“So where are we going now?” George said.
“Find the cave in that photo.”
I came around on a southwest heading and shaped a course for Heron Neck. We needed to cross the bay and check out Little Green Island and Seal Island NWR. By the looks of things we didn’t have time. Any wind over twenty knots from the West would make a landing on Seal in my skiff damn near impossible. The island was uninhabited most of the year, a granite plateau with boulders strewn over its north end and a seaward face of forty to sixty foot cliffs. The National Parks and Wildlife Service supported a bird sanctuary there; they maintained a small bunkhouse, a couple of tent sites and a dozen or more bird blinds for protecting spring and summer flocks of Atlantic puffins, guillimots, razorbilled auks, and murres. Seal was one of only three islands in the United States that served as a breeding ground for the Atlantic Puffin.
We struck for Seal first, figuring to get there before the wind got too bad. Unfortunately, we didn’t make it in time. After an hour of steaming, the anemometer on the boat read a steady twenty-two with gusts to over thirty. I had to pick up the old mooring in the cove in a nasty three to four-foot chop. To be on the safe side we donned dry suits, masks and snorkels and swam to shore dragging a tether of three-quarter inch polypropylene rope. If we couldn’t swim back to the boat through the chop we would be able to drag ourselves hand-over-hand using the line.
The biologists who managed and studied the birds here typically shut their operation down by the end of August. Sometimes the last person who left would padlock the door and other times they would leave it open. In Maine, whether in the deep woods or on a remote, offshore island, padlocking the door usually qualified as wasted effort. I took hold of the door handle and shouldered my way through with a smooth, wood-splintering shove.
George and I entered the shack and looked around. If Aaron had been here the winter before there would have been little evidence of it. Dozens of biologists and students had been in and out of here all summer. Meanwhile, I wasn’t looking for direct evidence of Aaron’s stay. I wanted to see if what was left behind by the birders would be enough to sustain somebody for two or three weeks. By the looks of things, there was enough canned goods to keep three people alive. If somebody wanted to, they could live here for months, keep track of what they ate and restock before they left. No one would be the wiser.
“What are you thinking?” George said.
“You could live here, stay wrapped up in blankets and a good winter sleeping bag, cook on a gas stove. Replace what you ate before you left. Who would know?” I said.
“What if somebody showed up?”
“Who’s going to come here in January? Besides, you could see somebody coming for ten miles. Good scope. Right here.” I pointed with my right foot to a spot on the floor just inside of the window frame. “All you need is a place to hide in the event somebody shows.”
“The cave,” George said.
“We’ll head there next. It’s on the southeast corner of the island.”
“I don’t know,” George said. “It’s a stretch.”
“The picture doesn’t lie.” I said.
“They sink a three hundred thousand dollar boat. Aaron swims all the way out here.”
“Maybe Tanner drops him off here,” I said. “Maybe they sink the boat and Tanner gets in the raft while Aaron swims to Little Green. It’s not that far. I can swim it. So can you. Aaron hides out on Little Green until Tanner is rescued. There are two lobster shacks out there. Nobody uses them. Nobody even goes out there. Aaron stays in one of the shacks, keeps his head down. No fires. No smoke. For what? Three days? Maybe four. Tanner makes believe he’s taking part in the search. It’s a big deal. Coast Guard. Marine Patrol. Helicopters. Planes. It’s winter. Tanner reported that Aaron came up from the dive in trouble. So after three full days of searching, the Coasties call it quits. It’s standard procedure. But Tanner, he keeps coming out to search for his friend. Day and night. The faithful shipmate. And with the Coasties off the search, he has his chance. Third or fourth night, he picks Aaron off Little Green and takes him to Seal. Come on, let’s check the cave.”
I closed the door of the shack and jury-rigged a wire lock, then I propped a rock against the door to keep it from jittering. It was the least I could do after breaking in.
We hiked across the island to the south end. From the higher vantage point we could see the wind churning up whitecaps in the bay. Every wave broke feather white. “We better hurry,” I said, picking up the pace. “As it is, we’re going to have a hell of a long pull back to the boat.”
“I’m not worried,” George said. “There’s always the bird shack.”
“Saltines and Chunky soup?” I said. “I don’t think so. I have my mind set on a hot shower, a vodka martini and some leftover Spanish paella. Let’s double time it.”
We jogged in our dry suits the rest of the way. Even with the suit’s zipper cracked, by the time we got to the cave, sweat had soaked through our thermal underwear. I couldn’t speak for George, but if I didn’t keep my exertion level and body temperature up I would get seriously hypothermic. With the breeze whipping over the bare rock at gale force, and the temperature around twenty degrees, wind chills hovered between zero and one degree Fahrenheit.
The cave had as much to show for itself as the shack, which was nothing more than providing support for my theory. Neither proved Aaron had been on the island, only that he could have been. Clearly somebody had spent time in the cave. Char coated the ceiling and a small pile of burnt ash and driftwood littered the floor.
We jogged back the same way we came and clawed to the boat over the float rope I had payed out earlier. I regretted having shut down Scara’s engine and diesel stove the minute I climbed aboard and stripped off my drysuit. Barefoot and naked, trying to stand in the wildly pitching and rolling forecastle, the cold penetrated to my marrow.
“OK,” George said shivering. “Now I’m cold.”
“Shut up and get dressed.” I fired the engine and cranked the heat. The diesel stove was another matter. I knew it wouldn’t start in this much wind and sea. “Keep moving. Stomp your feet. We need to warm-up before we get underway.”
“Sure, Cap. I’m all for warm.”
We put on everything we owned and a couple of blankets and huddled over the unlit stove like a pair of hobos in a rail yard. George’s teeth were chattering. “Tell me again why you’re not lighting that thing,” he said.
“It won’t start now. Too rough. All it will do is fill the cabin with fumes and smoke.”
“Mmm,” George muttered. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you shut it off in the first place?”
“Would it help if I told you it might have set the boat on fire in these seas?”
“A fire would be sweet right now,” George said. “Even a big one.”
“True,” I said.
“You still want to check out Little Green?” George said.
“I think we’ve seen enough of the Maine coast for one day, don’t you?”
George nodded and stomped his feet. I did the same. We moved our arms around, held onto the handrails with one hand and then the other, tugged at our blankets and jackets, clenched and unclenched our fists. Anything to keep the blood flowing.
George’s teeth chattered. “Would it be terribly forward and un-hetero of me to ask for a hug?” he said.
I looked at him squarely, put my arm over his shoulder and rubbed vigorously.
“I thought you’d never ask,” I said.
31
We pounded to the Northwest for forty minutes. At the Bay Ledge Buoy I jogged to port a few degrees and shaped a course for Two Bush. The ride got a little easier as the bow cleaved the seas head-on and spray shot thirty feet into the air. On both legs of the trip George kept a steely eye out for Tanner’s boat. He wasn’t at his house, and we hadn’t seen him on the way out. If he was fishing, where was he? I supposed he could have been working on his boat, at a frien
d’s, or shopping; he could have been anywhere between his house and our present position. For some reason I didn’t quite understand I wanted to know his whereabouts. It was an itch I couldn’t scratch.
At Two Bush I made another course change to circle Little Green. We could have taken the skiff in on the leeward side on the island but it would have been another cold and miserable adventure for very little reward. I satisfied myself with a study of the barren landscape through the binoculars. The two measly shacks looked as they always did, bleak and uninviting. I scanned the shoreline. Tanner’s boat wasn’t here.
We put Scara on the mooring in Turkey Cove by seven thirty in the evening and rowed ashore in the skiff. While George showered I heated the leftover Spanish paella in the double boiler and made a large jigger of Vodka martinis. I had to wait thirty minutes for George to shower and then another agonizing thirty minutes for the water heater to cycle, but I used the time wisely by consuming the jigger of martinis and eating the sausage out of the paella. George fended for himself in the liquor cabinet and never said a word about the sausage-less paella. Ignorance is bliss.
Par for the course after a frigid day on the ocean, I set the shower for as hot as I could stand it. I let the water run down my head and back and wondered why I had gotten obsessed with knowing where Tanner had gone. I wondered if Aaron was alive, if maybe he went to a place where his name and passport meant little or next to nothing. I remembered a friend at the ferry service telling me about a job opening for a port captain on a small island that I had never heard of before. You think you know the Gulf of Mexico and the surrounding waters but it’s surprising how much there is out there. The Caribbean is dotted with tiny, semiprivate and private islands a person could go to without ever having to use their real name or I.D. It was entirely possible Aaron – who had plenty of maritime knowledge – bought himself a blue water boat and sailed it to some remote tropical island. Maybe he planned it as a temporary move, or maybe he had something else in mind, like sailing the world and never coming home. Obviously Tanner and Aaron had hatched a scheme to defraud or embezzle money from someone, and clearly they had been working together for some time. Were they still? Was Aaron alive? Corrupt minds make tenuous partnerships.
By eleven our energy and blood-alcohol levels had hit their respective bottoms and peaks. I had George hit the rack in the office instead of trying to drive home. We both slept the sleep of champions and woke at around zero eight hundred to the sound of someone’s knuckles rapping on the front door. I slid out of bed and into a pair of jeans and grabbed my bigger forty-five, the Combat Elite. I quietly jacked one in the chamber and stepped toward the door. George came out of the office. I motioned for him to get back inside. He did as he was told.
When I moved the curtain a hair to get a view through the glass in the door I saw two large men in black business suits, white shirts, ties and black overcoats and a black, Dodge charger with multiple antennas parked at the top of my driveway.
“Can I help you gentleman?” I said through the door.
“State Police, Mr. Angil,” the bigger of the two men said. “Can we have a word with you?”
“Sure thing,” I said. “I’m going to unlock the door and then I’m going to rest my pistol on the kitchen counter and then come back and open the door. That sound OK to you?”
I could see both cops tense, reach under their jackets and take a half step away from the door. They carried their weapons on their hips.
“Keep the gun in sight and your hands where we can see them. Anybody else with you?”
“Yes,” I said. “He’ll be out front here with me when you come in.” As George came out of the office I gave the two officers a running account of my movements. “I’m unloading my firearm. Now I’m opening the slide and leaving the gun on the counter. I’m walking back to the door. My buddy is in the kitchen with me. I’m opening the door.”
The two cops relaxed when they saw George and me standing with our hands by our sides in the kitchen. One of them, the smaller of the two, went over to the counter and checked the gun.
“Is this the only firearm in the house?” he said with a sneer.
“Hardly,” I said.
“Any other weapons in this room?”
“Nothing in this room, except the old flintlock over the door. I’m fairly certain you’d probably have me ten times over by the time I got it loaded and primed.”
The bigger of the two smiled. The other one seemed to have the sneer glued on his face. George looked frozen at the corner of the counter.
“Coffee?” I said.
“Sounds great, if you don’t mind,” the big one said.
“Not at all. I’d be making it anyway.”
We introduced ourselves as I set up the coffee maker. The bigger cop with the smile was Corey Torrelli and the smaller, though not by much, was Steve Delft. You could tell that they had been working together for a long time. Both were detectives out of Augusta. Torrelli had an easy, friendly manner while Delft looked like he hated everything that didn’t shout blue and black and Semper Aequus.
“Give us a minute or two to wash up and get presentable,” I said, heading for the bathroom and my toothbrush.
“We didn’t come here for a beauty contest,” Delft said. “Do you know a Vinalhaven fisherman named Pete Tanner?”
I paused at the edge of the kitchen. “Detective,” I said. “Let me put it to you another way. Right now I’m going to go brush my teeth and wash my face and put on a clean shirt. Then I’m going to pour myself my first cup of coffee of the day. If the need should arise, and it probably will, I’m going to take my first shit of the day, in my own bathroom, in my own house, in which you are a guest.”
Delft started to say something but his partner interrupted.
“Go ahead, Angil,” Torrelli said to me, and then to Delft: “Jesus, Steve. Let ‘em use the can if they have to. They just woke up.”
I nodded at Torrelli. “Make yourself at home. Clean cups in the rack. Sugar’s on the table, cream in the fridge.”
“Thank you,” Torrelli said. He had already poured himself a cup of coffee. Like he had all the time in the world. “Just one thing,” he said. “So you know. If you come out of the bathroom or bedroom hitching up anything other than your belt I’m probably gonna plug you.”
I went into the bathroom and washed up and left the door open for George to do the same. I changed into some clean clothes and came back out to the kitchen. A few minutes later we were all standing in the living room drinking coffee and looking out at the cove.
“You guys could have brought some breakfast,” I said, leaning against the wall.
Torrelli stood by the window, Delft by the entrance to the kitchen. George was in the rocker; he seemed oblivious to everything but the cove and his coffee.
Torrelli looked at me dourly. “Don’t mistake my good nature for an interest in being your friend, Captain Angil.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. What can I do for you?”
“Do you know Pete Tanner?” Torrelli said.
“Not personally,” I said. “ I met him once. For a client.”
“This a case you care to talk about?” Torrelli said.
“Not really,” I said. “Even if I did, I have nothing to tell you that isn’t pure conjecture.”
Delft snorted. “Some private investigator,” he said.
I glanced at Delft for a second and then turned my attention back to Torrelli. “Tanner file a complaint against me?” I said.
“We wouldn’t be here if he had,” Delft said. “We’re fucking detectives.”
“That’s not a good image,” I said. “Unless you’re in a rock band, you know, like The Lemon Pops or something.”
Delft turned to his partner. “I don’t know why you insist on being nice to this asshole, Corey. Let’s just take him in.”
“Take me in,” I said. “I can tell you’ve been watching way too much Law and Order.”
“Were you on the
island anytime yesterday?” Torrelli said.
“I was. We both were.”
“What the hell were you doing out there?” Delft said.
I looked at Torrelli. “Would you tell your partner to please stop using profanity in my house,” I said. “I find it disrespectful and irritating.”
Delft’s face turned red and the muscles in his neck tightened. I thought he was about to burst. Torrelli calmed him down with a wave of his hand. “OK, you two,” he said. “Enough foreplay. What were you doing out there, Angil?”
“Looking around,” I said. “I went to Tanner’s house, knocked on the door, peeked inside. He wasn’t home. I looked in his shed.”
“Did you go inside the house?” Delft said.
“Without him there, detective? Correct me if I’m wrong but isn’t that against the law?”
“OK, Angil,” Torrelli said. “You proved your point. You can be uncooperative and an asshole if you want to be. Now how about we all just get along?”
“I invited you in,” I said, “Made coffee. You didn’t bring any sweets or anything.”
Torrelli mulled it over for a second or two.
“Fair enough,” he said, looking at me eye to eye. “Somebody found Tanner on the north side of the island about four hours ago. His neck was broken in three places.”
George’s head jerked up and he spilled his coffee. He glanced first at me, then Torrelli then Delft. So much for George’s poker face.
“Let me guess,” I said. “He’s dead, and you don’t think it was self-afflicted.”
“That is an astute deduction for a P.I. with so little experience,” Delft said.
“I read a ton of Robert Parker.”
Torrelli smiled. “I’m a McBain fan myself,” he said.
“McBain is very good,” I said. “But nobody beats Parker for concise and spare.”
Delft had a disgusted look on his face. He was fed-up with the two of us. “Word is you and he had a little tiff about something,” he said. “We know he went around town asking about you and telling people he was going to kick your ass. We have a witness who says you were out on the wharf poking into his fishing business. We also know you have a client, your first and only one I might add, and that your case has something to do with Tanner and that Bowers kid who died last year.”
Calamity (Captain Grande Angil Mysteries) Page 14
