by Kieran York
Quiet was fine, in its place. I knocked on Jill’s door. When she opened it, I suggested we go up the fly bridge deck and watch the moon. And talk.
When we were comfortably seated, I commented, “I’m always at home here on the ocean.” I pondered, this bountiful sea was a treatise of contentment. Here, aboard The Radclyffe was earth’s variety. Sea, land, and sky were enthralling. Invigorating. The ship, a sea’s cradle, rocked me. Land off to the side stretched across the beach front.
“This is lovely,” Jill spoke. “It truly is paradise.”
“But?”
Jill’s words were spoken with a quietness. “I’m just wondering what you want to talk about.” She grinned, “It has to be about the job. I don’t think you’re making a play for me.”
“No, although you are pure temptation.” Tall, with body of steel, and a mind just as strong. Dark, like an evening goddess. Her features were strong, yet with a friendliness. Beautiful, yet that was not her best attribute. It was spirit that was steady, and polished, and good. I raised an eyebrow, and answered, “As you know we signed fraternization clauses. So, the Team doesn’t make plays. I just really wanted to relax and chat about how you like being a Team member.”
“As I said, I’m not making any headway on the case we’re working.”
“It’s a difficult case because you’re looking for something that probably isn’t there. Infidelity is a tough one. Difficult to prove. Even if it is there. Don’t worry. I wanted us to relax and chat about how you like being part of the Trevar’s Team?”
“I don’t feel I’m getting anything accomplished.”
“I’m more interested in how you’re fitting in.”
“Summer seems to be very quiet. Strained. We have been going our different ways.”
“I’ll talk with her. I want us to have a good relationship with one another. That’s important.”
“She doesn’t seem the type to have a problem with my being African American.”
“No. Jill, I can promise you that racism is not a part of the Team. Summer was encouraging me to hire you. She was excited when you agreed. And she’s just not a prejudice person. We’ve been working together for years, and I know her. I figured you’d be a perfect fourth person. She’s early twenties, you’re late twenties. Rach is approaching thirties, and I’m nearly forty. You’re the closest to Summer’s age.”
“Age hasn’t got much to do with it. She seems to idolize you, and yours is the biggest age spread. It’s me. It’s something she doesn’t like about me.”
“Summer is difficult. Bringing on a new partner changes the dynamics. Jill, I honestly think she would be like this with anyone. She’s moody. With me, she’s sometimes very irritable and I’ll have no reason why.”
“Are you certain that I belong here? Chief Powers said I could return to the department, I could get my old job back anytime.”
“Jill, give us all time. You’re needed here. I’ll explain in the morning at our meeting. Let’s get some sleep, and we can work it out then. We’ve got a case where we’ll need to be on the same page.”
By the time I tumbled into my bed, I felt spent. It had been a very long day. It had lacked conviviality until I met up with Mandy. Now I was feeling her second drink kick in. I was drowsy. I looked out my window. Waves were sloshing their velvety eloquence across the sea. The ripples of the ocean have always been narcotically rhythmic. Listening, I heard the gentle sigh of wind. Perhaps that is my reason for living on a yacht.
Some nights even the rocking waves weren’t enticing enough to invite my sleep. A body washed up on the shore. My previously unknown-to-me cousin presented himself. They were connected events. Ipso facto. By that very fact, events that seem to hold hands have been known to be difficult and dangerous.
The other concern was obvious. The rift between Summer and Jill seemed unconnected to anything logical or reasonable. Tensions were simmering between them.
Chapter 2
Wanting my morning run to be alone to quiet my thoughts, I took off early for my jog along the beach. I’d walked most of the way. In an attempt to construct the murder of Simon Wagoner, I finally sat on the shore. My usual inside voice issued cautionary alarms. As I stood, I brushed sand from legs. Maybe this case would be simple. Everyone would believe Boyd. After all, Simon might have been a little on the dirty side. As I saw it, he might have stolen the treasure. The question remained, had my cousin been in anyway implicated?
I arrived back to The Radclyffe just in time for a quick shower before the usual morning meeting. Awaiting me were Jill, Summer, and Rachel. As detectives, we dressed differently and protectively. We carried Berettas, and we did so carefully. Summer dressed in cargo pocket pants, and her tank shirt, with a usual overshirt hiding her gun. Rachel didn’t care, but dressed in floral and navy knit harem pants, and a magenta scoop-necked tank. Jill’s attire was usually business slacks, and loose shirt. And my casual over-blouse hid my holster beneath it. Between a tee and blouse – the gun was always loaded, and always shining. As for pants, mine were usually fashionable, go-anywhere comfy trousers.
There was a cloud of silence, and I threw two files down on the large oak table.
One of Pluma’s cages was located in the conference room. With the parrot’s vocabulary, she should have been permanently assigned to the crow’s nest. She let out a caw, and then addressed us with her usual, “Fuckin’ chiselers!”
“Good morning, Pluma. Please keep your beak shut while we discuss the case,” I said with minimal joy. Both Summer and Jill grumbled their greetings. “Okay, we’re working two cases. The divorce case of Mona and Donald Ogden, and we’re representing Boyd Trevar’s case of the…” Hesitating, I realized that I had no idea if this was a case or not. “The body of Boyd’s fellow worker, Simon Wagoner.” I recapped the story for them.
With great irony, Summer asked, “And your cousin, is he paying for the investigation?”
Returning her glare, I answered with a scold in my voice, “He’s hired us to look into it.”
“I’m assuming he’s signed a contract.” I recognized Summer’s snippy attitude. For whatever reason, her moodiness was elevated. I remembered the days when we were all more playful. Now, as the agency expanded, we were tense. No one on the Team was more tightly strung than Summer.
Rachel responded, “Summer, I sent him a contract yesterday. It was signed and returned via emails. Just to settle your concern, Boyd Trevar did recently sell his deep diving equipment business and his diving school for a substantial amount. He has a spotless credit record. His credit score is abundant. His home and other property were also liquidated. And his banking records are reassuring. We’ll get paid.”
Adding, I grimaced, with an authoritarian voice, “The police detectives are undoubtedly investigating.”
Summer shrugged. “Okay, I just don’t like doing freebees.”
“Nor do I,” I rummaged through the notes in his file. Challenging, I offered, “But we have no idea exactly what it’s all about. Other than the fact that he and his coworker were attempting to get out of Dodge, and his friend’s body was found on the beach. Boyd escaped, but the boat had been shot at. Those assault weapon shots crippled the boat. Its sinking might have killed Boyd. Attempted murder. Boyd knows the three men – probable murderers. They were the last to see Simon alive.”
“So why doesn’t he go to the police?” Jill quizzed.
“We’ll find out later. He didn’t even trust me, so he might not have wanted to trust the law. I’m going to his motel after this meeting. Now, how is the Ogden situation. Mona wants dirt on her younger husband. Presumably to breach their prenup. Have we found any transgressions?”
“Not that I’ve found,” Summer replied. “They both work at Mona’s firm. Married a year ago. She’s a cougar. She inherited her father’s fortune. Donald is the cougar’s prey, and he’s handsome and debonair. He’s a twenty-five-year old dandy that’s been keeping clean and faithful. But she isn’t convinced.
At least she wants out now.”
Jill added, “He’s probably a gold-digger. Maybe his charm wore off. They do have a pre-nup, but it stipulates infidelity breaks the agreement. He may not be faithful, but he is very careful.”
“The old ‘pants need to stay zipped’ inclusions,” I sighed. “Have you reported back to Mona that he’s innocent?”
Rachel answered, “I chatted with her a couple days ago. I told her that the detectives weren’t coming up with anything. She said keep looking. She paid the bill and stated that she wanted all the dirt we could find.”
“We’ve been honest with her,” I commented slowly. “Most women would be happy about the report proving her hubby is faithful. But she’s paying the billable time, so we keep looking.” I paused, frowning, “Have either of you checked out Mona? Maybe she’s found someone else and wants to cut Donald off without his money.”
Both Jill and Summer nodded. Summer answered, “We’d thought of that. We took turns following them each of them. Maybe she’s just tired of him, or she has buyer’s remorse.”
“Fine, keep tabs of them. Meanwhile, I’ll figure out what’s going on with Boyd,” I said as I stood. “Oh, by the way, I chatted with Boyd, and he identified Mickey Coleman as Mitchel. He grew a short beard and mustache since his trafficking and drugs days. Facial hair is a great mask. Obviously, he’s feeling safe by being offshore in the treasure-hunting craft most of the time. Something is up as far as why the three treasure hunters were firing at their divers. And they probably killed one and attempted to kill the other. I’ll find out what I can.”
I left the trio moaning about their inability to gather enough information. The Ogden marriage was as confused as it had been for the couple weeks we’d had the case. And we had minimal information on the death of Simon Wagoner.
It stands to reason that my disappointment carried through the drive to Chief Tom Powers’ office. Hey, if the Chief of Homicide Detectives knew relatively little – how could our Team be expected to know.
I would stop by to see if Tom had anything more, before I preceded to Boyd’s motel. That way I could swear that I didn’t know where he was.
“Hi Tom,” I greeted him. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing just peachy. And when I say peachy, I mean I’m not hooked up to life support yet.”
“That’s a positive, Tom.” I teased, “But your eyes do look a little lusterless.”
“Listen to me, young lady,” he began gruffly, as if he were lecturing his daughters. “You came in here with information, and now we’ve got a body. I should charge you because you know…”
“I told you what I know.”
“The one giving you the information. I need a name. That person may be of interest.”
“Interest as in?”
“Two of my detective visited The Sea Fortune this morning. Skipper Laski said that Wagoner and a new diver hightailed it, on the run, with the speedboat. They might have been lifting some of the gold, because they left during the night.”
“And you think the new guy killed Simon Wagoner? For what?”
“He might not have wanted to share anything they were stealing.”
“What if the new guy left because he thought he might get blamed for what Simon did. Simon was shot to death on ship, the new diver made a run for it.”
“My scenario sounds more logical, Trevar. And I can guess your perspective comes from the fact that the new diver’s name is Boyd Trevar. Ring a bell?”
“Okay, Tom. You’re a better detective than I pegged you for.” I issued a purely charming grin. I had figured that the Sea Fortune crew had provided Tom with the name. “Boyd is a long, lost cousin. He was terrified of the treasure hunters. He didn’t kill anyone.”
“He might have killed his partner in crime. Then went crying to you for sympathy and assistance. I want to know where he went.”
“I need to keep him from the treasure hunters. Are you thinking of charging Boyd on the testimony of witnesses like those three?”
“I want to question him. Get him in here this afternoon.”
“If he can be located.”
I stormed out to the parking lot. Hoping that Boyd was still at the motel, I wondered if he would presume that I had snitched. I would attempt to convince him that the treasure seekers landed him in it. And they were accusing him of killing Simon.
No one had seen which of the three had fired the offending gun. No one had a clue, that would stand up in court, as to who the killer was. Something deep inside of me hoped that Boyd wasn’t a killer. Only Simon could have substantiated Boyd’s denial. This case’s corpus delicti wasn’t talking. His lips were sealed.
Before searching out Boyd, I drove to the north shore. I contacted Rachel to see if she’d received any coordinates as to where the body of Simon Wagoner had washed up. When I pulled onto a path off the road, I parked. There was a patrol car parked nearby. Along the path, I made my way onto the shore. I saw a grim policeman looking at me as if I must be lost.
“Hi, officer,” I spoke loudly enough to overcome the ocean breeze.
“I’m just picking up the crime tape,” he explained.
“Are you familiar with the crime scene?”
“You’re Beryl Trevar, aren’t you?” His grin stretched. “I know Jill. Jill Timoteo.”
Apologetically, I offered, “I hope you aren’t upset because she left the department?”
“Naw, it was her decision. She’s a nice woman. And was a great cop. I always felt like maybe she was an underdog. You know, being black. Palm Beach is probably less than ten percent black. I think she had to deal with extra crap. Racism isn’t gone. It isn’t even hiding out. But Jill always handled everything with professionalism. Her partner was one of my buddies. He said there were a couple times when drunks insulted her. He wanted to deck them.”
“I don’t think she ever had more than a few problems being one of a handful of African Americans in the area. At least that’s what she told me.” I hated the suggestion that she couldn’t be productive because of her race. “I think of her as a hero because she’s amazingly intelligent, and she breaks the barrier. Trevar Investigators is lucky to have her.” I walked out onto the sands. “Can you tell me where Simon Wagoner’s body washed up?”
“They found the body over here.” He walked to the spot and knelt. “I think it lodged near this berm. With the tides, there’s no evidence left.” We leaned over the area. “Forensics sifted everything. No clues. Just that the body was there.”
“And it was shot up?” I inquired.
“Yes. Someone wanted the guy dead.” He shifted from foot to foot. “Lots of slugs in him.”
“Any sign of a boat that might have crashed, or washed up?”
“Nothing.” Pointing, he added, “Someone pitched the body from some kind of craft. But the driver was probably the killer and hightailed it. Our detectives will come up with the resolution.” He swung around and looked into my face. “Are you and your detectives on the case?”
“We might be.” I grinned and glanced at his ID tag. “Officer Clark, please don’t mention this to Chief Powers. We might have to work the case if the resolution isn’t quick enough.”
We traded snickers. “Tell Jill hello. She was one of the best cops I’ve worked with. I told her before she left. She said it was just that she’d worked in Miami where a cop gets lots of on-street training.”
As soon as he’d gone back to his squad car and pulled away, I called Boyd. He was getting restless, and I promised to be there shortly. I asked him to describe the location where he’d landed. After hanging up, I looked around trying to place the spot where he described.
I drove the length half a mile north, examining every possible exit, and searching for the cluster of palm trees that Boyd had described. Finally, I noticed the small cove with a group of about half a dozen palms. Two or three of them leaned over toward the water. Their palms shaded a bit of the beach, and some of the water. Sunlight made des
igns through the palm fronds. It was a vegetational canopy leaving a magnificent design on the beach. Less than half a mile, Simon’s body had been found.
After parking, I made my way to the scene. I scrutinized the sands, the water, and then examined the trees, and the path back to the road. I found no footprints in the sand, which I hadn’t expected that there would be any. The waves had lapped at the cusps of sand for several hours. I watched the hypnotic ripples and rills. Waters had nibbled away at the berm. And the clues.
Then, I saw prints between the long trunks of the palms. Photographing the nearly indistinguishable prints, I continued until I reached a place near the road where there were a couple identifiable patterns showing beach shoe prints.
Beyond that, there were no signs of trash, or anything left behind. One important telltale sign was recognizable. Near the road, baggage had been put down. I photographed it. One of the bags that had rested on the sandy dirt had sunk deeper than the other pack or bundle. It was, I noted, carrying a considerably heavier load.
Back in my convertible, I made a few notes, slipped my small notebook back into my pocket. I turned on the ignition. Boyd’s motel was easily found in West Palm. I considered our meeting and how I should conduct it. We were kin. Undeniably as far as looks went. However, we were unknown to one another. I couldn’t act as though I might be suspicious of him. But I was, even if I didn’t wish to be. I was rooting for him, however. We shared a bloodline.
When I had certain cases, there was this emotional investiture. I wanted to believe the client was innocent. Even if the preponderance of evidence was stacked higher than I could see while standing on my tippy-toes. Only a few of my clients were actually, beyond a shadow of a doubt, innocent. Unfortunately, I was excellent at my profession. Some very guilty people walked free because I presented enough evidence, and doubt, to spring their useless butts. Not proud of that, I thought. But now my course was set to make amends.
I was chasing dirtballs.
“Hi, Boyd,” I said with a soft smile of proficiency.
