“Can you teach me some?”
“In two weeks? Not a lot, when will you be back?”
“Early spring,” he replied. “It gets too cold here in winter.”
“Says the guy from Alaska.” We laughed as we approached the docks. “You live aboard?” I asked.
“Yeah, down past Dockside, the blue and white, gaff rigged, 100 year old Friendship.”
“You live on a hundred-year-old boat? That’s incredible.”
“Incredible maintenance,” he said. “Drop by for a beer later.”
I did. After grabbing a shower and changing to my normal cargo shorts and tee-shirt I wandered up the docks past Dockside. His old boat was really beautiful. All wood hull with a massive wooden mast, boom, spar, and bowsprit. The mast was stepped further forward than most sloops. He explained that with the cutter rig and all five sails up, she carried a lot more sail area than most other 31 footers.
“They were originally built for lobstering,” he explained. “In cold weather, the cabin and bunks made for a lot more comfortable ride than the typical open boats of the time. With all that sail area, it could still be single handed easily, even while pulling lobster pots.”
The cabin was small, but beautiful and very functional, with a galley amidships and a convertible V-berth/settee forward in the main cabin, a quarter berth aft to starboard, under the cockpit and a small head aft to port. The headroom was surprising. At six-three, I barely had to bend my head. Dan used the quarter berth for sleeping and had a small, folding, V-shaped table, attached to the mast that provided cozy seating for two people, forward of the galley.
We had a couple of beers in the cockpit, talking about his upcoming trip. He planned to sail, single handed, over 1100 miles, from the Keys to Jost Van Dyke, in the British Virgin Islands.
“I plan to lay over in Mars Bay, on Andros then Pitt’s Town, on Crooked Island, and Cockburn Town, on Grand Turk. After that, it’s five or six days of open ocean to Jost Van Dyke. Two weeks to get there, altogether.”
“Will you be staying in the BVI the whole time you’re gone?”
“No, that’s just the first gig. I’ll be playing there for three weeks. After that I have another three week gig down on Anguilla, followed by more gigs all the way down the Leewards to Dominica. Trip of a lifetime.”
We talked and drank the afternoon away then it was time for him to get ready for work. He was playing the next ten days at Porky’s Bayside, just before the Seven Mile Bridge.
We managed to get in a few more workouts, before his departure and soon became good friends. The day he was scheduled to leave was a Saturday late in November. It dawned overcast and gloomy, but that didn’t stop all his friends from coming down to the dock to see him off. There must have been a hundred people there. The boat was well provisioned, being a former lobster boat, it could carry a lot of weight and still sail with ease. At 0900, Dan started his little Yanmar diesel, cast off the lines, and headed out of the harbor.
Chapter Fifteen
With the coming of December, I became more and more cranky, spending lots of time up on my island away from people. It happened every year, when I thought back on Christmases in the past. When I was little, it was a big deal around our house and my parents always made sure I received a lot of gifts. Dad was killed in Vietnam just six weeks after Christmas during the Tet Offensive, in ‘68. I was almost 8 years old. My mom couldn’t cope with it and committed suicide a few months later. I went to live with my grandparents, my dad’s parents, but Christmas was never the same. Until I had kids of my own.
My two daughters live with their mom, up in Virginia now. We divorced in 1990, when I volunteered for yet another dangerous mission. I hadn’t seen my daughters in eight years and around this time of year, I missed them terribly. My ex filled their heads with lies about me and none of them wanted anything to do with me. Maybe one day I could see them again and maybe prove to them I wasn’t some kind of mindless killer, like their mom told them.
Christmas came and went, as did winter. Winters in the Keys aren’t as bad as Dan made out. Some days the high would only be in the low sixties, even dipping into the fifties once or twice, with lows in the forties at night.
By spring, the tourists started to thin out and the real fishermen were coming down. We kept very busy, but I still limited it to only three charters a week. Jimmy didn’t have a problem with that. He and Angie bought a houseboat and lived three slips down from me. His commute to work was about thirty steps.
As the ocean warmed, we started doing more dive charters and less fishing. Our reputation as the dive boat to charter for underwater photographers grew and by May, the end of my second year as a charter Captain, we were booked with photographers all the way through the start of lobster season. Jimmy and I agreed to skip charters for Sportsman Weekend, the two day lobster season for sport divers.
Earl Hailey seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. A lot of people thought he was nothing more than gator droppings in the mud of the Everglades. The authorities came up completely empty during their month long search right after the wreck. Helicopters flew over the ‘Glades daily, check points were set up on US-1 and Card Sound Road, coming into the Keys, as well as every major road leading out of the ‘Glades. After a month, they gave up, coming to the same conclusion as everyone else. Earl died in the swamp.
The last Saturday in May found me at the Anchor, where Rusty and Julie were discussing throwing a party to celebrate the anniversary of my second year in the Keys. He wanted to make it a theme party. The theme being the Shellback ritual that Sailors and Marines have had to endure for centuries, when crossing the equator aboard a warship.
“Rusty,” I said, “I did that almost twenty years ago. There’s no chance of me voluntarily going through that again.”
“Aw, come on, Uncle Jesse,” Julie said. “It sounds like it’d be a lot of fun.” I’d given up trying to get her to drop the uncle bit. “Besides, you’d look good in a dress.” She said the last while trying to suppress a laugh.
“Did your dad describe the initiation?” I asked her, then turned to Rusty and said, “I know that even though he’s a slimy Wog, he’s heard about it.”
“That hurts, bro,” Rusty said with mocked indignation. “I was supposed to sail with you that month. It wasn’t my fault I broke my leg in a HALO jump.”
“A party? Sure,” I said. “Not that we ever need an excuse around here to party. But, nothing even resembling a line crossing.”
So the theme for the party was simply a party and it was scheduled for the following Saturday. Dan had arrived back in town two weeks earlier, tanned and happy, and agreed to play two sets for free beer.
The day of the party I woke early and as usual, took a thermos up to the bridge to watch the sunrise. Aaron was watering plants outside the back of the bar and walked over when he saw me.
“Morning, Jesse,” he said as he approached.
“Hey Aaron, grab a mug from the galley and come on up.”
“Thanks, I will.” He disappeared into the salon and climbed up a moment later.
After pouring from the thermos, I said, “You’re up and about early. Sun’s not even up yet.”
“I was actually killing time until I saw you.”
“What’s up?”
“Were you able to catch the news last night, or this morning?”
“I hardly ever watch TV,” I replied.
“Earl Hailey was spotted yesterday.”
That got my attention. “Oh yeah? Where?”
“Robbed a liquor store up in Fort Myers. That’s where you’re from isn’t it?”
Fort Myers? Could he be looking for me there? “Yeah,” I replied. “Originally, anyway. Haven’t lived there for over twenty years.”
“That’s what I thought. But, I remember watching the news from the trial and when they put your picture on the screen, it said you were from Fort Myers.”
“My driver’s license! Damn, I’ve been mea
ning to get it renewed with my address here for two years now.”
“If you haven’t lived there for twenty years, why does your license have that address?”
“I kept my Florida license while I was in the Corps and used my grandparents address.”
“You think he’s in Fort Myers looking for you?” he asked. “You were the Prosecution’s star witness.”
I considered that. His last words to me, when Rusty and I stranded him and his buddies was ‘One of these days. When you least expect it.’
“I need to make a phone call,” I said, as I started down the ladder.
“Here,” Aaron said. “Use my cell phone.”
I stopped and sat back down. Taking his phone, I said, “Maybe I should get one of these.” I dialed Directory Assistance and got the non-emergency number for the Lee County Sheriff’s Office. When the duty officer answered, I gave him the address and asked if there’d been any report there of any kind of disturbance.
He put me on hold and after a minute another voice came on, “This is Detective Peter Dietrich, who is this?”
“Hi Detective,” I said. “My name’s Jesse McDermitt. I gave an address to…”
“Yes, Mister McDermitt, he gave me the information. What do you know about the incident?”
“That’s why I’m calling, Detective. What happened at that address?”
“What’s your interest?”
“I used to live there,” I replied. “The house once belonged to my grandparents.”
“There hasn’t been any release to the media. How do you know something happened there?”
“I don’t,” I said, starting to get angry.
“Are you currently living in Lee County? Can you come in and talk to me?”
“No,” I replied. “I live in Marathon. What happened there?”
“I really need you to drive up here, Mister McDermitt.”
“I can be there in less than four hours,” I said finally, knowing I wasn’t going to get anywhere over the phone.
“Less than four hours? It’s a good 250 miles.”
“You know where Marina Towers is on Edisto Boulevard?”
“I know it, yeah,” he replied.
“Can you pick me up there? I don’t trust my truck to get to the corner store.”
“How will I know you?” he asked.
“I’ll tie up at the fuel dock in a 45 foot Rampage named Gaspar’s Revenge. A Marine flag will be flying from the bridge.”
“About 1100 then?” he asked.
I glanced at my watch and saw that it was only 0630. “Maybe a little before then. I’ll see you there.” I closed the phone without waiting for a response and handed it back to Aaron. “Do me a favor?” I asked him.
“Sure,” Aaron replied. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know yet. The Detective I was talking to thinks I might know something about something that happened at the house I used to live at, but wouldn’t say. I’m going up to meet him. Would you knock on Jimmy and Angie’s hatch and let him know I’m leaving in five minutes and could use some company?”
He thanked me for the coffee and as he climbed down, I started up the big diesels. It only took me a couple of minutes to get the lines untied and was just stepping aboard when Jimmy came trotting down the dock. By the time he got aboard, I was on the bridge. I put the engines in gear and was pulling away from the dock by the time he climbed up to the bridge.
“What’s going on, Skipper?”
“We’re going up to Bonita Springs. Something happened up there that might have something to do with Earl Hailey and a Detective up there wants to talk to me.”
We idled slowly toward the old Highway 931 Bridge, passing between the two piers that were left of it and on out into open water. I brought the Revenge up on plane, heading west-southwest toward the markers for Moser Channel. A few minutes later, I turned north around Pigeon Key and went under the high arch of the Seven Mile Bridge. Once clear of the bridge, I made a heading of 320 degrees and pulled up Big Carlos Pass, the entrance to Estero Bay, where Marina Towers was located. Once I engaged the auto-pilot, I pushed the throttles on up to forty knots. That would put us there in three and a half hours.
“Mas café, por favor,” I said.
“Hey!” Jimmy exclaimed. “You’re picking up the lingo, man. That’s good.”
“Just the essentials so far. I can also order una cerveza, but it’s too early for that.”
“It’s a start,” he said. “Be back in a sec.”
He took my thermos and climbed down the ladder. I switched on the intercom and said, “Grab some fruit too, I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
He came back up a few minutes later, with a huge bowl full of sliced mango, apples, grapes, and oranges. I kept our speed at 40 knots all the way to Carlos Pass and arrived there at 1130. Dropping down off plane, but still maintaining good headway through the pass. I idled toward the high span of the bridge. The charts showed it to be twenty-three feet and the Revenge was only thirteen feet. Once clear of the bridge, I swung wide around the shallows and approached Marina Tower from the northeast.
The Dockmaster helped us tie off and I told him we’d be filling up and would be there hopefully for less than an hour, while I met with someone.
“It’s a slow day,” he said. “Once we get her filled, you can tie up just ahead there. No problem.”
The unmarked cruiser pulled into the parking lot on the south side of the towers just about the time the Dockmaster finished pumping the fuel. The Detective got out of the dark blue Ford sedan and seeing my boat, started walking toward the dock, looking around. Head on a swivel.
“You must be Detective Dietrich,” I said, when he was close enough to hear.
“Gunny McDermitt?”
“Ah, you did a little background,” I replied.
“Served with 2/4 many years ago,” he said. “Can we talk inside your boat?”
“Sure, come aboard.” Turning to Jimmy I handed him several hundred dollar bills and said, “Pay the Dockmaster, Jimmy. Then see if you can scare us up a couple of burgers.”
He took the hint, knowing there was plenty of food on board and sauntered off toward the marina office.
Dietrich and I went into the salon, where he whistled. “Not quite what I expected on a fishing boat.”
“Want some coffee?” I asked.
“Sure,” he replied.
As I was pouring he said, “I found where you once lived in the house you were asking about. I also found that you were the primary witness in the case against one Earl Hailey, who among other things is now wanted in connection with a liquor store robbery two days ago, here in Fort Myers.”
“What happened at the house?” I asked, handing him the mug.
“It hasn’t been released to the press, so this is confidential. I did a little more digging and found that you’re very aware of what that means, Gunny.” He sat down at the settee and continued. “An elderly couple lived in the house you grew up in. William and Jane Snodgrass. Three days ago, there was a home invasion. They were both brutally murdered.”
I sat down on the other side of the settee, cupping my coffee mug in both hands and staring into it. “Will and Jane were close friends of my grandparents,” I finally growled. “I sold them the house after Pap died. They’d always admired it.”
“Yes, I know that now. My condolences. Based on the fact that you once lived there and your driver’s license and other documents still list that as your primary residence, it’s an easy conclusion that Hailey went there expecting to find you. To get even.”
“And people say you Detectives aren’t very perceptive.”
“Look, Gunny. Let the Police handle this. We’ll find Hailey. We don’t need you getting in the way. You understand?”
“Every cop in south Florida was looking for him a few months ago and couldn’t find him,” I said. “And that was after he killed one of your own.”
He winced slightly at that. “We have so
me leads. We’re going to catch him.”
“How can I help?” I asked.
Dietrich asked me to go over the whole scenario, from the bar fight to the swamp, the day before the hurricane. While I described the events, he stopped me and asked pointed questions, digging deeper into what kind of man I thought Earl to be. He kept notes with a pencil, in one of those flip notepads, just like the TV cops.
When I finished, he asked, “Why did you take this very expensive looking boat up into the Everglades before a hurricane?”
“Safest place to be,” I replied. “Far enough inland to dissipate the force of the storm and it’s sheltered from wind and waves.”
“I don’t know much about boats,” he confessed. “You said you live in Boot Key Harbor now. Wouldn’t a harbor protect you?”
“Boot Key is only four feet above sea level at its highest. A storm surge would cover it and the harbor would become part of the Atlantic.”
“I see,” he said. “So, being a knowledgeable boat Captain, you went up the Shark River to Tarpon Bay.”
“Actually, it was a friend’s advice. I’ve only been a Skipper for two years. His family has lived in the Keys for five generations. He and his dad were caught in a sudden tropical storm and sheltered there, when he was a kid.”
“Not a lot of people have ever even heard of Tarpon Bay,” he said thinking out loud. “Did you know Hailey is originally from the bayous of southern Louisiana?”
I gave that some thought. “He’s a man at home in the swamp.”
“A man that could survive alone in a swamp all his life would have no trouble hiding in one.”
“And return to it, when he felt threatened,” I added.
Dietrich stood up and extended his hand. “Thanks, Gunny. You’ve been a big help.”
I stood up and took his hand. “Wish I could do more.”
“You can’t,” he said. “I hope you’ll take my advice and leave this to the authorities.”
“You were a Magnificent Bastard?” I asked. “When?”
“From ’88 to ’92,” he replied. “Weapons Company.”
Fallen Out: Jesse McDermitt Series, The Beginning Page 13
