I shook his hand. “Call me Soc. It’s a nickname.”
“You got it, Soc. Want some coffee?”
“Thanks. Just black is fine.”
“No problem.” Ed filled a Styrofoam cup and handed it over. I took a sip and looked around the room. The conversational hum grew louder as people filtered in and filled the rows of wooden chairs facing a table. The crowd was a mix: young and old, men and women, rough-hewn blue-collar workers still in their work clothes and clean-cut professionals. You could probably find teachers, cops, firemen, secretaries, businessmen. Even a few tourists who had stopped by to meet the locals. It was a good-feeling place. Most of the people were smiling or laughing. New arrivals were greeted like old buddies, with friendly handshakes and encouraging pats on the back.
“I’m new at this meeting, Ed. You don’t have a guy named Steve who comes here, do you?”
“Sure,” he said.”I think we’ve got three of them.”
“The one I’m looking for is a lawyer.”
“Jeez, Soc, I don’t know what these guys do. I just moved into town myself. Whoops, looks like the meeting’s about to start.”
The seats were nearly full. I took an empty one near the back corner. A middle-aged woman with blondish hair and a nice face sat at the table. There were a couple of plaques in front of her. One of them said, Easy Does It. The other one said, One Day at a Time.
The woman smiled. “Hello. For those who don’t know me, my name is Jean. We’ll start with the serenity prayer.”
Following her lead, the group joined in, “God grant me the serenity to accept things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”
The prayer was followed by a moment of silence for the sick and suffering, then the reading of the AA preamble, with a call for people to share their experience, strength, and hope. The treasurer gave a brief report. Jean launched into her “drunkalogue,” a touching and personal story about her kids and husband before she went sober. More strength and hope. Then she asked for a topic.
Somebody in the group suggested they talk about honesty. A tall man in a tan summer suit with no tie stood up and said he first got honest with himself when he admitted he was powerless over alcohol and his life had become unmanageable. Others followed, telling in their individual ways how they had confronted the demon rum and how they were managing to struggle with it. I began to think that an AA meeting must be the most civilized place in the world.
There are a lot of drunks on the Cape. The economy tends to be seasonal, the winters quiet and damp. Sometimes the folks who retire here discover it isn’t paradise, so they try to drown the loneliness and pain of old age with a good snort. On any given night, it seems, half the Cape’s population is at an AA meeting, and the other half probably should be.
People continued to talk about the ones they had hurt, wives, husbands, sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, and about the jobs or friends they had lost or the dumb things they had done. The tales were told sometimes sadly, sometimes joyfully, but always optimistically. The feeling of strength in the air was palpable. The meeting lasted about an hour. At the end we held hands, said the Lord’s Prayer, and told each other to “keep on coming.”
The group broke up into knots of chatting people. I went over to the table and said hello to Jean, who was gathering up her papers, explained I was new, and asked if she could point Steve out to me.
She smiled. “Which Steve?”
“He’s a lawyer.”
“Oh sure. Over there.”
She pointed to the man in the tan suit who had been the first to talk about honesty. He was heading for the door with a young couple. I caught up with him and asked if we could talk for a moment. His mouth widened in an easy grin, he took me by the arm and guided me off to one side so others could pass.
He was a thick-boned man with graying reddish-brown hair, probably in his midfifties. If it is true that a face is a map of a man’s life, Steve had seen some hard miles. His face was creviced by too many losing bouts with the bottle. But the deepest furrows were the smile lines around his mouth. Laugh crinkles framed deep-set green eyes that had the focused intensity of a priest’s.
“What can I do for you, friend?”
I handed him my business card. He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“I’d like to talk to you about Phil Hanley. I understand you were his sponsor.”
Steve looked around. “We can’t talk here. The janitor has to close up. Tell you what, there’s a Wendy’s out on the edge of town. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
I said it was fine with me. He broke off and went on saying his good nights in the parking lot. I got in my truck and drove to the fast-food joint. I was sitting at a small Formica table when Steve arrived.
He settled into his seat with a cup of coffee and got right to the point. “How did you know about me?” he said.
“I talked to Phil Hanley’s wife today. She told me you were Phil’s sponsor and that he met you at AA. I took a chance you might be there.”
He shook his head. “Lynn is a nice girl. She’s taking Phil’s death hard. She feels it was her fault, that if she hadn’t thrown him out of the house he’d still be alive. Her boy’s a real fine lad. How are they doing?”
“Not great, but she’ll tough it out.”
“I’ve told her she can call on me if she needs help. Well, Mr. Private Detective, what can I do for you?”
“Hanley’s old bosses at Oceanus hired me to do some snooping for them. The job had nothing to do with him directly, but I thought he might be able to help. Hanley told me he had information that could get him his job back. I never found out what it was because he was dead a couple of hours later. Mrs. Hanley seemed to think you might know what Phil had on his mind.”
“What’s your interest in this?”
“It’s become personal with me. Phil may have been murdered because he was going to talk to me that night, and I was the one who found his body. There’s a town cop who’s drooling at the chance to nail me on the charge. He doesn’t have enough evidence to stick, but he might decide to manufacture some. Then there’s my case. It’s become a logjam. If I can pry something loose, maybe the river will start flowing. Finally, there’s Mrs. Hanley. You’re right, she’s a nice lady and shouldn’t have to bring up a little kid by herself. I can’t get her husband back, but maybe I can see justice gets done.”
Steve shook his head. “The shame of it all is that Phil was doing so well. He was sober. He was looking for work. He and Lynn were putting their lives back together. It’s damn tough to stop drinking.”
“I know,” I said.
He puckered his lips in a quizzical expression. “You in the program?”
“No, but some people think I should be.”
“If you ever need a sponsor . . . .”
“Thanks, Steve. Remember what you said back at the church. First you’ve got to be honest enough with yourself to admit you’ve got a problem. When I get to that point, you’ll be the first one I call. Meanwhile, I’d appreciate it if you could tell me more about Phil.”
Wrinkling his brow thoughtfully, Steve said, “Phil and I were pretty close. It gets that way with someone you sponsor. We used to talk about a lot of things. He was still pretty bitter about being fired from Oceanus. I guess that’s how we got on the subject of his old boss.”
“You mean Dan Austin?”
“One and the same.”
“How did his name come up?”
“Hold on, I need more coffee.” He got up and when he came back he said, “I’m a pretty good lawyer. Before I hit the sauce, I worked for an old respected firm in Boston. The pressure finally got to me. I moved down here hoping to clear my head, but it only got worse. I bottomed out, and with the help of my friends and family, I got dry and I’ve been that way ever
since. I started a law practice on the Cape and occasionally my old firm will refer a client to me. Last year Austin came by. He was the original guy behind Oceanus, did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“He told me all about it. He’d managed a few parks, then finally got enough seed money to start construction on Oceanus. The park was his dream. It cost him more than he thought it would. His original funding evaporated, and that’s when he went to Bay State Investments. They agreed to pick up financing in return for an interest in the park and a hand in running it. They bought a pile of his shares. He became a minority stockholder, essentially nothing more than an employee of Bay State.”
“Why did he come to see you?”
“It was during the park’s construction. There were major delays because he wanted to dig out a marsh in violation of the state wetlands act. The town conservation commission turned it down. The town was fighting it tooth and nail. They were worried the project would alter the whole ecosystem around the marsh. And Bay State’s participation was contingent on a permit going through. I started shuffling papers for an appeal, but then Austin called one day and said he didn’t need me anymore.”
“What happened?”
“I really don’t know. He got his permit somehow, managed to leapfrog over the town objections. I’m not surprised. A little money in the right pocket goes a long way on Beacon Hill. Anyhow, he thanked me, and that was the end of our professional relationship. He went on to bring in Bay State money, build the park, and apparently, it was very successful. Tell me, though, what are you doing for Bay State, I’m curious.”
“They want to sell the park to a Japanese outfit. Some complications have arisen, and they asked me to look into them.”
His eyebrows arched. “Sell to the Japanese? That’s odd.”
“What is, counselor?”
“Dan Austin had first refusal on any sales deal. If he could come up with the down payment, he could buy his park back. The park was doing quite well, and Dan had a percentage of the take.”
“I guess it wasn’t doing well enough. Did you and Hanley discuss anything else about Oceanus?”
“I told him about my work for Austin on the wetland appeal. That was about it. He said he was going to do some digging on his own. He might find something.”
“Did he say where he was going to dig?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact. He did PR with the Department of Environmental Management before he came to Oceanus. He said he was going to talk to some friends up in Boston.”
“Something to do with the marsh project?”
“I’d say that’s a fair guess. That’s really all I know. More coffee?”
“No thanks.” I started to rise. “Thank you for your time.”
“I was glad to do it. Before you go, though, remember, if you want to get into the program or even talk, just give me a call. The only ticket to the program is admitting that you’re powerless over alcohol.”
“I’m powerless over a lot of things, Steve, but I’ll remember your offer.”
We shook hands and left Wendy’s together. I headed back toward the boathouse, intending to call Sally and find out why she acted as if I no longer existed. But on the way home I made a detour to the ’Hole and stayed there longer than I should have.
Chapter 27
No one answered at Jill’s house the next morning. I let the phone ring a couple more times then put it down and took a tentative sip of coffee, trying to drown the sand crabs clawing at my stomach. Too many beers had chased too many tequila shots the night before, and my body was lodging a grievance. There was another reason for the lead feeling in my gut; I was worried about Jill. The currents swirling around Oceanus had swallowed Eddy Byron and Hanley like tatters of seaweed on the tide. Now Jill may have been pulled under, too.
I dialed the state-police barracks. Parmenter came on a minute later. He was in a good mood. His narcotics case was ending with a whimper. The lawyer charged with laundering drug money was going for a plea bargain. In return for a lighter sentence, he would blow the whistle on the big boys. While Parmenter talked, I rubbed my head where someone had driven nails into my temples and wondered why the Socarides family had withheld its supply of temperance and wisdom when I was born.
“By the way,” he was saying, “I talked to the DA. Pacheco’s been on his ass about you. The DA knows the guy’s reputation, so he’s been putting him off, but nothing is moving on the Hanley case. Pacheco is stupid enough to try to hang that thing on you. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Thanks, John. Could you do me another favor? There’s a girl missing and she could be in trouble. I don’t want to make a big fuss yet, but maybe your guys could watch out for her while they cruise around the Cape.” I gave him Jill’s name and address and a description of her old green Volvo, and told him to call me at Oceanus if he heard anything. Parmenter promised to keep in touch. I hung up, fed Kojak, then showered, dressed, and headed off to work.
The locker room was empty when I got there. I stripped off my jeans and T-shirt and hung them on hooks in the lower compartment of my locker. The day before I had thrown my dirty jersey and shorts into the top section. I pulled the soiled clothes out to toss them in the hamper, and a letter-sized envelope that must have been on the shelf fluttered to the floor. I picked the envelope up and looked at it. It was blank. I tore it open. Inside was a film-processing claim ticket and a sheet of lined paper ripped from a notebook. There was a Hyannis address on it. This was definitely not a U.S. Postal Service delivery. I tucked the ticket and paper into my wallet and finished dressing.
Mike Arnold wasn’t around, so I busied myself feeding fish for a couple of hours. Just before noon I decided to feed myself. I strolled over to the dolphin theater to see what Sally was doing for lunch. On the way I said hello to Huff and Puff, who did a double tail dance for me. Froggy gave me his usually croupy greeting, but no Sally. I went to her office and passed Mike Arnold, who was on his way out.
When he saw me, he turned to Sally and said, “I’ll meet you in five minutes.” It was his way of putting a verbal brand on Sally in case there were any rustlers in the hills.
Sally sat at her desk. She had a pencil in her hand and a smile on her face.
“Hi, Soc,” she said. “I was wondering where you’ve been keeping yourself.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I thought you were avoiding me.”
The smile faded. “No, Soc, it’s not like that at all.”
I sat in the chair next to her desk. “Then what is it like, Sally?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s really not very complicated. We seemed to hit it off the other night, but since then I’ve had to make an appointment just to say hello to you. I’m wondering what’s going on.”
She placed the pencil down on the desk and stared at it. Then she turned to me with sad eyes.
“The other night was a mistake.”
“How so, Sally? I thought we were getting along pretty well.”
“We were, Soc. It’s just that . . . look, I’m sorry, I understand why you’re angry. It has nothing to do with you. It’s me. I seem to make mistakes with men. First Eddy, then Mike. I didn’t want to make another.”
“You and Mike still seem to be an item.”
Sally’s cheeks flushed with anger. “Looks can be deceiving, Soc. Mike and I have an understanding. We’re just friends.”
“Platonic friends?”
She shook her head in frustration, like somebody trying to explain Mozart to a deaf child. “I like you, and that’s the problem. I’ve already had two relationships go sour. I can’t trust myself. And I have a hard time trusting others.”
“Whom do you trust, Sally? Huff and Puff?”
“Yes,” she countered, sticking her jaw out at a stubborn angle. “If you must know, I trust them more
than I trust anyone. I would trust them with my life. That’s more than I can say about any human being I’ve ever met.”
Human beings are a pretty wretched lot, but I was getting sick of hearing about noble sea creatures untainted by original sin, as if every dolphin or whale in the sea qualified for sainthood. “For godsakes, Sally, you’re talking about them as if they had souls. Sure, they’re smart and beautiful, but they’re just animals. Even your guru Dr. Lilly admitted that when he hammered electrodes into their brains.”
She reacted as if I had slapped her face. “They are not just animals. They are more than that. They are the purest and gentlest creatures on earth.”
“Even Rocky?”
“Yes,” she said flatly. “Even Rocky. I thought you understood. I knew you were nervous about going into the pool with him the other night, yet you did it, because you were interested in the truth. I admired that.”
“Is that why we made love? You were rewarding me for my bravery?”
“No! Of course not. That’s vile, that is positively vile.” Her eyes welled with tears.
I don’t handle rejection very well, maybe that’s why I picked a fight with Sally. I got out of the chair and prepared to blast out of her office and leave her standing there looking at my back, but Sally was ahead of me. She stood and grabbed the clipboard off her desk, then stormed past me.
I stood there, seething, more angry at myself than at Sally. Great going, pal, you just made a nice lady cry. Then I abandoned the office and slammed the door behind me, but it wasn’t the same because there was nobody to see my big exit.
The photo-store clerk handed me an eight-by-ten manila envelope in return for the claim check and some cash. Jill’s name was on the order slip taped to the envelope. I sat in the pickup and opened the package. Inside were three 35mm contact sheets of color film, each with thirty-six exposures.
Jill must have been compiling a family album for Rocky. She had taken shots of him from every conceivable angle. Right and left profiles, head-on, pictures of him breaching, or peering through the Plexiglas pool wall. One contact sheet was filled with close-ups of Rocky’s dorsal and pectoral fins, and his tail. I remembered the day I saw Jill banging away at poolside with her camera. Could she have put the envelope in my locker? I shook my head. Rocky’s mom would have loved all the photos of her baby boy, but I couldn’t figure why Jill had gone out of her way to compile an orca family album.
Death in Deep Water Page 27