Sealed Off

by Barbara Ross

Sonny shrugged. “You know. They married young. Outgrew each other. It happens—” He spotted my scowl. He and Livvie had married young. Too young, my parents thought. “Happens to some people,” he hastily amended.

  “Were there other women?”

  Sonny shook his head. “You know Jason. He’d flirt with anything that moved. I heard rumors, but he never said anything to me directly.”

  “Do you have any idea who could have killed him?”

  Sonny stepped back, crossing his big arms across his chest. “I have a very good idea. So do you.”

  “You think Terry killed him.”

  “I guess you’re gonna defend the guy because he’s Chris’s brother. You saw the same fight I did, felt the same tension. Terry just got out of prison for Pete’s sake. Wake up and smell the homicide, Julia.”

  I’d figured he would feel that way. Sonny hadn’t liked Terry from the start, which was mostly my fault because I’d forced Terry on him. “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I cautioned. “You don’t know he did it.”

  Sonny shoved his hands in the pockets of his down vest. “You don’t know he didn’t.”

  I admitted that was true. “Sonny, I’m not trying to ruin your friend’s reputation after he’s gone, or blame the victim for his own murder. I simply want an understanding of who Jason was. A complete one.”

  The air went out of him then, and he relented. “Jason’s ten years older than me. More than that, twelve years. I didn’t know him growing up. I heard he was wild as a teenager, always in trouble. And maybe that continued on after he was an adult, for a while. Maybe. But I never saw a bit of it. He was honest in his dealings with me, gave me a full day’s work for a full day’s pay, just like he did for your dad. I never had reason to complain.”

  “What does ‘wild’ mean?” I asked. “And how recently is ‘continued on after’? Up to now?”

  Sonny sighed. A sad sigh. He was so full of bluster normally. “Why don’t you ask your cop friends?” he said.

  “Binder and Flynn? What do they know?”

  “Not them. The local cops. Ask your friend Jamie and Pete Howland what they know about Jason.”

  Chapter Eleven

  If Mark Cochran was flipping the house the demo guys were staying in on Bayview Street, I could see why he’d gotten it cheaply. The dirty, white shingles were broken and half the green shutters on the front of the house hung off or were absent all together. The steps to the porch didn’t look safe.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have to climb them. Four men were seated on the sagging front porch, while a fifth, a giant with bulging muscles, tended unidentifiable meat on a grill, presumably for lunch. There was a bottle of vodka on the porch floor next to the crew chief’s chair. They’d started early.

  As I approached, the boss made a simple gesture with his hand and Alex, the slender young guy who’d translated the day before, came down the steps.

  “Hello,” he said. “How are you today?”

  “Oh, you know, doing about normal for the day after a murder.” His sharp-featured face made it clear my attempt at humor didn’t translate and I regretted it. “I’m fine.”

  “Good.” He turned his head from side to side, scanning the street, wondering what had brought me there, no doubt.

  “Did you find your friend, Dmitri, the one who was missing from the job yesterday?”

  Alex shook his head. “No. He wasn’t here when we got back and he hasn’t turned up since.”

  “That’s a little odd, isn’t it? That he should disappear like that.”

  Alex glanced back at the crew chief. There was no question who the alpha was in the group, not just at work, but also in all things, including conversations on the lawn he wasn’t even involved in.

  Alex bent his head toward me. “No. I do not think it is unusual. We have been expecting it for a while.”

  An unexpected answer. “Why?”

  Alex tilted his head back toward the men on the porch. “Joe and Yuri are brothers. Oleg is their brother-in-law. I am their cousin. We all come from the same village. You understand?”

  I nodded to show that I did. “You’re all connected. But not Dmitri.”

  “No. He showed up at a job site about six months ago looking for work. We had many big jobs, so Joe took him on. He wasn’t one of us.”

  “At Windsholme yesterday, Joe brought him to speak to us about the sealed-off room,” I said.

  “That is because Dmitri’s English is very good. He was born here. His parents are Russian so he speaks the language, but, as you can see, he was different. I thought he might leave as easily as he came, and then he did. He’s gone off for a few days before, but he’s always come back. Maybe he will this time, but I think not.”

  “Is his stuff gone?”

  “Most of it. He never had much. A few clothes, his phone.” Alex shrugged. Dmitri’s was a life on the road, not weighed down by possessions.

  “It seems odd he would have disappeared on the day of the murder,” I said.

  “He wouldn’t have known that, would he, if he had left before it happened?”

  He had a point.

  Alex looked back again at the boss, who nodded, then turned back to me. “Would you like to stay for lunch? We enjoy the day. No work at your beautiful house and our other job here hasn’t started.”

  “That’s very kind, but I have to go. Have you talked to the police today?”

  He shook his head. “No, not since our interviews yesterday.”

  I stared at the bottle next to the crew chief. “You might want to go easy on that vodka in case the cops show up with the translator for follow-ups.”

  Alex nodded. “I will tell this to Joe.”

  * * *

  From Bayview Street, I walked the few blocks to the police station. Marge Brown, the civilian receptionist, was at her desk. I asked to see Lieutenant Binder or Sergeant Flynn.

  Marge took a dim view of my relationship with Binder and Flynn, but today she was all sweetness and light. “You’re in luck. They’re both here. They haven’t been most of the day. I’ll let them know.” She picked up the handset from the console on her desk. “Julia Snowden here to see you.” She replaced it and said, “Go in.”

  I entered the big multipurpose room the Major Crime Unit used as an office when they were in town. They had their usual long tables set up side-by-side to use as desks, with a whiteboard across from it and the miserable folding chairs where they and their interviewees sat. In the corner opposite, at the far end of the room, there was something new. Two more tables set up in a V shape, with laptops on their surfaces and power cords snaking to an extension and surge protector below.

  “Julia Snowden,” Binder called. “What brings you to visit?”

  I went over to them. “I’m wondering when we can get back to Morrow Island,” I said. “The demo crew is idle and the general contractor and architect are worried about the schedule if the demo isn’t done, the debris removed, and the house buttoned up before the weather turns.”

  “It’s not clear yet when you can return,” Binder answered. They both had their jackets off in the windowless room, and their shirtsleeves rolled up.

  I sat down in the folding chair facing them. “So it was definitely murder.”

  “No doubt. Caraway was killed by a deliberate blow to the head by something heavy and metal.”

  “Sounds like the sledgehammers the demo crew uses,” I said.

  “Or like the hatchets Sonny and his team use around the clambake fire. Or any number of other tools you keep stored on your island.” He paused. “They’re all being tested. Sonny has the receipt. But I doubt we’ll find anything. The real weapon is probably long gone.”

  I digested that. “Where was Jason killed?”

  Binder hesitated. “Some ways from where he was found.” When I didn’t say anything he relented and gave me a little more. “Not far from the dock. That’s as specific as I’m going to get.”

  “What time was he killed?” I
asked.

  Flynn looked at Binder and then answered. “Three hours before you found him. Four at the outside.”

  “So before the demo crew arrived.” Flynn and I had made a lot of progress in a couple of years. Binder had always been supportive of my interest in their cases. Early on, getting Flynn to tell me anything had been like pulling teeth. Now he trusted me at least a little.

  “Say they arrived,” Flynn corrected. “Yes.”

  “That guy Dmitri is still missing,” I told them.

  Binder sat up straighter. That would have been a physical impossibility for Flynn.

  “How do you know that?” Lieutenant Binder ran a hand over his scalp. “Have you talked with them since the day of the murder? Julia, why are you in the middle of this?”

  I was about to say, “Because the murder was on my island,” but Flynn beat me to the punch. “She thinks Chris’s brother, Terry Durand, is a suspect.”

  “Is he?” I asked.

  “Let’s see.” Flynn gazed at the high ceiling before looking back at me, his eyes drilling into mine. “Durand had a fistfight with the victim the day before the murder and he’s been convicted of a violent crime. So yes, we need to consider that he might have done it.”

  “There are others,” Binder added. I couldn’t tell if it was the truth or if it was an attempt to reassure me. I did not feel reassured.

  “What’s going on over there?” I pointed to the tables and laptops in the opposite corner.

  “Other cops,” Flynn answered. “More cops.”

  “State cops?” I asked.

  Binder stood. “That’s all you’re getting today. Thanks for coming in.”

  * * *

  When I left the multipurpose room, Marge’s desk was empty. I peered around the piece of cubicle wall that separated the civilian receptionist from the big, windowed bullpen the entire Busman’s Harbor police force shared. Chief Beaupre had his own desk, set off in the corner, which he needed because his life was ruled by schedules, budgets, and reports. He hated tourists and scowled from Memorial Day to Columbus Day. He had less than a week to survive until he could smile again.

  The rest of the department shared two metal desks that were piled with files, computer gear, and office supplies. There were only seven sworn officers during the fall, winter, and spring, and they spent most of their time out on patrol, on foot or by car. The office was for interviews and report-writing only. It was empty.

  Sonny had said to ask Jamie and Pete Howland about Jason. I’d obviously come at the wrong time. I’d have to wait for shift change to find them. I was headed out of the station when I spotted a patrol car pulling into the parking lot. Pete Howland was at the wheel. He and Jamie got out of the car.

  I walked toward them. Jamie stopped on the sidewalk to wait for me. “Hi, Julia. What’s up?”

  “I was looking for you two. Sonny told me to ask you and Howland about Jason Caraway. He hinted Jason had a reputation, or worse, when he was younger.”

  Jamie wrinkled his forehead. “I’d never heard anything. I don’t know why Sonny told you to talk to me.”

  “You haven’t heard anything?” Pete Howland came and stood behind Jamie. “Then I haven’t trained you very well.”

  I turned my attention to Pete. “You know about Jason’s past?”

  Howland looked toward the town-hall-firehouse-police-station building. “I’m happy to fill you in, but maybe can we go someplace not so public?”

  “Pete—” Jamie cautioned.

  “You’re here because you’re helping Terry Durand.” Howland waited for me to acknowledge it. “Then there are some things you should know.” Then he beelined down the sidewalk toward Main Street and kept going.

  I hurried to catch up to him. Jamie followed right behind me. When we reached him, Howland said, “Let’s keep walking.”

  We followed him like lost puppies along Main Street, until we got past the retail blocks and the activity died down. At that point Howland slowed his pace and began to talk. “Did you know I was the arresting officer when Terry Durand got picked up?”

  I shook my head. “No, Pete, I didn’t know that.” I’d asked him about Jason, not Terry, but it seemed worth hearing him out.

  “I’d been on the force less than a month, just out of the academy, when we got a call from neighbors about a shot fired at Hudson’s. I was the first officer on the scene and I was shaking in my boots when I went in there. Terry was in the store. When he saw me he put his hands in the air. He stayed while I called for an ambulance and waited for backup. I didn’t take the time to cuff him. The clerk was hurt bad and needed my attention.”

  Howland stopped and stood in the middle of the deserted sidewalk. “Of course, I did everything wrong.” He looked at Jamie, who nodded his confirmation. “I should have secured Durand first. What if he decided to shoot me? But he seemed as freaked out as I was. I honestly think the gun going off was an accident.”

  “He was convicted,” I said.

  “Yup,” Howland agreed. “I testified at his trial. Armed robbery and aggravated assault with a firearm.”

  “He brought that gun into the market. He was responsible for whatever happened after, whether he meant to do it or not,” Jamie said.

  “I know all this,” I said. “Not in the detail you do, but I know the broad outlines. What does it have to do with Jason?”

  “This is what I’m telling you,” Howland insisted. “Before Terry shot that guy . . . What was his name?” Howland resumed walking, though at a slower pace. Jamie and I followed.

  “Gray,” Jamie said. “Christopher Gray. He was only twenty years old.” Jamie hadn’t been on the force when Terry was arrested. He hadn’t joined until years later. Which told me he’d looked at Terry’s case file recently. Since Terry had come back to town. Or even since the murder.

  “Anyway,” Howland continued, “before that happened Terry and Jason were best friends.”

  “Wait.” I stopped in my tracks. “Terry and Jason were buddies?” Terry had sworn to me that there was nothing between them except the Emmy thing. I was shocked, though I tried not to let Jamie and Howland know it.

  “They did a bunch of stupid stuff together,” Howland answered, “burgling summer residences, petty theft. The gun Terry used in the robbery was stolen from a summer house. No one ever got hurt. No one was even home when these burglaries happened. But we had our eyes on them. Chief Beaupre, in particular, was convinced the two of them were up to no good.”

  Howland started walking again, but it was my turn to stand still. Keeping my voice even, I asked, “Do the police believe Jason and Terry’s friendship extended to the present?”

  Howland frowned. “Julia, this is not an official police briefing. Why do you think we’re not in the station? I know you’re trying to help your boyfriend’s brother. I’m a friend of Sonny’s and I’d like to think I’m a friend of yours. I am trying to tell you, unofficially, what you might be getting yourself into.”

  “I appreciate it.” I did. The three of us began to walk again. On the quiet end of Main Street, stately sea captain’s homes stood on either side of the road. Nowadays, most were inns. A few had been converted to vacation condominiums with water views.

  “The point of telling you this,” Howland said, “is that after the clerk was shot, Jason Caraway cut off his relationship with Terry Durand, one hundred percent. He never visited him in county jail. He didn’t attend one minute of Terry’s trial. As far as I’ve heard, he never visited Terry in the state prison at Warren.”

  “That seems cold, if they were such buddies,” Jamie said.

  “We figured, or I should say people more experienced than me who knew them better, figured Jason was freaked out by the idea of armed robbery, much less someone ending up shot,” Howland said. “It was way beyond anything the two of them had done before. Jason was married by then with two young kids. It made sense that he broke off with Terry.”

  “And the Busman’s PD never suspected Jason
of anything after that?” I thought about that big, fancy lobster boat, the Money Honey.

  “If he was doing anything recently, he’s much cleverer about it than when he was young. I’ve never heard a word against him in the station house.” Howland turned to Jamie. “You?”

  “Nothing,” Jamie agreed.

  By then we were almost to the point where Main Street met the highway out of town. “Thanks,” I said.

  “We’ve got to get back.” Jamie was fidgety, anxious to return to the station. I was sure they both had work to do.

  “You guys go ahead,” I said. “I’m going to walk a little.”

  Chapter Twelve

  After Jamie and Howland speed-walked away, I turned back toward town. I climbed up the harbor hill past Mom’s house and down the other side past Gus’s. I told myself I didn’t know where I was going, but I did. Like a heat-seeking missile, I ended up at the marina. I was furious with Terry.

  He had lied to me outright about his relationship with Jason. This is what came of trusting an ex-con, a man I barely knew.

  I was relieved when I saw the Dark Lady, bobbing at her berth. I didn’t politely ask permission to come aboard, just shouted, “Terry, I need to speak to you!”

  He came quickly up the cabin stairs. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and held a dirty rag, like he’d been cleaning something. “Julia?”

  “We need to talk, Terry.” I stepped onto the boat. “I just came from the police station.”

  “Me too. They had me in late this morning for what they called a ‘chat.’ Asked me a million questions about my fight with Jason.”

  “You shouldn’t talk to them without a lawyer present.”

  “I can’t afford a lawyer. You should know that.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Terry.” I stepped closer to him. “You lied to me about your relationship with Jason.”

  His mouth opened in surprise. He took a step backward on the small deck. The steps to the cabin were directly behind him. I grabbed his arm to stop his movement. I had a vision of him tumbling down.

  “Thanks.”

  When he didn’t say anything else, I continued. “You and Jason were old friends. You were buddies until he married and had his kids and you—”