Ghost Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  Lacey bit her lip and sat quietly. She had assumed they were on the same page here, that they had a common goal. It was a kick in the gut to find out that wasn’t the case. And it made no sense to her. If he was really concerned with helping these stuck souls to move on, didn’t that automatically include catching and punishing their killers?

  She leaned her head in her hand and stared at the blue-green water. She couldn’t deny that her impetus was purely earthbound. She wanted the killer caught, tried and put behind bars. She wanted Marci never to be able to do again what she did to Doug—even if he did deserve it. As for their souls… She’d never given that a thought. That was not for her to decide, or even ponder. That was up to God.

  She glanced at the man beside her. And up to him?

  “I need to go down inside,” she said, standing up abruptly. “My face will fry out here.”

  “I think I’ll stay here a while longer,” he said.

  She nodded, not surprised. “Okay. See you later.”

  She made her way carefully down the stairs, holding the handrails to keep herself steady as the boat rocked with the swells. The cabin was more crowded, but she found an empty seat in the center area, away from the windows. Nothing to see out there but water, anyway.

  Rather than obsess about Sam’s casual concern for earthly justice, she pulled out her papers and pored over them again. The old sea dog that managed the public docks, Henry Whitlow, looked to be in his sixties. She hoped he was still around. In the article, he mentioned being familiar with the Addisons and their boat. Apparently he was the last to see them as they set sail that tragic day.

  Lacey still couldn’t figure it. She felt like she was facing a brick wall with no windows, no doors. How in hell did Doug disappear off the boat and end up getting stabbed back at the house? Again she revisited the wild ass scenario of Marci throwing him in the trunk of the car and hauling him back home, but they’d sailed over, hadn’t brought a car. Plus Lacey doubted he’d lie meekly in the trunk; he’d bang on the trunk lid and holler for all he was worth. At last, that’s what she would do.

  Staring at the brick wall in her mind was giving her a headache. She bought a bottle of water and took two aspirins. Sitting out in the sun probably hadn’t helped, either. She wedged herself in her seat and closed her eyes, hoping a brief nap would speed the aspirin on its way.

  The change in vibration that signaled the boat throttling back was a welcome relief. She sat up in her seat, obliging the voice over the P.A. that advised her to stay seated until the boat was docked and all engines were shut down. She glanced around for Sam, but didn’t see him anywhere. Probably still up top, she thought.

  Once the boat was firmly docked, the passengers were given leave to exit. Lacey stood up and shuffled toward the door with the dozens of other passengers. One by one, they ducked out the door and were helped off the boat by waiting crew members.

  Lacey knew better than to try to find Sam now. Obstructing the mass of excited passengers was not a good idea, so she shuffled along with them, tramping down the dock to solid ground. Once there, she edged out of the stream and waited to the side, scanning the crowd for a dark head.

  Finally she saw him. He sauntered down the dock, looking this way and that, not the least disturbed that he was in an unfamiliar place without a guide. When he finally looked up ahead and saw her, he lifted his chin in a silent salute, but didn’t hurry his pace.

  “What’s that?” he asked, waving a hand at the iconic circular building on the north side of Avalon Harbor.

  “Catalina Casino,” she said. “It’s a museum and theater on the bottom, a grand ballroom on the top.”

  He eyed the huge art deco structure. “Where’s the gambling?”

  “Not that kind of casino,” Lacey said. “Casino means gathering place. It was built by Wrigley back in the late twenties.”

  “Wrigley? The chewing gum guy?”

  “Yeah. He owned most of the island.”

  “Huh.” Sam scanned the harborside town all along the outside curve of the bay. “Nice little town.” Then he focused on Lacey. “Where to, boss?”

  Lacey felt slightly rankled by the casual—joking?—title, but pushed past it. “Sheriff’s office. This way.”

  They threaded through the last of the arriving passengers and headed toward town. Lacey knew roughly where they were going, but held a map that she consulted as they got closer.

  The sheriff’s office, like the town itself, was a small, simple affair. Lacey stepped to the front counter and smiled at the female officer.

  “Good morning,” the woman said.

  “Good morning.” Lacey noted the name badge. “Officer Lee, my name is Lacey Fitzpatrick and I called several days ago to request records about the boating accident and disappearance of Douglas Addison.”

  “Oh, yes,” Officer Lee said. She pulled a large envelope from a desk organizer. Lacey saw her own name scrawled across the front.

  “If I could have you sign this receiver, please, and show me some ID, we’ll be all set.”

  Lacey dug out her driver’s license and signed the form. “Did you know the Addisons?” she asked.

  “No, not personally, but when I saw the photo, I realized I’d seen them from time to time.”

  “Did you happen to see her or speak to her after the accident?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Officer Lee shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” Lacey returned her wallet to her purse and took the envelope. “Thanks very much.”

  Finding a bench to sit on, Lacey ripped open the envelope. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

  The first 911 call came in at 1:35 a.m. that Sunday morning. A resident had been awakened by Mrs. Addison who was wet and bleeding from scratches on her arms and legs. She was transported to the medical center and a rescue boat was sent out to look for Mr. Addison.

  Lacey read each page of the report and passed it to Sam. She frowned.

  “Sounds pretty normal,” she said. “Nothing really suspicious.”

  “Normal for being in a boating accident,” he agreed.

  Lacey read more. “So they located the boat jammed up in the rocks, but no sign of Doug. They found a life vest floating. Marci said she put on hers when the wind kicked up, but Doug hadn’t had time to put on his. She said the boat hit the rocks and she saw him thrown overboard. When she realized the hull had been breached and the boat was sinking, she jumped off the back to try to avoid the rocks as she swam to shore. Said she screamed for Doug but never saw him. He’d gone over the opposite side of the boat.”

  “You know what I wonder?” Sam said. “How come they were sailing so close to shore in the middle of the night? Does that seem odd to you?”

  Lacey looked up from the papers. “Yeah, it does. If they were going to spend the night on the ocean, wouldn’t they find a place and throw down an anchor? Or if they were going to come into the harbor for the night, wouldn’t they do that before dark?”

  Sam shrugged. “I don’t know from boats, but either one of those seems more sensible to me.”

  Lacey continued reading through the updates. “Boat recovered by local salvage company here on Catalina. Determined cause of sinking: breach of hull by running aground on rocky shoal. No evidence of impairment. Guess Marci blew negative on a breathalyzer. Debris recovered. No sign of a body.”

  The search lasted for almost a week before it was called off. “Listen to this,” she said. “Mrs. Addison remained in Catalina, hopeful that her husband would be found. She said he was a strong swimmer and could have made it to shore, even if injured.” Lacey turned to Sam. “That pretty much destroys my idea that she somehow got him back home and killed him there. I don’t think she’d wait around here if she had him trussed up somewhere.”

  “Probably not,” Sam said. He handed the sheaf of papers back to Lacey. “So what now?”

  She jammed the reports back into the envelope in frustration. “Down to the docks,” she said. “
Let’s find this Henry Whitlow character and see what he remembers.”

  ~~~

  TEN

  The public docks were a hive of activity. Private boats glided in and out at the fuel pumps and boat owners brought bags of groceries from the nearby market. Lacey and Sam stepped around people and their belongings on the way to the shack in the middle of the dock.

  They were almost run down by a rough old man in cut-offs and a dirty t-shirt, his unkempt gray hair curling out from under a pork pie hat. A week’s worth of white stubble bristled from his chin, and as he breezed past, Lacey was assailed by the odors of sweat, gasoline, and fish.

  “Mr… Whitlow?” she called as he rumbled past.

  “Be right back,” he tossed over his shoulder. He hurried down the dock, his bandy legs tanned and bow-legged, a gas can in his hand.

  “All right, then,” Lacey said to no one. She and Sam edged up next to the shack, trying to stay out of the way of the rest of the boaters.

  It was several minutes before Whitlow returned. Carrying the gas can—which appeared to be much lighter in weight now—he brushed past them into the shack.

  “Help you?” he asked as he dashed by.

  “Are you Henry Whitlow?” Lacey asked. She ducked her head inside the shack so she didn’t have to yell.

  “Last time I looked,” he said, setting the gas can down and grabbing a rope from a hook on the crowded wall.

  “Mr. Whitlow, my name is Lacey Fitzpatrick and I’m investigating the death of Douglas Addison. May I…” As she spoke, Whitlow barreled back outside, rope in hand. “…ask you some questions?”

  “Be right back,” he said again.

  Lacey watched him charge back down the dock and heard Sam’s soft chuckle. “You’re no help,” she said accusingly.

  “What do you want me to do? Trip him?”

  “That might work,” she muttered.

  She waited for Whitlow to return, and this time she was ready for him. As he breezed past and into the shack, she was on his heels.

  “Mr. Whitlow, do you remember the Addisons?” She held up a picture of the pair she’d printed up at home, and stood between Whitlow and the door so he couldn’t escape.

  The old sea dog hung up the rope and turned toward Lacey. She thought he’d most likely brush past her if he could, but she’d planted her feet and effectively blocked the way. She was glad to realize Sam stood behind her.

  Whitlow, caged, squinted at the computer printout.

  “Oh, sure. I remember them folks. Bad luck.”

  “Did you see them that weekend? Before they sailed out?” Lacey’s questions tumbled out. She wasn’t going to give the man any room for anything but this.

  “Sure. They brought the boat over for gas.”

  “How did they seem? Happy? Sad? Angry? Excited? Did they seem any different than any other time you’d seen them?”

  Whitlow’s brow creased with thought. “Don’t recall anything unusual. She was friendly, excited to be out on the water.”

  “And him? How was Doug?”

  “Didn’t see him,” Whitlow said. “She said he’d gone to the store for a few things.”

  “And that was the last time you saw them?”

  “A-yuh,” he nodded.

  “Did you ever see them argue?”

  He frowned. “Can’t say that I did.”

  “Were they good sailors? Did they know what they were doing?”

  “Oh, yeah. They knew.”

  “Did you think it odd that they had that trouble?”

  He considered that. “Surprised me, yeah. There wasn’t any weather to speak of, although it can get dicey out around the points.”

  Lacey glanced at Sam. He shrugged.

  “All right, Mr. Whitlow. I think that’s all the questions we have. Let me give you my card. If you think of anything, will you let me know?”

  Whitlow took the card and squinted at it. Lacey was glad she had the new cards now. She noticed Whitlow’s eyebrows inch up as he read.

  “Investigator, huh?” he asked.

  “Yes, that’s right.” Lacey had a sudden thought. “Do you know what salvager recovered the boat?”

  Whitlow set her card down on the crowded workbench where, Lacey was sure, it would disappear beneath grime and fish guts. “Welker,” he said. “Over there.” He motioned southward with a wave of his hand.

  Lacey jotted the name. “Thank you, Mr. Whitlow. We won’t take any more of your time. Oh—” Another thought intruded. “Where’s the store? Where Doug would have gotten supplies?”

  “Top of the dock,” he said. “Only one there.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lacey had the distinct impression that Whitlow would have run up on her heels if she’d walked slower, but both she and Sam made a speedy getaway up the busy dock. The small convenience store at the top of the dock boasted about its beer, soda and bait with neon signs. Lacey stepped inside, noting several people browsing the aisles, and went to the front counter.

  “Excuse me,” she said to the young woman there. “May I see the manager, please?”

  The girl looked uneasy. “What about?”

  Lacey showed her card. “I’m an investigator and I have some questions.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. She turned toward a small room in the back and yelled through the open doorway. “Gary! Someone to see ya.” Then she skittered back to the counter.

  Lacey reached the doorway at the same time that Gary came through from his side. “Yes?” he asked. He was a big man, tall and wide.

  She introduced herself and Sam, handing Gary the card. “We’re investigating the death of Douglas Addison.” She held up the photos. “Can we talk with you for just a few minutes?”

  Gary frowned at the photos, but didn’t take the printout. “Sure,” he said grudgingly, “although I don’t know how much I can tell you. Come in.”

  There was a desk and several chairs, but all but the single chair behind the desk were covered with boxes. Cases of candy, snacks, and beer littered every surface.

  “Sorry,” Gary said. “Busy time.”

  “Yes, I see,” Lacey said. “We’ll make this quick. Were you familiar with the Addisons?”

  “Oh, I seen ‘em,” he said. “Didn’t know ‘em to speak of.”

  “Did you see them that weekend of the accident?”

  “Now you’re going back some,” he groused.

  “Yes, I know. Three years. But in view of all the excitement that weekend I’m hoping you’ll be able to remember.” Lacey waited.

  “Seen her,” he said finally. “Don’t remember what she bought.”

  “That’s okay,” Lacey said. “Did you notice anything odd about her? Her mood? Anything at all?”

  “Naw. Summer weekends like this, we’re too busy to notice much.”

  “And Doug? Did you see him when he came into the store?”

  “Nope. Didn’t see him at all.”

  Lacey frowned. “Mr. Whitlow down on the dock said she put gas in the boat and said Doug was getting some things here. That would have been that Saturday, maybe late morning, early afternoon.”

  Gary shook his head. “Didn’t see him. Only her.”

  “But that was the Saturday before the accident?” she asked to be clear.

  “Yup. Sheriffs asked me all about it the next day. Told them the same things I’m telling you.”

  “All right.” Lacey pushed the card at him. “If you think of anything else, will you call me?”

  Gary heaved a tired sigh. “Yeah, but don’t expect too much.” He pocketed the card and waited expectantly.

  “All right. Thank you. I appreciate your time.”

  As they exited the store, Lacey blew out a frustrated breath.

  “Not much information,” Sam noted.

  “No, not much at all.” She led the way southward, toward the salvage company. The name Welker was painted on the side of a building that fronted a large fenced yard full of junk. “I was hoping for more
,” she said.

  Sam matched her pace, stride for stride. “You’re good at this,” he said.

  Lacey had an urge to check her ears. “What?”

  “You’re good at this. Asking questions, getting in their faces. You really know how to get information.”

  Lacey recognized the compliment but didn’t feel entitled to it. “I’ve just learned how to approach people, how to get them on my side. Years of practice, you know.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “But it’s not anything I’ve ever thought about.” He paused, head down as he walked. “I could be better about that.”

  Lacey glanced sideways at him. He was still pensive, not looking for her reaction at all. “Well,” she said, “it’s not anything you needed, apparently. You were concentrating on the walkthroughs, on getting the feelings. Like you said earlier today, you’ve been more concerned with the spirit plane, not the earthly plane.”

  He nodded as they approached the front door of the salvage business. “I want to talk to you about that later.”

  Surprisingly, he pulled the door open and motioned her through.

  Curiouser and curiouser, she thought.

  On the outside, the building was a large metal warehouse, but inside was only a small front office with a counter, one chair and a plastic rubber tree. Lacey stepped up to the counter and rang a desk bell. The back door opened and a beefy man in his fifties came through. His hair was thinning but he was thick around the middle. His t-shirt was tight around his biceps, showing well-used muscle as well as bulk.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked. His eyes shifted from Lacey to Sam.

  Lacey gave her usual introductions and handed him a card, then pulled out the picture of the Addisons.

  “I understand you salvaged the Addisons’ sailboat after the accident. I’m wondering if you noticed anything unusual about it?”

  “Unusual?” He stared at the picture, then looked up, his brows furrowed.

  “Yes. Just anything out of the ordinary.”

  He frowned. “Can’t say that I remember anything strange about it. It was pretty badly beat up. Come on; I’ll show you.”