Grey Lady

by Paul Kemprecos

  I laid my hand on his shoulder. “Good. Now here’s the deal. I’m like a one-armed juggler. It’s only a matter of time before I drop a ball. I can’t help you if you get into trouble. But you can help me by doing what I ask.”

  “Okay. I understand. I think. What do you want me to do?”

  “You want to play detective? This is how you do it. Go back to your office and start researching someone named Michael Ramsey. He’s a venture capitalist. Dig out every nugget of information you can. Mostly, I want to know if he is as rich as he wants people to think he is.”

  Alex took a pad from his pocket and jotted down some notes.

  “I know people in the financial business I can talk to.”

  “Just be careful what you say to them. I don’t want this getting back to Ramsey. Next, I want you to research a scientist named Sean Malloy. He owns a company named Marine Autonomous Corporation. MAC for short. It’s near Woods Hole. When you dig out the information on these gentlemen, call me. If I’m not there, leave a message.”

  He made some more notes. “Is that it?”

  I reached in my pocket and pulled out the ferry schedules. “That’s it. The Steamship Authority boat leaves in twenty minutes. Go.”

  He gave me a handshake and a hug, then made a fast exit from the bar. I sipped my mug. My beer had gone flat, but I drank it anyhow. A few minutes later, I was in the MG heading toward Siasconset. Maybe it was time to check in on my client again.

  The front door of the Daggett house was unlocked. I went in and heard shouting from the second floor. I climbed the stairs and followed the voices to Daggett’s living quarters.

  I pressed my ear to the thick wooden door. Rosen was speaking in a loud voice. I caught the word Starbuck uttered a few times, then something about a mutiny. I couldn’t hear everything because a voice that was clearly Daggett’s was shouting over Rosen’s. The voices were getting louder. The temperature of the argument was definitely rising. I heard Rosen shout again. Nearer the door this time.

  I edged down the hallway and hid in a linen closet. Daggett’s door opened and shut. I heard Rosen laughing as he walked by my hiding place. I waited a couple of minutes, then emerged from my cubbyhole and knocked softly on Daggett’s door.

  He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was hoarse. “Aye,” was all that he said.

  “It’s Starbuck, Captain Ahab.”

  Another pause. “Starbuck the traitor?”

  Something had changed since my last visit. “No,” I said. “Starbuck your first mate and friend, sir.”

  “What doest thou want?” He sounded almost fearful.

  “Would the captain have time for a gam, sir?”

  No sailor could miss out on a chance to exchange gossip. “A gam, yes. But come alone. And unarmed.”

  “As you wish, Captain.”

  I slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open. The captain stood facing me on the upraised floor in front of the big windows. He was holding his brass spyglass in two hands as if he were about to take a swing at a fast ball. His face was contorted in anger.

  I stopped. “Permission to approach the quarterdeck, Captain Ahab.”

  “Granted, but do it slowly and stay where I can keep an eye on thee.”

  I advanced to within a couple of yards of the raised platform floor.

  “Halt!” Daggett said. “Show thy hands. I’ll have no weapons on my deck.” He gripped the spyglass.

  I spread my palms wide apart. “Why would I have a weapon?”

  “Mutiny! Treachery. Murder most foul. ‘Tis not the first time I’ve had to stove in the skull of a forecastle pirate who thinks he can take my ship from under my one good leg. It’s a flogging and bread and water for any man who follows the lead of a mutineer.”

  “And I will stand by your side as your first officer. No one will take the Pequod from thee without a fight.”

  Doubt flickered in the angry eyes. “He said you were a traitor. That thou hast taken the side of the white whale that lopped my leg off and made me a poor limping cripple.”

  “Who said that, Captain?” I already knew the answer to the question.

  “That scurvy forecastle hand who brings me my midday meal.”

  “Who would thou believe, Captain? A scurvy hand or your first mate?”

  “Thou doubted me before, Starbuck. Thou couldst doubt me again.”

  “Never, Captain. My harpoon awaits to strike the white whale. Hast thou found him?”

  The fire went out of his eyes. “Aye, Starbuck. Soon his carcass will be food for the sharks and we will be on our way back to Nantucket with the oil of the accursed creature cramming our holds.”

  He stepped off the raised floor and beckoned me to his chart table. Setting the spyglass down, he pointed to a chart of the Pacific. The ship’s course was about to intersect with the path of Moby Dick. I tried to leverage Daggett’s fantasy.

  “There will be plenty of teeth for the crew to carve, Captain. Coffin will tell our story in ivory for those who await us in Nantucket.”

  Daggett looked nonplussed. “Who is this Coffin ye speak of?”

  “The finest scrimshander on the ship, Captain.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Of course. None finer. But what of the mutiny?”

  “There is no mutiny, Captain. The men are ready to follow you to the jaws of hell.”

  The manic grin returned to his lips.

  “Then get thee to thy duties, Starbuck. Tell the men that Ahab has ordered an extra round of grog.” With new energy in his voice, he said. “And tell them that two days hence Moby Dick will pull us on a Nantucket sleigh-ride like no other.” He was shouting now. “Tell them, Starbuck! And give the lads extra rations too, so they have the strength that will allow them to hurl their harpoons like lightning bolts and drive the lances into the heart of the beast!”

  The door to the captain’s quarters suddenly flew open. Dr. Rosen stepped in. “What are you doing here?” he said.

  “Captain Ahab and I were chatting about the metaphorical aspects of Herman Melville’s writing. See you later, Captain.”

  Rosen stared at Daggett’s beaming face, then he followed me out into the hallway and slammed the door behind him.

  “This man is under my care, Socarides. You are to stay away from him.”

  “Sorry, Dr. Rosen. You’re only a deck hand. As first mate of the Pequod, I take my marching orders from Captain Ahab.”

  He stuck his jaw inches from mine. Dr. Rosen was younger than me, and his body hadn’t been dissipated by my attempts to keep the breweries working a twenty-four-hour shift. He could have broken me apart. I’m a great believer in the adage that a kick in the crotch makes all men the same size. I tensed my knee for an upward swing. My calm smile must have warned Rosen that I had something in mind, because he backed off.

  “You’re a dead man,” he said.

  He spun on his heel and stalked off down the hallway. I let out the breath I’d been holding, and left the house. Rosen was nowhere to be seen. I hoped he was running off his anger, but I didn’t really care. What’s one more enemy, more or less?

  Lisa wasn’t happy after I ratted out Rosen for getting Daggett upset.

  “I’m going to fire that man. He’s nothing but a quack and he hasn’t done a thing to help my grandfather. Now he’s poisoning his mind. What in god’s name was he up to?”

  We were sitting on the deck of a harbor side restaurant where we’d gone for dinner.

  “We haven’t been pals since I questioned his treatment methods over breakfast. But it’s obvious that he’s trying to keep your grandfather in his confused state.”

  “Which is all the more reason to fire him.”

  I put my hand on hers. “Not yet. I want to keep him around until
I figure out his connection to Ramsey.”

  “But in the meantime, he is damaging my grandfather and preventing his chances for a recovery.”

  “Then tell him that you know what has been going on. He’ll say that I’m lying about it, but if he knows you’re onto him, he’ll back off. He’ll go to Ramsey for marching orders.”

  “That’s something else that has me puzzled. Why would Michael want to harm my grandfather? It makes no sense.”

  “It will in time, Lisa. We learn something new every day. Speaking of Ramsey, Lillian filled me in on the shell game the Navy played with her family land.”

  “It was absolutely heart-breaking. Lillian knew every square inch of the property. She took me there a number of times to show me where she played as a girl.”

  “Wondered if I could borrow a map of Mayhew Point.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “The Navy angle intrigues me. I’d like to take a closer look around, but I don’t see any more cocktail party invitations in my future.”

  “I can show you how to get onto the property without anyone knowing. The point is flanked by extensive marshland and creeks. There used to be a bridge across one of the marshes. It’s rotted away, but it can still be used to get to the property.”

  “Will you show me how to get there later tonight?”

  She pinned me with her gaze. “How will roaming around Ramsey’s estate in the dark help my grandfather?”

  “I can’t answer that question, Lisa. I’ve never been wrong when I’ve followed my gut. And I have a gut feeling that practically everything I’ve learned about this case is connected to everything else. Ramsey seems to have a strong interest in your grandfather. Maybe it’s time for us to have an equally strong interest in Ramsey.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” she said in a determined tone. “Where do we start?”

  CHAPTER 21

  Zero hour was set for nine o’clock.

  The plan was simple. Lisa would go home and check on her grandfather. She’d make a point of telling Rosen that she had to attend a conservation trust meeting. We’d rendezvous around eight-thirty. She gave me the key to her office. I asked her to grab my duffel bag from the apartment.

  From the restaurant, I walked a few blocks to the hotel Alex had staked out. I thought about sitting on the bench, but it was washed by headlights every time a car came around the corner. I hid instead in the shadows of a shop doorway where I had a clear view into the alley behind the hotel kitchen.

  The dinner hour was in full swing. Delicious food smells flowed from the kitchen vent. The clatter of dishes echoed through the screen door that led from the kitchen into the alley. Before branching out into frozen pizza, my family had run a restaurant. I knew the drill. After dinner, the clean-up crew would scrub down the kitchen and get it ready for the prep crew’s arrival in the early hours of the morning. The trash truck would arrive to empty the dumpster. The delivery trucks would roll off the first ferry with loads of produce, meat and baked goods. The kitchen crew would turn the raw materials into luncheon specials to be cooked up by the next shift.

  More surveillance would be needed to figure out which truck carried the drugs back to the mainland. It was a pretty good system, although the taxpayers who paid for Chili’s chef training in prison might not think much of their investment. The kitchen and alley were the distribution point for goods brought onto the island. For express deliveries, the truck could make an airport run and little packages of pills could wing their way anywhere in the country.

  As head prep cook, Chili could hire his staff from a roster of names he’d picked up in jail. No one would ever suspect such nefarious doings at a posh hotel in the heart of old Nantucket.

  That was my theory, anyhow. The big question was what to do about it. I could make an anonymous call to the police and let them clean up the operation. But that might get messy. The cops could find Alex’s name and number in Chili’s possession. The Socarides family name would be dragged through the mud. I decided not to try to sink the drug operation until I figured out the link to Ivan. Chili would have to wait.

  I had some time before I met Lisa, so I walked over to Petticoat Row. Lights glowed in the windows of Sutcliffe’s house. I went up the front steps and rang the bell. Sutcliffe opened the door and greeted me with a big grin.

  “Wonderful to see you again,” he said, ushering me into his living room. “Glad you dropped by. Can I get you a drink? I’ve got some Jameson.”

  “Maybe a glass of water.” The clear head thing again.

  He made a sour face. “You know what fish do in water, don’t you?”

  “Afraid so. I’ll try not to think about it.”

  He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two tinkling glasses. I eyed the amber liquid in his glass with more than a little longing, then glanced around the room, which had been cleaned up.

  “Any leads on the break-in?”

  He frowned. “Cops are up to their eyeballs with the summer craziness,” he said. “An investigation into petty vandalism immediately goes onto the back burner. How about you? Making any progress on the Moshup caper?”

  “Hard to say. It’s tough digging into the past because all the witnesses are dead. Thought I’d start with the present and follow the trail back. There’s an obvious link between the late Mr. Coffin and his ancestor.”

  “The legendary scrimshaw collection?”

  “Not so legendary. This morning I talked to a New Bedford antique dealer named Mandel.”

  “Irving Mandel? He’s a heavy-hitter. Ab used to talk about him. What did he have to say?”

  “He said he learned about the collection from a dealer named Warner who’s got a rep for selling antiques with vague ownership. When Warner told him about the Coffin collection, Mandel blew him off without taking a look. Later, he mentioned it to Ab at a scrimshaw weekend and Coffin apparently did see the collection. He was very excited about it because the pieces all had to do with whaling, unlike the commercial carvings old Coffin was best known for.”

  “That jives with what I know. Ab practically went off the rails after he’d seen the collection.”

  “Mandel said Coffin wasn’t worried about the scrimshaw’s provenance. Warner had told him there was a good reason no one had heard about the collection before. Coffin had kept it secret. When Coffin died, it was auctioned off as part of his estate to pay bills.”

  “Old Coffin was in dire financial straits. I’m surprised he didn’t sell off the collection when he was still alive.”

  “I sent Warner a message saying I was a rich collector. Maybe he’ll take the bait.”

  “I hope he can shed light on this mystery.”

  “Speaking of island mysteries,” I said. “I heard about an old Navy base where there was some hush-hush stuff going on.”

  “No mystery there,” he said with a smile. “You’re talking about the naval installation at the end of Tom Nevers Road. The land is near the airport. It used to be a bombing range back in World War II. Then in 1955 the navy set up a submarine listening post to keep track of Soviet subs. Things got really interesting in the Cold War.”

  “In what way?”

  “They built a bomb shelter for President Kennedy there. If he happened to be at Hyannisport during a nuclear attack, they would airlift him over here and he’d go underground. They had a sister shelter in Florida for when he vacationed in Palm Beach. The navy gave up Tom Nevers in 1976. The Nantucket Hunting Association uses the old shelter for storage.”

  “I talked with Lillian Mayhew. She told me about the navy taking her family property.”

  “More Cold War stuff. Heard the Navy built something out there, but I don’t know much about it.”

  “Lillian is still upset about the land transfer to Ramsey.”

&nbs
p; “I don’t blame her. That was a crappy thing. One more mystery that needs clearing up. You could be a busy guy. Sure you don’t want a Jameson?”

  “I’ll take a rain check.” I glanced at my watch. “Sorry to run. I’ve got a date.”

  Sutcliffe smiled. “If it’s with Lisa Hendricks, I don’t blame you for dashing off. She’s a lovely and smart lady.”

  “I agree. Unfortunately, for now anyhow, she’s the boss and I’m the hired gumshoe.”

  “Well good luck, anyhow,” he said. “Come back again when you can stay longer.”

  We shook hands. I said I would keep him in the loop. From Sutcliffe’s house, I made my way to Lisa’s office. I found the Mayhew Point map in the drawer where Lisa said it would be and spread it out on the desktop. The map was labeled: Proposed Land Trust Acquisition.

  The point was shaped like a broad arrowhead, more or less equal on both sides. Extensive marshes and salt water creeks flanked the point. An unpaved road was the only access before Ramsey built his mega-mansion, but there was another access way, Lisa said, a bridge over one of the marshes, that was not shown on the map.

  I was still poring over the map when Lisa showed up. She was wearing the fashionable pant suit I had seen her in earlier. She dropped my duffel, which landed with a loud thud on the floor.

  “That’s heavy! What do you have in there?”

  “A few toys I borrowed from the Boston Police Department’s storeroom.”

  She hiked an eyebrow and said she had better change. When she emerged from the bathroom she was wearing a dark red jump suit with white trim. Ninja chic, I guess. I went into the bathroom with my satchel to change into a black uniform that I’d liberated from the SWAT wardrobe at the Boston PD. I pulled my baseball cap down over my eyes.

  She smiled in approval when she saw me. “At least one of us looks official.”