Vineyard Shadows

by Philip R. Craig

  The driveway was winding and narrow and after a bit split in two. Keeping the clerk's directions in mind, I took a right. The drive climbed a rise and ended in an empty yard of uncut grass in front of a modest house with a brick chimney and a roofed front porch that extended the length of the building.

  “Stay here,” I said to Joshua and Diana. They nodded.

  I got out and looked around. The house had that empty feeling about it that unoccupied buildings often have. I went up onto the porch and knocked on the door. While I waited, I turned and admired Howie's view. I could see Noman's Land off to the southwest and the Gay Head lighthouse up in Aquinnah. Not bad. I guessed that Howie had bought the place quite a while back, before the price of Chilmark land went through the roof. Or maybe enforcers made lots more money than I thought.

  No one came to the door, so I knocked again and waited. Still nobody. I tried the door handle. Locked. If I'd brought my picks and left my children at home so they couldn't see their father breaking and entering, I could be in the house pretty quickly, but I'd brought the children and left the picks, so I was stuck outside. I peered in windows and saw that the house was as normal inside as out. I walked around to the back and tried that door. Locked. I peeked in more windows. It seemed to be an ordinary three-bedroom house. It was neat and clean. Howie might have been a strong-arm thug, but Mrs. Howie apparently was more the middle-class domestic type.

  I went back to the car. Graham and his friends weren't here and never had been. They were someplace else. I hadn't narrowed the search down much. Martha's Vineyard is twenty miles long and seven miles wide, and I had eliminated exactly one house from contention. The only thing I'd learned was that Graham probably wasn't representing Howie Trucker's interests on the island. That left several million other possibilities.

  “Who lives here, Pa?”

  “A family named Trucker. Nobody's home.”

  “Why not?”

  “I think their vacation's over.”

  I drove home, thinking.

  When I passed the driveway to John Skye's farm I almost turned in, but didn't. I'd been there too often already. If I could manage it, I wouldn't go back until Rimini and the woman pulled out. Two days. I'd go back that last morning and make sure they got on their way.

  At home, I called Gordon R. Sullivan, who was at his desk for a change.

  “What can I do for you, J.W.?”

  “You can tell me whether the minions of the law would consider putting Tom Rimini and his family in a witness protection program in exchange for testimony about Sonny Whelen's gambling operation.”

  “I imagine that depends on how much Mr. Rimini has to tell. The feds and the state usually protect witnesses, but if Rimini comes in and talks, we might be able to help him out.”

  “I get the impression that maybe I should be talking with the state guys or maybe even the feds.”

  I could almost see his shrug. “One thing's for sure: they both have more money than the city does. Do you think Rimini knows anything that could nail Sonny? My impression was that he's just a little fish.”

  “Little tadpoles into giant oaks do grow. I don't know how much he knows, but I'd hate to see his family suffer if he talks. I think they might do just fine out in South Dakota or somewhere. They must need teachers in South Dakota.”

  “I wouldn't know. Tell you what I'll do. I'll ask the lieutenant so he can ask the captain so he can ask whoever it is captains ask, and when the answer gets back down to me I'll give you a call. Meanwhile, you might contact the feds and the state and see if they're interested. You'll have a better chance if Rimini actually knows something important. Does he?”

  “Like I said, I don't know.”

  “You don't know, I don't know. I doubt if Rimini knows. I did hear one thing that might interest you.”

  “What's that?”

  “A state cop I know says another cop told him he thinks he saw Sonny Whelen down on Cape Cod, driving toward Woods Hole.”

  I felt a little chill.

  “When was that?”

  “About three hours ago.”

  When I hung up I noticed that my hand was shaking just a bit. I checked the ferry schedule. It was possible that Sonny was on the island right now. If not, he could be on the noon boat. I called Dom Agganis.

  — 24 —

  I asked about the chances of getting Tom Rimini into a witness protection program, and Agganis said about what I expected him to say:

  “That depends on what he can tell us about Sonny. If he's got enough, maybe we can do something. Have him call me and set up an appointment. I'll have somebody from the A.G.'s office listen to what he has to say.”

  “All right,” I said, “I'll do that.” Then I told him what Sullivan had said about the possible sighting on Cape Cod.

  “The problem,” said Agganis, “is that we don't have any reason to stop Sonny from going wherever he wants to. He hasn't done anything.”

  “You mean he hasn't done anything that you can prove.”

  “That's what I mean. Sonny is just another citizen until we can begin to make some dirt stick to him. If he wants to take a Vineyard holiday, there's nobody to say he can't.”

  “Well, don't you think it's just a little bit odd that Sonny and Graham and several other Boston area guys probably in Sonny's gang are all showing up here on the Vineyard at the same time, just when Tom Rimini and Grace Shepard happen to be hiding out from Sonny?”

  “Maybe the Mafia is going to have another big Appalachian Convention–type meeting, only this time on the Vineyard. I mean even the evil empire likes to convene in a nice vacation place, just like the AMA. Anyway, we'll have some people at the docks when the next boats come in. In fact, we'll have more than one somebody this time, so we won't lose Sonny like we lost Graham. We can probably trail him, but we can't arrest him until he does something illegal, and Sonny never does any illegal thing himself unless it's very personal.”

  “If he's got the hots for Grace Shepard, he might take it personally that she's shacked up with Tom Rimini.”

  “He might at that, especially since one theory is that Sonny had Ralph Shepard hit so he could get at Grace. But that's only conjecture, of course.”

  “My impression is that Sonny doesn't leave Charlestown all that often. If he's come down here, it's for a reason.”

  “Brilliant, Watson. And people say that you're just a brainless schmuck.”

  “I want you to write this down and credit it to me, Dom. Ready? ‘Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.’ Got that?”

  “Go eat some lunch and leave me alone.”

  I did that, feeding myself and my offspring slabs of homemade bread slathered with butter and honey. Delish!

  Then I mowed the lawn with the mower I'd salvaged from the dump years before. All it needed was a cleaned carburetor and a new starter cord and it was just fine. People throw away a lot of perfectly good stuff.

  Mowing grass is a mindless operation, so you can think of other things while you do it. I thought about all of the shady people who were casting shadows on the island. The pattern they composed was elusive, but one thing seemed clear: Tom Rimini was at the center of it somehow.

  I tried to remember everything I had seen, heard, or been told, known lies and all. I tried to figure which things I'd presumed were true might also be lies.

  I started with Howie Trucker. He'd told me that day from his hospital bed that Sonny had sent him and Logan after Tom Rimini, but he didn't know why. I believed him because Howie had believed I'd kill him if he lied. Then, at the Green Harp, Sonny had indirectly admitted that sending Logan and Trucker had been a mistake, because Logan couldn't keep his hands off pretty women. He'd said that Logan and Trucker had only been given the job because they were already on the island, vacationing. He hadn't said why Rimini was being sought, but what he had said had backed up Howie's story.

  Rimini had told me that he'd fled to the island because of his gambling addiction and because Sonny had
found out about his connection with Graham, who wanted to know everything Rimini could tell him about Sonny and his numbers games. Carla had told me the same thing. They agreed that Carla had sent Rimini to my house and that later Carla had been frightened into telling that to Sonny's thugs.

  So far, so good. But now things got less clear: Graham wasn't a cop anymore when he'd contacted Rimini; he was an ex-agent for the DEA, which dealt with drugs, not gambling. So he'd lied to Rimini about who he was and what he was up to.

  Then Pete McBride and his muscle, Bruno, had trailed me out to Carla's house. Were they working for Sonny or for themselves? Pete was nominally one of Sonny's gang, but had the reputation of wanting Sonny's job. I didn't know why Sonny hadn't already hit him just to be on the safe side, but he hadn't. Maybe because he wasn't sure if the rumors were true. In any case, McBride might be Sonny's man or he might be just the opposite.

  Meanwhile, back on the ranch, Tom Rimini had lied about almost everything. Grace had done the same, but with more panache. And they had a little armory that both knew how to use. They said they had a plan, but didn't say what it was, and said that they only needed to hide out a couple more days. It was quite possible that they were just telling more lies, of course, but in any case I planned to move them off John Skye's place when their two days were up. I'd had enough of Tom Rimini.

  What about Carla? I'd been drawn to her first by a sense of duty, then by feelings and a physical attraction I thought I'd gotten past long ago, and I had believed everything she'd told me. But now, in the midst of lies and mysteries, I wondered if I'd been wrong.

  I could see her face, and my lips and arms remembered her warmth. If she had deceived me, it wouldn't be the first time a woman made a man into a fool. But I'd been married to her for five years, and in that time had never known her to be cruel, not even when she was leaving me, and I hadn't seen any changes in her when we met in Jamaica Plain. No, I'd put my money on Carla's honesty, win or lose.

  It was a relief to believe her, but a sorrow to realize that I could not save her from the pain that would come to her when she finally knew the truth about the husband who was wronging her.

  Which meant that I actually owed little or nothing at all to Tom Rimini, since saving him would not stop the hurt that was coming to Carla.

  I finished the mowing, cleaned off the mower and put it away, then washed up and had a Sam Adams. The beer was dark and cool and just what I needed.

  I considered everything again, then had a small thought that should have occurred to me before: Tom Rimini had lied about Grace Shepard, and both he and Grace had lied first about the guns, and then about their knowledge of how to use them. If they lied about those things, what else might they have lied about?

  How about everything? Rimini and Carla had told me, for example, that Sonny was after him because of Tom's gambling debts and his contact with Graham. But Carla knew nothing firsthand about Tom's gambling and had never even seen Graham. All she knew or thought she knew was what Tom had told her, and Tom might have been lying to her, too.

  What if Graham had never hassled Tom at all and had never claimed to be a cop? What if they had been meeting for some other reason?

  What reason?

  I had to be careful not to get too Byzantine in my thinking. Things were complicated enough without me imagining them to be even worse.

  I called Quinn. “You're getting to be my best customer,” he said.

  “There may be a story for you down here on the island.”

  “My ears are up. Even if there isn't a story, an excuse to visit the Blessed Isle is always welcome. What story?”

  I told him of the arrival of the Boston players. “I don't know what it's all about, yet, but the cast of characters is interesting.”

  “Indeed. Your guest room available?”

  “Sure, but first you can do something for me.”

  He groaned. “What?”

  “Check back and tell me everything you can about a drug dealer named Ralph Shepard. He was chief supplier in Jamaica Plain until he got himself shot to death a couple of years ago. I want to know what kind of a guy he was. Was he laid-back and trusting? Was he nervous and scared? Was he sweet? Was he sour? Did he extend credit? Mostly, I want to know if he was the kind of guy who'd let a stranger into his car, because somebody sitting in the shotgun seat put a hole in his head. Can you do that? If you can, do it and call me back.”

  “I can do it,” said Quinn. “Go make the bed in the guest room.”

  An hour later he called back. “I'm on my way down. Tell Zee and watch her face light up. A real man is on his way.”

  “What about Ralph Shepard?”

  “Ralph was the nervous type, as well he should be, considering his trade. He was smart and he didn't trust people much, so he kept a layer of small-time dealers between him and his real customers. If he relaxed anywhere, it was at home. The only person he'd have let into his car was somebody he knew and trusted, the more fool he.”

  It is a truism that we tend to get murdered by people we know and trust. Family members and friends kill each other every day.

  “They find the weapon?”

  “Nope.”

  “One theory is that Sonny waxed him so he could get at his wife.”

  “Sonny is slick, so maybe he arranged the hit. But Ralph knew that Sonny had an eye on his wife, so I don't see him letting anybody dangerous into his car.”

  “Maybe Sonny got to one of the dealers working for Shepard, and the dealer did the job.”

  “The police rounded up Ralph's retailers, but never got anywhere. The dealers were small-fry, and any time they'd done was for nonviolent stuff. Possession with intent to sell, and that sort of thing. Most of them were just supporting their own habits. The cops never really had a solid suspect. No more time to gossip, I'm heading for the island. Set an extra plate on the table!”

  I got a container of chowder out of the freezer and set it to thaw, then I called John Skye's house using the same code as before. Rimini picked up the receiver. I told him about Agganis's offer to talk with him about the possibility of getting into the witness protection program.

  “It's the best I can do for you,” I said. “Maybe you and Carla can go out West someplace where they need teachers and leave all this behind you.”

  Rimini seemed appropriately grateful. “That sounds good, J.W. Thanks. I'll think about it, I really will. It might be the best solution.”

  Sure. He and Carla and Grace would find happiness together out in the golden West.

  “Do what you think is best,” I said, and rang off. I had done my duty as far as Tom Rimini was concerned, and it was a freeing experience.

  Less liberating was a confused scenario that was forming in my brain. I could think of two people who could have gotten into that car with Ralph Shepard and both of them were on the island. I also thought I knew where Sonny Whelen would establish his headquarters if he arrived as well. The game was afoot.

  — 25 —

  Whelen's, Rimini's, and Graham's groups were all converging, and it was beyond belief that there was no tie among them or that the center of the knot was Rimini. It was not hard to believe that Rimini had somehow revealed his whereabouts to both Graham and Whelen, for he seemed to be set on talking to people on the mainland. I knew he'd talked with Grace Shepard and Carla, and he might well have telephoned someone else. And anyone he spoke to might have told what he or she knew to someone else, deliberately or by accident or from fear. It was possible, even probable, then, that Graham or Whelen or both knew Rimini was hiding out on John Skye's farm. And even if they might not know exactly where the farm was, they probably knew it was in Edgartown and wouldn't be too long in finding it.

  And then what?

  I could guess what Whelen had in mind. His reputation for participating in matters that were personal to him suggested that he had come to deal with Tom or Grace or both of them. That did not bode well for Tom and Grace.

  Less guessable wa
s the relationship among Graham, Rimini, and Whelen. If Graham was working for Whelen, why hadn't they come down together? Or, if circumstance obligated them to come separately, why wasn't Graham waiting for Whelen to show up at Howie Trucker's house?

  For that was where I expected Whelen to make his headquarters while he organized his forces. Sonny could afford to stay anywhere he wanted to, of course, but being in a profession that eschewed close attention, he probably preferred to be as inconspicuous as possible. Tucker's house was ideal for his purposes, as Sonny knew from past visits. It was an unobtrusive middle-class dwelling that was set well off the road at the end of an inconspicuous driveway, and thus offered both security and privacy. What more could a guy like Sonny desire?

  But if Graham was working for or with Sonny, why hadn't he been at the house, waiting for him, when I'd driven in? He would have known when Sonny was coming and he had to wait somewhere, and that was the logical place.

  But he hadn't been there.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  Or maybe not.

  What if Graham didn't work for or with Sonny? I had no more reason, after all, to think that he did than to think that he didn't. If Graham wasn't Sonny's man, then what was he up to? He wasn't Rimini's pal, for sure, not after the hard time he'd given Tom.

  But wait. What if Graham and Tom were thick? What if Graham was Tom's ally instead of his enemy?

  It was as though a switch had been thrown in my brain. Gears began to creak into motion after long inactivity. I oiled them with speculation. They moved more smoothly.

  If Tom and Graham were pals, it was possible that their relationship had never been about money, but about drugs, since that was Graham's area of expertise. Maybe Tom wasn't in the gambling business but in the drug business. Or, more likely, he was in both. Sonny Whelen was in both, too, and wanted to get back into the Jamaica Plain trade. Nervous but crafty Ralph Shepard had run the drug trade there, but Whelen had been thwarted when Ralph had got himself hit, because somebody else had moved faster than Sonny and had taken over Ralph's trade. Who? I didn't know. How about the guy who had hit Ralph? Who might that be?