Deadout

by Jon McGoran

  Jimmy acknowledged it was a problem, that it was probably going to cost him a shot at being chief. He assured me it was just a phase, a stage in the whole divorce process. In fact, he elaborated, he had identified five stages of divorce: denial, being an asshole, being an angry asshole, wallowing, and acceptance. He was in the wallowing phase.

  I didn’t get through the night without revealing a bit about myself, either, and what had happened in Dunston. He looked at me with a little more respect after that, and a little more pity. “Lucky you came through that okay,” he said, watching me.

  I looked away.

  “Nightmares?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Not much. Flashbacks, sometimes.”

  He ordered another round.

  “You talk to the counselors?”

  I gave him a look, and he laughed.

  “Actually, I did,” I told him. “It helped a bit, but mostly I feel like I just need to work through it. Unfortunately, I’ve had a couple of ill-timed pauses while mixing it up with bad guys.”

  “You think your flashbacks and stuff are affecting things with your girl?”

  “Probably. She worries. And she’s not crazy about me doing police work at all. Nola looks at police work the way I look at scrapple. I’m glad it’s there, but I don’t want to see how it happens. She’s got her own stuff she’s dealing with, too. Some of it from Dunston, some of it from before. She kind of has a chemical sensitivity syndrome, so she has to avoid exposure to a lot of chemicals. That’s been limiting her options for work, et cetera.”

  “Kind of?”

  “Well, it’s tricky, I’m pretty sure she did have it. When she was younger she had a couple of bad episodes with lawn chemicals and new carpet, so they’re pretty sure. And no one knows if it can be cured, but there’s doctors who claim they can do it, and Nola went to one of them. She met one of her best friends there, Cheryl, but Cheryl went on to have another episode, and now she has to live like a hermit to stay away from all the stuff. It’s got Nola scared out of her wits the same thing is going to happen to her.”

  “Jesus, I can understand that.”

  “Oh, absolutely. But the thing is, that was all before I knew her. Back in Dunston, Nola was hit with some intense chemical exposures, and she had no reaction. Since then, too. And she’s had no reaction. I’m not saying she should start huffing Raid, but she doesn’t even want to discuss the possibility that she could start loosening some of the limits on her life.”

  He blew out a long deep breath between his lips. “Sounds like she’s dealing with a lot,” he said. “You need to take it easy on her. Take it easy on yourself, too.”

  I shrugged.

  “Nola seems like a great girl,” he said. “My ex wasn’t, at least not at the end, which was half of our marriage. She put me through hell almost every day, but I still miss her, or who she was supposed to be.” He smiled sadly and leaned forward. “Relationships are hard, isn’t that what they say? Well, let me tell you: ending them is no picnic either.”

  * * *

  I was both relieved and disappointed that he let me drive home. I was in no shape for it, but I made it back to the hotel.

  There was a small group smoking out on the porch, and as I climbed the steps and they stopped their conversation to stare at me, I realized any of them could have been working with the pug-faced guy with the silencer. I had enemies around, and I needed to be more careful. I looked back at them long enough to let them know I wasn’t intimidated, but not so long as to provoke anything. I was in no state and in no mood. The only thing I was ready to fight were bed spins, and as it turned out even that was a mismatch.

  31

  The next morning I woke up with a pounding headache and a deep sense of regret that I had told Moose I would help him. The novel charm of physical labor outside in nature had largely worn off. A second cup of coffee helped, but I was still feeling better about having pursued a career in police work, and about working with a partner who could go longer than ten minutes without trying to start up a conversation.

  One thing I continued to appreciate about the work, however, was the appetite it gave me, and I was seriously looking forward to a very hearty lunch when Annalisa called.

  I felt weird answering it in front of Moose.

  “Hi,” I said, lowering my voice and immediately earning a suspicious look.

  “Hi,” she said. “Where are you?” Her voice sounded tight.

  “I’m helping Moose, since Benjy’s mom is sick.”

  “Doyle, I’m worried.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be okay. Benjy seemed to think it was nothing.” Moose looked at me, eyebrow raised.

  “No, I mean … yes, I’m worried about Benjy’s mom, but … I need to see you.”

  “Do you want us to come over?”

  “No,” she said abruptly. “Can I meet you somewhere else?”

  * * *

  We met Annalisa at Felix Neck, a wildlife preserve on Sengekontacket Pond, near Oak Bluffs. She was in the small dirt parking lot, sitting in her car with the engine running. Her face looked nervous and drawn, but she smiled when she saw us. As I got out of the car, she ran up and hugged me. Moose raised an eyebrow, but it was a desperate hug, fearful and in need of reassurance. Moose’s suspicious frown deepened into concern.

  “Are you all right?” I asked when she finally let me go.

  She nodded, but grabbed me by the elbow and guided me into the stand of trees, motioning with her head for Moose to follow.

  When we had gone thirty yards, she stopped and leaned in close to me. Moose stepped up close to listen.

  “So, last night, when you disappeared on me”—she cocked an annoyed eyebrow—“I got to thinking. Pearce kept talking about colony collapse disorder, and I kept thinking, no it’s not. It’s mites, Varroa mites. Yes, the Varroas might be involved in CCD, but this isn’t CCD. The bees aren’t disappearing, they’re just dying. They’re being killed by these mites.

  “So, I went to the lab, and I ran a DNA analysis on some of the mite samples. I was there pretty late, and I’ll tell you, it kind of creeped me out, you know? Being there all alone, at night.” I thought to tell her she should have called me, but didn’t want to in front of Moose. “Anyway, I ran the DNA analysis, then ran the sequence through the database. It came back inconsistent with what is in the database for Varroa destructor. In fact, it didn’t match anything.”

  “What do you mean?” Moose asked.

  She took a deep breath. “By then it was late, so to double-check, I set up the DNA analysis to run again, overnight. When I got back this morning, Sumner was there with a bunch of security types. They said the lab had been vandalized.”

  “Vandalized how?”

  She waved a hand and rolled her eyes. “They said someone had thrown a big rock at it. And there was graffiti—‘Leave Our Island.’ But the place was crawling with Sumner’s men. Armed men. It was terrifying. At first they wouldn’t let me inside, but then they did, just to get my things. The analysis was finished, and when I ran it through the database, it said Varroa mite.”

  “Had you done something wrong?” I asked.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she snapped. Then she took another deep breath. “I didn’t do anything wrong. But when I double-checked the sample, I noticed that the seal on the cap had been completely removed. I don’t do that. I break it and leave it in place.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  She looked around and lowered her voice. “I’m saying someone switched the sample. Even before I checked the analysis, I could tell someone had been at my desk. I didn’t have time to check anything out, because they rushed me out. They said they needed to complete their investigation, that I should take the day off and they would call me when I could get back in.”

  “So what do you think happened?” Moose asked.

  “I think they were monitoring me. And something I did, maybe doing the DNA analysis on the mites, made them nervous. I think they
staged the vandalism in order to hide their tracks, and to justify bringing in the soldiers.”

  “What did you mean earlier?” he asked. “When you said about the analysis not matching anything.”

  “Just that. It doesn’t match anything in the database. It’s a pretty big database, and I know Varroas are in it.”

  Moose’s eyes were wide. “So what does this mean?”

  Annalisa shook her head. “It means these mites could be something new.”

  32

  Annalisa was afraid, and I was taking it seriously, but I didn’t know what to do about it. I offered to follow her home, to make sure she was okay. But she shook her head and said she’d be fine. I reassured her it was a small island, and we were only a phone call away.

  The next stop was the BeeWatch lab. I went first because it was too excruciating to drive behind Moose, but no matter how slowly I drove, he lagged behind. We were driving along County Road, through Oak Bluffs, when Annalisa texted to tell me she was safely home. When I glanced back at the rearview, another car had pulled in between Moose and me. Two blocks later, a second car pulled in, then a third. But the third one hadn’t turned onto the road; it overtook Moose from behind.

  I recognized the driver. It was Pug-face. He was following me.

  I called Moose on speaker phone so the guy following wouldn’t know I was on the phone.

  “What’s up?” Moose asked.

  “Can you see me?”

  “Yeah. There’s a couple of cars between us. I thought you were going to wait for me, but yeah, I can see you. Why?”

  “I have a tail. Someone following me. You see the green Dodge directly in front of you?”

  He grunted. “Yeah, he cut me off.”

  “Right. Well, I’m pretty sure he’s following me. Stay behind me. I’m going to make a few extra turns, see if he follows.”

  I did, and so did the tail, and so did Moose.

  I was pretty sure I could lose the tail, but I didn’t want to lose him. I wanted to find him.

  We were driving up Kennebec Avenue, parallel to Circuit Avenue, where most of the shops were. There were no side streets between the two roads, but little pedestrian courtyards cut between the them every thirty yards. Driving past the sign for Back Door Donuts, the back entrance to the bakery, I got an idea.

  “You still there?” I said.

  Moose said, “Yeah. Why?”

  “Keep following.” I took Kennebec to the end, past the Flying Horses, then turned left and left again, looping back up Circuit.

  “I need you to do me a favor. Pull over right where you are and wait for me.”

  “Um, okay.” He sounded unsure, but in my rearview, I saw him pulling into one of the diagonal parking spaces fifty yards back. I pulled into one by the courtyard near the front entrance to the bakery. The green Dodge pulled into one roughly halfway between us.

  I got out of the car at a leisurely pace, making sure Pug-face could see me. Then I went into the bakery and got a coffee and an apple fritter the size of my head. When the woman at the counter wasn’t looking, I slipped through the door to the kitchen.

  One of the bakers glanced up at me and said, “Hey—”

  “Sorry,” I said, holding up my coffee and fritter, as if that explained it. Then I ducked outside under the Back Door Donuts sign.

  I cut left and hurried down Kennebec, looping around through one of the cut throughs the next one and back onto Circuit, near Moose’s truck. I could see the Dodge parked up the street. I slurped my coffee down to a safe level then darted across the sidewalk and crouched next to Moose’s truck.

  He lowered the window. “What are you doing down there?”

  “Don’t look at me. Can you see the green Dodge?”

  “Yeah. It’s five cars up.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Not much by the looks of it.”

  I turned on my heel and sat down on the asphalt, my back against Moose’s door. “Okay, so here’s the thing,” I said. “He’s looking for me. I don’t know exactly why. He tried to shoot me the other night.”

  “What?”

  I looked up to see Moose looking down at me, his chin perched on the edge of the car door. “Don’t look at me!” I snapped, and his head disappeared.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The other night, I was following Teddy—”

  “Why were you following Teddy?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”

  “Right,” he said, judging me. “Wait, was this in the Campgrounds?”

  “… Yes.”

  “Jesus, dude. You shot up half the gingerbread houses!”

  I looked up and saw him looking down at me again. “Don’t look at me! And no, I didn’t. That guy in the green Dodge did. I didn’t fire a shot. I don’t even have my gun with me. Anyway, in a couple of seconds, he’s going to realize I’m taking a long time in the bakery, and he’s going to come looking for me.”

  “Okay…”

  “I need to borrow your truck.”

  “What?”

  “You can use my rental, but I’d recommend against it, since they’ve been following it and it’s a little conspicuous. But I need your truck to follow this guy when he gives up and goes wherever it is he goes.”

  “What am I going to use? I still need to get around.”

  “It’s a small island, and you’ve got lots of friends. I’m sure you can borrow a bike.”

  He sighed. “Okay. Your friend’s headed into the bakery.”

  I moved to the side so Moose could get out. Then I slipped into the driver’s seat, staying low. “Thanks. I’d say I owe you one, but I know our friendship isn’t like that.”

  He gave me a sour look. Then he turned and walked briskly down the street, toward Mocha Mott’s.

  Even sitting low down in the seat, I felt vulnerable being so close to Pug-face’s car. Moose had left his bag in the backseat, along with and his big, floppy, “farmer who’s too cool to care how he looks” hat.

  I let out a sad sigh and placed it on my head. Looking through his bag, I also found a pair of binoculars, several pairs of gloves, a couple of granola bars, and a first-aid kit. I thought about eating one of the granola bars, but then I remembered I had a big old apple fritter, so I started in on that. It was so good I almost didn’t notice when Pug-face came out looking extra angry. He took five steps, pivoting in five different directions, but each time he paused and retraced them. Eventually he got back into his car. After a few minutes he pulled away. I waited a few seconds and went after him.

  33

  In my experience, people who are following other people, or trying to, tend not to think that they might be followed themselves. Especially not by the person they are supposed to be following. Even so, I gave the guy plenty of distance. And I kept the hat on, just in case.

  Pug-face did his part by driving slowly and obliviously. We seemed to be randomly crisscrossing the island. Then I realized we were on the Doyle Carrick tour: we drove past the Offshore Alehouse, then swung by the Wesley on our way to the Black Dog. After that, we drove through Vineyard Haven and out to Teddy’s farm. Pug-face pulled over in almost the exact spot where Percy and McCarter had stopped a few days earlier.

  I turned up a driveway a hundred yards down and watched from there. I don’t think surveillance was Pug-face’s specialty, because after just a few minutes, he roared off, zipping past me doing sixty.

  Well, that’s no way to find me, I thought.

  I gave him a nice cushion through West Tisbury and Chilmark and into Aquinnah before he turned right onto Pasture Road, curving around Menemsha Pond. The road began to twist and turn, and I lost him a couple of times but caught sight of him just as he turned onto Basin Road, curving around the pond once again. We were headed out to a dead end on a little spit of land across the lagoon pond from Menemsha Village, where I’d been so disappointed by my lobster roll.

  I let more distance accumulate between
us, but I knew I was running out of land and I didn’t want to drive up on the guy. I turned onto a dirt road, thinking I would follow on foot through the brush on the opposite side of the road. Before I could, though, I saw Teddy Renfrew zip by in his vintage truck, headed the same way as Pug-face.

  That stopped me. I still didn’t know if Pug-face had been running interference for Teddy and his mystery pal, or if I had broken up his plan to kill them.

  I was rooted by indecision, but I decided if there was a chance Pug-face was here to kill Teddy, I needed to stop him. I pictured my Glock in the trunk of the Impala, back on the mainland. I started up the truck, but before I could put it in gear, Pug-face drove by in his green Dodge, leaving. I paused again, wondering which way to go. I decided to check on Teddy, spinning up a little sand as I pulled out onto the road. After a quarter of a mile, the road widened out into a little parking area, eight spots on either side, maybe a half-dozen cars parked there. One of them was Teddy’s truck.

  I pulled into a spot directly across from it. At the far end of the parking area, the road continued on another fifty feet, curving down to the water. Teddy was down there on the little bit of beach that surrounded the pond, with a tall man wearing fatigue pants and a black sweater. It could have been his mystery pal. They were having an intense but hushed conversation. They were standing next to a small dock with a few tiny boats, including one that looked like a large aluminum raft. A small handmade sign read MENEMSHA BIKE FERRY.

  I pulled out Moose’s binoculars for a closer look. The guy looked like a serious badass, more mercenary than thug. He had his hand on Teddy’s shoulder, speaking intensely. Teddy was mostly nodding. I was reminded of a teacher talking to a child, or a coach talking to an athlete.

  When the man turned, I could see the outline of the holster at his back. His boots had a built-in knife sheath; I could see the hilt poking out.

  I lowered the binoculars, then raised them back up. I recognized those boots. This was the guy Teddy had been talking to in the Campgrounds, before Pug-face showed up. I lowered the binoculars again, wondering what to do next. When I raised them back up, Teddy and his friend were gone. I spotted the mystery man crossing the lagoon on the tiny bike ferry. Then I spotted Teddy in my side mirror, getting into his truck.