Love for Sail

by Charles Dougherty

  "I don't understand," Kirsten said. "We're way out of sight of land."

  "Yes, but this part of the ocean is shallow and it's heavily fished; if we dump the body here, there's a good chance it'll foul somebody's nets. Then the authorities will start looking for boats in the area."

  "Oh. So what do we do?"

  "Give it a hundred miles on this course -- say another 12 hours. We'll be in thousands of feet of water then, and we'll put a weight belt on him and dump him, okay?"

  "You think of everything," Kirsten said.

  "It's important to consider all the possibilities when you do something like this. I have zero interest in getting caught, and that means thinking everything through."

  "Okay. You want to try to get some sleep while I take her for a while? One of us might as well get some rest."

  "Sure. I think I can drop off without any trouble. If you feel yourself crashing, thought, wake me. There's too much traffic in this area to chance falling asleep on watch, okay?"

  Kirsten nodded, and Connie stepped toward the companionway.

  "Connie?"

  She turned as she was about to step below. "Yes?"

  Thanks," Kirsten said in a soft, sincere tone.

  Connie nodded and went below.

  ****

  Kirsten was so excited that she could barely contain herself. She forced herself to wait for a few minutes before she took a snort to celebrate. She was leaning back with her eyes closed, enjoying the feel of the fresh breeze in her short hair when she became aware of the low-pitched noise. Startled, she sat up and looked around, expecting to see another boat in the vicinity. She swept the horizon, but saw nothing as the sound continued to increase. So quickly that she thought she was hallucinating, a big, white helicopter with an orange stripe appeared off the starboard side, dropping to hover just a few feet above the waves. She saw that there was a man wearing body armor sitting in the open door with a machine gun aimed at her. Before she could think of what to do, a deafening voice, distorted by the high level of amplification, boomed out.

  "Diamantista, this is the United States Coast Guard. Heave to immediately!"

  Kirsten froze, gripping the helm. She was trying to think of what to do when the machine gun barked, raising plumes of frothy spray 50 yards off the bow.

  "Turn your bow into the wind, NOW!" the mechanical voice boomed over the thumping sound of the helicopter's blades.

  Connie scrambled from the companionway and shoved her aside, swinging the helm to bring the boat's bow through the wind. Diamantista coasted to a stop, and the sails filled on the wrong side, back-winded, holding the vessel steady against the motion of the sea but providing no forward movement.

  "Everyone step to the side deck facing the helicopter, hands in the air. Wave both arms if anyone is below deck." There was a pause of several seconds as Connie and Kirsten complied. "We will be boarding. Do not leave your current positions until you are told to do so."

  Two figures in bulky orange suits appeared in the door beside the machine-gunner and plummeted into the water, surfacing a few yards from Diamantista's starboard side. They swam to the boat and clambered over the side with practiced ease, pistols appearing in their hands as soon as they were aboard.

  "Is there anyone else aboard?" one of them asked.

  Connie was surprised to hear a woman's voice. "No," she replied.

  "Are there any weapons aboard?"

  "There are two unloaded pistols locked in the drawer below the chart table," Connie said.

  "Are you Connie Barrera?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm Chief Boatswain's Mate Simmons. Where are your passports?"

  "They're in that same locked drawer."

  "Okay. I need to see them and your ship's papers. You and I will go below in just a second. Don't open any drawers or lockers until I tell you to. Clear?"

  "Yes."

  Simmons nodded. "You," she said, looking at Kirsten, "don't move."

  Kirsten jerked her head up and down in nervous agreement, her hands still in the air. "Let's go, Ms. Barrera. You first, please."

  When the two of them were standing in front of the chart table, Simmons said, "I only see the one drawer with a lock. Is that the one?"

  "Yes."

  "You have the key?"

  "In the right front pocket of my shorts."

  "Take it out slowly and unlock the drawer. Don't open it."

  Connie did as instructed.

  Simmons said, "Step over there, and stay in my line of sight, please," gesturing with her pistol. When Connie was in position, Simmons opened the drawer. Keeping her eyes on Connie, she reached into the drawer, a look of puzzlement spreading over her face as she withdrew three passports held together by a rubber band.

  "You said there were two pistols ..." she was interrupted by a man's voice yelling, "Gun!" A flat, popping sound was followed by a piercing scream.

  Connie noticed that Simmons eyes never wavered. "Kevin?" she yelled.

  "It's all under control," the man's voice replied.

  Simmons tossed the passports to Connie. "Pull yours out and show me the page with your picture, please."

  Connie held her passport open so that Simmons could see it. The woman studied it for a moment, her eyes flicking between the passport and Connie's face. "Okay,” she said. "Thanks for your co-operation. I'm to tell you that Lt. Russo sends his best." She holstered her gun.

  "Thank you," Connie said. "I guess she must have picked the lock."

  Simmons nodded. "Junkies can be resourceful; it's just a question of motivation, Ms. Barrera."

  "Connie will do, Chief."

  "Good. Connie, call me Sally. You and Kevin and I are going to be shipmates; we're supposed to help you sail Diamantista to Beaufort."

  "That's great. Sure you don't want to sail to the Virgins instead?"

  "I wish. You've got a dead body aboard. Is that right?"

  "Yes."

  "That the bundle on the port-side deck?"

  "That's right."

  "Okay. Kevin and I need to get it into a basket stretcher so they can hoist it into the chopper. Then we'll secure the prisoner, and we can get under way. Let's go topside, Connie."

  ****

  "I've never been so happy to see anyone in my life," Connie said, putting a fresh pot of decaffeinated coffee on Diamantista’s dining table. She took a seat opposite Paul and poured them each a cup.

  Diamantista was tied securely along the face dock at Beaufort's Town Dock marina. They had arrived a couple of hours ago, and the time since was a blur for Connie. She had answered interminable questions, signed a seemingly endless series of forms, and tried to stay out of the way as a team of investigators and crime scene technicians swarmed over every inch of her boat.

  Paul smiled at her as he stirred sugar and non-dairy creamer into his coffee. "There's a break of a couple of days in the trial prep; I thought you could maybe, um, use a little friendly company."

  "You can't imagine what it meant to me for you to be on that dock when we brought her in, Paul. Thank you seems so ... inadequate, I guess. But thank you again."

  "I feel like it's kind of my fault, you know?"

  "That's nonsense. You couldn't very well bail out on that case after all the work you put into it over the last few years. Besides, I'm the one who decided she could do the trip with pick-up crew. Hah! Fine judge of character I am."

  "Don't be so hard on yourself. You weren't totally comfortable with them, remember?"

  "No, but I let my sense of desperation overcome my better judgment."

  "You're not the first skipper who tried to make do with the crew she could find. Let it go."

  "Oh, I am. I'm resigned to sitting here until spring now. Maybe I'll lay the boat up and come to Miami; I kind of liked South Beach when I spent time there a few years ago."

  "Well, I don't think you should make any big decisions tonight, but I do have a message for you from Phillip."

  "Phillip Davis?" There was surpris
e in Connie's voice. She sat up straight and looked at Paul, eyebrows raised.

  "None other. He heard from Dani a few days ago that you were looking for crew. He wanted to get in touch with you, but Dani and Liz were off by then, running a charter, and he didn't know how to reach you. By the time he figured out to call me, you'd already left Norfolk."

  "He wanted to crew on Diamantista? I'm ... I don't know what to say."

  "He has a love for sail, and Sandrine's off in some kind of training thing in France for a few weeks. He was thinking he'd drag Sharktooth up to Annapolis and the three of you could make the trip."

  "Wow. I wish he had gotten in touch with me."

  "Well, I talked to him while I was waiting for you guys to bring Diamantista in. He's still willing, if that's what you want to do. Eager, I'd say. Sharktooth, too. But I don't think you should decide right now."

  "No, but that's not a tough decision. I’m pretty beat, though."

  "I can imagine that you are. I should get out of here and let you get some rest."

  "Paul?"

  "What?"

  "I know we agreed ... not to .... um, but ..."

  "What is it?" Paul asked, worry in his voice and in the lines on his brow.

  "Could you just hold me? Just ... hold me for a minute? That's all. I need you ..."

  He shifted in his seat, making room for her to slide in beside him and spreading his arms. She snuggled against him, dropping her head on his shoulder and returning his gentle hug. Within seconds, she was sound asleep. Paul twisted on the settee until he could stretch out, settling her on his chest, her head still on his shoulder. He reached over with his free hand and switched off the light over the dinette.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  Connie was in that pleasant state between sleep and wakefulness that only came after a full, stress-free night's sleep. It was something that she couldn't remember ever experiencing until after she split up with Rick and left for the Bahamas. Even then, it was a rare thing. She imagined it was the kind of sleep that an infant had, untroubled by any intrusions from life's uncertainties. She felt a smile spread over her face and decided it was time to get up. She was craving a cup of coffee. She forced an eye open and was disoriented; the first thing she saw was a man's unshaven chin, inches from her eyes, too close to focus. She fought her instinct to jump out of bed, taking a moment to figure out where she was. Her surroundings were familiar; she cut her eyes to look straight up, and saw the ceiling of Diamantista's main cabin. The man beneath her took a deep breath; she waited, thinking he was waking up. Then he exhaled and shifted his position slightly. She moved her head a little and shifted her focus again, recognizing Paul Russo's face.

  She was mortified as she realized that she slept the entire night in his arms. She reached a hand out to the edge of the dining table a few inches in front of her face, stretching her right arm across the sleeping Paul. Grasping the table to support her weight, she rolled slowly until she got her feet on the floor. She managed to slip out of the space between Paul, stretched out on the settee on his back, and the table. He didn't stir; she was relieved that she had extricated herself without waking him, but still a bit worried about how she had come to pass the night in his arms. Pleasant though it had been, it ran counter to all their discussions about maintaining some distance in their relationship until they were both ready.

  She stood for a moment, gazing at him; he was a handsome man and surprisingly gentle, given his career as a homicide detective -- or maybe it was because of that; she really couldn't say. She felt a warmth spreading through her body as she studied his sleeping form. She shook her head, snapping herself out of her dangerous trance. She padded into the galley and filled her stove-top espresso maker with water and finely ground, espresso-roast coffee, careful not to make any noise. As she lit the burner under the pot, she glanced at the clock on the bulkhead, surprised to see that it was 10 a.m. Of course, they had been awake almost until dawn; they both needed the sleep.

  She had been far too excited to drop off after the investigators had finally left, and Paul had seemed willing enough to sit up with her, rehashing her aborted voyage and discussing her plans from here. She still couldn't figure out how they'd ended up passing the night with her curled up on his chest, though. She felt her face flush again at the recollection of how natural that had seemed.

  Hearing the coffee burble into the top of the pot, she cut off the burner and waited until the soft gurgle told her the coffee was ready. She took two espresso cups from the locker by the stove and filled one for herself, raising it until it was almost touching her nose. She inhaled, savoring the rich aroma and anticipating the way it would feel on her tongue. Lost in her favorite morning ritual, she was startled when Paul spoke.

  "Any more of that, or did I miss my chance?"

  "Good morning. You surprised me."

  "Sorry. Guess we kinda fell asleep, huh?"

  "Yes, we did. And yes, there's more," she said, pouring a cup for him.

  She stepped back into the saloon with the coffee to find him sitting up at the table. She set one of the cups in front of him and sat down across from him.

  "Thanks." He lifted the cup, gazing down into it for a moment. He set it down and raised his eyes, looking into hers. "Um, about last night, did we ..."

  Connie swallowed hard, dreading the question that she knew was coming. She waited, watching as he took a sip of coffee.

  "Did we talk about how Kirsten's wrist got hurt?"

  Connie didn't know whether to be relieved or angry. She took a sip of coffee while she got her emotions under control. "She took a shot at the Coast Guard helicopter and then turned the gun on Kevin, the guy who was on deck with her. He didn't want to shoot her, so he smacked her wrist with his pistol."

  Paul shook his head. "Typical coke-head. Gonna shoot down a chopper with a .25 caliber pistol. She's lucky he didn't blow her away."

  "Yes. What do you think's going to happen to her?"

  "Oh, she's bound to be charged with murder; there's no way around it. She admitted killing him; you confirmed it. There was premeditation. What happens after that is anybody's guess, though. I think a good lawyer could spin that whole situation in her favor."

  "You don't think she'll get off?" There was worry in Connie's voice.

  "Hard to say, but probably not. She'll end up doing some time; maybe she'll plead to a lesser charge, but I doubt any prosecutor will let her skate. Why do you sound so worried? I thought you agreed that he was a scumbag."

  "Oh, no doubt about that. It's not that he was killed; he probably had that coming. He beat her like you wouldn't believe just a couple of days before."

  "What's the problem, then?"

  "She ended up scaring me more than he did. I mean, I understand jerks; I've been around enough of them. But she was something else. She was so cold and calculating. Clumsy and stupid when it came to executing her plan, but she intended to kill him. I told you how she tried to persuade me to just roll him over the side."

  "Yes. Yes, you did." Paul shook his head. "It's over; you're fine. Try to let it go."

  Connie nodded. "Think I'll have to come back and testify?"

  "My bet is they're going to let her plead to something, maybe in exchange for her telling them what she knew about his connections in Baltimore. It'll be interesting to see what turns up now that they've got some prints for him. They'll find out who he really was; could be that she's got some important information to trade and doesn't even know it."

  "Well, I hope it comes out that way. I'll have trouble putting it behind me if I know I have to come back for a trial."

  "Not to change the subject, but can I buy you a late breakfast? I'm starving," Paul said.

  "Sure, that would be great. Can you wait long enough for me to take a quick shower? I'm still salty from our bash into the wind getting back here."

  "Yeah. In fact, I'd like to swing by the B&B and freshen up myself. Pick you up in half an hour?"

&nb
sp; "Good. See you then."

  ****

  Buster Daniels sat on the bench along the waterfront and watched as the tall, fit-looking middle-aged man stepped from Diamantista onto the dock. He raised his smart phone, pretending to key in a number as he snapped a picture. Studying it for a moment, he cropped it and applied a filter to enhance the man's features. Satisfied, he emailed it to his boss with a note indicating that this guy had apparently spent the night on the boat. When he had relieved Vinnie a couple of hours ago, Vinnie had reported that one guy had remained aboard with the Barrera woman after all the Feds had left last night. Vinnie hadn't been able to get a picture; there was too much activity, and too many people, not to mention that it had been dark.

  The two of them had driven down from Baltimore yesterday evening. Tony Ferranti, their boss, had discovered that the boat that shithead Jimmy Dorlan was on had altered course and was about to enter Beaufort Inlet. Tony didn't trust Jimmy even a little bit; that's why he'd had Buster put the satellite tracker on the boat. Tony wanted him and Vinnie on hand when the boat came in, just in case Jimmy was up to something. By the time the two of them got to the town dock, the boat had been tied up and was swarming with cops. Some had been in Coast Guard uniforms, and others had been wearing FBI windbreakers. There were a couple that had DEA jackets and a drug dog, and one with U.S. Customs stenciled across his back.

  He and Vinnie had watched as they led one ratty-looking girl in handcuffs to an unmarked car. There had been no sign of Jimmy, and calls to his cell phone went to voicemail. Vinnie, dumb shit that he was, argued that Jimmy was shacked up with the woman on the boat, but the departure of this last guy this morning made that seem unlikely. Buster figured that guy for the woman's boyfriend. The girl in handcuffs had to be the junkie that Jimmy had been hanging with, but where the hell could Jimmy be?

  He pried open the plastic cover on his takeout coffee and took a careful sip, surprised that it was decent. As he set the cup down, the guy who had left about thirty minutes ago walked back down the dock toward the boat, Diamantista. Strange name, Buster thought. He wondered what it meant; it made him think of diamonds. Maybe it was some foreign word for diamond.