by Bill WENHAM
It was docked and stored over the winter at ‘Huronia Marine’ at Au Gres, a small community of just over a thousand people, on the north side of the entrance to Saginaw Bay. It had direct access to Lake Huron and was the only marina in the area capable of lifting a boat of that length on to dry land for winter storage.
The caller identified the marina but not himself as he said, “We’re about to put your boat back in the water, Mr. Factor, but we don’t appear to have a cabin key. We don’t need that to launch it, of course, sir, but we wondered if you wanted to check it out before we drop her back in?”
Factor nodded to himself. That made a lot of sense and he was doing nothing in particular that day anyway.
“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be there in about an hour,” he said.
“Fine, Mr. Factor. I hope you discover everything there to be to your liking,” the man said.
Factor frowned. That was a peculiar phrase to use, he thought, but then dismissed it from his mind.
Later, when he arrived at the marina, with the gate wide open and no one around, he went straight to his boat. It was stored on dry land, with a portable building covering it to protect it from the elements. He was somewhat surprised to see his custom made aluminum and plastic winter ‘boathouse’ hadn’t been removed already if the marina was about to drop the boat back in the water.
He did a quick walk around to check for any obvious damage and finding nothing; he placed an aluminum step ladder at the rear of the hull and climbed aboard.
Like the cars, he had one set of keys for the boat and Dellie had the other.
As he unlocked the main cabin door and pulled it open, the stomach turning and overwhelming stench from inside hit him like a physical blow. Factor put his hand over his mouth and staggered through into the lounge area. The further he got inside the boat, the stronger the smell became.
His eyes were smarting from it but it definitely wasn’t a chemical odor. It was the stench of rotting meat and as soon as he reached the lower aft sleeping accommodation, he could immediately see what was causing it.
A long plastic wrapped package bound with masking tape had been laid in the center of the double berth. The bedding and pillows had been removed for the winter and only the wooden bed frame and metal slats remained. Factor edged forward and touched the package warily.
A soggy mass moved beneath his finger tips inside the plastic. Although wrapped tightly, the package was by no means waterproof and was no longer transparent either. As the mass moved beneath his fingers, more foul smelling liquid oozed out of the package and soaked into the mattress.
From the shape and smell of it, Factor had realized immediately that it was a body – but whose? He thought back to the phone call and also realized he’d been set up to find this body. He should have known better since the marina wasn’t even open for business yet.
The unseasonably warm spring weather plus the heat it had generated within the boat inside its shelter had obviously caused the frozen body to thaw out. It must have been decomposing very rapidly as well.
Factor staggered back, gagging, through the boat and tried not to breath. As he exited on to the rear deck, he gasped for air. After a moment or two in the fresher air, he climbed back down the ladder and called Streeter.
He’d seen her occasionally and casually over the Christmas and New Year’s period, but, since there was nothing at all to tie him to Patti Thatcher’s murder, there was no real reason for them to talk officially any more.
Streeter usually called him in a semi-official capacity about once a month just to inquire if Dellie had returned, but that was all. It didn’t occur to him at the time that her calls might be a little more than just police business.
She was in the office, took his call and asked her usual question.
“Hi, Dean, have you found your Dellie yet?”
This time her question shocked him into momentary silence.
“Dean, are you there?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m here,” Factor said. “And the answer to your question is yes, I think I have.”
“You think you have? Don’t you know?” she said.
“No, lieutenant, I don’t know. Could you meet me as soon as possible at the marina? And just you for now please?’
“For now, Dean, wha….”
Factor just gave her the marina’s name and address and disconnected. Then he sat down on a low marina work bench close by to wait for Streeter. This whole thing looked as though it had taken another very nasty turn and he had an equally nasty feeling in his gut that he’d finally found his Dellie.
Streeter arrived, alone, within the hour.
While he was waiting, Factor had walked over to the marina’s front gate. The gate had been wide open when he’d arrived and now he saw why. A padlock with its hasp sawn through lay in the dirt beside the open gate. Sober this time, Factor had the good sense not to touch it.
By the time Streeter arrived, the marina manager had turned up to open up the office and the showroom. He could also see the padlock had been cut and walked over to where Factor was sitting to ask if he’d done it.
Streeter saw them near a beautiful boat that, by its name, ‘Dellie’s Delight’, was obviously Factor’s. She parked and walked over to join them.
“Hi,” Factor said and looked down directly at her handbag, then at the manager and back at her. She took the hint and flashed her badge at the manager.
“Police,” she said briskly, addressing the manager “Lieutenant Streeter, Saginaw Police, and you are?”
“Er, Charlie Barnes, ma’am. I’m the marina manager. Looks like we’ve been broken into here.”
Streeter raised her eloquent eyebrows at him.
“Really, Mr. Barnes. Your office or showroom has been burgled then, has it?”
Barnes looked flustered.
“Well, ma’am, I’m not sure,” he said.
“And why would that be I wonder, Mr. Barnes?” Streeter asked coolly.
Barnes now looked really embarrassed.
“Well, ma’am, I haven’t actually checked it out yet.” he mumbled.
“Don’t you think you should go and do that then, sir, before you go throwing wild accusations around?”
“But….”
“No buts about it, Mr. Barnes. I think you should also check all the boats in your care as well, and then perhaps I can discuss this alleged burglary of yours a little more with you later on. Right now I have some police business to discuss with Mr. Factor, if you’ll excuse us please?”
“Yes, sir – sorry - ma’am,” the poor man blurted, before he scurried away to the safety of the office and the showroom. Even if someone has stolen the bloody roof off this place, I’m not going to report it to that woman, he muttered to himself.
Streeter smiled at Factor.
“Well, Dean, so what’s all your mystery about?” she asked.
“I have a passenger on my boat, Liz. One that wasn’t on it when I had it laid up in the fall,” he said.
“A passenger?” Streeter echoed.
Factor nodded.
“A dead one, all wrapped up in plastic and Dellie and I are the only ones with keys to the boat. The marina has an ignition key but not one to the cabin and I’ve got an awful feeling that it might be Dellie in there.”
Streeter just stared at him.
“Oh, God, no, Dean! Another dead body and on your boat this time! I thought you were pretty well out of the woods by now but this dumps you right back into the mix again.”
Factor shrugged and gestured toward the stepladder.
“The cabin door’s open if you want to go aboard” he said. “The body’s in the aft cabin, down below. But I wouldn’t go in there right now if you don’t have to.”
“Of course I have to, Dean. I’m the bloody police, remember? It’s my job to go in there,” she said, a little harshly, as she donned a pair of plastic surgical gloves.
Factor shrugged again and watched as she climbed the ladd
er to the after deck. She gasped and reared back as she opened the cabin door and was assailed by the full force of the stench from inside.
“Oh, my God, that’s awful,” she gasped. Then she took a wad of tissues from her bag to cover her nose and mouth and entered the cabin. A few moments later she returned, gasping for air, at the cabin door. She shut the door behind her and climbed back down the ladder.
“Whew! I’m glad I don’t have to do that every day.”
Factor looked at her.
“So, what now, Liz,” he asked.
She pursed her lips.
“Dean, you are either as guilty as hell or someone, somewhere is setting you up royally for all of this. Either way, I have to sort it all out and I need you to cooperate fully with me, whatever happens. Are you okay with that?”
Factor nodded his agreement and Streeter continued.
“So, first I call out the uniforms to secure this place and then Forensics and the medical examiner.”
She paused as a thought struck her.
“You didn’t touch anything in there, did you?”
Factor gave her a tired smile.
“If they’re going to be looking for fingerprints, mine are all over it. It’s my boat, Liz – and I did poke at the package once with my finger as well, sorry.”
“Why”
“To see if it was frozen, I guess. I don’t know why. I just did, okay?” he said.
Streeter took a deep breath.
“Okay, Dean, this isn’t the way I wanted it but this is the way it has to be. From now on you and I are Mr. Factor and Lieutenant Streeter. No more Dean and Liz until all of this has been put to bed.”
Even as she said it she realized she may have made a Freudian slip and paused to gather herself.
“And I’m taking you into custody, okay?”
“Rather you than anyone else, Lieutenant,” he said, with a resigned smile.
She smiled back at him.
“You know I don’t think you had anything to do with any of this, don’t you? For some reason, one that isn’t obvious to me right now, you are someone’s fall guy and I’m wondering why?”
Factor smiled too.
“So am I, Lieutenant, so am I,” he said.
Streeter walked back to her car to radio for backup, the medical examiner, forensics and a morgue wagon. There was no sign of the marina manager. She gave a tiny grin and walked back to join Factor.
She looked up at the boat and spread her arms in a helpless gesture.
“Why, Dean? For God’s sake, why?”
“I’ve no idea, Li….lieutenant. I’ve lost so much already and none of it makes any sense at all to me. What have I ever done to anybody to deserve all this? Why me?”
Streeter smiled at him.
“Everyone asks that, Dean. Even in a murder investigation, we, the police, ask why all the time. Why now? Why here? Why this victim? And I’m also asking why this suspect?”
Factor didn’t reply and Streeter gave him a puzzled look as if she agreed with him and didn’t know why it’s him either. Inwardly, she is thinking: he believes that’s his missing wife, Dellie, in there, or so he’s telling me.
If that’s true, shouldn’t he be showing a little more grief or some concern at least? He’s acting as though this is really no surprise to him.
Chapter Eleven
In a Manhattan skyscraper boardroom, six middle-aged men sat around the table. Glasses of drinks from the bar at the back of the room were in front of them. The air was thick with the aroma of cigar smoke. There was no one else in the room.
The Chairman, at the head of the table, rapped his glass on it for their attention.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “We have a major problem –we are being skimmed.”
One of the board members, Helmut Hessler, laughed.
“Don’t you mean scammed, Max?” he grinned.
“Skimmed, scammed, what’s the bloody difference? Either way, it’s no laughing matter, Helmut. We’re being ripped off for millions and it has to stop,” the Chairman, Max Torrance, growled.
“So, who’s doing the skimming?” another member asked.
Torrance snorted angrily.
“If you were all doing your jobs properly, you wouldn’t need to ask me that. This organization of ours has been firmly in place for years and its making millions of bucks.” he said.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“We aren’t getting all of them – that’s the bloody problem!” Torrance snarled.
“A little bit of creative accounting going on within our ranks then, is there,” Englishman, David Carpenter said flippantly.
“I have just said this is no joke, so either be serious or you can leave us, David. If our loss was just a little, then we could perhaps let the culprit off with a few broken bones and a dire warning. But these losses are very serious, gentlemen, and what’s even more aggravating, is that they are so bloody blatant as well. This is totally unacceptable behavior and we must put a stop to it immediately if we are to maintain our status and our reputation in this city,” Torrance said.
“Willoughby?” Harold Walker asked.
“Of course, Willoughby. Who else is in a position to try to screw us like this? And he needs to be taught a lesson he won’t forget” Torrance snapped at him.
“Surely we’re not going to kill him, are we?” Tom Dalton asked. “He’s been an excellent operative for us over the past few years and has laundered millions of dollars worth of Columbian money through Easy Green for us.”
Torrance looked exasperated.
“Let me just point out a very important home truth to all of you, just in case any of you are unsure of our corporate purpose here. It is not to run a bloody laundry, Tom, for money or otherwise. Our purpose is to turn the Columbian money, now honestly invested, into legally obtained billions.
For us, gentlemen, not for Willoughby to help himself to. That is our purpose, gentlemen, and I hope you now all understand it?” Torrance said.
“And what about Willoughby? I repeat - are you going to kill him?” Tom Dalton asked.
Max Torrance gave the speaker a wolfish grin and said, “No, Tom, not right away, but by the time we’re finished with him, he’ll wish he had been – and I’m sure he’ll get his wish.”
He swept a gaze around at the assembled board members.
“We are not the kind of organization that can allow itself to be compromised in any way, by anyone, and that includes any of you as well, in case that also wasn’t clear to you either.”
He allowed his gaze to rest momentarily on each of them but just long enough to make each one of them feel extremely uncomfortable. Then he continued,
“Nobody, and I repeat, nobody at all, steals from us and stays in one piece to enjoy the fruits of his betrayal of us. The example we will make of him will be so horrific that it’ll dissuade anyone else from daring to try to copy him in the future.” Torrance said.
“So what are you planning?” Walker asked
Torrance gave him a devilish grin as well and said, “You’ll just have to wait and see – and to also pray it never happens to you, Harold. Personally, I can’t abide thieves.”
“Come on, Max, what are you really going to do to him?” David Carpenter persisted.
“Okay, if you insist on knowing, David,” Torrance said. “By this time tomorrow, just like our money, he’ll be minus one or two body parts that he’ll really miss – and it doesn’t matter how much money he’s stolen, he’ll never, ever be able to replace them!”
Torrance roared with laughter and some of the others, realizing what he meant by his comment, laughed along with him.
“Man, that’s gotta hurt,” Walker grinned.
Torrance added, “Willoughby was both light fingered and could think fast on his feet. Lawson and Maxwell will make damned sure he never does either of those things again as long as he lives. And about an hour after they meet up with him is their best estimate of his life expectancy.”<
br />
One of the other men at the table frowned momentarily and then joined in the general laughter. Although he’d never visibly supported Willoughby in front of the board, he’d never told them Willoughby was his sister’s son, his nephew, either.
Early the next morning, when Cheryl Morton opened the office at 8.30 a.m., Willoughby’s desk phone was already ringing. When she answered it a man’s voice said, “Is Mr. Willoughby there yet?”
“No, sir, I’m sorry but he’s not. He’s due in any minute though if you’d like to either hold or call back later. Or I can take a message if you like. I’m his secretary.”
The man sounded rather breathless, furtive even, as he said, “No, no, miss; there’s no time for me to call back. Please just tell him U.T. called and it’s a matter of life or death that he goes to Lexington immediately, as soon as he arrives. Tell him to be sure to pack all his bags as well.”
The man stopped speaking and laughed.
“It’s not really a matter of life or death, of course. It’s just my little joke but tell him I said it anyway. It may help him to get his ass moving. Tell him as well something urgent has come to light that he needs to attend to immediately down there. Tell him not to catch any Zs either while he’s doing it, okay?”
“Certainly, sir, I’ll do that for you just as soon as he gets here,” Cheryl said.
“Thank you, young lady. You’re a good girl and also tell him I said for him to take you with him as well. Have you got all that?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll tell him and…..” but she was speaking into a dead line. The caller had hung up. Five minutes later, Willoughby came breezily into the office.
“Morning, Cheryl,” he said, “and how are you on this fine morning?”
“I’m not sure, Jim, but I think you should hear this. It just came in.”
It was normal office procedure at Easy Green to record all incoming calls to the corporate executive offices to prevent any possible mistaken relaying of the incoming calls either verbally or in note taking. Cheryl pressed a button and played the message back to him.
Willoughby visibly paled as he listened. There had always been a possibility of this happened and his Uncle Tom, Willoughby’s partner in crime in the skimming operation, had devised a simple warning code which either of them could use. Basically it was a ‘get out of town’ quick message.
