Grey Lady

by Paul Kemprecos

  “Yup. You wouldn’t know it from the inscription, but that block of granite marks the burial spot of Nantucket’s most famous cannibal.”

  I read aloud the name on the smaller, left-hand stone. Trixie Swain.

  “That’s his wife. The ex-prostitute. Stone on the other side is for Charles Swain, his only son.”

  I pointed to the reddish monument. “Is this the horse’s mouth you were talking about?”

  He nodded.

  “You forget to mention that the horse was dead.”

  “The dead tell tales, too, my friend,” he said in a hollow voice.

  There were a dozen or so rectangular white stones behind the three monuments in front. By moving from slab to slab, we traced the Swain progeny from the 19th century into the 20th. Charles had eight children, which meant that the family had grown exponentially. New names were added into the mix as women married into the family and had children of their own.

  Sutcliffe, who was a step or two ahead of me, knelt before the last stone in the chronology and read the names on it.

  He brushed some yellow lichen off the granite. “Now that’s interesting.”

  I squatted beside him and read the name of the deceased. “And that’s an understatement if I ever heard one.” I reached out and traced the letters with my forefinger. “You didn’t know about this?”

  “God, no! I would have followed up in a minute. This is great stuff.”

  I stood and looked around at the mute stones in the old burial ground. “Island fog.”

  It was a clear sunny afternoon. When Sutcliffe gave me a funny look, I told him the theory that I had come up with to explain the curtain of mystery that seemed to hang over the old island.

  “That’s a good way of putting it. But thanks to the miracles of modern science, I can cut through the fog. The historical society has a database on the stones in all the cemeteries. I’ll check it out and see what I can dig up.”

  “Let me know when you do.”

  “Could be a coincidence.”

  “You really think so?”

  He stared at the headstone. “I’ve written thousands of words about the history of Nantucket, but with something like this, I don’t know what to think. Want to talk about it over another round of beers?”

  “Another time. Got a dinner appointment with Lisa,” I said.

  We walked back into town. Before we went off on our separate ways, Sutcliffe promised to get back to me after he’d visited the historical society. We shook hands and he said, “Guess we jumped the gun thinking that the dirt you dug up on Swain was the end of the Moshup story.”

  I couldn’t deny that I’d been hit with a case of hubris, the Greek term for the exaggerated self-confidence that can incite the wrath of the gods. After all, this was Nantucket, a Chinese puzzle box mated to a Rubik’s cube. Just when I thought I was out of the maze, I came up against a blank wall.

  “No, it isn’t the end,” I said. “Not by a long shot.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Flagg had only been gone a short time, but I already missed him. On the drive back to Siasconset, I kept a nervous eye on the rearview mirror. The attempt to stuff me into an SUV had me on edge. If the Russians and their friends tried once, they would try again. At any second, a carload of thugs could come roaring up from behind and drive the little MG off the road.

  All I saw in the mirror were the golden rays of the setting sun filtering through rows of striated purple clouds. It’s called a mackerel sky because the cloud formation looks like the scale pattern on the fish of the same name. It’s usually a sign the weather is about to change. The yellowish tinge to the waning light meant wind and rain were in the cards. Bad things coming, any way you looked at it.

  Lisa’s Jeep was in the Daggett house driveway. Behind it was the Gomes’s pick-up truck. Rosen’s car wasn’t in its usual place in front of his cottage. I parked next to the garage and climbed the stairs to my apartment. I dug out my Ninja outfit and stacked the dark clothes on my bed in readiness for the night’s work. Lisa arrived with dinner a few minutes later. She was casually dressed in tan shorts and an aqua tank top. She was holding a tray and on it were some covered dishes and a bottle of Prosecco.

  “I decided to have dinner at home, if that’s okay.” She breezed by me and set the tray on the kitchen table. “Wine glasses, please?”

  “At your service, mademoiselle. May I suggest that we dine on the deck?”

  “That would be perfect,” she said as she rounded up dishes and placemats.

  I got two glasses out of the cupboard and set them on the deck table. The air was calm, allowing for a couple of candles. Lisa dished out chicken piccata and sauteed spinach with rosemary-flavored potatoes. In between bites and sips, we talked about inconsequential things like the weather, and the traffic in town. We topped off our meal with Italian-style salad and a fruit cup. I pushed back from the table and patted my stomach.

  “Does that mean dinner was okay?” she said.

  “Let me put it this way. If you serve another meal like that, you may never get rid of me.”

  She gave me her appraising look. “Thank you. Consider it a reward for suggesting that I see Gramps.”

  “You’re smiling, so I guess it went well.”

  “Better than well. I knocked on the door, and when he asked in his gruff Ahab voice who it was, I simply said, ‘It’s your granddaughter.’ There was a pause of a few seconds, as if he was thinking it over, and he told me to wait. After a minute, he said it was all right to come in. That’s when I got my first surprise.”

  “A good or bad surprise?

  “Good. He had combed his hair and beard.” She wrinkled her nose. “He smells a bit ripe and could use a hot shower. Anyhow, I got my second surprise when he said, ‘Lisa.’ ” She wiped a tear from her eye. When she spoke again, there was a slight catch in her voice. “Sorry for the waterworks, Soc, but it’s the first time he’s recognized me since he went into his delusional state.”

  “That’s enough to make anyone cry for joy, Lisa. Does your grandfather still think that you’re only a dream?”

  “It’s hard to tell. He stared at me for the longest time, then he stepped closer and reached out to touch my cheek. He drew back after a second. I think he was afraid that if he touched me I’d disappear like a soap bubble.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  She smiled. “He said, ‘art thou real, granddaughter?’ ”

  “How did you answer him?”

  “I said, ‘Yes, grandfather. I’m real. It’s time to come home to Nantucket.’ He seemed to recoil at the suggestion. He said he couldn’t come home, that he was fated to hunt down the white whale.”

  “He’s confused. He knows Melville’s book ends with Ahab tangled up in the harpoon lines, Moby dragging him down into the sea.”

  “If he goes along with that scenario, in his mind he’d be dead. So I cut away at the foundation of his delusion. I said, ‘It’s only a story, Gramps. I’m real, but Moby Dick isn’t. Don’t you remember all your books? He came out of Herman Melville’s imagination. The Pequod. Ahab. Ishmael. They’re all fiction.”

  “You were taking a chance.”

  “Yes, I know. But I was so frustrated. And I think it worked.”

  “In what way, Lisa?”

  “He’s aware that the story doesn’t have to end for him the way it does in the book. He’s fighting that. He’s lost that sour Ahab scowl. His features were more relaxed and he looked like my old Gramps again. He said he had to rest, that there was much to do. Here’s the good part. He told me to come back in a little while.”

  I leaned back in my chair and tented my fingers. “Congratulations, Ms. Freud. I think you’ve made a breakthrough.”

  “I’m sure of it. As I was saying good
bye, he called out, ‘I miss Lillian, too.’ ”

  “You’re definitely on the right track, Lisa. When do you plan to see him again?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know. Soon. Dr. Rosen saw me coming from the captain’s quarters and quizzed me on what I was doing there. I told him what happened. He got angry and advised me, that as the court-approved shrink, he must forbid me from seeing Gramps. I told him he was fired and had half an hour to vacate the cottage.”

  I let out a whooping laugh and raised my glass in toast. “To the swift return of the Pequod’s captain to the real world.”

  “I left a message with the D.A. outlining my reasons for a delay in the trial. Hoping to hear by tomorrow.”

  “That’s good. We need time to develop some leads.”

  I told her what I had learned about the scrimshaw collection and showed her the photos of the Coffin pieces. She studied the pictures and said, “These are fascinating in a gruesome sort of way, but I’m not sure how they relate to my grandfather’s case.”

  I arranged the photos in a row.

  “What we have here is eyewitness evidence in another murder case. Swain murdered Daggett and he and Coffin covered up the crime. Later, Swain acquired the scrimshaw so he could extend the cover-up. Flash forward to the present. The incriminating scrimshaw surfaces again. Ab Coffin realizes the significance and tries to bring the collection into the open. Someone stops him. Conclusion, counselor?”

  “Swain wasn’t the only one who wanted to suppress the truth,” Lisa ventured. “Someone more recently may have wanted the story behind the Moshup squashed.”

  “Bingo. That person was at the museum the night Coffin was killed.”

  Her jaw sagged. “Which would make the third person the murderer. Do you have any idea who that is?”

  “Not yet.” I glanced at my watch. Flagg was due in soon.

  “Sorry, Lisa. We’ll have to pick this up later. I have an appointment.”

  I began to clear the table. As we carried dishes into the kitchen she said, “This is an odd time to be meeting someone. Is this anything to do with my case?”

  “Not exactly. I’m going to the airport. Flagg is flying in.”

  “Thank goodness,” she said. “Does that mean you’ll be going back to Mayhew Point?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  As we passed the bedroom on the way to the kitchen, Lisa glanced through the open door. The black clothes were clearly visible on the bed.

  “It looks like more than a possibility,” she said.

  I shrugged.

  Without hesitation, she said, “I want to go with you.”

  “That’s not an option, Lisa. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Soc. It doesn’t become you.” She set the dishes down on the counter so hard that they rattled and turned to me. “I’m not anxious to go back there, but I’m thinking of your safety. As I recall, I was the one who prevented you from being chewed up by Michael’s guard dogs.”

  I did a verbal tap-dance step. “Tell you what,” I said. “Let’s let Flagg decide.”

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  She threw her arms around me in a quick hug, and said she had to go get her own Ninja outfit. I was off the hook. If I knew Flagg, he would never agree to Lisa’s request. As I would soon discover, I didn’t know Flagg well at all.

  The airport lobby was almost deserted. I asked the woman at the rental car counter if she had seen anyone come off a plane. She pointed. Flagg stood behind me holding a leather satchel. For a big man, he has the amazing ability to materialize like a ghost.

  “You’re ten minutes early,” I said.

  “Old habit. I never arrive when I’m expected,” he said. “Hello, Ms. Hendricks.”

  “Lisa.”

  “Hello, Lisa,” Flagg said. He shot a questioning glance in my direction.

  I shrugged. “Why don’t we discuss it in the car,” I suggested.

  We went out to the parking lot and headed for the Jeep.

  “Lisa knows about tonight,” I said. “She wants to go along. There are two big dogs on the property, and the last time we visited she had them wagging their tails.”

  Flagg said, “You know the property well, Lisa?”

  “I’ve been there a number of times. Michael Ramsey is an acquaintance.”

  “That’s good, Lisa, but here’s the thing. It’s always riskier to visit a target the second time around. Security cameras might have picked you up on the first visit. So they could be on the lookout for intruders. We may look over-the-hill, but Soc and I have experience in this kind of thing.”

  “Speak for yourself, Flagg.”

  “See. Soc’s getting touchy in his old age. What I’m saying, Lisa, is that we go back a long way. We’ve got to get to the bunker and rescue whoever is being held prisoner. Having you along could make it dangerous for us, too.”

  “I realize that I could be a liability. That’s why I propose I only go as far as the bridge that crosses the creek to Michael’s property. I can keep an eye on the Jeep and be available if you need any help from the outside.”

  Flag nodded. “Sounds okay. That okay with you, Soc?”

  I gave Flagg a hard look and Lisa one that was only slightly softer. I was outnumbered and outgunned. Arguing would be a waste of time.

  “Just as long as we stick to the plan. Lisa hangs back while the over-the-hill gang does its thing.”

  Lisa squeezed my arm, melting away my last shred of resistance. “I promise, Soc. But what are you going to do about the dogs?”

  Flagg hefted his bag. “Got some stuff here that’ll give the pups a little nap.”

  “Guess that’s it,” I said. “We’ve got one thing going for us on this trip.”

  “I’d like to hear what that is, Soc.”

  “The element of surprise. They won’t be expecting us to do anything so stupid.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Mayhew’s Point was less than a half hour’s drive from the airport. I wheeled the Jeep off the blacktop onto the rutted track that led to the clearing Lisa and I had used as a jump-off for our first incursion onto the Ramsey estate. The moon was veiled by a thickening overcast. Inky darkness enveloped us the second I killed the headlights.

  Flagg climbed from the back seat with his satchel and pulled a halogen flashlight from the bag. He turned it on, and without a word starting walking at a brisk pace toward the path that led to the old bridge.

  Lisa and I followed the bobbing bull’s-eye to the banking that overlooked the creek.

  “How’d you know the way to the bridge?” I asked.

  “Us Indians carry a natural compass,” he said.

  “Sure you do. Now how did you really know the way?”

  “Sometimes we use the white man’s mojo. Satellite images in this case. I memorized the terrain on the flight from DC. Got a pretty good idea of the lay of the land.” He pointed his flashlight at the bridge. “Whoee! You walked across on top those poles, Soc?”

  “What’s wrong, old-timer. Twinkle-toes not twinkly as they used to be?”

  “I’m fine, but your twinkly mouth is going to give us away.”

  “Pretty lame, Flagg.”

  “Best I could do for now. Sorry for the trash talk, Lisa. Soc and I haven’t worked with each other in a while. We’ve got lots of bad jokes saved up. Must seem crazy to you.”

  “No apology needed, John. I’ve only known Soc a few days, but it’s long enough to discover that he’s, uh, unconventional. It stands to reason his friends would be, too.”

  Flagg laughed, louder than he should have on a clandestine mission. “Unconventional. I like that.”

  He was still chuckling as he strode off in a loping walk and we followed the danc
ing light back to the Jeep. Flagg took a satellite photo from his jacket pocket. He flattened the photo on the hood of the Jeep and asked me to point out the bunker. I tapped the photo with my fingertip.

  “It’s this elongated dark area between the edge of the lawn and the dunes. Sort of shaped like a meatloaf. From the ground it looks like a low hill covered with grass and brush, so it blends into the trees.”

  “What do you figure is the best way to get there without being seen?”

  “I suggest we make our way to the point, then head in toward the house, using the hill to shield our movements.”

  Flagg grunted an okay, excused himself to Lisa, then stripped to his underwear and slipped into a black cover-all from his satchel. I got into my Ninja uniform. He dug out two sets of night-vision goggles, handed me one and passed around hand radios set on vibrating mode.

  “Will you be okay out here alone?” I asked Lisa.

  “Being look-out is the easy job. Careful, both of you. Don’t take any chances.”

  Flagg put on the goggles and pulled a black skull-cap down over his forehead. “Don’t worry, Lisa. Soc and I are better at running than we are at fighting.”

  I pulled on my goggles and hit the power switch. The darkness vanished, and in its place was a grainy amber and black image of trees and bushes. We headed toward the creek. When we got to the old bridge pilings, Flagg hardly slowed his pace. He stepped off the banking, then moved from pole-to-pole with an ease no one would expect from someone with a physique so big and top-heavy.

  He stepped onto the opposite banking and watched me cross the bridge with only slightly more grace than the first time across.

  Flagg extended his hand. “You looked a little shaky.”

  “Still getting used to these goggles,” I said, which was only partly true.

  “Now who’s being lame?”

  “Best I could do. This way.”