,” she volunteered.

  “We don’t, but our captain would like to speak with you.”

  “Are we going to the police station?” she asked as the car pulled away from the curb.

  “No, our captain is waiting a couple of blocks from here.” They drove two blocks and pulled alongside a dark blue unmarked car. The officer once more held the door for Carrie as she left the one vehicle and entered the passenger side of the captain’s car. Then the officers pulled away.

  “Hello, Captain…”
She hesitated, not knowing his name.

  “I’m Captain Becker,” he said, giving her his name. He was a man in his late thirties who displayed a nice smile as he turned to face Carrie. Becker wasn’t wearing a uniform, but a dark-blue turtleneck sweater. His head was closely shaved. She could tell, because very little hair showed out from under the dark-blue cap he was wearing. Carrie found herself staring at Captain Becker. She knew she had seen him before. Then she remembered. He was the man standing on the incline at Jamie’s funeral.

  “Well, Captain Becker, I’m sorry for all this trouble, but I certainly appreciate your officers helping me.”

  “Can you tell me exactly what happened tonight?” he asked.

  “It seems kind of silly now. I was bothered by a couple of men who just wouldn’t leave me alone. When I tried to go to my car, they began to chase me.”

  “So it was just a couple of guys who wouldn’t leave you alone,” he repeated.

  “That’s all it was. Now, if you or one of your men could give me a ride to my car at Pier Eight, I’d be most grateful,” she said, sounding totally innocent.

  “I’ll be more than happy to give you a ride,” answered Becker. The captain pulled out of the parking spot and headed toward Pier Eight. As they turned the corner onto Harbor Avenue, Carrie was sure she saw a couple of dark figures dart into an alley between two houses.

  Becker pulled onto Pier Eight, and Carrie directed him to her car. She thanked the captain again for the courtesy ride and was about to get out when he touched her arm.

  “All right, Ms. Kingsford, how about the real story? I’ve no time for games or your amateur interference in the Jamie Faraday murder case.”