by Bill Bernico
“I’m going back to see how Amy and Laverne and the kids are doing,” I told Dan.
“Go on,” Dan said. “I have to stay here and keep an eye on things.”
Amy was sitting at the picnic table. She held Clay on her lap, his head pressed to her chest. When he saw me he turned and handed me my towel. I fluffed it over my head and draped it around my shoulders again. Laverne held Dean in her arms. The two women’s faces showed grief and concern.
“Is he?” Amy said, not wanting to finish the sentence in front of Clay.
I nodded. “The ambulance is on the way. They can take him away and hopefully things will go back to normal around here.”
“Anyone know him?” Laverne said.
“No one came forward when Dan asked,” I said. “He was just a kid. Couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-one.”
“Anyone hungry?” Amy said, trying to change the subject. I shook my head, as did Laverne. Amy set Clay down on the ground. “How about you, Clay? You hungry?”
Clay shook his head, too. “Mom, we just had breakfast, remember? Can I go back down to the lake now?”
“Clay,” I said. “Let’s stay up here for a little while yet, okay?”
“But dad,” Clay said.
“But nothing,” I said. “We can keep mom company for a few more minutes. All right?”
“Oh, all right,” Clay said.
A few minutes later I could see the ambulance pulling into the parking lot. Two attendants in white came down to the beach pulling a gurney. I could see Dan talking to them for a moment before they lifted the body onto the gurney and pulled it back to the waiting ambulance. When they’d gone, Dan came back to the picnic area.
“Still nobody coming forward to identify him?” I said.
Dan shook his head. “Not yet. Give it a day or so and someone’s bound to miss him. We’ll hear about it soon enough.”
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and by the time we drove home again Clay was fast asleep in the back seat of my Olds. I carried him inside and undressed him before tucking him in for the night.
Monday was the Fourth of July. I was back in my office Tuesday morning and hadn’t even had time to check the morning paper when my phone rang. It was Dan.
“Morning, Matt,” Dan said. “Did I catch you in the middle of something?”
“Just the paper,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Nothing important,” Dan said. “Just wanted to call and thank you and Amy for a great day at the lake. Laverne says to thank you for her, too.”
“Our pleasure,” I said. “Speaking of the lake, did you hear anything further on the drowning victim? Anyone step up to identify him?”
“Actually,” Dan said, “someone did. A woman was here later on Sunday asking about her missing son. She told me she hadn’t seen him in a couple of days and was worried. When she described him, something clicked and I put two and two together and sure enough, it was her son lying there in the morgue. She just came apart when she had to identify his body.”
“I can imagine,” I said. “That’s gotta be a hard one.”
“After Walsh finished with the autopsy she had the body picked up and taken to the funeral home,” Dan said. “I guess they’re going to have the burial tomorrow or Thursday. I didn’t quite hear which day it was going to be. Anyway, that one’s no longer a loose end for me.”
“So what was the kid’s name?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Dan said. “Timmy or Tommy something or other. Is it important?”
“Probably not,” I said. “Just curious.”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to your paper,” Dan said. “Thanks again for Saturday.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Give our regards to Laverne, will you?”
“Will do,” Dan said and hung up.
I picked up the paper and tried to continue where I’d left off. Thoughts of the kid who’d drowned in the lake kept creeping into my thoughts and even the comics didn’t seem funny today.
Three more days passed and I was growing restless. I hadn’t had a client since the week before we’d all gone to the lake. I was about ready to put an ad in the classified section when I heard my outer door open and close. Light footsteps came closer and then came the knock on my inner door.
“It’s open,” I called from behind my desk.
The door opened and a woman close to my own age came in and closed the door behind her. She stood there for a moment looking around the room and then at me. I stood, came around my desk and approached the woman with my hand extended.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m Matt Cooper. How can I help you?”
The woman reluctantly took my hand and said, “Hello, Mr. Cooper. My name is Valerie Wheeler. I’d like to hire you to look into my son’s death, if I may.”
I led her to my client’s chair and invited her to sit. I took my seat behind the desk and pulled a yellow legal pad from my middle desk drawer and clicked my pen.
“Would you care to tell me about it, Mrs. Wheeler?” I said.
“Where should I start?” she said.
“Suppose you start at the point where there are things I need to know about,” I said.
She took a deep breath and let it out. “All right, Mr. Cooper,” she said. “My son had left the house on Monday, June twenty-seventh, telling me he was just going out for a while. He did that from time to time and I sometimes didn’t see him until the next day because I’d be sleeping by the time he got in and then I’d be gone to work before he got up, you see. So it wasn’t unusual for us not to see each other for a day or two, sometimes three days in a row.” She wrung her hands in her lap.
“Go on,” I said.
“Well,” she said, “When I didn’t see or hear from Tommy by the fourth day, I started to get worried. When I checked his bed, it had not been slept in. I called his boss and he told me that Tommy had not come in to work for three days.”
Something clicked in my head, but I wasn’t sure what it was just yet. At this point, Valerie Wheeler’s eyes began to mist and her speech came in bits and pieces, between convulsive breaths.
“Well, Mr. Cooper,” she said. “Last week I went to see a police lieutenant downtown and told him that I’d like to report a missing person. He asked if the person had been missing for more than twenty-four hours and I said that he had. When I described Tommy to him, I could tell by his face that he knew something.”
Then it came to me. Lieutenant Dan Hollister had told me about a woman asking about her son, who, as it turned out, was the drowned boy I’d pulled from the lake. He’d told me the boy’s name was Timmy or Tommy something or other. Now I knew it was Tommy Wheeler and his mother was sitting across from me.
“Mrs. Wheeler,” I said. “I don’t know exactly how to tell you this, but I was the guy who pulled Tommy out of the lake last Saturday. I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Wheeler.”
She looked at me strangely, her eyebrows scrunching down in the middle. “You?” she said.
I nodded. “I tried reviving him,” I said. “But it was too late. He was already gone.”
Now she was crying openly. I went around to her chair and placed my hand on her shoulder. I handed her my handkerchief and she dabbed at her eyes with it and handed it back to me. I waited until she’d composed herself again and then sat behind on the front edge of my desk.
“Mrs. Wheeler,” I said. “Why have you come to see me about this? Clearly Tommy’s death was an accidental drowning.”
“That’s the same thing that lieutenant downtown told me,” she said.
“And you don’t believe him?” I said.
“No, Mr. Cooper, I don’t,” she said.
“Why is that?” I said. “Lieutenant Hollister is a very capable policeman who knows what he’s doing and he has a first rate medical examiner backing him up on this one.”
“They’re wrong,” she said. “They’re all wrong. Tommy couldn’t swim.”
“And that’
s why he probably drowned,” I explained.
“No, Mr. Cooper,” Valerie said. “You don’t understand. Tommy couldn’t swim and he’d never have gone in the water to begin with. Someone must have put him there, I’m sure.”
“Mrs. Wheeler,” I said. “From what I understand, you already had Tommy’s funeral, is that right?”
“That’s right,” she said. “I buried him Wednesday.”
“And just what is it you’d like me to do for you, Mrs. Wheeler,” I said.
“I’d like you to find out who did this to Tommy, Mr. Cooper, Valerie Wheeler said, her voice almost pleading with me. “Please.”
I thought for a moment before offering, “And what if after my investigation I believe that his drowning was still accidental?”
“It wasn’t,” Valerie said.
“I didn’t say you had to believe it,” Matt told her. “But what happens if I can’t come up with any evidence to the contrary?”
“Then I’ll find someone else who can,” she said.
“Fair enough,” Matt said. “If you’re sure this is what you want me to do, I get thirty-five dollars a day plus expenses. If that’s agreeable to you, I’ll have you sign one of my standard contracts and I can get started right away, okay?”
“Thank you, Mr. Cooper,” Valerie said. She wrote me a check for two hundred dollars and handed it to me. “Will this be enough to get started?”
I looked at the check. “That’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ll be in touch.”
I showed her out and locked up the office. I deposited Valerie Wheeler’s check into my bank account and kept a little out for expenses. Before I started out on my new case I thought I’d drop by the house and grab a sandwich at home with Amy and Clay instead of sitting on a stool at the diner. I didn’t call ahead and Amy was surprised to see me. Clay came running when he saw me. When he got close enough, he leapt up into my arms and I twirled him around once and set him down again.
“Gees,” I said, “you’re getting pretty heavy, you know.”
“You just stop in for something, or can you stay for lunch?” Amy said.
“I thought I’d have lunch with my two favorite people,” I said.
Amy smiled.
“Know where I can find them?” I said.
She slapped my shoulder. “They just left. Will we do?”
“You’ll do just fine,” I said and kissed her.
“You want a sandwich?” Amy said. “Or would you like me to make you something else?”
“A sandwich will be fine,” I said. “I picked up a client this morning, so a sandwich is really all I have time for. I have to start earning my retainer.”
Amy retreated to the kitchen and pulled a loaf of bread out of the breadbox and laid two pieces on a plate. From the refrigerator she found the rest of the ingredients she needed and set them on the counter. Clay followed me into the kitchen and tried to sit next to me, but Amy caught him.
“What do we do before we eat?” she said to Clay.
“We wash our hands,” Clay said, sliding off the chair and heading for the bathroom.
“So,” Amy said. “Can you tell me about your client, or is it confidential?”
“I guess it’s public knowledge by now,” I said. “I mean about the drowning at the lake.”
“That’s what you’re working on?” Amy said.
“Yes,” I said. “The victim’s mother came to see me and wants me to look into her son’s death. She doesn’t think it was an accident.”
“Really?” Amy said. “And why does she think that?”
“She says because her boy couldn’t swim,” I said.
“No kidding,” Amy said. “That’s probably why he drowned.”
“Not exactly,” I said. “She claims that because he couldn’t swim that he’d have never gone in the lake in the first place. I don’t know what she expects me to find, but I have to try.”
Clay came back from the bathroom carrying the towel he’d taken from the towel rack. He was still wiping his hands on it.
“You want to put that back where you found it, please?” Amy said.
“Okay,” Clay said, turning back toward the bathroom. “I wonder where his towel was.”
I turned toward my son. “What did you say, Clay?” I said.
Clay faced me again, holding out the towel. “I wonder where that guy’s towel was.”
“What guy are you talking about?” I said.
“That guy you found in the water,” Clay said. “I heard you and mommy talking about the guy at the lake.”
Amy and I looked at each other and realized our conversation was loud enough to be heard from the bathroom.
“Clay, come here,” I said, and pulled him up onto my lap. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. That poor man couldn’t swim very well and he got hurt bad.”
“Did he die?” Clay said, innocently.
I glanced at Amy and she sat next to us and looked at Clay. “Yes, dear, he did,” Amy said. “That’s why you should never go swimming alone or out in the deep water without first learning to swim. You understand?”
Clay nodded his head.
I took the towel from Clay’s hands and suddenly it dawned on me. Tommy Wheeler would have had a towel or some clothing lying on the beach somewhere. Someone must have seen him go in. I looked down at my son and hugged him to me. “Thanks, Clay,” I said.
“What for, daddy?” he said.
I looked at Amy. “Clay just told me where I could start with my new case.”
Amy finished making my sandwich and the three of us enjoyed our meal together. “I’ll be back later,” I said. “I have to drive back out to the lake.” Clay had the mind of a junior investigator already and he was only five.
I decided I’d start by checking with the proprietor of the bathhouse at the lake. I made it back to the lake in forty-five minutes and parked in the same area as before. The bathhouse sat back a hundred feet or so from the shore. The weather was still hot and the lake had quite a few people in it, getting an early start on their weekend getaway. I walked up to the counter and saw rows of steel mesh baskets on shelves. Some had articles of clothing and some were empty. This was where swimmers checked their street clothes and valuables while they swam in the lake. There was a kid, perhaps sixteen, working the counter.
“The boss around?” I said.
“That’s me,” the kid said with a certain air of authority. “At least for now.”
“What about your boss?” I said. “Is he around today?”
“No,” the kid said. “But he’ll be back here in about…” He turned to look at a clock hanging on the opposite wall. “…Ten minutes, if you care to wait.”
“Sure,” I said, and leaned on the counter, watching the swimmers enjoying their day. A moment later I turned to the kid and said, “Say, were you working here last Saturday?”
“You mean when they pulled that drowned guy out of the lake?” He said. “No, I was off that day. Darn, I missed all the excitement.”
“So then who was working the counter?” I said.
“The boss,” the kid said.
“Can you tell me his name?” I said.
The kid opened his mouth and then thought better of it. He paused for a moment and then said, “Why do you want to know?”
I pulled one of my business cards from my coat pocket and handed it to the kid. “Matt Cooper,” I said. “I was the guy who pulled that drowned guy from the lake last Saturday.”
The kid’s face lit up as he read my card. “A private eye?” He said. “Really?”
“Really,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Rusty,” he offered. “Rusty Armstrong. That guy was really dead, huh?”
“Uh huh,” I said.
Rusty glanced over my shoulder and then looked at me. “Here comes the boss now.”
I turned around to see an old man, perhaps sixty or so with a white semi-circle of hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He was short and stocky and could
have easily played Santa at the department store come Christmas. He walked up to the counter and handed Rusty two empty baskets.
“That’s two more people who didn’t bother turning in their baskets,” he said. “Rusty, from now on, no more letting the baskets out of your sight. If folks want to keep their clothes in them, have them bring the clothes here, understand?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Benson,” Rusty said and then gestured toward me with his upturned palm. “Mr. Benson, this is Matt Cooper. He’s the man who pulled that drowned guy out of the lake last Saturday.” He handed Mr. Benson my card.
Benson read my card and then looked up at me. “Tragic thing, that was,” he said, extending his hand.
I shook it and said, “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Benson.”
“Please, call me Chester,” Benson said. “Everyone else around here does, except for Rusty here.”
“All right, Chester,” I said. “The reason I’m here is because the drowned man’s mother asked me to look into his death. I figured I could just start here and see if anyone saw anything unusual. Rusty tells me you were working the counter that day.”
“That’s right,” Chester said, giving me a better look now. “Yes, you are the man who pulled him out, aren’t you? I didn’t see it at first with the hat and suit, but I can see it in your face now that I look closer.”
“Chester,” I said. “After everyone went home on Saturday, did you have any baskets left over with clothes still in them?”
He shook his head. “No, everyone turned in their tag and collected their belongings.”
“Their tag?” I said.
“Yes,” Chester said. “When they rent the basket and put their clothes and whatnot in it, they hand the basket back to me and I give them a large safety pin with a metal tag on it that has a number that matches the tag on the basket.” He pulled a basket off the shelf and showed me. “No, there were no full baskets at the end of the day on Saturday.”
“Do all the swimmers rent baskets?” I said. “Or can they leave their clothes and towels and whatever else on the beach if they want?”
“They can,” Chester said. “But if you’re thinking that what the kid did, I’m afraid not, Mr. Cooper. I walked the beach after hours and there were no clothes or towels or shoes or anything else left on the beach.”
