Grey Lady

by Paul Kemprecos

  “Was there any chance Coffin could have changed Mr. Daggett’s mind?”

  “All I can say is that Henry would have had to hit a grand slam to change Ab’s mind. Which reminds me.” She had been keeping an eye on the silent television screen, but now she turned up the volume. The batter had just clocked a triple off the Green Monster and the man on second had scored a run, leading the Yankees. It was the eighth inning. I knew I had lost her. Before she was swept up in the game, I got in another question.

  “Do you have the name of the scrimshaw dealer Mr. Coffin was talking to?”

  She opened a drawer in the desk, pulled out a business card and handed it to me. I thanked her and headed for the door.

  I was halfway there when I heard her say, “How about those Red Sox?”

  CHAPTER 12

  The smoky tendrils of fog that had cut short my jaunt around the harbor merged into a thicket of gray. Nudged by a steady offshore breeze, the fog bank rolled in from the sea, dimming the sun to a pale disk, muffling sound and sending the temperature down to goose-bump levels. The animal cut-outs of elephants, giraffes and rhinos looked less playful in the fog, looming out of the murk like creatures from a Jurassic age.

  Lisa’s Jeep was parked off the road next to a split rail fence, not far from the plywood animals. I pulled the MG up beside the Wrangler. Lisa stepped out to greet me and swept her arm around like a real estate agent trying to move a dog off a property.

  “How do you like a Nantucket fog blow?” she said.

  I squinted, but it didn’t help me see through the murk. “Maybe we should come back when we can see better.”

  The Sankety lighthouse tower high on a bluff a few miles distant was completely hidden from sight. The umbrella-shaped trees were obscured behind a misty shroud. Visibility had been cut to less than a hundred yards.

  “Don’t worry. We won’t be operating blind.” She reached into the Jeep and pulled out a map, which she spread out on the hood. “The official name for this area is the Middle Moors. There are extensive cranberry bogs to the northeast and a pond due north. There’s even a hill called Kilimanjaro. The moors encompass nearly four thousand acres.”

  I let out a low whistle. “That would be a lot to cover even on a clear day.”

  “I agree, but we’re only interested in a small section.” She tapped the map with her long fingernail. “The bird-watcher encountered Gramps here, a few hundred yards off the main trail. Is there anything special we should be looking for?”

  “Not that I can think of. We’ll know if we find it. Can you think of any reason he’d come to the Serengeti?”

  “It was one of his favorite island spots. He liked to walk here and spot birds. He may have sought refuge in a place he loved.”

  “Let’s go with that for now. The medical report in the case file says the blunt force trauma to your grandfather’s head was hard enough to knock him out. So why wasn’t he out cold at the museum when the cops showed up?”

  “Maybe he eventually woke up and drove here.”

  “I don’t buy it. I’ve been clouted a couple of times and the first thing you want to do when you regain consciousness is to throw up. The last thing you want to do is to get behind the wheel of a car. He would have been dazed and disoriented. His vision would have been blurred. He would have had to navigate the maze of roads around town in that condition, and then find his way here in the dark.”

  “Are you saying he was brought here?”

  “Someone could have killed Coffin, snuck up behind Henry, clubbed him and dumped him out here.”

  “But his car was here. How would you explain that?”

  “You be the detective. How would you explain it?”

  It only took her a second. “Someone followed the driver and picked him up.”

  “Elementary, my dear Lisa.”

  She pinched her chin between her thumb and forefinger. “That would suggest that more than one person is involved.”

  “It would certainly suggest malice aforethought.”

  “You mean the whole thing, the murder and framing my grandfather, could have been planned?”

  “I can’t prove it. Yet. So let’s go for a walk. Maybe something will jump out at us.”

  There are times when I wish I’d keep my big mouth shut, and this was one of them.

  We climbed over the fence, followed a trail of hard-packed dirt a short distance and stopped near a scrub oak tree. We were only a few hundred feet from the road, but our cars were invisible in the fog. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees.

  Lisa referred to her map. “Here’s where Gramps veered off the trail. And here’s where he was found.”

  I pointed to some oaks and pitch pines that were ghostly silhouettes in the rolling mists.

  “Since we don’t have a compass, we’ll have to navigate by dead reckoning,” I said. “Those trees will be one point of a triangle. The pines that way, off to the right, are another. And where we are standing is the apex. As long as we can see the trees, we won’t get lost. We can always head toward the noise of the road traffic if the fog gets worse.”

  Using a ballpoint pen, Lisa marked the points of the triangle on the map. We pushed through the knee-high tangle of ground cover to the first stand of trees. The hum of traffic gradually faded until there was only the rustle of our footsteps through the grass.

  We reached the trees and stopped. We were surrounded by a deep silence. It was as if the fog were trying to deprive us of our senses. First sight, then sound.

  “This place has always reminded me of the English moors Thomas Hardy used to write about,” Lisa said.

  “I was thinking more about the curse of the Baskervilles. If you hear a dog howling, run for the manor house.” The second clump of trees was a hundred feet away. Fog was nibbling away at the thinner limbs so only the main trunks were visible. I warned Lisa that if we didn’t move quickly, we’d lose the next way-point.

  She started walking, and that’s when an odd thing happened. An oak branch was hanging down in front of me, about a foot above my head. As I followed Lisa, a section of the branch separated from the main limb and fell to the ground. The effect was quite magical, and I wouldn’t have recognized what had caused such a strange phenomenon if I hadn’t heard the zip sound that a bullet makes as it shreds the air.

  I called out for Lisa to stop. She half turned, and a terrified look came to her eyes as she saw me bearing down on her like an enraged bull. I grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her down in a way that would allow my body to cushion the fall. The map flew from her hands.

  When we hit the ground, I put my mouth to her ear. “Keep your head down! Someone just took a shot at us.”

  “I didn’t hear any gunfire!”

  “The shooter is using a sound suppressor.”

  Lisa looked unconvinced at first, but she quickly became a believer. A patch of bark flew off the trunk of the same oak tree that had lost its branch, exposing the white wood. Two more swatches of bark peeled away. Each piece was lower than the other. The shooter was lowering his aim.

  “Move!” I said. “That way. Stay down. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Another bullet dug into the tree inches above our heads. Lisa didn’t have to be told twice. She got onto her knees and elbows and crawled like a Marine recruit on his first day at Parris Island. None too soon. A bullet dug a divot from the earth at the base of the tree where we had been lying. If not for the fog hiding our movements, we would have been dead meat. On the way in, we had walked by a wooden tree perch, probably there for bird-watchers. It would have been a perfect place for a sniper’s nest.

  We crawled until we got into higher grass. I whispered at Lisa to stop. The sniper would have figured out he had missed his target and climbed down from the perch. I could
picture him standing in the fog, ears cocked for the snap of a twig or some other sound that would give our position away. I moved up beside Lisa and placed my hand gently over her lips.

  We waited like a couple of rabbits spooked by a hunter.

  The waiting game was about to end. We could hear the swish-swish of someone moving through the grass. I pushed myself up on an elbow and saw a shadowy figure coming our way. I coiled my legs under me. If the shooter found our hiding place, I’d spring out of the grass. Maybe Lisa could get away. It was a frail reed to cling to, but it was all I had. But the shadow moved past us, passing within twenty feet, and headed toward the tree where we had been standing when the first shots were fired.

  As the footfalls receded, we started crawling again. At one point, I rolled over on my side and looked behind me. I was startled to see that blades of grass had been broken by our passage, leaving a trail that an experienced tracker could follow. I tapped her on the leg and signaled a stop.

  For a minute or two there was only silence, then I heard footsteps again. I held my breath and let it out only when the footsteps moved away from us. They seemed purposeful, hurried, as if the shooter had something in mind. I urged Lisa forward. We’d crawl a minute, then stop to listen. Then we’d crawl again. Our elbows and knees were being scraped raw.

  The land dipped suddenly and we dropped into an old irrigation ditch about four feet deep.

  “We can get up, but we’ll have to stay low,” I said.

  I did a Quasimodo stoop to demonstrate. Then I helped her to her feet and led the way, following the ditch until it came to an intersection. Then another. I tripped over a weathered two-by-four-section of lumber around three feet long that must have floated in when the ditch held water. I picked it up, thinking it might come in handy if the shooter was stupid enough to get within range.

  Darkness was falling and we soon became lost. I called a rest stop.

  Which was when I heard the sound.

  I cursed in the language of my Cretan ancestors.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Listen.”

  She cupped her ear, but it wasn’t necessary. The buzz of traffic was clearly audible. I had led us in a big circle, back to the road. Assuming we had moved deeper into the Serengeti, we had made little attempt to cloak our footsteps and our voices. If the shooter were still around, we would have put ourselves in jeopardy once more.

  I motioned for us to go back the way we had come. Too late! Footsteps were crunching our way. They were no longer stealthy, as if their source didn’t care about being heard or not. And they were near. I moved Lisa aside and stood in front of her, clutching the board as if I were holding a Louisville slugger:

  I was standing in that position when the footsteps stopped, the blinding beam of a light hit me in the face, and a deep, familiar voice snickered.

  “Funny place for batting practice, Soc.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Flagg had literally dropped down from the clouds. His executive jet had landed at Tom Nevers airfield only a few miles from where Lisa and I dodged bullets in the Serengeti. He told us this as we walked back to Milestone Road. His rental car was parked next to the MG. He said he had been on his way to the Daggett house to track me down.

  “Saw that dinky little red convertible you told me you were driving. Crazy place for anyone to leave a car like that so I figured it was you.”

  “See anyone else?” I said.

  “Nope. But I heard someone crashing through the bushes over there. Then a car took off. Must have laid down an inch of tire rubber.”

  “Someone was shooting at us,” Lisa said in a flat voice.

  “Huh,” Flagg said, in an approximation of a laugh. “How long have you known Soc, Ms. Hendricks?”

  “Only a few days.”

  “Do tell. You really know how to show a gal a good time, Soc. What’s going on?”

  “I’d be happy to tell you what’s going on after you’re through making lame wise-cracks, Flagg.”

  “How about starting now? I’m on a limited schedule. I told the pilot to keep the engines running.”

  I suggested we go back to the Daggett house. Lisa left the Jeep and rode with me in the MG. Flagg followed in the rental car.

  “Are you okay?” I said as we headed toward Siasconset.

  “I’ll be fine after I clean up. How about you?”

  “A little sore in the knees and elbows. But it could have been worse.”

  She shuddered. “Yes, it could have been. Thanks for getting us out of that mess.”

  “Wish I could claim total credit. We might still be running around in the fog if Flagg hadn’t shown up.”

  “Who is that man?”

  “Flagg is a Wampanoag Indian from Martha’s Vineyard. We know each other from way back. He works for the government now.”

  “He’s a strange man,” she said. “Almost scary.”

  “Flagg is a tough guy in a tough business, but under that imposing exterior beats the heart of a human being.”

  She paused. “He’s a bit like you in that respect, isn’t he?”

  “In some ways, I guess. Flagg likes to go by the book. I threw the book out the window a long time ago.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  My mind flashed back to the seedy bar in Quang Tri where I first encountered Flagg. I had saved him from being stabbed by a drunken soldier and we became good friends. Flagg was part of Operation Phoenix, a rough-playing counter-insurgency group. Our friendship went down the drain after I thought, erroneously, that he had tossed a prisoner out of a helicopter. I didn’t learn the truth, that he had nothing to with it, until years later when we found ourselves working together on a case. We’ve been friends ever since. Flagg has repaid me tenfold for that night in the bar. He went on to work for a shadowy division of the CIA. I became a cop, then a fisherman.

  I could have told Lisa all this, but I simply said, “We met in Vietnam. He works in security for the government. Top-secret stuff. I called him the other day and told him I was working a case on Nantucket.”

  Lisa slipped into that silent, thoughtful mode I had noticed before. I dropped her off at the house so she could change and Flagg came up to my apartment where he settled into a kitchen chair. Flagg seemed to fill the room with a forceful presence that went way beyond his physical size. I offered him a beer, but he asked for instant coffee.

  I grabbed a Grey Lady ale and sat across from him. “It’s great to see you, Flagg.”

  “You, too, Soc. Your friend Lisa is a nice lady.”

  “She’s smart, too.”

  “All the more reason not to bring her into your little quarrel with Chernko. She could have been hurt tonight.”

  I felt heat flushing my cheeks. His comment hit home.

  “No argument there, Flagg. I got careless. I should have seen this one coming.”

  “Fill me in. I’ve got thirty minutes before I have to leave. I was on my way across the Atlantic and persuaded the pilot to make a quick stop to see my old friend Soc. Good thing I did, seeing you ignored my warning about Chernko.”

  “It’s more complicated than that. I’m working for Lisa. Her grandfather is being charged with murder and I’m the investigator hired for the defense team.”

  “Did he do it?”

  “I don’t think so, but he’s gone off the deep end. He thinks he’s Ahab chasing a white whale.”

  “Serious?”

  “Very.”

  After I gave him a summary of the Daggett case, Flagg said, “You sure know how to pick them. This sounds like a loser in my opinion. My guess is that you took the case because you wanted to be close to Chernko.”

  “Can’t deny it. I wanted to watch him. Now he’s watching me.”

  I told h
im about the encounter at Ramsey’s party.

  “You think there’s any connection to the shooting?”

  “Seems like an easy call, but there was only one shooter. From what I know, Chernko’s hit men work as a pair.”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “You like Lisa?” he said.

  “Very much. That’s why I’m helping her.”

  “Best way you can help her is to get off the island. Go far away for a while.”

  “Thanks, Flagg. I’ll think about it.”

  “But you won’t do it.”

  “That’s not bad advice, but Chernko and I are joined at the hip. I’ve pissed him off. He’ll use every resource he has to swat me down like an annoying fly. You know that.”

  “I know that it’s only luck that he missed you this time. He’ll try again.”

  “I’d be surprised if he didn’t.”

  “Guess that’s something.” Flagg glanced at his watch. “Sorry, but you’re on your own. Got to go save the world again.” He reached inside his windbreaker and pulled out a blue folder. “This report will tell you what you’re up against. You might want to change your mind after you read it. I wish I could lend a hand, but I’m gonna be out of the country, up to my eyeballs with government work for the next few days. Give me a call and I’ll help you find a place to hide. Say goodbye to the nice lady for me.”

  We walked down the stairs to the car and shook hands.

  “By the way,” I said. “I was jerking your chain about the casino in Aquinnah as a way to get your attention.”

  “Oh yeah, really had me fooled, Soc. Really fooled.” He burst into a deep laugh and was still chuckling when he got into the car.

  I watched until the red taillights disappeared down the driveway. And suddenly I felt very much alone.

  After a warm shower, I changed into running pants and sweatshirt, then I sat down with the report Flagg had given me and read the words on the cover: Forensic. Ivan Chernko. I had just turned to the first page when there was a soft knock. Lisa waved at me through the glass panes in the door. I tucked the report on top of the refrigerator and beckoned at her to come in. She was wearing a pink terry cloth bathrobe over red silk pajamas. Her long hair had been tied back in a French twist. She smelled like soap and water. She was carrying a bottle of red wine. She looked around the kitchen.