by James Walker
William turned to the doctor. “Have you determined a time of death?”
“Hard to say. Being submerged and, well, other factors made that difficult. I’d say he was dead sixteen hours or perhaps a bit more from the time he was brought in at ten this morning.”
We all looked at our watches and counted back. Marquis was killed around the time we saw the boat or a little before! Within an hour or so anyway!
“Interesting!” was all William said to that. He looked to Blum. “What did you mean by ‘other factors’, Doctor?”
“Better if I show you.” he replied and stepped over to pull the curtain open. I shuffled in after uncle and when I looked at the body, I wanted to run right back out. In fact, I wanted to run to the train station and go home to my mother! I won’t be a hypocrite and say I cared one whit for the arrogant sod stretched out on the slab, but I wouldn’t wish to see any human in this shape. I couldn’t make my feet carry any further than the end of the table. Not that it helped my stomach; I could see him clearly in his entirety.
He was bloated, as corpses will be after being in the water for a long time, but his skin was soft and doughy. It was an extremely pale gray in color, and it sagged to form creases that made it seem like it was melting. The only color was the darkened skin of his face and hands and the mop of wet black hair plastered to his skull. I was grateful the doctor had draped a sheet across his privates. I was trying to keep my gaze averted from his major wound until I could get my stomach to settle enough, and that’s when I noticed the numerous marks all over his skin. I looked closer and saw the tiny divots taken out of his flesh. I knew what caused these, because I had seen them before, on chicken legs when I crabbed as a kid.
“Minnows”
Uncle Will glanced at me and the doctor said. “Exactly. Not bad for a city boy.”
He pointed to the place I didn’t want to look and said, “And those are nothing to what they did to the soft tissue of the wound.”
Uncle Will walked around the head of the slab to get a better look but my legs turned to lead, and my bowels were following suit! I had seen a man gutted in a bar fight and that hadn’t been half as gory as this.
On his left side, just above his waist and inches from his side was a gaping wound. It was at least twelve inches long and seven wide, with thin strips of shredded skin draped about it like a drunken bakers icing. Everything was exposed but I couldn’t tell you what was intestine or what was organ. The only thing that kept the whole mess from spilling onto the table was a strip of intact skin that ran directly along his side. It all looked like it went through a grinder. Marquis’s body seemed to have a coating of fur on it. I knew it wasn’t hair, but the fine shredding from a multitude of tiny mouths feeding on the soft innards.
“Gordon said he never saw so many minnows feeding in one spot.” Blum said sadly. “I hate to turn him over to his folks like this.” He sighed and shook his head.
William didn’t respond to him, for of course, he had his trusty pocket magnifier out and was going over every inch. There was nothing to do but wait for him to finish. Blum and I looked at each other and we both rolled our eyes, but we stayed silent. After a long few minutes, William stood and addressed the Doctor.
“It does not appear that you probed too deeply into the wound, Doctor.”
Blum was slightly offended. “No need. Whatever got him before the minnows chewed him up enough to kill him, but that’s not what he died of! He drowned, just like the other fellow, the pilot. Lungs were intact and full of water.”
My uncle didn’t say anything, so I chimed in. “Gee, Doc, if he was floating around dead for half a day, why wouldn’t he be full of water?”
“Incorrect.” William said. “If you were to toss a corpse into water, the air in the lungs would be trapped because there would be no breathing cycle. One must physically suck in water to fill the lungs.” He turned to the doctor. “Is your theory that something bit down on him and held him under until he drowned?”
Blum squared his shoulders and gave my uncle a withering look. “I am saying that he drowned.” He pointed at the wound, “But something turned his side into a mince pie! There are pieces of his kidney, stomach, and both large and small intestine severed and mixed together and there is a matching wound on his back! I’ve never seen such damage to the human body! Even a deer is dressed out with far less damage to the internal organs.”
Uncle Will, true to form, ignored the doctor. I could tell he was restraining himself from blasting Blum for even considering a creature caused the wound. He looked closely again and stood.
“Shall we roll him on his side? I wish to see the damage in its entirety.”
The doctor grunted and put a hand under the shoulder next to him as William slid a hand under the thigh. They rolled him in my direction, but the body, in its stiffness, refused to stay in position
“Frohman! Move the left leg away until it touches the table.”
The last thing I wanted to do was touch that cold dead flesh, but I managed to find the gumption to reach over and grasp him by the left ankle. It felt like a raw chicken in my hand, but I did as I was asked, and the body settled in place.
The back looked worse than the front. There was an exit wound, even bigger in diameter. I could only image one thing that could have wrought such mayhem.
“Must have gotten caught in his prop.” I observed, trying to sound as sage-like as possible.
My smugness vanished immediately as my uncle replied in less than a heartbeat.
“Rubbish! A craft of Marquis’s size would have an engine with the horsepower to turn a propeller of at least eighteen inches! Much too large for this opening and not nearly long enough!” He turned his head and gave me a withering look, “Do try to think things through before you speak, Frohman.”
He turned back to his examination before I could retort.
Uncle Will; with magnifier in hand, he bent over to examine that side as he did the first. Without looking up, he held out a hand. “Might I borrow two of your probes, Doctor?”
Blum hesitated. “I’m not so sure that would be ethical, William. I owe it to his folks to see he’s treated with respect.”
William kept his gaze on the wound and flexed his hand. “Come now, Doctor, matters have progressed far past the delicate stage.”
Blum sighed and fished about on his tray to find two long metal sticks that he slapped into William’s hand. Uncle Will put his glass down and, with rods in both hands, proceeded to root about.
Some blood slowly oozed out and bit and pieces of undistinguishable anatomy plopped onto the table. Blum winced and I had to swallow down some bile that rose into my throat. William dug deeper and deeper and spread the probes farther and farther apart until, thank the stars, he was satisfied. He left the probes deep inside the wound but straightened and addressed the doctor. “Ha! Your monster must be somewhat civilized. He appears to have used a knife and fork!” William picked up his magnifier and held it a few inches away from the probes, gesturing for the doctor to take a look.
Blum recoiled in surprise then quickly bent over to look. Holding the glass with his left, he manipulated a probe with his right. Suddenly he gasped after a few more moments of study. It was obvious that he ignored the gloating look on my Uncle’s face and said to me, “He’s right. There are cuts deeper, sheer and straight — definitely from a sharp edge!” He pondered the discovery for a moment, and then turned to my uncle. “But that doesn’t make sense! If it were a blade that did this, it would not have caused all that damage. I’ve seen a few knife wounds, even stitched up a farmer who fell on his aerator! He was all cut up inside, but his innards stayed in place!”
Uncle Will didn’t respond right away. Finally, he spoke. “I shall have to consider the matter.” He got that faraway look again then shook his head and got back to business. “Where are his personal effects?”
“There wasn’t anything but what he had on.” Blum replied. “They’re over on that counter.
“William walked over and plucked a swath of white cloth off the surface and shook it out. He found himself holding a pair of thick long johns with a red rimmed tear in the left side.
“Is there nothing else?”
Blum shrugged and shook his head. “All he was wearing was those and a pair of woolen socks when he was brought in.” He looked dumbfounded for a moment. “Didn’t think much of it at the time, but it’s strange that’s all he had on …kind of warm for long johns and woolen socks, isn’t it?”
William tossed the clothing back on the counter and said to Blum. “We shall let you get on with your duties, Doctor. We shall see you tomorrow at the funeral. Nine a.m. sharp!”
I barely had time to say good-bye to Doctor Blum before following my uncle out.
23
“Where to now?” I asked my uncle as we struck out, keeping behind the buildings to stay out of sight. I was hoping he would say ‘The Inn’. I was in desperate need of a double after that ordeal. Alas, I had to suffer a little disappointment. Little, because I still had my flask, which I took out and upended.
“To the town dock, Frohman. I wish to examine Marquis’s boat, if it is there.”
Still a hundred yards away we see the dock was empty with two boats approaching about thirty yards out. By the time we stepped off the shore, Marquis’s boat was pulling up alongside the pier. The man piloting her had a rope in one hand and was angling to one of the pylons. I ran over and gestured for him to toss me the line, which I caught and tied off. Then I ran to the bow and jumped aboard grabbing the bow line and leapt back onto the dock to secure it. The Pilot shut down the engine and stepped onto the dock. He checked the aft line and was satisfied it was right. He smiled and nodded as I stepped up to him. “You know your way around boats.”
I shrugged. “I spent my summers on South Fork growing up.”
The man talking was about my age with a somewhat weathered complexion. He was solidly built with longish hair and a closely cropped beard. He also looked amused. “Sailing? Yachting?”
“I wish!” I sniggered. “Trap fishing, but mostly cutting bait and sorting catches.”
He smiled even wider as he looked my hundred dollar suit up and down. “Fishing must be good lately!”
I liked him on the spot. I stuck out my hand, “Collin Frohman.”
“Gordon Steele. I’m the harbor master here. I think we may have met once before briefly”
“Could be,” I started.
“NOW that we are all good friends,” William nearly barked from our side. “perhaps we can get down to brass tacks! I understand you recovered the vessel in Essex. Did it get there under its own power?”
The Harbormaster thought about it for a moment and replied. “No, I don’t think so. The current would have taken her that far. She’d have been in the sound if she was underway. The engines were dead cold when I started her up to bring her back.”
My uncle nodded. “I wish to examine the boat.”
Gordon looked up and squinted in the afternoon sun. “Did Rowan send you down here?”
There was something perfunctory about the way he asked, and I countered, “Do you really care?”
“Not in the least.”
William snorted, and looking exasperated, stepped past us and onto the boat. Gordon looked at me as if expecting me to follow, but I reached into my jacket and took out my flask. I knew my uncle would want a moment to look about alone. Besides, I owed Gordon something for my uncle’s abruptness.
“Snort?” I offered.
“Thank you,” he replied as he took the flask. “It was a long trip to Essex and back..” He took a long pull and sighed with satisfaction. “That’s good hooch! Thanks again.” He handed it back to me.
I took a pull myself and capped it. I gestured with my head towards my Uncle who was busy roaming around the boat. “Sorry if my William was rude.”
Gordon leaned in and said from the corner of his mouth so William couldn’t hear. “I have seen him this way before. It’s kind of neato. Like seeing him in a play for free!”
“Let’s go then.” I winked. “We have front row seats today!”
When we stepped onto the aft deck, William was below in the cabin, rummaging around. Looking around, I could see that Marquis kept his boat in good shape. The lines were coiled neatly, the deck free of debris, and, if not gleaming, the brass was clean. I turned my attention to the small derrick, mounted at the very stern.
It was a simple structure of three steel poles that formed a pyramid about seven feet off the deck. At the top was attached an arm on a large swivel. In its former life, it was used to haul up traps or nets and if you ever had to do it by hand over hand for a hundred feet of line — as my grandfather made me do — you could appreciate its usefulness. I’m sure it saved a lot of back breaking work for Marquis and allowed him to work alone and keep all the profits. My estimation of him went up a notch and again when I saw a clever little trick he had employed. I picked up a thin line that led me to the lever that activated the gears that drove the winch. I imagined that it allowed him to start the lifting process from almost anywhere on the boat. Handy if you had to work the engines to parlay the weight of wherever you were loading.
“Ha!” William barked as he climbed out of the cabin and saw me. “You have found it for yourself, Frohman! Excellent. Be sure to make a mental note of that line.”
I tried to work out its importance on my own but was stymied. I turned to ask my uncle for and explanation, but he was already across the deck, sitting on his heels and examining a length of chain. When I came up behind him, I saw that he was holding up and end of a chain with a yoke like piece of metal welded to it. On each tip of the prongs a hole was drilled that aligned with the other. I had seen a fastener like it before. You slipped the yoke over a pipe or dowel and slipped a pin through the holes to keep it in place. It didn’t seem out of place, especially since the length of chain it was attached to a three-pronged anchor on the other end. Marquis probably used it on the bow or stern, depending on the current while he was moored. Then I looked a little harder and saw some red streaks on the tips of the anchor.
“God damn! Is that blood on the anchor?” I pointed, wondering if that’s what killed Marquis.
William rose to his full height, still holding the chain and scowled down at me. “I never broke your father of the habit, but YOU, young Frohman, will not blaspheme in my presence!”
I held up my hands in surrender and mumbled an apology.
He frowned and said, “Of course it is not blood. Blood does not dry to such a bright shade of red.”
I didn’t have time to ask him more, since he wheeled and addressed Gordon. “Before matters progress any father, I intend to immediately claim my property.” He gestured to the inside of the cabin and me and the Harbormaster both looked. Stacked neatly to one side of the room lay stacked eight cases of Coca-Cola. Even though I remembered my Uncle and Marquis discussing the deal at the doctor’s office, I was surprised he would bring it up now. Gordon looked uncomfortable and dubious.
“You’ll have to take that up with the Chief Inspector, Mr. Gillette.”
“You can take it up with the Chief Inspector, if you feel you must. I shall take the Coca-Cola when I leave.” He replied firmly. Then he simply dismissed the discussion and walked over to a large box that sat alongside the port rail and asked Gordon, “What might you know about this?”
Gordon and I ambled over to join him. It was a square box, about three feet by two feet, and three feet tall. Three holes drilled into the top, two were a few inches in diameter and the last a full six. Hasps mounted to the deck on all four sides to keep it in place. I was sure it was obviously an engine cover, but I was mistaken.
“That’s a pump under the cover. I helped Marquis get it onboard about two months ago. Damn thing weighed a ton!” He squinted at my Uncle, “He told me he got the idea from you. Said he was going to use it to pump air into the bilges if the hull was ever breeched. I thought it pret
ty clever.”
William tapped the top. “Open it.”
Gordon bristled at being ordered about so, and I just shrugged and winked at him, patting my flask inside my Jacket pocket. Together, we each unlatched two sides and lifted the cover. Then we nearly dropped it.
There was nothing there but an outline with a hole at each corner. We stepped towards the starboard and set the cover down. I was surprised to see it was lined with blankets, held in place by strips of wood. Gordon was staring at the empty space and scratching his head.
William said, in a bland voice. “You were saying?”
Gordon looked like he was kicked by a mule. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t think of a reason why Marquis would get rid of it after all the trouble to buy it and put it on board!”
“Marquis could not have removed it. He didn’t have the time.” William stated, as if it were gospel.
“You think somebody stole it?” I asked, not sure what he meant by his last comment.
“Even if somebody wanted to steal it...How?” Gordon blurted out. “Sweet Christmas! Even his dragger couldn’t lift it! We had to slide it down thick planks and even then, we used the dragger to take off some weight and keep it level. Then we lag bolted it to the deck! I can’t fathom how he got it off! He’d need ten men!”
“When was the last time you were SURE it was on board?” William asked.
Gordon mulled that over. “I’d say…about four days ago. Yes! That’s right. I came out of my office one day and he was tied up at the dock and was tinkering with it. He had a couple of those barge rats with him, so I just left him to it.”
“Folks around here don’t seem to like the barge crew much, do they?” I observed. “No one’s got anything nice to say about them.”
Gordon shrugged. “They’re a rude lot and none to friendly themselves. Keep to themselves on their little steel island. Though, I have to admit, the boss is better. He was polite to me anyways when he came and bought some sounding charts. He looked like a bum, but he spoke like a gentleman.”