Vineyard Stalker

by Philip R. Craig

  “We never killed nobody!” cried Angie. “Jesus, I need a doctor!”

  “Shut up,” said Fred. “You keep your mouth shut.” He glared at me. “You’re the one in trouble, Jackson. You kill us, you’ll be up for murder. You don’t kill us, even if we do some time we know where you live and you’ll never know when we’ll be back to get you.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “You’ve already got birdshot in your silly ass. You try coming back to the island, you’ll get a heavier dose. Stick to Charlestown where you know your way around.”

  Fred looked worried but thoughtful. “If you were going to finish us, you’d have used buckshot in the first place, or you’d have done it just now down there in the parking lot. What do you want?”

  “I want to know who hired you to hassle Roland Nunes and why you killed Melissa Carson.”

  “We didn’t kill nobody!” repeated Angie. “Christ, I’m bleeding. I’m gonna die if I don’t get to a doctor!”

  “You’re not gonna die,” snapped Fred. “You’re hurting, but you’re not going to die. Now shut up!”

  “You shut up for a while,” I said to Fred. “Angie, speak to me and maybe you can go see a doctor. Who hired you to vandalize Nunes’s property?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know! I don’t know his name! Tell him, Fred! Jesus, I’m bleeding all over the place!”

  “Why did you kill the woman?”

  “Oh, my God! I told you we didn’t kill nobody!”

  “You tried to kill the cat. Man who’ll kill a cat will kill a woman.”

  “Oh, Christ, the cat! The damned cat! I don’t know what was in that can. I just put it there for him to eat. Fred gave it to me. I thought it might make the cat sick. I didn’t try to kill him! I swear! I gotta get to a doctor.” He pushed himself partly up from the bed then saw my cocked pistol turn toward him and sat down again. “Please, mister!”

  “You’re some badman,” I said. I looked back at Fred. “Who hired you?”

  He spoke in a tight voice. “I don’t know. It was a phone call. I got it up in Charlestown. He wanted Nunes driven out. He didn’t care how we did it. The money came through the mail.”

  “Sure it did.”

  “I swear.”

  I thought he was lying, but couldn’t be sure. People sometimes withhold information for no good reason at all. I should know.

  “How do you get in touch with your boss?” I asked, in my nastiest voice.

  “He gets in touch with me.”

  “How?”

  “He phones me here.”

  “Where’d you get the poison for the cat?”

  “I found it on the hood of my car. The guy on the phone told me it’d be there.”

  “Why did you kill the woman?”

  “We didn’t kill anybody! I don’t know anything about the woman. I don’t even know who the hell she was.”

  “You sure as hell vandalized Nunes’s place and shot me. You denying that, too?”

  “No. We did that. That’s why I know you’re Jackson and where you live. I saw you and your ID that night.”

  I couldn’t resist. “My name is Legion,” I said.

  He’d been long out of Bible class. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “No matter.” I put on a frown. “The question I’m asking myself is what to do with you two boobs. I’d probably be smart to just shoot you both here and now, but killings can go wrong so I don’t like to do any if I don’t have to. On the other hand, you two jerks are a real nuisance. I don’t care for that. Maybe I’ll just give you to the cops.”

  Fred didn’t like that idea, and talked tough. “You hand us in, you’re the one in trouble. You tried to murder us. We got the lead in us to prove it. They may get us for vandalism, but they’ll get you for attempted murder!”

  Fred had a point. In Massachusetts, the law says you’re always supposed to run away from trouble if you can. I didn’t think the DA would consider my shots from the tree house to be flight. “You’re full of crap,” I said. “They’ll get you for attempted arson, too. You’ll do more time than I will.”

  Fred’s jaw worked. “How about we get out and don’t come back?”

  “Your boss won’t like it.”

  “Fuck him. He didn’t pay us enough to get arrested or killed!”

  “I need a doctor!” wept Angie.

  “Shut up,” said Fred. He leaned forward. “Listen. We can’t go to the hospital here because they’ll call the cops, but I know places at home where we can get fixed up no questions asked. You let us go and I swear we won’t be back.”

  I pretended to think about it, then nodded toward Angie. “You think you can keep your buddy from crying himself to death on the way?”

  Fred became hopeful for the first time. “There’s booze over there in the mini-bar. I’ll pour that down him until he stops whining.”

  “You ever try to get off this island in the summertime?” I asked. “You’d better be in the standby line about 5 A.M. tomorrow and be ready to pay out a lot of money to the check-in guys. Maybe you’ll be lucky and get off by noon.”

  “We got money and we’ll be there. I swear.”

  I pretended to think some more, then smiled a thin smile. “I never want to see you again,” I said. “And if I catch some pal of yours down here trying to finish what you started, I’ll come up to Charlestown and see you at home. You won’t see me, but I’ll see you. You got that?”

  “I got it.”

  “One of the guys you’ll be paying off is a friend who works on the ferry dock in Vineyard Haven,” I said. “He’ll let me know when you leave, so make sure you do.” I got up and tossed their wallets and one of the key cards onto the floor. The other I slid into my pocket. “I’ll keep this one in case I change my mind and decide to come back,” I said. “Sit right where you are for the next five minutes. I’ll be watching.”

  I went out into the hall, then out the fire door and down the stairs. Looking back at their window I didn’t see anyone peering out. I collected the equipment I’d tossed under the stairs and walked to my truck. As I drove away, I glanced at the window again but saw nothing. Then I was out of sight.

  I wished that I really did have an agent working on the ferry dock, but it’s an imperfect world and you can’t have everything.

  As I drove home, I wondered if Legion and I were the same thing.

  I thought that Fred and Angie probably really were hurting enough to stay out of my hair, and I even believed them when they denied killing Melissa Carson. But if not them, then who? And why?

  With Fred and Angie gone, would their boss find someone to take their place? If so, it would probably take a little time, so I had what the current pundits called a window of opportunity when no one would be trying to kill me. I used the first hours of my window to go home and get some sleep in my giant, empty double bed.

  19

  Just in case Fred and Angie decided to change their minds and to wreak vengeance upon me before seeking medical aid, I tried to sleep lightly and got up when the eastern sky was beginning to brighten, to go out and reconnoiter the premises. I saw nothing suspicious. At five thirty I drove to Vineyard Haven and swung by the parking lots on Water Street. There, sure enough, was the white Mercedes, waiting to join the stand-by line. I didn’t wave as I drove by.

  At home, I was finishing stacking the breakfast dishes when the phone rang. It was Quinn, calling from Boston.

  “What are you doing up this early?” I asked. “Did somebody throw you out of her apartment because of performance failure?”

  “The fourth estate never sleeps,” said Quinn. “I finally had a chat with Sonny Whelen. I told him I was snooping around for a story about how hoodlums these days compared with the boys in yesteryears, and mentioned Fred and Angie. He said all he knew about crime was what he got from the papers or TV, or the gossip he heard when he was having lunch, but that he’d been told of two guys named Fred McMahan and Angelo Vinci, who are trying to revolutionize r
obbery by using stun guns instead of real ones, when possible, to minimize the risk of being accused of murder if they ever got caught. Sonny said he thought that was quaint.”

  “Sonny actually said ‘quaint’?”

  “Yeah. He also said that he’d heard that they were specializing as muscle for out-of-town jobs. Their idea, he’d heard, was that as long as they worked someplace else they could always come back to Charlestown where nobody, including the cops, would be mad at them. He thought they got the idea from some movie.”

  “Did he think it was a good one?”

  “You know Sonny. He always says he doesn’t know anything about crime.”

  “Did he happen to say how the boys got customers?”

  “Said somebody’d told him that they just spread the word in bars, then waited.”

  “They get a lot of work?”

  “Sonny said he didn’t know anything about that, but that he’d heard they advertised in Cambridge and Boston and places like that instead of in Charlestown where somebody might think they were nosing in on territory that was already taken.”

  “Did honest-citizen Sonny say how he happened to know about Charlestown being already taken?”

  “He said he watches a lot of crime shows on television. Besides, in Charlestown everybody knows about crime.”

  I wasn’t sure that all Charlestownians knew about crime, but it was true that the city had the reputation of housing more than its share of gangsters and of having a particular tradition of up-and-coming young criminals proving their mettle by robbing armored cars as a rite of passage. Sonny Whelen was long past being personally involved in such heists, but there was little doubt in the minds of the local cops that he derived benefit from them and most of the other underworld activities in town.

  “Does Sonny have any paternal interest in Fred and Angie?”

  “Not that I detected.”

  “Did he mention any bars where Fred and Angie might have left word of their availability for work?”

  “No, but after I left him I nosed around myself and their names came up in some of the snitzier watering holes in Boston. I guess Fred and Angie figure that the rich want to strong-arm other people just as much as the poor do, so why not go where the money is.”

  “You hear of any jobs they got?”

  “No, but I imagine if I hung around some of those bars long enough I’d hear somebody brag about how he got shed of his wife or his lawyer or somebody else who’d been giving him grief. It’s hard for people to keep their mouths shut about their triumphs.”

  True. Many a crime has been solved because the perp talked about it to a snitch.

  “Well, keep your ears up,” I said. “If you hear anything more, let me know.”

  “You owe me a fishing trip,” he said.

  “Come down any time.”

  “And the inside scoop on this murder. Melissa Carson was rich and her fiancé was a Cabot. It’s big news up here.”

  “You know as much as I do about that.”

  “Did Fred and Angie do it?”

  “Not that I know of. They say no.”

  “Oh, did you talk with them?”

  “Very briefly. They were headed off-island.”

  “Done with their work there, eh?”

  “More like they had more important business on the mainland.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “Medical problem of some sort.”

  “What sort?”

  “My impression was that it had to do with minor surgery.”

  “Who’s their doctor?”

  “They didn’t say.”

  “Why didn’t they have it done there on the island?”

  “I guess they preferred their own physician.”

  After I rang off, I went over what I knew and didn’t know with Oliver Underwood and Velcro, who yawned as they listened and had no wise advice for me.

  The house had that empty feeling that emphasizes the small sounds, creaks, and taps that you never hear when the place has its people in it. I wondered what Zee and the kids were up to, and checked the calendar for the umpteenth time to see when they were coming home. I could hardly wait. There was no doubt about it; my bachelor days were far behind me and I was now a very married man.

  I started thinking about the supper I’d prepare for my family’s return. Peas, of course, because that’s what the garden was abundantly producing at the moment. Too bad I didn’t have tomatoes, zucchini, lettuce, and other stuff for a garden salad or grilled veggies. I could buy all that, of course. What else? I had flounder in the freezer. I’d thaw that and cook it in a casserole with a roux flavored with a slosh of marsala or sherry and a little Parmesan and maybe some dill, then serve it over rice. Straight vanilla ice cream for dessert for Joshua and Diana, ice cream with strawberries and orange liqueur for the big people, followed by coffee and cognac. Yes.

  I took the flounder out of the freezer and put it in the fridge for a slow thaw, then cleaned house and opened windows to the east wind that was blowing the humidity away.

  When that was done, it was late enough to make visits, so I put the weapons I’d confiscated from Fred and Angie into a paper bag, got into the truck, put my own .38 under the seat, and drove to Babs Carson’s house in West Tisbury. Robert Chadwick opened the door and frowned at me. I wondered if he’d gone home the previous night.

  “I need to talk with Babs,” I said.

  “Can’t you wait another day, at least? She’s still pretty much in shock.”

  “I just have a few questions. Maybe you can answer them.”

  He glanced behind him, then stepped out and pulled the door shut. “I’ll try.”

  “Melissa was killed either by somebody who accidentally encountered her or by somebody who knew where she was that night. My money’s on someone who knew. Do you know if she told anybody about her plan to visit Roland Nunes? Her mother and I knew, and so did Alfred Cabot. Did anyone else know?”

  He looked uneasy. “I don’t know. Can’t these questions wait?”

  “I’d like to know who killed Melissa, and why.”

  “So would I. The police have asked all of your questions. Leave Babs alone.”

  The door behind him opened and Babs Carson looked out. “Who is it, Rob? Oh, Mr. Jackson. Come in.”

  Her face had aged. I followed her into the sitting room where we’d first talked. She walked like a very old woman.

  “Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Jackson?”

  “Have you heard the Medical Examiner’s report?”

  “Yes. My daughter’s neck was broken.” She looked away and then brought her tired eyes back to me. “She didn’t deserve to die that way.”

  “No. Tell me, did she make or receive any phone calls after I left the other day?”

  Babs frowned. “I don’t think so. I wish I could help you. Do you have any idea who might have killed her?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think the killer met her by accident. Can you give me the names of Melissa’s husbands, and of her boyfriends and their wives and girlfriends?”

  “I don’t know all the boyfriends’ names. I gave the ones I know to the police. Only one or two live here on the island.”

  “Can you give me the names of the local people?”

  “I don’t think any of them would have done a thing like this.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but I’d like to have the names.”

  “All right.” She walked to a desk, scribbled on a piece of paper, and handed the paper to me. The names were unfamiliar to me. Two men and a woman.

  “Did she have any enemies that you know of?” I asked.

  “No. She was passionate and impetuous, but she wasn’t the sort of person to have an enemy who…” She broke off and I could see her face work to reshape itself into an emotionless mask.

  “I think you should go now,” said Chadwick. “You can talk some more later, if need be.”

  “I’m sorry to have intruded,” I said. “Thank
you for your help.”

  I went out and left the two of them to stitch up the torn fabric of their lives. I drove to the state police station in Oak Bluffs, where I found Dom Agganis on the phone. I stepped out of the office and waited until he was through talking, then followed his voice back into the room.

  “I won’t be here long,” he said.

  “I don’t need much of your time,” I said. “I thought you should know that a couple of Charlestown guys named Fred McMahan and Angelo Vinci left the island this morning and probably won’t be coming back. They left this stuff behind.” I gave him the paper bag.

  He looked inside at the guns and stun gun and grunted. “They must have been in a hurry.”

  “They’re driving a white Mercedes sedan.” I gave him the license number. “The front seats are probably bloody. I think they had some kind of a hunting accident.”

  “Where are they going? Home to Charlestown?”

  “I couldn’t say. Somewhere to a friendly physician who’ll pick out some birdshot from their lower parts.”

  Dom smiled. “You ever hear the joke about the haber-dasher who got robbed and ran after the thief yelling to the cops, ‘Shoot him in the pants! The coat and vest are mine!’”

  “No, I don’t think I ever did.”

  “Well, now you have. Are you the shotgunner?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I heard from the Edgartown police that somebody was shooting around your place last night.”

  “I reported the shots. They sounded like gun shots but maybe they were just fire crackers.”

  “I suppose your shotguns are nice and clean.”

  “I keep all of my guns nice and clean.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “I don’t suppose these were the guys who vandalized Nunes’s place.”

  “I understand that they are, although I don’t know if you can prove it. You can check those photos I took and maybe you can ID at least one of them.”

  “Did they kill the Carson woman?”

  “I understand that they deny it.”

  “Do you believe them?”

  “I do, but I haven’t taken them off the usual list of suspects. I hear they got their orders by phone and their money delivered to their hotel room, so they don’t know who hired them to vandalize Nunes’s place. Of course, they may be lying about that. Maybe you can trace the phone calls or the poison in the cat food. If you do, I’d like to know what you learn.”