by Matt Day
He searched the hold and below deck for signs of other survivors and victims, releasing a sigh of relief at finding none. He made his way back up to the wheelhouse and radioed for the Coast Guard.
“Mayday! Mayday!” he called into the radio.
Chapter 3
The line crackled before a voice finally answered, “This is the U.S. Coast Guard, state your location and the nature of your emergency.”
“This is Charlie Flanigan calling from the “Big Mama. I’m about forty-five miles due east of Daytona Beach. I was flying overhead when I saw the boat and dropped down for a look-see. There are three dead bodies on board and the boat’s drifting.”
“Sir, are you in a safe location? Can you give me your exact coordinates?” came the calm voice on the other end.
“Sure, sure. I checked out the rest of the boat, and there’s no one else on board. Just the three dead bodies.” Charlie shuddered upon hearing the words spoken aloud. He gave the person on the other end of the line the last coordinates he remembered from his flight instruments.
“Sir, do you know the identity of any of the victims?”
Charlie swallowed and then replied, “Yeah. Captain Pat Maclean, Jacob Parker, and another man I should probably recognize, but don’t. Captain Maclean and Jacob were from Daytona Beach. That’s where the boat is normally anchored.”
“Understood. We have a cutter headed your direction, but it’s gonna be a while. They just finished rescuing some kids who bit off more than they could chew and got swept out in the current at Ponce Inlet.”
“How long?” Charlie asked, not relishing the idea of remaining on board a ship with three dead bodies.
“About an hour.”
“Fine.” An hour didn’t seem that long. Unless you were alone on a boat with three dead bodies, and then an hour was a long time.
“Sir, is there any way to secure the boat? Can you drop the anchor?”
“Not in these waters. The water looks pretty dark from up above.”
“Understood. Well, do your best to stay safe. The cutter’s on its way.”
While he waited, he lit a cigarette and then he let his mind drift to memories of Captain Maclean. His wife Carol was a sweet lady and one of the members of the Ladies Auxiliary at St. Peter’s Catholic Church. She was a quiet woman, yet anything she put her hands to was a success. Charlie’s heart hurt for the pain she would be suffering this night.
The Macleans hadn’t had any children, but Pat was known for his ability to make the younger children of the parish laugh. Charlie recalled with a smile several years ago when Pat had dressed up as Santa and showed up after the children’s Mass on Christmas Eve. That had been a special time for everyone.
He tried not to wander around the boat too much, not wanting to disturb any evidence that might lend a clue as to who had killed these men and why. The bodies were also starting to smell, or his imagination was making it appear so. Either way, he swallowed convulsively and tried to think of other things while he continued to wait.
An hour and ten minutes later, he was stirred from his reverie by a voice, “Ahoy, Big Mama!”
Pushing himself up from where he had been slouched against the wheelhouse in the shade, he saw the Coast Guard clipper had arrived and was coming alongside. He hurried to help grab the ropes that were thrown across, tying them off so that the two boats would remain together.
“Are you Charlie Flanigan?” the first uniformed officer across asked.
“Yes, sir.” Charlie shook hands with the man who was wearing a brass nameplate introducing himself as Ensign Cole Jameson. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem. Is that your Grumman tethered to the stern of the boat?”
“Yes sir.” Charlie looked to see that his plane was weathering the ocean’s rolling waves just fine.
“Maybe you could show me exactly what you found when you boarded this ship,” the officer requested as several other uniformed men climbed aboard.
“Well, I spotted the bodies from the air. I found this man first,” Charlie said, leading Ensign Jameson to the body of the unidentified man.
“Was he lying face up like this when you found him?”
“No. I rolled him over to see if he had a pulse or if there was any chance of offering him assistance. He was already dead, and I’m guessing had been for a while.” Charlie covered his nose and mouth with his hand, as he stood once again, anxious to get away from the smell of decaying flesh.
The officer mimicked his gesture, covering his mouth with his hands and hollering at one of the other crewmembers to get the body processed and bagged immediately.
“Next, I found Captain Maclean. He was half lying on that storage box there,” Charlie indicated the wooden crate which contained additional nets and fishing supplies and still bore the stains of Captain Maclean’s blood. “He was gone as well, and it took me a few minutes to get his body to lie down on the deck.” Charlie stood a distance away from the body this time, barely containing his urge to vomit.
“He’s been dead a while as well.” The officer made a few notes on the notebook in his hand, and then stood, “You mentioned there were three bodies?”
They were interrupted from continuing their tour of the bodies when a young-looking officer, maybe nineteen or twenty, came up and handed Ensign Jameson several papers. Everything might have been fine if the kid’s natural curiosity hadn’t gotten to him. When he turned and looked down at the bloated, battered, lifeless face of Pat Maclean, he started gagging and just barely made it to the railing before losing what remained in his stomach.
Ensign Jameson looked on with compassion in his eyes and a shake of his head. “He’ll learn. This is his first trip where dead bodies were involved.”
Charlie watched the kid a moment, and then got back to the business at hand. He was looking forward to leaving the boat and the dead bodies behind himself.
“Yeah. There’s another one around the other side of the wheelhouse. Any idea how long they’ve been out here?” Charlie asked, having not been able to pinpoint the last time he’d seen Captain Maclean around town.
“A day maybe. The coroner will have a better idea. In this heat, and with the bodies lying around in the sun all day, sometimes things progress a little faster.”
Charlie nodded and then led him towards the bow of the boat to look at the body of Jacob Parker.
Ensign Jameson took notes of everything Charlie could remember, and after about twenty minutes of answering questions, informed Charlie that he was free to leave.
Charlie made his way to the stern of the boat, and was just starting to board the seaplane, when movement in the water captured his attention. Sharks! Lots of sharks! He watched and counted at least six fins before he was done.
“Hey, Ensign Jameson, you might want to see this!” Charlie hurriedly retied the plane to the boat and climbed back onto the deck.
Ensign Jameson turned upon hearing his name, and seeing a very agitated Charlie, asked, “Mr. Flanigan, is there a problem?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.” Charlie was standing at the edge of the boat looking down into the water when Ensign Jameson joined him. Following his gaze, he too became concerned.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Charlie wondered, seeing the sharks surface and then quickly dive beneath the water in frenzy.
“Feeding! Hey, you two,” Jameson called to two junior officers who had just finished bagging up one of the victims, “Have them bring the boat around to this side and see if you can determine what has these sharks so excited.”
“Yes sir.” Both officers took off, climbing back onto the Coast Guard cutter and directing the pilot to steer it around to the other side of the fishing boat.
Charlie and Jameson watched and waited. As the cutter neared the area where the sharks were still gathered, they could see officers leaning over the side of the boat to get a better view. Something was down there, but what?
Chapter 4
“You don�
��t think there might have been another body, do you? I mean, would sharks act like that over a dead body?”
Jameson shrugged his shoulders, “I have absolutely no idea. I personally don’t dive and it’s because of them critters right down there. Just knowing they’re in the water with me gives me the heebie jeebies.”
Charlie nodded his head, “I know what you mean, but I’ve been diving for years, and I’ve found that if I give them their space, they give me mine.”
Jameson shivered, “What kind of sharks do you reckon they are?”
Charlie looked at the fin patterns, seeing the black tips on the dorsal fin confirming his first thought. Nodding his head towards the ocean, he said, “They’re Black tips, pretty common in these waters. They don’t usually get very big.”
“Big? Those sharks look plenty big to me. They’re easily bigger than I am.”
Charlie looked at the officer standing next to him and nodded, “Yeah, you’re what, 6’ tall?”
“5’11” to be exact. Those sharks are longer than I am tall.”
“Yeah, they’re probably around seven to eight feet. I’ve seen much bigger sharks, believe me, and much more dangerous ones at that.”
Jameson shivered again, but was prevented from replying when the officers hollered across the water, “Sir, whatever they’re after, it doesn’t seem to be human. There’s some sort of plant like substance floating on the water over here, but no blood or anything.”
“Very good, as you were.”
“Aye, aye. Turn her back around.”
Charlie watched the sharks for another moment and then shook the officer’s hand, “I’m glad it’s nothing. I’ll get out of your hair now and let you all finish up.”
Charlie felt relieved, but was also curious as to what had happened. As he untied his boat, stowed the foam bumpers back into the tail of the plane, and prepared to take off, his curiosity started to get the better of him.
As a part-time private investigator, Charlie had a knack for uncovering the truth. While investigating mysterious deaths was not an everyday occurrence, he’d visited his share of morgues and dark alleys. He flew back to the mainland, his mind abuzz with the possibilities and questions.
Landing his seaplane on the Halifax River, he taxied until he came to the berth where he kept the plane, just south of the Orange Avenue Bridge on the edge of downtown Daytona Beach.
The Coast Guard officer had asked him to drop by the Daytona Beach Police Headquarters once he got back to the mainland and provide them with a detailed account of what had happened. The Coast Guard would conduct a preliminary investigation, but the murder investigation would be handled by Daytona’s finest. Deciding that he should take care of that task straightaway, he headed out on foot towards the station.
Covering the two blocks quickly, he entered the station, asking to speak with police Chief Henry Morgan. The Coast Guard had radioed ahead their preliminary findings, but Henry was still playing catch up when Charlie was ushered into his cramped office.
Charlie shook hands with him as he moved a stack of papers off a chair and had a seat, “How are you Morgan?”
“Fine. Bring me up to speed here. Is Pat Maclean dead?”
“’fraid so. I was headed back from dropping off a family at Eleuthera, when I thought I recognized his boat. I dipped my wing like always, but got no response. I went lower, and that’s when I saw the bodies lying on the deck. I landed the plane and was able to tie up to the back of the boat and investigate for myself.” Charlie paused as he remembered the gruesome sight that had greeted him upon climbing onto the deck.
“Someone sure did a number on those guys before they were shot!”
“Shot? Are you sure they were shot?” Morgan asked, making notes as he went.
“Well, not one hundred percent sure, but pretty sure. What I am sure of is that they were beaten up pretty good before they were killed.”
Morgan cupped together his plump hands behind the back of his head, “Great! Another homicide to solve!” Henry Morgan was a stout man, as round as he was tall – or so it seemed, and sweating profusely. His undershirt was wet, and the moisture had seeped through to his outer shirt, leaving dark stains under both arms and across his massive chest. He wasn’t exactly bald, but his graying hair was thin enough in spots to see his scalp.
He had been the acting chief of police for the last sixteen years, and Charlie was pleased with the job he had done. Most of the citizens of Daytona Beach were law-abiding and just wanted to live their lives in peace. Lately, many of the problems seemed to come from all the tourists and racers that were now flocking to the area.
Stock car racing had become big business in the area, with an entire track being set aside on the beach for both the ‘measured mile’ and the longer four-mile course. The hard packed sand and relative flat terrain made the area a perfect racing venue. In fact, even motorbikes had also started using the area.
However, as with anything, with the good, came the bad. Some of the stock car drivers were a breed to themselves, occasionally hot headed, and always yearning for more competition. They had brought not only their cars to Daytona Beach, but a few of them also brought their personal problems too.
Morgan wiped his brow again with the damp rag lying on his desk. Charlie watched him and then offered, “You need to give Walter a call.”
Morgan looked at him before asking, “Your cousin? Now why would I be needing to call Wally?”
“Haven’t you heard? He’s installing those new air conditioners all over town. He installed one in my house a month ago, and I look forward to going home each night. Nice and cool, and it doesn’t make nearly as much noise as I thought it might.”
“So it really works, huh?” Morgan looked thoughtful. “Wonder if he could put one in this here office?”
Charlie nodded his head, “I’m sure he could. Give him a call and let him come check it out.”
“That’s not a bad idea. Maybe I’ll do that. Now,” Morgan said, steepling his hands in front of him, “tell me about the ‘Big Mama’.”
Charlie re-iterated what he had seen, while Morgan wrote it all down, making his own notes as he went. When he was through, he sat back in his chair and watched Morgan re-read what he’d written.
Morgan looked up to find Charlie staring at him. Clearing his throat, he told him, “That should be enough to get us started on our end. The Coast Guard is completing their investigation and then they’ll tow the ship back to port and let us have a stab at it.”
Charlie was quiet before he asked, “Who’s going to tell his wife?”
Morgan shook his head, “I sent two officer’s over there right after I got the call. She already knows.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll head home.”
Morgan stood up with some difficulty, “I’ll give you a call if I think of any other questions.”
Charlie shook his beefy hand, noticing even the man’s palm was sweaty. Resisting the urge to dry his hands on his slacks, he picked up his hat, placed it upon his head, and then turned to leave. With one hand on the door, he turned back to ask, “Do you think you’ll have any luck finding out who killed those men?”
Morgan didn’t look very hopeful, “Honestly, unless someone comes forward and confesses, probably not. We are understaffed as it is, and this crime doesn’t appear to have a lot of evidence to go off of. Oh, that reminds me, I gave a man your name and number earlier today, seems his kid’s missing.”
“A kid?”
“Yeah, it’s a unique case. One I’m sure you’ll have no problem helping them solve.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said as he left the office. That would help take his mind off the horrific scene aboard the fishing boat. Finding things that were hiding was always a challenge, and finding a lost kid had the added benefit of making him feel good once a family was reunited. As he left the station, he recalled that Morgan hadn’t told him how old the kid was. Since the police department wasn’t actively participating in the sea
rch, the kid must be older and possibly a runaway. Well, he’d do what he could and if the kid could be found, he’d find him. As long as the parents were willing and able to pay, Charlie Flanigan would be on the job!
Chapter 5
Two days earlier, the morning of Monday, August 25, 1955…
“Hey Captain, ain’t we fished these waters before?” asked Jimmy Spencer, the freckled-faced, twenty-two year old boy who’d only recently decided to take up crewing on a fishing boat. This was only his second week on the crew, but he had a good head for directions and was almost sure they had anchored in this same place just last week.
Captain Maclean looked up from the map he was studying with a scowl, “What are you jabbering about?” He was normally an easygoing boat captain, but the recent bad weather had kept him and his crew anchored in the harbor for the past three days, and he was anxious to catch some fish and bring in some money. Tropical storms were common this time of year, and they played havoc with those who were dependent upon the bounty of the sea for their living.
He looked around the deck of the fishing boat, seeing everyone busy at their assigned tasks; everyone except the new kid, who seemed more interested in watching the waves hit the side of the boat than he did with untangling the nets. Probably found another pod of dolphins to watch.
“Jimmy!” Captain Maclean growled out, getting up from his chair in the small cabin and heading towards the lackadaisical young man. “Jimmy, please explain to me what has so captured your attention, that you can’t fix these nets?” Captain Maclean kicked the damaged nets in question, placing his calloused hands upon his hips as he waited for a response.
