“We throw a hook onto the pier and pull ourselves over and tie up.”
“That pile of shit going to hold us?”
“Only one way to tell. How much do you weigh?”
Charly gave Frank a narrow-eyed stare.
“Less than you, big boy.”
Frank pulled out a line with a grappling hook from a storage locker and slung it onto the pier. It grabbed onto a vertical piling and Frank tugged the line taut and tested it for solid resistance as he eased the boat alongside the pier. The foam rubber boat fenders rasped as he secured the sloop to the piling, then looped another line over the jagged remains of a seaward piling near the stern. The pier groaned with the gentle wave motion bobbing the boat, but seemed to hold.
Charly hoisted her bag onto her shoulder.
Frank dug into his pocket and pulled out a Beretta .25 automatic and handed it to Charly.
“Take this,” Frank said. “Just in case.”
“Thanks,” she said and tucked it in her bag.
“You do know how to use that,” Frank said.
“Get serious. Guess what I stuck in Mike Graham’s face?”
Frank pointed to the pier. “You first.”
“Why should I be the test dummy?”
“If I go first and fall in, who’s going to save me? You? The other way around, with me on the boat with access to equipment, will play out a lot better.”
“Why the hell didn’t I press for Catalina?” Charly said and stepped onto the starboard gunwale, bracing herself with a shroud from the mainmast. She gingerly extended a testing foot toward the pier and touched upon one of the few extant planks that seemed supportive. She pushed downward with the exploratory foot, tapping the weathered wood like it was pond ice to determine its safeness for skating. The plank stayed in place, firm. In a single motion, she lightly balleted to the pier and hugged a nearby piling like it was a treasured loved one.
Frank followed her lead, noting her choice of landing spot on the pier. There were now about ten yards of pier to traverse before they could set foot on land. The planks were an erratic maze of uncertain soundness, with large sections where many planks had decayed or fallen away. Moving carefully in a zig-zag pattern ultimately brought them to one last jump onto the sandy beach.
Charly dipped into her bag, withdrew a silver flask, and unscrewed the cap.
“You’re having a drink?” Frank asked, his left eyebrow raised.
“I’m betting there’s no bar on this island. So here’s to ya,” Charly said, saluting Frank with the flask, and then took a generous swig.
“I shouldn’t have let you chum those sharks.”
“No biggie, but I’ll never watch Jaws again.”
Chapter 23
A wide walkway of brick pavers led from the pier to Prescott’s hacienda-style mansion a hundred yards inland. The remains of the storm-ravaged building stood tucked inside a palm tree line bordering the beach. Much of its multi-levels were gone. What roof that remained had lost most of its half-pipe Spanish tiles, which lay shattered beneath the eaves. The glass from the windows was almost entirely gone, with only glistening traces dangling from their mullion frames, most of which had blown inward, likely by decades of violent winds.
The stucco exterior displayed open fissures and road map designs of cracks. Slabs of the adobe-colored veneer sprawled on the portico and on the sides of the building. What little paint remained, curled away from the naked wood that once hid beneath its ecru finish. Round support timbers, weathered and rotting, jutted out from the open frames of the walls and lay ashen where many had collapsed. Scrub vegetation dominated the grounds, with an occasional hibiscus begging for attention with colorful red blooms and tropical michelias pleasing the senses with their sweet perfume.
Frank and Charly paused at the steps leading to the elevated portico and studied the shambles of what had once been tropical elegance.
“Go inside?” Charly asked.
“Not a good idea,” Frank said. “This place is two nails away from complete collapse.”
“Then let’s see what’s out back.”
The two carefully skirted the building and found themselves standing on the edge of a filled swimming pool, sixty feet long by thirty feet wide and bordered in hand-painted ceramic tiles.
“All that beautiful blue ocean and Prescott still needed to build a pool,” Charly said.
“Looks like he piped in the ocean,” Frank said, pointing to a round opening on the bottom of the pool’s deep side. “Used the tide to drain and fill the pool. Clever.”
“Bet he installed that heavy-gauge screen down there to keep out aquatic visitors.”
“Yeah. The pipe’s large enough to allow a dolphin in.”
“May want to keep this place for the new arrivals.”
“This section of the island faces due west. The inmates will be based on the east side.”
“Why?”
“Easier access. It’d be impractical to have to travel to the opposite side of the island. Not sure why the Prescotts built on this side.”
“Silly, unromantic lad,” Charly said. “For the sunsets.”
Frank waved off the comment.
“Hardened cons can do without lovey sunsets.”
“Won’t they have access to the entire island?”
“I guess, but the main complex should be built on the east side, which is four miles away through tough-looking jungle. Why would anyone want to claw and climb their way through that kind of terrain when all their needs are supplied on the east face?”
“Have to want something bad on this side … or want to get away from something.”
“I’m sure the island’s evolution will be interesting,” Frank said and wandered around the pool to the back of the once-improved lot. A spade lay on the ground in front of an open utility shed. Rusty picks, mattocks, and other garden tools covered the floor of the small building. Frank grabbed the spade and headed for the edge of the overgrowth.
Frank paced the perimeter of the grounds, booting aside coconuts that lay strewn in abundance everywhere, and swatting at the weeds in his path with the spade. At the far left, where the jungle abutted the cleared area, Frank stopped and bent over to examine something on the ground.
“If it’s money, it’s mine,” Charly said.
“Can you come over here?”
Frank watched Charly step an erratic pattern through the weeds that ended a few feet from where he squatted.
“Got a camera in that bottomless bag of yours?”
“Yes,” Charly said and fumbled through the depths of the bag and withdrew a digital camera. “Here.”
Frank took the camera as Charly moved in closer.
“Kodak moment?” Charly said.
Frank pointed to the ground beneath his knees. Charly moved in front of Frank.
“Any idea what did that?” Charly asked.
Frank bid Charly to move in even closer to get a better look. In the damp sandy soil lay a fresh footprint. A footprint like no other Frank had ever seen. Large, reptilian, like a long hand, with five claw marks scribed deep into the soil. Frank figured out the camera controls and took a flash picture of the print. He moved to a different position and snapped another shot, then moved in for close-ups.
“Place your hand next to the print,” Frank said.
Charly squatted and did as Frank asked as the camera flashed several times.
“Have we stumbled onto Jurassic Park?” Charly asked.
“It’s a kind of crocodile, I think,” Frank said and stood.
“Why is there only one footprint?”
“The soil everywhere else is bone dry and hard, except for this low, damp area. Probably where rain water settled.”
“Think what made it is nearby?” Charly asked, rising, her head swiveling in all directions.
“Looks fresh,” Frank said and made an attempt to capture the print with the spade, but the muddy impression disintegrated the moment he tried to lift it from th
e soil.
Charly’s eyes scanned the nearby jungle and stopped at bright blue and green colors in the shadows of the palms.
“There’s something under those palms,” Charly said and groped around in her bag and pulled out the pistol.
They both inched toward the brightly-colored object. Frank fondled the automatic on his belt.
“It’s a peacock,” Frank said. “A male, or what’s left of him.”
“How do you know it’s a male? You major in ornithology?”
“The word ‘peacock’ is a clue. The females are peahens and are not nearly so colorful.”
The fan of feathers glowed in iridescent teal blue, gold, and green around a design of multi-eyed patterns. The creature’s head was intact, but the central carcass was hollowed out, leaving only rib bones.
“You guessing your croc-a-thing did this?” Charly asked.
“Be my prime suspect.”
“Well, Marty told you about the peacocks, but left out the crocodiles.”
“I know this is a big place, but I haven’t seen evidence of any chickens yet. Marty said they were everywhere.”
“You know it’s been years since Marty saw this place. Cold be super-croc worked his way through the chicks and is now moved on to the peacocks.”
“Like all these coconuts,” Frank said as he made a sweeping gesture with his arm, “those chickens need to be here as a fallback food source. If they’ve been decimated, we’ll bring more in, but we need to find this predator and eliminate him. And any of his relatives. The sharks are one thing, but they stay in the ocean. This bad boy could be a constant danger anywhere on land. I’m not sure that’s part of the deal.”
“So you imagine this remote island is going to magically transform the meanest, cruelest, most deranged, and out-of-touch-with-reality misfits into penal utopians.”
“I have no idea how this is going to play out. I want criminals of their ilk put where there’s no return to civilized society. If people like the ones who killed my family want to kill each other, that’s their choice. If they decide to play nice and honored rules and regs to live together in a semblance of harmony, then I’m okay with that too. Just so they do it here.”
Frank strode toward the front of the ruins of the mansion.
“It’ll be dark soon,” Frank said. “We’ll rack out on the boat tonight and leave in the morning.”
“About the sleeping accommodations…”
“You’ll have your own little stateroom.”
Charly smiled and fell in behind Frank as they filed back to the beach and the shabby pier.
Before they mounted the pier, they both looked back at where they’d been.
“You know I was hesitant to come along on this venture, but I’m glad I changed my mind,” Charly said.
“I appreciate your company,” Frank said and turned back toward the Esperanza as the orange sun met the horizon behind the silhouetted boat.
“See why Prescott put the mansion here?” Charly said, clambering onto the pier.
Frank followed Charly’s footsteps as they light-footed it across the untrustworthy planks toward the boat.
“He was a sex-driven lady-killer who knew the value of atmosphere,” Frank said as he leapt from the pier, then helped Charly safely across onto the boat.
“Tomorrow you’ll get one last look at your happy internment camp,” Charly said.
“You’re pretty sure this idea is going to end up badly, aren’t you?”
“There’s a book I think you should read. Ask your librarian for: Lord of the Flies?”
Chapter 24
That night, Frank broiled the salmon filets he’d brought along, and added a tasty oil-and-wine vinaigrette salad, crusty French bread, and a palate-pleasing Berringer chablis. After dinner, Charly sat in the cozy candle-lit salon while Frank served glasses of Bullit Bourbon. They sat across from each other and sipped their drinks. No one spoke for several minutes as they listened to the gentle waves of the incoming tide washing along the hull and collapsing on the sandy beach.
Charly stared at Frank, who studied a chart on the table between them.
“How are you doing?”
Frank looked up from his chart, his eyes studied hers for intent.
“It’s been almost two years,” he said. “I have my good days.”
Charly nodded her approval.
“How about you?” Frank asked. “What’s next for you?”
“Work-wise?”
“Love-wise.”
Charly laughed.
“I have my eye on a guy,” Charly said and danced her eyebrows.
“Yeah? Do I know this lucky man?”
“Quite well.”
Frank frowned and stared at the overhead.
“You’ve lived in his house way more than I have,” she said and polished off her drink.
“Marty Dimino?”
Charly smiled.
“Son-of-a-bitch. When did this happen?” Frank said, placing his arms on the table and leaning toward her.
“I fell for Marty when I ran his campaign for DA, but he was married.”
“He still is, isn’t he?”
“She left him when he decided to run for the senate.”
“He never said a word. Have you … um … been dating?”
“Have I slept with him?”
“None of my business, certainly,” Frank said and took a final swallow of his bourbon.
“Let’s just say we’ve known each other. And when his divorce is final, we plan to go to the next level.”
“That’s fantastic, Charly. I can visit my two best friends in one place.”
“Hell, that won’t be any different than our get-togethers at the Shamrock.”
They both smiled, but soon Frank’s happy expression faded and he stood.
“I hope you have the love in your life that I had with Amy.”
“That’s a beautiful wish, Frank. Thank you.”
Frank slid out from behind the table and walked aft.
“I can’t say that my marriage was all Disneyland and Jerry Maguire. Being yoked to a cop isn’t easy. My work was always number one.”
Frank stopped at the door to the stern bedroom and pushed it ajar a few inches.
“So many times,” Frank said, “Amy was there, right next to me, but with my work heavy on my mind, I didn’t see her then ...”
Frank opened the door fully, stepped inside, and disappeared into the darkness.
“I see her now,” Frank said in a whisper and gently closed the door.
* * *
The dawn light made long shadows over the Esperanza as she lay off the west shore of the island. Frank had pulled up the anchor, cast off the mooring lines, and was powering the sloop gently astern, away from the decrepit pier and the shallows near the beach. He brought the boat about to head out to sea.
Charly climbed to the cockpit from below with cups and a thermos of hot coffee.
“When we circled this island, I spotted a dot of land north of us,” Frank said. “I tried to find it on my charts, but nothing was shown in that area. But I know what I saw. I want to swing over to it and look it over before we set course for Marina del Rey.”
“Fine by me,” Charly said. “Why the interest?”
“It might be more ideal than this island. And maybe no mystery crocs.”
“Is it close enough that inmates could reach it from here?”
“Facing naval gunboats and sharks, I doubt that anyone could go far before being stopped or killed. It’s about five miles away. Not exactly a couple of laps in the pool.”
Frank handed Charly a pair of binoculars and pointed the Esperanza north.
“The place I saw may be too small,” Frank said. “I’m surprised I even spotted it. It’s in this northern area,” Frank said and swept his arm from left to right in a four-foot arc. “While I steer the boat, see if you can get a fix on the island with the binoculars.”
“Aye, aye,” Charly said and el
bowed Frank in the ribs.
“I’ll try to get us there as fast as I can,” Frank said.
“You can’t exceed, in knots, 1.34 times the square root in feet of the waterline length of your boat.”
“Jesus, woman. You do know about boats.”
“Since I was old enough to trim a sheet.”
The strong steady wind kept the sloop cutting the water at her top speed of over seven knots. After forty minutes, Charly stopped sweeping the horizon with the binoculars and fixed her attention straight off the bow, as best she could, on the rolling and pitching deck.
“I may have it,” Charly said, “if it would just stop bouncing all over the place.”
Frank stood next to Charly and squinted where she pointed. He took the binoculars, raised the glasses to his eyes.
“That’s it.” Frank said. “We’ll be there in another few minutes.”
The island grew larger with each passing minute, and while it was considerably smaller than the Prescott island, it was similar in vegetation and narrow sandy beaches.
“I want to go around her to see the entire shoreline,” Frank said. “Maybe find a spot where we can anchor in close and take a serious look.”
As the Esperanza circled to the opposite side of the island, an entrance to a large lagoon revealed itself, widening deep into the land.
“Looks like we’ve found our entryway,” Frank said and turned the wheel to port and headed straight for the narrow opening.
“We need to switch to the engine and drop the sails,” Frank said.
Charly immediately dropped the mainsail without any prompting. Frank engaged the engine, making slow headway into the lagoon, his eyes constantly darting at the depth gauge.
“It’s deeper here than I would’ve thought,” Frank said. “Could you take the wheel and keep an eye on that depth gauge, please, while I scan the shoreline?”
“Hey, I know my way around boats. My father owned a lovely Chris Craft, which we practically lived on every summer.”
“Every time I peel a layer off your onion, I find out more new and amazing things.”
Charly took the helm.
“Twenty-five feet,” Charly said.
Resort Isle: Detective Frank Dugan begins (Detective Frank Dugan series) Page 10
