by Kurt Palka
“And then?” said Aileen.
“Then he’s free to go.”
* * *
—
In the car on the way home she said to Aileen, “You know people at the hospital, don’t you?”
“I know most of the nurses. When our hospital closed and I was laid off, some of them transferred there.” “Let’s go talk to them.”
“About what? If the police have Danny, I don’t want to get in the way and maybe cause trouble for him. We should just wait, Margaret. For now. Let him come home and tell us what went on.”
“The hospital would have the autopsy report. Do you know the pathologist?”
“Only by name. Let it go, Margaret. We know what we came to find out.”
“He didn’t tell us how they died. You could ask one of the nurses if I could talk to the pathologist. Just a few minutes. What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t want to!” Aileen was getting upset. “Stop it, Margaret. I don’t want us asking any more questions of anyone. I want to go home and wait for Danny.”
* * *
—
Back in Sweetbarry Aileen walked down the path to Franklin’s place. He had pulled up his dinghy into what he called his dry dock, a patch of sand between two logs, and he sat in the stern working on the engine. It was tilted up with the cover off, and he was using a small spanner on a bolt head. He heard her and looked up.
“How was it?”
She stepped into the boat and sat down and shook her head.
“What?” he said.
“They picked up Danny to identify the kids at the morgue. The policeman showed us more pictures, and I’m sure I’ve never seen them.”
“Did they drown?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Well, were the eyes open?”
“Yes.”
“Could they have drowned, like from a boating accident? You’ve seen what drowned people look like in these waters. Waterlogged and dead-white and the eyes either eaten out by crabs or the pupils wide dilated.”
“They weren’t eaten out and you couldn’t tell if they were wide dilated. They were glossy black-and-white pictures. Dark eyes, and they looked like flat stones. Very dark eyes. Dark hair, too. Maybe black. Combed straight back. Naked. They shouldn’t show the girl so far down.”
“They could have drowned,” said Franklin.
“I don’t know. They had marks, here.”
She put her hand to her chest, and Franklin looked up at her hand. “What kind of marks? From what?”
“Maybe crab damage, but we didn’t ask and the policeman didn’t say. They’re not from here. I just know it.” “Drowned people can look very different, Aileen. Very different.” He bent to the engine again. “What about Danny? Are they going to let him go? He’ll probably come home soon and tell you what went on.”
“I hope so. I feel badly because when I asked her, Margaret was so quick to come out for this, but now I don’t think I want her getting involved any more. You know how she can be when she makes up her mind about something. Now she wants to talk to the pathologist and see the autopsy report. But I said no.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Because Danny is a good boy and I don’t want her, or me, to get in his way.”
“No,” he said. “I can see that.”
She sat a while longer in the boat, looking down at her hands between her knees. No ring on her finger ever, except for a cheap engagement ring in the long ago. Not that it mattered any more, but who would have thought it in the early days?
“How’s Jack?” said Franklin without looking up. “Does she talk about him?”
“Not this time.”
“It’s all still about Andrew, is it?”
“I’m sure it is.”
Thick as thieves, Andrew and Danny had been, when they weren’t arguing about something. But most of the time they were playmates and buddies and troublemakers on these rocks and in boats, along with Sully and sometimes that other boy, John Patrick Croft, as well. Just a few years difference between them all. In later years some of the flyboys out from the base had joined in, with summer girls in the mix of it. Then things changed, with Sully away at the academy to become a policeman, Danny getting busy with his properties, John Patrick working on his skipper licence, and Andrew getting his degree and signing up at the base. Suddenly they were all grown up and it was years later.
She looked up and around at the sky. An eerie light to the east. That bright copper colour, with reefs of dark cloud building in front of it.
“You’re rocking the boat,” said Franklin. “I’m trying to fix this and it’s just little tweaks and it’s hard enough to see as is.”
“Sorry.” She sat still. “There’s storm clouds in the weather corner.”
“I know. It’s not coming just yet but it’s thinking about it.”
Gett’n ready for a punch, was what her father used to say. And he would look up and around, the way she’d just done, and sniff the air and rub his nose, and he’d know within a few days how much good weather was left before the fall storms came raging into their world.
“I’m going to get out of this boat now, Franklin,” she said. “So it’ll rock a bit, okay?”
Eleven
WHEN SHE’D COME BACK from the police station there’d been two calls on her answering machine, both from Hugh Templeton about the fact that Chicago wanted a telephone conference at nine in the morning the next day.
“Where the hell were you?” he said when she called him back. “I need you to be available all the time or this isn’t going to work. All the time means all the bloody time.” “Okay, okay. I’m sorry, Hugh. Usually I’m right here, except for this morning. I’ll call Jenny and make sure she has all the numbers. She can set it up for nine Chicago time tomorrow. That’s ten o’clock Toronto time and eleven mine. I’ll be ready for it and it’s not a problem.”
“And we don’t want it to become one. This is a big deal, Margaret, and I need you to wrap it up good and tight.”
* * *
—
Later in the afternoon she walked over to Aileen’s to see if Danny had come home. He had, and she found him at the back of the house, chopping firewood while another man who looked familiar to her was stacking the split logs. When Danny saw her, he set the axe on the block and waited for her to come closer. Looking at him she could see Andrew; much the same size and build, perhaps not quite as solid, but with good shoulders and strong arms nevertheless, the same short dark hair and an open face.
The other man said something to Danny and walked away. Moments later a truck engine started.
“Was that by any chance John Patrick Croft?” she said. “I haven’t seen him in a long time. Is he still working as a skipper in the harbour?”
“Not right now. Mr. Moynihan fired him for some insurance thing, even though it wasn’t really his fault.”
“Oh? That’s too bad. But tell me what happened at the morgue.”
“Well, those kids weren’t from around here. I know that for a fact.”
“What happened, Danny? Start from the beginning.”
“The police stopped me near the Chandler place. I was in the truck, and they flagged me down and ordered me to follow them to the station. Then they took me to the morgue in a cruiser, in the back with the bloody doors locked.”
“And then what?”
“Well, those kids didn’t drown. They were shot dead, that’s why the police were all so serious.”
“Shot!”
Danny nodded. “They had them in cold drawers and they pulled them out. Both were shot twice right here.” He put his hand to his chest. “He right in the middle, she a bit to the side. Two washed-out little holes each. I’ve never seen anyone so pale. They’d be around twenty, and they’re not from here. I didn’t know them and I told them that.”
“And what did the police say or do then?”
“Not much. They talked among themselves, Sully and his boss
and another cop. All very hush-hush. Then they said that an inspector will be coming down and I should take him over to Crieff and show him around. They’ll pay for the gas and my time. Tomorrow early afternoon.”
“I think I should come along, Danny.”
“Really? Why?”
“To look out for you. This is suddenly all very serious. In fact, it doesn’t get any more serious. Have you told your mother?”
He said he had, and she was worried.
“I’m sure she is. I’ll go and talk to her. Is she in?” “I think so.”
* * *
—
Up in the house they stood in the little hall, and from the back they could hear Danny chopping wood.
“Only if it’s really all right with him,” said Aileen. “I mean, are you sure it’s a good idea? What if they think you came along because he has something to hide? Maybe the police chief this morning thought that too.”
“Aileen, you’re all upset. Let’s sit down a minute.” They sat down at the kitchen table and Margaret said, “That policeman didn’t think Danny has anything to hide, Aileen. It’s just that we lawyers make them a little nervous. If you don’t want me to go over to the island with them, I won’t, but I think it would be to Danny’s advantage. I’d make it clear to them that I’m there mostly for moral support, but that as a family friend and a lawyer I’ll be looking out legally for him as well. Aileen, the police have a lot of power, and this being a murder case they won’t hesitate one second to use it all. Just scare tactics alone, hard questions, you’d be amazed. Me being there will make them a little more careful.”
They talked a while longer and in the end Aileen agreed. “If you think so,” she said. “Just be real careful they don’t get the wrong idea, Margaret. Promise me that.”
* * *
—
That night in her robe and boots she walked down to the boathouse, through the little forest with the flashlight in one hand and with the other raised to fend off branches before they could strike her in the face. Inside the boathouse she clicked on the overhead light and looked around. Two iron bunk beds with the thin mattresses rolled up military-style to the head end. The old oaken desk and swivel chair from her time, when she’d studied out here for law exams. Bare stud walls, a few electrical outlets.
At the back there was a small room that her father had used for a workshop, and in it stood a shelf with books and papers on it and a workbench and a wooden box of tools. Work clothes hung on nails. A slicker, a woollen jacket, a canvas coverall. Her father’s old Truro Feed baseball cap.
She lifted off some of the clothes for the boat ride tomorrow, then turned out the light and pulled the door shut and walked back up to the house.
* * *
—
In the morning she sat at the kitchen table with the papers spread out before her. When the conference call came through, she listened to the client’s questions and concerns, then began going over them in detail. Once again she took them step by step through the transaction and all the alternatives and consequences. At one point she heard the Chicago lawyer or perhaps the accountant say something and the client said, “No. We don’t need that.”
She carried on, and in the end she asked the client if there were any more questions and he said, “No, thank you. Not now. We’ll get back to you.”
The session lasted fifty-two minutes and she wrote that down in her time sheet.
She called Hugh and reported the main points of the conversation. It had gone well, she said. Then she told him she’d be away from the phone for a short while on an urgent matter, and to leave a message if anything happened. The machine was always on.
Twelve
FOR THE BOAT RIDE to Crieff Island, Inspector Sorensen and Sully wore yellow slickers with POLICE printed on the back. She wore her father’s old slicker and cap from the boathouse.
They sat in silence on vinyl truck seats bolted to the deck, the inspector on the seat in front of hers. She’d made it clear why she was there, and the inspector had nodded and turned away. Since then he had not spoken to her, but once in a while she caught a quick appraising glance from him. Eventually he turned to her.
“And why do you think that Danny needs moral support, Mrs. Bradley?”
“Because dealing with the police is always unsettling, and it helps to have someone in one’s corner. Always, even when one has nothing to hide. I think you know that, Inspector.” She smiled at him.
At times the boat passed through patches of mist thick as rain. Water settled on her eyelashes and beaded on the worn edge of the baseball cap. There was no colour to the world but shades of grey, and the only sounds came from the engine below deck and from water lapping against the hull. On one occasion the boat slowed, then stopped and sounded its horn. Out in the fog another horn responded, and moments later the dark shape of a boat slid across their path and disappeared again. They moved on.
“Did you see that?” said the inspector to her. “How does he know what’s out there, where he’s going? In this muck. Does he have radar?”
“I don’t know. Let’s ask him. Danny! The inspector is asking if you have radar on this boat.”
Danny laughed at that. “Radar. Nah. It’s always a tad foggy in this patch, but we’re going slow, and I got my ears and eyes and a sounder and this.” He tapped the compass housing. “Anyway, she’ll clear up in a few minutes.”
* * *
—
At the island they tied up to the floating dock, then ducked under the police tape and climbed the ladder to the cribbed dock. There were large brown stains on the planks. In some places they were congealed, in others they’d soaked into the wood grain.
“Nobody step in that,” said Sorensen. “Maybe stand over there, out of the way.” He reached into his pocket and took out a pair of plastic gloves.
She watched him move among the stains. Twice he went down on both knees and then moved along like that, judging where to set hands and knees, at times bringing his face close to the planks, tracing something with a finger.
Then he stood up.
“Danny,” he said. “Be careful where you step, but come and look at this. This imprint here, it’s from a shoe with a smooth sole, probably leather, and a rubber heel plate. A dress shoe, I’d say, fairly small for a man’s foot. Do you know anyone who wears shoes like that around here?”
“Is that all blood?”
“Probably. Do you know anyone with shoes like that?”
“Not around here. It would be dangerous in a boat, a shoe like that. No traction in it.”
“All right. Stand back again.”
Sorensen took a flat tool from his pocket and knelt and scraped up blood. Where it lay like uncured paint he put smears of it into different plastic bags. He stood up and looked around.
“Danny, if anything fell in the water here and floated, which way would it drift?”
Danny pointed with his chin. “That way. Probably. Unless there’s a storm. And even then.”
* * *
—
Under low power they nosed slowly along the shoreline of the island, often with the engine just in idle. Danny kept having to slip it in and out of gear while Sorensen took his time studying where the water lapped on land.
They saw driftwood, seaweed, crab shells, bits of plastic. Yellow seafoam. But then, around the turn into a small cove, Sorensen pointed.
“There! See that? Go as close as you can and hold the boat in place. How deep is it here?”
“Shallow enough so I’ll need to watch the prop.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Sergeant,” the inspector said to Sully. “You see that clump of seaweed and those three reeds sticking up, and the black thing behind it half submerged?”
Sully looked. “That over there. Yes, I do, sir.”
“So put on gloves and go get it for me.”
And Sully took off the slicker and his uniform and shoes and st
ripped down to his shorts. He did it without hesitation and without looking at anyone. At the stern ladder he waited for Danny to shut off the engine and then he climbed down and waded ashore, paddling with his gloved hands in ice-cold water up to his hips. Another strong local boy with a good chest and shoulders. All-round strength of muscle and bone and sinew from working with boats and ropes and axes all their lives. Shovel work in the gravel pit during high school summers, the hardest work of all.
Andrew had always admired them, had wanted to be strong like these boys and probably a bit wild and reckless like them too. To be accepted by them and later by his military friends as more than a come-from-away from the city. They’d worked out with that bucket filled with lead net weights that was still in his room. Danny could hold the bucket with one arm straight out for nearly two minutes. Andrew had told her that, quite in awe. They’d been in their late teens then, and she’d been able to hear them up in Andrew’s room, counting and laughing, and the rattle of the weights and the thump of the bucket.
When Sully came back he was carrying a black shoe. At the stern ladder he passed it to the inspector, who held it up in gloved hands for Danny and her to see.
It was a man’s left dress shoe, a leather loafer with a pointed toe cap and a narrow bangle of yellow metal across the instep.
“Do you know anyone who wears shoes like that?”
“In the city, yes,” she said. “But not around here.” While Sully dried himself off with a towel Danny had given him, Sorensen turned the shoe this way and that to study it. Then he put it in a plastic bag and set it out of the way in a corner on the wheelhouse floor.
The sun was out now, warm and clear. A wall of fog toward the mainland and dark clouds and tendrils of rain far away to the east.
* * *
—
On the way back she asked Sorensen if she could take a closer look at the shoe. He gave her his gloves, and she put them on and took the shoe out of the bag. It had an elevator heel, and it was handmade in Argentina. It would have been expensive.
