Dark Harbor

by David K. Wilson

“They can do that?” Vanessa asked.

  Carla nodded with a shrug. “Science.”

  “It won’t matter,” Vanessa blurted. “Paul Turner has had it out for Norm for years. And Norm doesn’t help matters.”

  “Doesn’t help how?” Sam asked.

  “He drinks too much. Gets into bar fights,” Vanessa explained. “But all little stuff. Nothing like this. Norm would never kill anyone.”

  “Luckily, the worst Turner can do is arrest him,” Sam said. “If he doesn’t have a case, it won’t stand up in court.”

  “He’ll build a case,” Vanessa said. “Even if he has to make it up.”

  She looked up at Sam, her eyes pleading.

  “You need to prove he’s innocent,” she said.

  “It’s kinda hard to do that with him missing,” Sam said.

  “Then you need to find him,” Vanessa said. “Or find the real killer.”

  “You have police here to do that,” Sam said.

  “It couldn’t hurt if you helped, could it?” Vanessa asked. “I need to know someone is on Norm’s side.”

  Sam looked at Carla, unsure what to say.

  “You know anyone who would have wanted Jane dead?” Sam asked.

  Vanessa seemed surprised by the question.

  “I didn’t know her that well,” she answered. “But she had a way of making enemies.”

  15

  Vanessa’s hands trembled as she loaded the tray of lavender cuttings on to the back of her all-terrain vehicle. Too nervous and upset to sit at home while Sam and Carla went in search of Norm, she decided to catch up on some work at Vineyard Lavender, the lavender farm she ran with her father-in-law, Jude.

  Jude had been doing most of the manual labor this spring, especially since Norm’s disappearance. Even though he was in his 60s, he was more than able to handle the physically demanding work and he delegated anything he couldn’t handle to a small group of seasonal workers.

  Even though most of the planting had already been done, Vanessa had found a few more cuttings in the greenhouse and was loading up the ATV when Jude stepped inside.

  “You need any help?” he offered gently.

  Vanessa shook her head, mustering as much energy as she could to appear brave.

  “I’ve got most of the new cuttings planted,” Jude continued, pretending not to notice Vanessa’s fragile state.

  He had just returned from the police station, where he had given a statement on his visit to Jane’s house the day before. They had also asked if he had any information on Norm’s whereabouts, which he didn’t. Jude and Norm had never really got along well and, in recent months, if they did talk, it was with raised voices. If Jude hadn’t been in business with Vanessa, the father and son would probably never speak.

  Now, with his son not only missing but also wanted for questioning in a murder investigation, Jude grew even more resentful of the pain his son was putting everyone through. Particularly Vanessa.

  He and Vanessa had clicked almost immediately. Norm was an only child and Vanessa quickly became the daughter Jude never had. His wife, Norm’s mother, had died of breast cancer when Norm was still just a kid. Jude had never remarried and had no interest in other women. But Vanessa filled a maternal void in both men’s lives. When Vanessa had come to him with the proposal to start a lavender farm on the island, Jude jumped at the opportunity. Norm was happy for his wife, but never hid his resentment for his father backing her dreams while always turning a cold shoulder to his only son’s requests. But Jude felt he could trust Vanessa, and it was a sound business plan. Norm, on the other hand, never thought things through and had the shoddy track record to prove it.

  “If you’d like, I could drive those out for you,” Jude said to Vanessa.

  “I just need to keep busy,” Vanessa finally spoke. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” Jude said.

  He turned to leave but hesitated at the greenhouse door.

  “If you need to talk,” he said, “I’m here.”

  Vanessa smiled at him. She knew that listening to someone’s feelings would be the last thing Jude would ever want to do. But that made the offer mean so much more to her.

  As Jude left her in the greenhouse, Vanessa finished loading up the ATV and opened the side door to drive out. As she pushed it forward, the handle poked her forearm and she winced at the pain. She pulled back her shirt sleeve to check the bandage it had covered. Peeling the medical tape back, she lifted the bandage to look at the large cut underneath. Relieved that she hadn’t re-opened the wound, she re-applied the bandage and rolled her sleeve back down to cover it.

  16

  The hospital room was bustling with paramedics, doctors, police officers and a couple of Coast Guard officers. Martha’s Vineyard Hospital didn’t have a morgue, so the medical staff and law enforcement teams were preparing for the Coast Guard to transport the body across the sound to Woods Hole. There was so much chaos in the room that no one even noticed Carla slip in.

  She maneuvered through the throngs toward the hospital bed that was serving as the temporary home of Jane’s body. Much to her dismay, however, the body was still encased in a black body bag.

  “Excuse me,” a man said to Carla, grabbing her arm. “Who are you?”

  Carla turned to face a tall, slim man in his mid-40s with close-cropped hair as white as snow. Carla waved her medical examiner badge quickly in front of the man’s face.

  “I’m a medical examiner,” she blurted. “Just wanted to take a quick look.”

  “Like hell you are,” the man said, tightening his grip on the Carla’s arm. “Who let this woman in here?”

  “I am a medical examiner,” Carla explained. “I’m just…”

  “Do you people have no shame?” the man asked.

  A police officer stepped forward to help.

  “Can you keep the press out of here?” the white-haired man snapped to the officer.

  But before he could haul Carla out of the room, Detective Turner stepped forward.

  “She’s not with the press,” he said, looking Carla dead in the eyes. “But she still shouldn’t be here.”

  “Detective, I came to offer my services,” Carla said. “I know you don’t have an M.E. on the island.”

  “Doctor Vincent is our county M.E.,” Turner said, pointing at the white-haired man. “We’re transporting the body over to his office in Woods Hole now.”

  “But that’s on Cape Cod,” Carla said.

  “That’s why the Coast Guard is here,” Turner replied back. “Now I appreciate all of this southern hospitality, but you and your boyfriend need to let us do our jobs. Believe it or not, we are more than capable.”

  They were distracted by the crash of metal instruments behind them. A woman had stepped backwards into a tray of equipment, toppling it on its side.

  “Nurse! Would you pay attention?” the white-haired doctor yelled.

  The petite nurse shrunk back into the wall, her big doe eyes red and swollen from tears. Turner stepped between the red-faced doctor and the nurse.

  “Come on, Doc. Take it easy,” he said.

  “Oh. Are you going to get in my way, too?” the doctor yelled indignantly. “I have a body to move!”

  “That ‘body’ was her best friend,” Turner snapped back. “So you’re going to need to cut her a little slack.”

  Carla looked over at the nurse and realized the tears weren’t from embarrassment, but from grief.

  “Well, if she’s her best friend, she’s going to want to let me do my job so I can help find her killer,” the doctor snapped back at Turner before shifting his glare to the nurse. “Will that work for you?”

  The nurse nodded her head, trying to stay as stoically professional as possible. Carla stepped back as the medical team transferred Jane’s body from the hospital bed to a gurney. Clearly, she wasn’t going to get a chance to do her own examination. She watched the nurse help the Coast Guard officers wheel the gurney out of the room
while Dr. Vincent bellowed demands at anyone who would listen.

  As the nurse passed her, she looked up and the two women locked eyes. The poor nurse seemed to be barely holding it together, and Carla’s heart broke for her. But she knew she’d need to talk to her. Her stomach did somersaults. Carla was more comfortable examining bodies than interrogating witnesses. But if she was going to help, she needed to step out of her comfort zone.

  Carla took a deep breath and followed the medical team, but was pulled back when someone grabbed her arm.

  17

  Sam pulled the Jeep into the driveway and stepped out. Either keeping the windows rolled down was actually helping to get rid of the fish smell or Sam was getting used to it. Either way, it wasn’t bothering him as much, so he was happy. Besides, if you’re going to smell like fish, might as well be in a fishing village.

  He had come back to Vanessa’s house after a second trip to the police station. He had hoped some of the other officers would be willing to offer him some information about the case, but they all had been as distrustful of an outsider as Turner. Not that Sam blamed him. He’d be the same way if some tourist detective walked into his station and demanded information on a case he was working on.

  Carla and her sister were gone but Sam recognized Jude’s truck in the driveway. He let himself in the house and yelled out for him, but there was no answer. Figuring he was probably out in the large garage barn behind the house, Sam opened the refrigerator door and stared inside, foraging around for something to snack on.

  He was distracted by an odd noise on the back deck. The curtains to the sliding glass door had been drawn overnight, so, after grabbing an apple, Sam walked across the living room to open them. He yanked back the curtain and stared into the face of an older man. Letting out a yell, he dropped the apple and as he stepped backwards, tripped on it.

  As he toppled to the floor, he realized the man was Jude.

  “Oh, good,” Jude said, stepping inside and ignoring what had just happened. “I was hoping to find you.”

  Sam picked up the apple and scurried to his feet.

  “Damn apple,” he said, making an excuse.

  Jude walked past him, shaking his head. Sam wasn’t sure if it was in disbelief or disgust.

  He followed the old man into the kitchen, feeling an odd need to try to impress Jude.

  “You know Vanessa is my daughter-in-law,” Jude said, sitting down at the table. “She’s actually more like a daughter.”

  “Is that because Norm is your son?” Sam joked.

  From the lack of response, Sam quickly realized that fun time was over.

  “Vanessa’s responsible,” Jude said. “Norm tries to do the right thing.”

  “I see there how you emphasized the word tries,” Sam asked.

  “He doesn’t think. He’s too impulsive. Like a kid,” Jude continued. “And he keeps pulling Vanessa down with him. I don’t like that. Norm can take care of himself. I taught him that much. But Vanessa shouldn’t have to pay the price for Norm’s shortcomings.”

  “You think he killed Jane?” Sam asked, cutting to the chase.

  Jude stared at the Texas lawman in front of him.

  “I can tell you one thing. He’s not a killer,” Jude answered. “But if he did it, I’ll be the first to help bring him in. The law is the law. I just need you to know that he’s not a killer. Because I don’t know if Paul Turner believes that.”

  He explained that Turner and Norm had a long-standing feud. Even in high school they were rivals. Whether it was sports or girls, they were always at odds.

  “Paul’s a good cop,” Jude said. “But we don’t get a lot of murders on the island. And he’s way too proud to ever admit he’s in over his head.”

  “I already told Vanessa I’d help find out who did this,” Sam said.

  “I know,” Jude said as he stood up from the table. “Come with me.”

  They walked out the front door to Jude’s pickup, and Jude pulled a silver metal box from the passenger seat.

  “What’s this?” Sam said as Jude handed it to him.

  “Portable police scanner that hooks up in your car,” Jude answered. “Paul’s not going to tell you what’s going on. You’re going to have to find out on your own.”

  18

  Carla had returned to Vanessa’s home slightly deflated. When she had tried to follow the nurse, Detective Turner had grabbed her arm to stop her. He chided her for interfering and made sure she was escorted back to her car before she could even get the nurse’s name. She complied, knowing she could go back at a later time easily enough. Then she decided the easiest thing to do would be to ask her sister.

  Vanessa was sitting on the back porch with a glass of white wine and staring off at the ocean in the distance. After planting the lavender cuttings, she had surveyed the farm but realized Jude had everything under control. With no actual work to do, she returned home. She might as well enjoy an afternoon drink.

  Carla walked on to the back porch, noticing the wine glass in her sister’s hand.

  “Starting early today?” she asked.

  “Hey, I waited until the afternoon,” Vanessa answered.

  Carla revealed a wine glass that she had brought outside with her.

  “That’s good enough for me,” she said with a smile.

  Vanessa grabbed the bottle of Pinot Grigio next to her chair and poured a glass for her younger sister.

  “How did it go with the medical examiner?” she asked.

  Carla filled her in on the chaos at the hospital and the status of Jane’s body. She then asked her sister about the nurse who claimed to be Jane’s best friend. Vanessa nodded.

  “That would have to be Gina Moffet,” she said. “Although best friend might be stretching it.”

  “Why do you say that?” Carla asked.

  Vanessa thought about her answer and then shrugged her shoulders.

  “You know what? For all I know, she could be her best friend,” she said.

  She explained that she knew Gina in passing, but that was about it.

  “She lives and works in Oak Bluffs,” Vanessa explained. “I tend to stay up island as much as I can.”

  “But Jane lives around here,” Carla said.

  “Jane is much more of a social creature than I am,” Vanessa said with a laugh before suddenly growing somber. “Was.”

  She suddenly spun around in her seat and faced Carla.

  “You don’t think Norm did it, do you?” she asked.

  Carla squeezed her sister’s hands. “Of course not,” she answered.

  She hoped her sister didn’t notice the slight hesitation in her voice. But Carla barely knew Norm. She didn’t know what he was or wasn’t capable of. She had been involved with too many murder cases where the attacker turned out being the one everyone suspected least. She had learned to keep an open mind until there was conclusive evidence.

  “Do you think Sam can find the real killer?” Vanessa asked.

  Carla smiled proudly. “I have no doubt,” she said. “He’s a better cop than he even realizes.”

  “I just have to believe he showed up here for a reason,” Vanessa said.

  Carla laughed. “Uh, yeah. He showed up here for me.”

  The two women laughed until it settled into a comfortable silence.

  “Can I tell you something?” Vanessa finally asked.

  Carla turned to her sister and nodded.

  Vanessa’s voice cracked as she spoke.

  “I don’t know if I’m sure Norm didn’t do it.”

  19

  The next morning, Sam drove to Menemsha Harbor to check out Norm’s boat. He yawned, still exhausted from the day before. He had spent the evening with Carla and her sister, trying to calm her about the police’s suspicion of Norm. He had explained that police investigations can be more about eliminating suspects than zeroing in on them, and that the police just wanted to remove his name from the list.

  That was a lie, of course. In rea
lity, Detective Turner considered Norm his primary suspect and Sam feared he wasn’t staying open to other possibilities. It made it even more important to find Norm fast. And hopefully he would have a good alibi for where he was the night of the murder.

  Carla had also told Sam about Vanessa’s uncertainty about her husband’s innocence. But by the time he had got back to the house, she seemed to have buried those suspicions and was once again steadfastly certain of his innocence. Still, something had caused that lapse in belief and he hoped Carla could get it out of her.

  Sam pulled into the parking lot of Menemsha Harbor. The 300-year-old fishing port looked exactly the way Sam imagined an old fishing harbor would. The first thing he noticed was the row of gray shingled shacks that backed up to a wooden dock lined with various fishing vessels. The rest of the harbor was filled with a wide range of boats: from shiny, new luxury sailboats to beat-up commercial fishing vessels. While it had become a bit of a tourist attraction, especially because of the beautiful sunsets seen from the adjoining beach, it was still a working harbor and the hub for many of the island’s local fishermen, including Norm Mayhew.

  Sam parked Norm’s work truck in the lot at the end of the harbor and walked toward the small building at the dock’s edge. The gas pump in front of it led Sam to believe it was a place where he could find someone in charge. As he got closer, the word HARBORMASTER scrawled in red paint above the door confirmed his instincts. Just as he grabbed the door handle a deep baritone voice called out from further down the dock.

  “I’ll be right there,” the man shouted.

  Sam looked down the harbor and a portly man in a dark blue windbreaker waved as he walked toward him, clearly in no hurry. When he turned to yell something to a fisherman behind him, Sam noticed the word HARBORMASTER in white letters across the back of the windbreaker.

  “Door’s locked,” the man said as he got closer to Sam. “Already been that kind of morning.”