Don't Turn Your Back on the Ocean

by Janet Dawson

  “Visiting family, Sergeant. Any objections?”

  “None whatsoever,” Magruder said, blinking his frosty eyes. “As long as it’s just a family visit. But don’t interfere in my investigation.”

  “What makes you think I’d interfere?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I know you’ve already talked to some people on Alvarado Street, including the barmaid at the Rose and Crown. Stay out of it.”

  I considered his words, weighing my own reply. “I’m a professional investigator, Sergeant. I make a point of cooperating with the authorities whenever possible. Sometimes I even help.”

  “Even if your own cousin’s involved?” His tone made it obvious that he thought my family loyalty got in the way of any objectivity.

  “Even then. I’m interested in finding out the truth, Sergeant.”

  “So am I. And I don’t need any help.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I turned and walked toward the courtyard gate.

  At the end of the funeral service I’d heard some of the mourners mention that the Logans would be receiving people at their home after interment at the cemetery so Ariel’s friends could offer their condolences. I drove down Santa Lucia Avenue, parked near Errol’s house, and walked one block to Scenic Road, the thoroughfare that edged the broad sandy beach and the turquoise water of Carmel Bay.

  I had no trouble locating the Logan residence. It was the only one with a funeral wreath on the front door. I stood for a moment on the sidewalk, studying the house. Like its neighbors, the house crowded its lot, a bit too large for its slice of prime Carmel real estate. It was a two-story gray stucco, contemporary in design, with an upper-level balcony constructed to take advantage of the sweeping vista of the bay.

  Two shiny, boxy cars, a Mercedes and a BMW, were parked in the driveway in front of a closed garage tucked under the house. To the right of the driveway, curving steps climbed a slope landscaped with flowers and shrubbery rather than grass, leading to a front porch bracketed by two huge ceramic pots filled with succulents. The double front doors were carved wood, light in hue, with matching brass knockers.

  The wreath was huge, white flowers overpowered by black ribbon. These stark colors contrasted with the blood-red blossoms scattering the bougainvillea vine. It had been planted at the lower right corner of the house and over the years it had grown diagonally upward, snaking across the pale gray stucco until it loomed over the front doors and grasped the balcony railing.

  A door opened and someone walked out onto the balcony, a lone woman dressed in black. Ariel’s mother. I recognized her from the funeral. She walked to the railing, looking out to sea. I watched her for a moment, hearing the constant voice of the ocean to my back, where the sandy beach gave way to rocky shore.

  The door opened again and Glennis Braemer joined Mrs. Logan at the railing. She put her arms around her sister-in-law and shepherded her inside. Before she shut the door the tall woman looked down at me as I stood on the sidewalk, staring at the house. Our eyes met.

  People began to arrive, trekking up the steps to the gray stucco’s front doors. I waited about fifteen minutes, then walked up the stairs behind two well-dressed middle-aged ladies. We were greeted by a round gray-haired woman I guessed was the housekeeper.

  “Is Maggie Lim here?” I asked after my two companions had entered the house. “Ariel’s roommate?”

  The housekeeper looked confused as she stood in the entryway. Then someone came up behind her, placing a hand on the door. Glennis Braemer looked out at me, her face as severe as the cut of her black suit, gray-blond hair straight and shiny as the gold jewelry she wore.

  “I’ll handle this, Mrs. Costello.” The housekeeper nodded and disappeared. Mrs. Braemer stood in the doorway, a tough and fiercely protective sentry. “What do you want?”

  “I’d like to speak with Ariel’s roommate, Maggie Lim.”

  Mrs. Braemer narrowed her emerald-green eyes in her imperious face and looked me over as though I were carrying a concealed weapon. When she finally spoke, her voice was chilly.

  “Maggie went back to San Luis Obispo. She left after the funeral.” As I considered my next move she spoke again. This time anger heated her words. “I saw you with him at the funeral. I know who you are and why you’re asking questions. But it won’t do any good. Your cousin murdered my niece. He’ll pay for it.”

  “Please convey my condolences to the family,” I said as she closed the door in my face.

  Eighteen

  “THANKS FOR GETTING BOBBY OUT OF THERE,” I told Errol when he opened the front door.

  I’d walked back to the Sevilles’ house after my encounter with Glennis Braemer. Errol had changed clothes, discarding the suit he’d worn to the funeral in favor of a pair of khaki slacks and a checked shirt.

  “I anticipated something like that,” Errol said. “Minna and I overheard plenty of comments at the funeral. Conventional wisdom says Bobby killed Ariel. A number of people were outraged that he was there at all—and wondering why he’s not already in jail.”

  You could add Mrs. Braemer to that list, I thought, recalling the implacable face of the woman guarding the door at the gray stucco house. In fact, she looked as though she’d like to make the arrest herself.

  “Bobby insisted on going,” I told him.

  “Come on, you look like you need a glass of wine.” Errol led the way to the kitchen. Minna stood at the counter, she, too, in slacks and shirt She was spreading mayonnaise and mustard on slices of sourdough bread.

  “Turkey sandwich?” she asked as Errol took a wineglass from a rack below one of the cabinets and filled it with wine from an open bottle of Riesling. She didn’t wait for my reply before taking two more slices from the loaf. Stinkpot hovered near her feet, winding his black-and-white body through her legs in hopes of getting a nosh from the sliced turkey visible in its loose wrapping of white butcher paper.

  “That was poor judgment on Mr. Trent’s part,” Minna said. “Not to mention execrable timing. I certainly hope he’s not as impulsive in the courtroom.”

  Next to her, Errol sipped his own wine, then began piling turkey on the bread. He surreptitiously tore a strip off one of the slices and dropped his hand so that Stinkpot could reach it The big tomcat wolfed down the turkey in two seconds flat and meowed for more even as he was licking the residue from his mouth.

  “Errol, stop feeding that cat. He’s spoiled enough as it is without you giving him smoked turkey from the deli. For which I paid an exorbitant price, I might add.” Minna set down the kitchen knife and replaced the lids on the jars of mayo and mustard.

  “I don’t spoil him, you spoil him. You buy him that designer cat food from the pet boutique.” Stinkpot realized he wasn’t going to get any more turkey from Errol and went back to butting his head against Minna’s legs.

  Turkey sandwiches constructed, we carried plates and wineglasses to the kitchen table and pulled out chairs. Errol set down his plate and reached for a five-by-seven envelope in a nearby stack of envelopes and papers. “Want to take a look at the autopsy report?”

  “Not while we’re eating, Errol,” Minna said. “It might not bother you or Jeri but it certainly would me.”

  It would bother me, too, I thought, sipping my wine, considering Ariel’s body had been in the water for several days before it was found.

  “I wonder if Ryan Trent is as impulsive as he seemed outside the mission,” I said, after a few bites from my sandwich.

  “You mean as a possible suspect in Ariel Logan’s murder?” Errol tilted his head to one side. “Worth looking into.”

  “Trent appears to be a man who likes to have his own way. If his behavior after the funeral is any example, he can barely control his anger. Which could be genuine, I’ll admit. But what if the scene was a dodge to divert attention to Bobby, and away from Trent? Minna, you told me on Saturday that you’d heard Ryan Trent was extremely upset with Ariel Logan for breaking off their relationship.”

  Minna nodded.
“That’s what the grapevine said.”

  “Would he do anything about it?”

  “Trent has a short fuse. But if he were going to get back at Ariel for breaking up with him, I have a feeling he’d have done so immediately, rather than wait this long.”

  I nodded. Donna said she’d introduced Bobby and Ariel last August Presumably Ryan Trent had been history for over a year. But some people do a slow burn.

  “I don’t know how long Ariel had been dating Trent,” Minna continued. “Several months. But remember, she was in graduate school at Cal Poly. So any relationship would be long-distance, although San Luis Obispo is an easy enough trip for a weekend.”

  Errol’s eyes met mine and I saw in them a warning. Don’t be so eager to clear Bobby of Ariel’s murder that I would stretch the circumstances to fit Ryan Trent. But Trent was an old boyfriend with a large chip on his well-tailored shoulder. I’d have to talk to him.

  “I didn’t get a chance to talk with Maggie Lim,” I said. “Sergeant Magruder intercepted me. He knows I’m Bobby’s cousin, that I’m a private investigator who used to work for you, and I’ve been asking questions. So I got the usual warning—stay clear of his investigation.”

  “He may also have found out that I obtained a copy of the autopsy report from the Carmel police chief.” Errol indicated the envelope. “People in town know I’m an investigator.”

  “Retired,” Minna interjected.

  “Yes, love. No doubt that’s why Peter Logan called me last night.”

  “What did he want?” I finished my sandwich, reached for a napkin, and wiped a trace of mustard from my hands.

  “To put Bobby behind bars. He wants Bobby arrested and charged. He thinks Sergeant Magruder is moving far too slowly toward what to him is an obvious conclusion.”

  Logan’s reaction didn’t surprise me. If my daughter had been murdered I’d probably be eager to pin the crime on the first available suspect.

  “Logan asked if I’d take on the case,” Errol said. “I told him I was retired. Besides, I’m not as certain as he is that Bobby’s guilty. After today in the mission courtyard, of course, the whole town will put me in the enemy camp. It’s possible the Logans know about Bobby’s cousin the private detective.”

  “They do. I went over to their house before coming here, looking for Maggie Lim. Mrs. Braemer informed me she was well aware of my identity.”

  “That may be their reason for upping the ante by hiring an investigator of their own,” Errol said. “When I turned him down last night, Logan asked me to recommend someone. I gave him a couple of names. If he follows through, you may be facing an adversary other than the sergeant.”

  I shook my head. “Why hasn’t Magruder made his move? He must not have enough evidence to charge Bobby. The only reason anyone has to suspect Bobby is the argument he and Ariel had before she disappeared. The one Bobby won’t tell me about.”

  “So you have to get Bobby to talk, or go at it from another angle.” Errol got up and cleared away the plates, which he then loaded into the dishwasher. “That means Ariel’s roommate.”

  “I’ll have to go to San Luis Obispo. Glennis Braemer told me Maggie Lim went back to school. I don’t know if that’s true but Mrs. Braemer is definitely guarding the door. No way was I getting past her to see for myself. She’s quite a formidable woman. Tell me about her.”

  “Glennis lives in Pasadena and she’s a widow. I gather her husband had money but I don’t know how he acquired it.” Minna reached for the wine bottle and topped off her glass. She waved it at me but I shook my head. “Glennis comes up here to visit Sylvie and Peter several times a year. She’ll probably stay around for a while. From all reports, Sylvie is barely functioning. Not surprising when she’s lost her only child, who was barely into her twenties. It’s a tragedy. I don’t think Bobby killed Ariel, Jeri, but I do hope you find out who did.”

  Errol wiped his hands on a dish towel. “Time to look at that autopsy report.”

  “In that case, I’ll excuse myself.” Minna got up from the table, wineglass in hand. “Come on, Stinkpot. Let’s go pull weeds.” The big cat must have thought food was in the offing. He rose from his crouch on a throw rug near the stove and followed Minna out the back door, tail stuck up in the air.

  When she’d gone Errol sat down and opened the envelope. He pulled out a crisp photocopy, several pages long, and handed it to me. I leafed through it, then settled down to read the report of Ariel Logan’s autopsy, attempting to make sense of her death from the words written on the pages.

  I’ve watched an autopsy before and I don’t recommend it for the fainthearted. Just reading the report brought back the memory of the sights and smells. I pushed back that recollection and focused on the words and the information they conveyed. Stripped of any humanity, the report was a purely scientific account of the condition of the remains that were once human and alive, and the coroner’s educated guesses about what ended that life. I tried to look at it as the coroner would, as a puzzle to be solved, looking for clues in the body fluids and tissue, stomach contents and bone.

  The coroner estimated that Ariel had been in the water five or six days before her body was spotted and recovered from the rugged coastal shore below Rocky Creek Bridge. That meant she died sometime on Friday or Saturday. There was some water in her lungs, but not much. So Ariel hadn’t drowned. She’d been killed before her body went into the ocean, not long before. There was no evidence of insects or maggots in the remains.

  The fact that she’d been in the cold ocean water had slowed the decomposition process somewhat, but there are other things that tear down the structure of the body. The sand, the rocks, and the crabs had all done their usual damage. Sand can strip the skin from a corpse in a very short time. The creatures that live in the ocean consume flesh and muscle. The body that the dive-and-rescue team recovered on Thursday was identifiable as a woman, but Ariel Logan’s dentist had to provide his records for a positive identification.

  The bones, the last to break down, provided clues. The crushed skull revealed traces of blood coagulated inside, which meant that the trauma had been inflicted before death, and not by the battering of the corpse against the unforgiving rocks. Someone who was probably right-handed struck Ariel Logan on the back and the right side of the head, several times, with something that left a sliver of metal embedded in the skull. This murder weapon had been wielded with great force, because Ariel had a subdural hematoma and a blown pupil on the right side of the skull.

  She must have died immediately. That was a small mercy, since her body had been dumped into the ocean like so much trash. My guess was that the killer had also tossed the murder weapon into the sea, perhaps at another location, rather than risk it being found in the vicinity of the body.

  “Magruder sent the metal fragment up to a crime lab in the Bay Area,” Errol said as I looked up at him and frowned. “They may be able to identify what it came from.”

  “A tire iron,” I speculated. “Part of a jack. A crowbar. A tool of some sort. It could have been anything. And you can bet it’s somewhere in the water. They’ll never find it.”

  “But if it’s a specific tool, it may point to a specific person.”

  “Like something used on a fishing boat.” Which would implicate Bobby. That prospect didn’t make me feel any better. I reached for the wine and poured what remained into my own glass. The Riesling didn’t do much to wash away the imagined scent of decay and formaldehyde.

  “I don’t see anything here that pinpoints a location,” I said. “Can we assume she was killed near where her car was found, at Rocky Point? Or near where the body was found, at Rocky Creek Bridge?”

  “Not necessarily,” Errol pointed out. “It could have been moved a considerable distance on the current. There haven’t been any storms in the past week, so I think the standard procedure is to assume the body shows up a half mile either side of the entry point.”

  “That’s what Donna said. But she thought if Ariel
’s body had gone into the water at Rocky Point, the tidal current would have pushed the body north, toward Point Lobos. Instead the body was found a mile or so south of there, near the mouth of Rocky Creek. Of course, Ariel’s body may have been wedged in the rocks, or trapped beneath the kelp, until the motion of the waves freed it.”

  “The Coast Guard might be able to give us more information on the tides and currents in that area,” Errol said. “She could have been killed on a boat and pushed overboard.”

  I shook my head. “If I were going to kill someone on a boat, I’d be damn sure to get rid of the body farther out to sea, so it would never be found. I’d probably weight it with something, so the gases wouldn’t bring it to the surface. I don’t see any indication that the body was tied with line.”

  “Unless you were in a hurry and didn’t have time to go out to sea. Or didn’t have the right kind of boat to brave heavier seas. Or just wanted to get rid of the body as soon as possible.” Errol shifted in his chair. “It’s a disadvantage not knowing where she was killed. We can’t examine physical evidence at the site. So we’ve got to trace her movements.”

  I nodded. “I think someone must have seen Ariel after she and Bobby quarreled at the Rose and Crown.”

  Errol tilted his head to one side. “You canvassed Alvarado Street?”

  “After I talked to the barmaid at the Rose and Crown. But I haven’t located anyone who’ll admit to seeing them. I talked to the same people Magruder already interviewed, the owners of businesses nearby. And people on the street, where I could find them, like customers at the bookstore and coffeehouse on the other side of Alvarado, the one with tables on the sidewalks. The barmaid said the argument started inside, then Ariel and Bobby went outside and she heard them continue the quarrel. But if anyone on the street saw them, it’s as though they looked away, to let them continue their argument in private.”

  “Do Alvarado Street again,” Errol advised. “Maybe you can shake something loose.”