Death in Deep Water

by Paul Kemprecos

  She studied my face for a moment. “Walden said he picked up some sympathetic vibes from you. That’s just the way he is. He acts on intuition. He thought we might be able to work together. He said it was worth taking a chance even if we had to let you know we had somebody in here.”

  “Wait a minute, Jill. As you know, I’ve already got an employer. The corporation that owns this park you want to see closed for good. They want me to find out if Rocky really killed Eddy Byron.”

  “So that’s really why you’re here? We thought they put you in because they suspected SOS had somebody on the inside.”

  I shook my head. “That’s my story. What’s yours?”

  “SOS wants to find out what’s going on at Oceanus, too. It goes beyond Eddy’s death, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re not sure what it is yet, but I think I’m on the verge of something big, really big.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I can’t,” she said, frowning. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Okay, Jill. You’re dealing this hand. Walden obviously has something in mind. What is it?”

  “We’re amateurs at what we do,” she said. “Sometimes it helps, but sometimes it doesn’t. Walden thinks it would be better to have an extra set of eyes and ears in here. He just wants to share information, that’s all.”

  “And if I don’t go along?”

  “Nothing, Soc. Things will stay the same. We won’t say anything about you, and we hope you’ll say nothing about us. We took a chance with you. There’s nothing to prevent you from telling Oceanus about me. They’d fire me and pat you on the back, if that’s what you want.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s not what I want.” I pondered the proposition carefully. SOS and I had different agendas, but we both wanted to learn what was going on at Oceanus. And Jill was right, she could have blown my cover without hurting hers. It took a certain amount of trust and naïveté to come straight out with an offer.

  “Okay,” I said. “It’s a deal.” I grabbed her hand and pumped it.

  “I just knew you’d do it.” Jill pecked me on the cheek and picked up her camera. “I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.”

  She sprinted up the stairs and disappeared around a corner, leaving me alone with Rocky. He swam to the side of the pool and stuck his massive head out of the water. I walked over and pressed my nose up against the glass.

  “Okay, big guy,” I said. “You gonna tell me that you knew all along that I was a gumshoe, aren’t you?” Rocky opened his mouth and grinned with his big white teeth. “Yeah,” I muttered, “I thought so.”

  Chapter 20

  Sam cast a glance at the sunbaked tourists filling the bar without seeing them. “Maybe I should quit fishing,” he said morosely.

  We were sitting in a corner booth at the ’Hole. It was late afternoon, and except for Sam and me, there wasn’t a local in the place. The pickup trucks had been vanquished from the parking lot by Volvo station wagons and mini-vans from Connecticut and New York. The bearded guys in work clothes who usually hung out at the ’Hole had been scared away by hordes of tanned kids with braces on their teeth. I was drinking from a cold mug of beer, thinking how the summer invaders seemed to get younger every year. Sam was having his usual ginger ale on the rocks. He leaned on the table, his long jaw cradled in his hands.

  I slurped the foam off my beer. “C’mon, Sam, you’re too young to retire.”

  “Didn’t say I was retiring. I could do lotsa things shore-side. I could fix outboard motors. Maybe build dinghies. Or I could sell the Millie D, get something smaller, and take out fishing parties for charter.”

  “True, you could do all those things, Sam. But do you really want to bait hooks and open beers for some city guys so they can tell their buddies about the one that got away?”

  “Dunno, Soc.” He sighed. “It just gets real discouraging. Millie told me I shouldn’t have bought the boat ’cause of the big mortgage payments. Said it was dumb to get into debt at my age, but I was stubborn and went ahead with the loan. We’ve been doing pretty good lately with the price of fish holding. Just when you think you’re ahead, something happens like the engine going kerflooey.”

  “You’ve had engine trouble before, Sam. It goes with the territory.”

  “That’s my point. Even if I get it fixed this time, something else’ll go wrong on another trip.” He sighed heavily. “Maybe it’s just that mechanic, Fred. I can’t get a straight answer from him. Every day he fools around we lose money. Heck, you know I never get mad at anybody, Soc. Live and let live is my motto. But if I have to listen to that fella’s life story once more, I’ll grab him by the scruff of the neck and toss him into the harbor.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Sam was the quintessential laconic Yankee. He rarely got riled about anything. I only saw him worked up once. The Coast Guard had radioed us to say the rescue squad was rushing Millie to the hospital for an emergency appendix operation. I thought he was going to jump off the boat and run home over the wave tops.

  I took another sip of beer. “Is Fred working on the engine today?”

  “He’s down at the fish pier, I’d wager. Fella spends a lot of time there, but is he working on the boat? Lord only knows.”

  I didn’t take Sam seriously about quitting, but I shared his frustration.

  “Don’t worry about it, Sam. I’ll swing by the pier and see if I can get Fred moving. You go home and rest up while you’ve got the chance.”

  Sam brightened. “I’d really appreciate that, Soc. Do me good to say hello to Millie. Haven’t seen her much in the last couple days.”

  He headed out. I had another beer then drove to the fish pier. Fred was leaning against a piling, chatting with a couple of young guys on the loading dock. They were busy stacking fish boxes. Fred followed them around, his jaw flapping like a jib sail in a stiff breeze.

  I went over and said, “Hi, Fred, how’s the work coming on Sam’s boat?”

  Fred detached himself from the fish packers, who rolled their eyes and escaped into the walk-in freezer. “Coming along fine, Soc. Real fine.” He grinned cheerfully. “Just taking a break. Been working on her all day.”

  “Glad to hear that. So she must be about ready?”

  Fred chuckled like someone who’s just heard a kid utter something cute but dumb. “Didn’t say that, Soc. Tomorrow’s my day off. I think I can start putting her together again Monday, though, and we’ll just have to see how things are going.”

  I could see how things were going. I gave him a grin that was as white and wide as his and equally insincere. “Okay, Fred, I know you’ll do your best.”

  “Sure thing. Say, did I ever tell you about—”

  “I think you did, Fred. Got to go now. Catch you Monday.”

  I got in my pickup truck and drove back to the boathouse. I told Kojak he’d have to wait a couple of minutes for munchie-munch. Then I picked up the phone, called the boatyard Fred worked for, and asked for the boss. A guy who talked as if he had a cigar in his mouth came on and said his name was Dom. I told him who I was. I said we had to get back fishing and wondered if he could light a fire under his mechanic.

  “Christ!” he exploded. “Give me a break, pal, I’m up to my eyeballs with customers who want work done yesterday. I sent you a mechanic, what the hell more do you want?”

  “I’d like a mechanic who we don’t have to pay for on-the-job training.”

  He must have heard the same complaint before because he was ready with a smart-ass answer. “Look, pal, this is the way it is. It’s tough to get a mechanic who knows what he’s doing and wants to do it, so we got drunks and assholes working for us. You want another mechanic, fine, I’ll take Fred back and send you a drunk.”

  “I’m not getting through to you. Fred has decided to make our engine his life’s work. He’s stiffing us for overt
ime, and that’s just plain thievery in my opinion.”

  “Hey, wait—”

  “No, you wait. You won’t have any more problems with help because you’re not going to have any work when I get through telling the fishermen’s association how you do business. And when they get through calling their buddies in every port on Cape Cod. Now you can tell me to go to hell, and hang up, but first ask yourself one question. Is Fred worth ruining the reputation of your boatyard?”

  There was mumbling on the line. “Okay, okay. I’ll come by and check it out myself. Monday early enough?”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “Jesus! Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

  “You’ll just have to skip church.”

  “Shit. Aw, all right. I’ll be there.”

  “We’ll be looking for you.”

  I hung up and called Sam.

  “Looks like you won’t have an excuse to quit fishing,” I said. “I talked to Fred’s boss. He’s going to come by tomorrow morning to take a look at the engine.”

  “Hmmph,” Sam said. “How’d you do that?”

  “I used a little sweet talk. I’ll be busy tomorrow. Can you be at the fish pier to make sure he doesn’t leave without getting the job done?”

  “No problem, Soc, and thanks. Hope you don’t think I was serious about quitting. I’ve got a long way to go before I retire, but I tell you, it’s times like this, especially when my back is acting up, that I think maybe it’s getting nearer.”

  “Hang in there, Sam. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  I didn’t mean to be abrupt, but Kojak was rubbing into my leg, purring like an outboard motor, putting his whole weight into the calf. I did a waltz step trying to evade him and trotted over to the kitchen cupboard. All that was left was a can of 9-Lives Tender Veal and Cheese dinner. It wasn’t his favorite flavor, but it would have to do. I made a mental note to pick up some cat food.

  I was spooning the last of the stuff into Kojak’s dish when the phone rang. I rinsed my fingers off, picked up the phone, and said hello. It was Parmenter.

  “Glad to find you at home,” he said. “I tried to get you earlier today.”

  “I was out taking care of business.”

  “Yeah, I know all about your business. I called the ’Hole and the bartender said you left a little while ago.”

  “Damn snoopy cops. I should know better than to fake it with an old flatfoot. How are you, John?”

  “I’m fine. You asked me to keep you posted on the Hanley thing, so I thought I’d bring you up to date. I talked to a couple of insiders on the investigation. They say Pacheco has hit a stone wall. No murder weapon yet. They checked out your gun registration. Hell, Soc, you still got your thirty-eight Police Special.”

  “It makes a nice paperweight, John. Hanley was shot with a twenty-two, so that rules me out.”

  “Not entirely. Pacheco says you could have an illegal pistol that’s not licensed. He’s talking search warrant.”

  I glanced around at the chaos in the boathouse. Magazines and papers and old clothes thrown over the secondhand furniture, cat fur everywhere, Kojak wolfing down his dinner. Pacheco wouldn’t be able to find a howitzer in this mess.

  “It’s a little late for a search warrant, isn’t it?” I said. “I could have mailed the twenty-two to the moon by now. Pacheco could plant a throw-down while he was nosing around, but the bullet wouldn’t match the one that killed Hanley unless he finds the real thing. Is he still plugging for a malfeasance hearing to take my PI license away?”

  “He’s just going through the motions. I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve got a few buddies in the Department of Public Safety and I’ve filled them in on Pacheco’s wild ways.”

  “You didn’t have to do that, John. He could make it difficult for you.”

  “Hell, Soc, he can’t touch me. I’m near retirement anyhow. But that’s not the reason I called. I’ve got a tip. A couple of Pacheco’s guys interviewed Hanley’s wife. One is a young cop whose father I know from the staties. Pretty sharp kid. Mrs. Hanley has an alibi, but you never know in a case like this. Maybe she had somebody else knock her husband off, so this cop asked about their marital problems.”

  “Did she say what caused them?”

  “Yeah. Hanley was a drunk. He had gotten off the booze, gone to AA, and was going pretty good, I guess. Even a chance the marriage would mend, his wife says. My cop friend said she was pretty open about her marriage troubles, but whenever he asked her about Oceanus, she clammed up, said she didn’t know much about her husband’s business.”

  “That doesn’t sound likely.”

  “Uh-huh. Especially with people whose marriage is on the rocks. They don’t talk to each other about the important things, like why their marriage is going down the tubes, but they’ve got to fill in the silence, so they gab about what a bitch of a day they’ve had at work or home, because it’s easier. I know the drill, I’ve been there myself.”

  “Hanley was going to spill something he hoped would get him his job back. Maybe that’s what she knows. If it got him killed, she might be in danger, too.”

  “I was thinking the same thing, Soc. Maybe you should talk to her.”

  “I’ll get on it as soon as I can, John. Thanks for the tip. I owe you on this, too.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing. Remember, I was almost your father-in-law. Scary, when you think about it.”

  “I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather have.” I was looking at the picture on the fireplace mantel of a sable-haired woman. Jennie Parmenter. I had my arm around her in the photo and we were both smiling happily at the camera.

  “Thanks for that, Soc, I appreciate it. Okay, back to business. This works both ways. If you learn anything, let me know. I’ll be on the Cape another week until this drug case is wrapped up, so give me a call anytime at the barracks.”

  “I’ll keep in touch.”

  I put the phone down and went out onto the deck. I looked out over the bay and whispered Jennie’s name, savoring the sound. I had often pondered what life would have been like if Jennie hadn’t been killed in a car crash. Marriage definitely. Kids probably. I would have stayed on the Boston PD and retired fat and cynical to bore my grandchildren with cop stories. Jennie would have just become more beautiful as she got older; I was sure of that. I took a deep breath of the cool air, feeling its fullness in my lungs, as if the thought of death made it necessary for me to reaffirm my own existence. Waste not fresh tears over old griefs, Euripides had said. He was right, of course, but I knew the sadness and the great emptiness would always be there.

  The last of the sailboats in the bay were heading home and the barrier beach was a strip of gold satin in the rays of the setting sun. Beyond the beach was the Atlantic Ocean, the great mysterious ocean, but surely no more mysterious than the ways of the gods.

  I put my thoughts of the past aside and went back in the house. Stretching out on the green flowered sofa, I began to list what I knew about this case since square one, when Shaughnessy called, but dozed off after a few minutes. I might have slept through the night if I hadn’t been awakened by a suffocating weight and the cheesy fragrance of cat breath. I shoved Kojak off my chest and sat up. It was dark outside. The wall clock said ten o’clock.

  I decided to get ready for my dive the next day with Uncle Constantine. Damn. Jill’s revelations had distracted me. I forgot to take my scuba gear with me when I left Oceanus. I could always pick it up in the morning, but Uncle Constantine wanted me on his boat at dawn. If I left now, I could be home and in bed by eleven. I went into the bathroom, splashed cold water in my face, and wearily headed out the door to Oceanus.

  An old Buick station wagon I assumed belonged to Ben was the only car in the parking lot. I went in the back door and walked by his office. The television set was on. I could hear the laugh track for a TV sitcom. I knocked gentl
y. There was no response. I opened the door. Ben was sacked out on his cot. I left him undisturbed and walked to the storage area.

  My gear was in a blue plastic duffel bag with my name stenciled on the outside. I found the bag where I had left it under the rack of wet suits. Acting on impulse, I left the storage room and headed toward the orca stadium. The gate was unlocked. Rocky had company again. Instead of going down the passageway nearest the gate, I walked around behind the bleachers to the other entryway. Moving quietly, taking my time, trailing my left hand along the wall so I wouldn’t lose my way in the gloom, I stopped every few seconds to listen. All was quiet.

  I slipped into a passageway. My eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. I stopped once more where the passageway opened onto the bleacher section and looked down at the orca pool. The underwater lights were on and the pool glowed a creamy chartreuse. I stood hidden in the darkness at the top of the bleachers and let my eye travel down along the outside aisle until it came to the dark figure of a man.

  Taking a deep breath, I moved down the aisle to introduce myself.

  Chapter 21

  My sneaker found a Styrofoam cup the maintenance crew must have missed. The crackle of plastic underfoot had the impact of a shotgun blast in the hushed stadium.

  The prowler whirled at the sound, put his head down, and charged.

  Umph! It was a lousy match. He was taller and heavier and I bounced off him like a pop fly hitting the wall they call the green monster at Fenway Park. I flew backward, twisting my body in midflight. My right shoulder crunched against the rubber mat covering the aisle. The impact knocked the wind out of me and loosened every filling in my head. I lay on my side like the Dying Gaul and gasped for air.

  The guy’s leg brushed my chest. I reached out and grabbed a thick calf. His forward momentum dragged me a couple of feet. I held on, grimly, with both hands. He went down like a falling redwood tree, crashing onto the mat with a loud grunt of pain.