Even at night with most of the boat in shadow, the Artemis didn’t look seaworthy enough to withstand a good sneeze. It smelled heavily of diesel fuel and old wood, but who was I to argue? She had safely borne Uncle Constantine all the way from Florida. It occurred to me that I still didn’t know what he was doing up north.
“It’s great to see you, Uncle, but what brings you to Cape Cod?”
“Two reasons. I come to New England to see my family. You, your mother and father, brother and sister, and all the cousins. And I come for work.”
“What kind of work, Uncle?”
He put his hand on my shoulder and his finger on his lips. “Big secret.” Then he yawned. “I tell you tomorrow. Too much ouzo. Your uncle is very tired. You come by and we talk. Maybe you help. Now I go to sleep. Kalinihta, Aristotle.”
I squeezed his arm, glad to see him. “Kalinihta, Uncle Constantine.”
Chapter 18
Humphrey Bogart had just iced the slim Nazi commander Conrad Veidt and Claude Raines was ordering his men to round up the usual suspects. Rick and Captain Renault walked off into the fog at the start of a beautiful friendship and Casablanca rolled to an end.
After springing Uncle Constantine from jail, I couldn’t sleep and stayed up to watch the very late show. I flicked the TV off during a commercial for a Zamphier panflute album, went out on the deck, and breathed in the damp night air off the ocean.
Round up the usual suspects.
Good idea, but who were they?
So far, I had only one solid suspect in Eddy Byron’s death. Rocky. All the evidence pointed to him. The holes in Byron’s wet suit. The previous attack. The electric prod.
The stuff was circumstantial, but murderers are rarely caught with a smoking gun, bending over a warm corpse. Rocky had motive; Eddy was leaning on him, driving him nuts, maybe to the point of being homicidal. Rocky had opportunity; Eddy was alone with him. And he had method. Forty-six sharp teeth and more muscles in one flipper than ten weight lifters had in their whole body. If Rocky were human, I’d tell Simon Otis to cut a deal on voluntary manslaughter.
Still.
I scanned the black dome of the sky and picked out the constellations.
This case should be a wrap, but it wasn’t. Too many loose ends. Like Hanley’s death. It wasn’t random. There was an undeniable connection between Oceanus and Haley. My phone call. Hanley told me he was going to lay out the skinny on Oceanus. A few hours later he was dead.
Walden Schiller was another enigma.
Jolly little elf, the whale hugger, bubbling over with goodwill toward all creatures great and small. As long as they aren’t human beings. Schiller was a ten-car pileup waiting to happen. He wanted Oceanus closed. He wanted Rocky and every marine mammal in captivity sent back to the wild. He would stop at nothing to do it. He said so himself. He engineered the boycott and the picketing, and I’d bet he was behind the bomb threats.
Then there was the prowler I chased at Oceanus. Who was he? And what was he doing there?
The usual suspects.
Sally seemed to be baring her soul about Eddy Byron, but was she telling me all she knew? Doc Livingston seemed to be a caring, inquisitive scientist. Austin seemed to be helpful, but he was selective, leaving out the parts about Rocky’s sickness and the park closing and the staff firing. Jill seemed to be an innocent cutie . . . C’mon, Socarides, next you’ll suspect Huff and Puff are sharks in dolphin costumes and the beluga is really a barracuda.
A shooting star streaked across the black sky and burned out like an ember caught by the wind.
I went back into the boathouse and tucked the folded paper holding the white powder I’d collected from the buoyancy compensator into a zip-lock bag. I put the bag and a note into a five-by-seven manila envelope. I propped the envelope up on the kitchen table so I wouldn’t forget it. From a kitchen cupboard, I took a fifth of Old Grand-Dad a client had given me and set the bottle next to the envelope. I dug my dive gear out of a closet and put the equipment near the front door. Then I kicked Kojak off my pillow and went to bed.
As I slipped into a restless sleep, my mind went back to Eddy Byron. Suppose he had tormented Rocky into a murderous reaction? What happened to the electric prod?
Dawn, the daughter of morning, arrived much too soon. Kojak had snuck back during the night, curled up behind my knees, and forced me to the edge of the bed. Talk about mysteries! How does a cat on a bed expand far beyond its normal size?
Sam would have been up an hour ago. I called him and we agreed to meet at Elsie’s place. The special that morning was cranberry pancakes. Sam and I figured the cranberries were left over from the Pilgrims’ first Thanksgiving. We dined on overdone eggs and carbonized bacon instead. For all its faults, Elsie’s cooking did stick to your ribs. After breakfast, Sam went off to deal with Freddie the marine mechanic and I drove to Oceanus.
I set my dive gear in a corner of the locker room and went to see Ben. He was drinking coffee at his desk. He looked at me with small rheumy eyes and wiped his nose with the back of his index finger.
“What can I do for you, bub?” he said hoarsely, leaving no doubt from the tone of his voice that he didn’t much care for an answer.
I pulled the fifth of whiskey from behind my back and held it up. His eyes darted toward the bottle and he licked his lips involuntarily.
“Got this as a birthday present. I don’t drink the stuff—strictly a beer man—so I was wondering if you knew someplace where it wouldn’t be wasted.” s
He reached over, took the bottle, and examined the label. “Yeah, I know just the place.” He peeled the aluminum foil from the top, unscrewed the cap, and poured two fat fingers’ worth into his coffee mug. “Want some?”
I shook my head. He said, “Suit yourself,” and indicated the unmade cot. I sat down. He took a gulp of his spiked coffee. “You’re the new guy. What’s your name?”
“Socarides. Most people call me by my nickname. It’s Soc.”
He pondered that. “Sock, like you put on your foot?”
Funny guy, Ben. I made a fist and brandished it. “No, Soc!—like somebody gives you in the jaw.”
That satisfied him. He drank more coffee and poured another couple of fingers of whiskey. One bottle might not be enough.
“What do you do here?” he asked.
“I’m a diver, primarily. But Mike Arnold’s got me doing every dirty job that comes along.”
Ben muttered something about Arnold I couldn’t make out. “Don’t worry. Place is going to hell in a hand basket. We’ll all be collecting unemployment before long.”
“You mean that business with the trainer. What was his name? Eddy something?”
He wiped his nose again and took another gulp. “Eddy Byron. He was some crazy bastard, going swimming with that goddamn fish. I told him he’d get his ass bit someday. He used to laugh. Well, he ain’t laughing now.”
I leaned forward. “Say, Ben. I might be helping train the animals here. I’m wondering if they’re going to ask me to work with that whale, and to tell the truth, I’m not sure they can pay me enough money to do that. I’ve seen Rocky. He’s one big mean-looking mother. You think he really did it to Eddy Byron, like some people say?”
“Sure he did.”
“Was it pretty bad?”
“Naw. No blood or nothing like that. The other security guard found him. He told me about it. We trade shifts every other week. I was the early man and went home at one A.M. He was making rounds the next morning, checking out the orca stadium. There was Eddy’s body, floating right next to that wall you can look through. He called the rescue squad, but they couldn’t do anything.” Ben shuddered. “Hell of a way to go, being bit by a big fish, if you ask me.”
“That’s quite a story. I heard Eddy was a good trainer. Someone said he was like a bandleader. They said he had this big stick that h
e used sometimes, that he’d point it and the animals would do just what he wanted.”
“Shit,” Ben said. “Whoever’s telling you that is blowing smoke up your flue. If Eddy could make that damn fish do what he wanted, how come the damned thing ate him?”
“You’ve got a point there. Then there was no stick?”
“Didn’t say that.” He took another swig and belched. “Sure, I seen him with it that night.”
“What was he doing?”
“Walking over to the orca stadium.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Hell, no, we never had anything to say to each other. He minded his business, I minded mine.” Ben grinned evilly. “He drank his hootch, I drank mine. Sure you don’t want a slug? It’ll get your motor started.”
I got off the cot. “No thanks. I’ve got to get moving before Mike Arnold finds me.”
“I’m not afraid of Arnold,” he said. “Austin neither. They’re not going to find anyone else who wants to sit around a big fish house like this for what they want to pay me.” He screwed the cap onto the whiskey bottle and tucked it in a desk drawer. “Thanks for the booze. You need a slug, it’s in here.”
“I’ll remember that,” I said.
Mike Arnold was working in the orca stadium. He stood on the stage at the poolside, wearing a red-and-black Oceanus wet suit, and didn’t see me take a seat in the bleachers a few rows behind him. He raised his arms like the hood ornament on a Rolls-Royce. Rocky’s big black fin came straight at Arnold, who didn’t move.
Rocky slithered entirely out of the water and lay on the stage next to Arnold, dwarfing the man. Arnold didn’t seem alarmed. He gave Rocky a fish and stroked his back. Then he blew on a whistle. Rocky slid off the stage and back into the pool. He went through his whole repertoire of tricks. He jumped straight out of the water. He swam along the side of the pool and waved his fin at the empty bleachers. He did several arcing jumps. And with each trick, I grew more respectful of his grace and power and of Arnold’s control of him.
I walked down to the splash area and applauded. Arnold turned and saw me. His smile melted.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Reporting for duty. What is it today? Piranha? Crocodile? Plesiosaurus?”
He shook his head. “This is Saturday. You don’t have to come in weekends. Somebody should have told you.”
“No problem. It gave me a chance to see the show. Pretty impressive.”
His eyes narrowed. He was combing my voice for sarcasm. “Rocky does all the work,” he said.
“I saw him come up on the stage. Aren’t you worried? I mean, after the accident.”
“Don’t believe everything you read in the newspapers.” He glanced out at Rocky’s dorsal fin slicing through the water. “Rocky won’t hurt me. We get along just fine. He likes to do tricks. You treat Rocky right, and he’ll do anything you want him to. You just can’t take him for granted. He’s sixteen thousand pounds of predator. Forget that and you’ve got trouble.”
“Is that why you’re not going in the water with him?”
“Yeah, partly. House rules. The park owners say no one in the water until we figure out where Rocky’s head is. We can do most of the tricks from the stage except the one where he jumps out of the water with someone on his nose or the trainer rides him. We had to scrub that trick anyhow. Rocky doesn’t like people on his back. Orcas are like that. They’ve got their individual personalities. Some you can bat around like a kid’s teddy bear. Some are touchier’n hell. You walk on tiptoe around them. It’s like that old joke. What do you call an eight-hundred-pound gorilla?”
“You call it ‘sir.’ ”
Arnold laughed. “That’s right. Same with Rocky.”
I walked over and leaned against the plastic wall. “Guess you’re right. If he really wanted to make trouble, he could snatch you right off the stage.”
“Yeah, he could bite me in half, but he won’t.”
“Rocky’s not like a shark, you mean.” I hadn’t meant to stick it to Arnold. The comment just slipped out.
I thought Arnold would do his usual pit-bull imitation, but he looked embarrassed. “Hey, I never expected what happened. Remember, I was the guy who got you out in one piece. Hell, it was Austin’s idea to put you in the tank in the first place.”
Austin? That was a new one. Arnold could be lying, shifting the blame elsewhere, but I couldn’t deny he came to the rescue in jig time. “I remember, and I appreciate it.” I looked out over the pool, wondering if Eddy Byron’s electric prod lay under the green water. “Guess I’ll enjoy my day off. See you Monday.”
“Yeah,” Mike replied.
Arnold was a skilled trainer. He could make Rocky jump through hoops. Could he make him kill someone? The idea was too ridiculous. But he did have motive. He was next in line for the top job, and maybe more important, he and Eddy were rivals for Sally’s attention. Come to think of it, I was, too, and that didn’t make me feel very secure.
Leaving Oceanus, I drove into Hyannis and stopped at a public telephone in a CVS drugstore. I dialed the Boston police lab, gave the operator my name, and asked for Charlie Reed. A minute later, Charlie came on the phone. He had a boyish voice that always sounded as if he had just run in from wherever he was, which was often the case.
“Soc,” he said. “What a great surprise. How are you?”
“I’m fine. I’d be even better if you could do a favor for me. I’m going to send a package up to Boston on the next P-and-B bus leaving the Cape. There’s a powder sample inside. Could you run a quickie analysis?”
“Is it dope?”
“No, I don’t think it’s anything like that, but I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling the best lab tech in the business.”
“Thanks for the endorsement. Tomorrow’s Sunday. First of the week okay?”
“This could be important, but I guess I’ll have to wait, unless you’ve got a good lab assistant who doesn’t mind working tomorrow.”
“You know better than that, Soc. It will be a great sacrifice, but I’ll just tell my wife that I can’t go shopping with her in New Hampshire like I was dying to do.”
I knew he’d say that. “I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
I dialed another number.
“Parthenon Pizza,” a woman’s voice said.
“Hi, Athena,” I said. “Can you put me through to my mother?”
“Sure, Soc. Hold on, I’ll connect you with the bakery.”
My father picked up the phone. “Allo, who’s there?”
“It’s me, Pop. How are you?”
“Ah, Aristotle. I’m fine. I’m very glad you call. Mama is very worried about Uncle Constantine.”
“That’s what I called about. He arrived last night. I’ve talked to him and everything’s fine.”
“Good, Aristotle,” he said with relief.” I try to tell her everything is okay, but you know how she is, very stubborn.”
“How’s the frozen-pizza business, Pop?”
“Everything is good. You come to Lowell sometime and your brother George shows you the new oven. Hold on.” He stopped to talk to somebody else in Greek then came back on the phone. “Come up soon. Bye.”
My mother’s voice came onto the phone. “Hello, Aristotle. Papa says your uncle Constantine is here. He’s good?” There was anxiety in her voice.
“That’s right. I saw him last night. He’s in Hyannis and he’s fine.”
“Doxta Theos, thank God,” she said. “He stays with you?”
“No, Ma. I offered to put him up, but he wanted to sleep on his boat.”
She laughed and said, “That’s your uncle. Stubborn as an old donkey. He does what he pleases. Did he say what he is going to do?”
“Only that he has some kind of work on the Cape. He didn’t tell me what kind.”
“Ah, he is such a little boy,” she said tenderly. “Aristotle, it is very important that you keep your eye on Uncle Constantine. See he takes care of himself. He forgets how old he is sometimes.” There was concern in her voice.
“I’ll do my best, Ma.” I said.
“I know you will, Aristotle.”
Lew Atwood wasn’t at his house, but the teenage girl who answered the door said her father was working at a boatyard in Barnstable on the north shore of the Cape. I dropped Charlie’s package off at the bus station, then put my seersucker jacket and tie on in a shopping-plaza parking lot and drove cross-Cape to the bay side. The old gent in the marina office pointed out his window to a guy pumping gas into a white cabin cruiser at the fuel dock. I waited until he hung up the nozzle. Then I walked over to the dock and introduced myself.
Atwood was about fifty-five with a ruddy wind-burned complexion and gray hair cropped close to his head. He smiled. “You called me the other night. Sorry I didn’t get back to you. Got home late. Are you sail or motor?”
“Neither. I’m working for Oceanus and I’d like to talk to you.”
The smile flipped upside down and became a frown.
“Let’s go over to the shed,” Atwood said. “I can’t smoke on the fuel dock.”
He clipped a walkie-talkie to his belt and asked the old man in the office to keep an eye on the gas pump, then he led the way to a barn-size gray-shingled boat storage shed. He lit a cigarette out of a pack of Winstons and gazed at me with hooded eyes. “What does someone from Oceanus want from me?”
I gave him the usual half-truth. “I’ve been hired as a consultant by Bay State Investments. They want me to prepare a complete report on the Eddy Byron incident. Something to do with insurance.”
“You wasted your time coming to see me. I was long gone when Eddy came on the job.”
“Yes, I know Mr. Byron was hired after you. But if you could shed some light on the situation at the park before the accident, it might put Mr. Byron’s death in perspective.”
Death in Deep Water Page 17