Vineyard Prey

by Philip R. Craig

  She lifted her chin and her voice was defiant. “A thousand!”

  That was a different man every week for more than twenty years. She annoyed me. “We don’t have time for lies. How many?”

  She tossed her long, dark hair. “I’m thirty-five. I had my first boy when I was fourteen and my first schoolteacher a month later. I’ve been sexually active all my life.”

  “No husbands along the way?”

  “None of my own. I’ve had offers but I wasn’t interested.”

  “Maybe it’s just as well.”

  Anger only made her more attractive, and I could see why she could have almost any man she wanted.

  Then she surprised me by saying, “I’m about ready to give up this kind of life and to get married. And when I do, I’m going to be monogamous. There’ll be no more lovers in hotel rooms. We’ll have a house and a family and we’ll live normal lives.”

  She must have seen something in my face as I listened, because she pushed her hair back with both hands and smiled an ironic smile. “Yes, yes. I know that you’re thinking about me and Joe and about me and you. All I can say is that I’m not married yet.”

  “Not counting Joe and me,” I said, “how many men and women have you had?”

  “I’m not interested in bedding women.”

  “Stop dancing. How many men, then?”

  “I don’t notch a tally stick.”

  “Narrow it down. How many were unhappy when you left them?”

  She smiled her shining smile. “All of them, I hope.”

  Earlier she had resented my intrusion into her private life, but now she seemed to be almost enjoying it.

  “How many of them were really angry?”

  She arched a brow. “Not many. All of them knew it was just one of those things.”

  “But some weren’t satisfied with a trip to the moon on gossamer wings?”

  “A few. I eased their feelings when I could, and broke the relationships off when they wouldn’t be eased.” A small frown appeared on her face. “Are you thinking that some lover of mine is doing all this killing? I don’t think so.”

  “You’re in the spook business and you must know people who know how to kill people.”

  The frown remained. “I don’t know any who would want to do something like this!”

  “Don’t look back too far. Just, say, the past four or five years. Anyone there who didn’t want it to be just one of those fabulous flights?”

  “I can’t think of any.”

  “How about the people who worked with you? How about Edo and Francis and Susan, for instance? Did you bed them?”

  Her anger returned, but its flame was lower than before. “I told you, I don’t have sex with women. What if I did sleep with Edo and Francis? All three of them are dead, so none of them is doing this!”

  “Do you make a habit of sleeping with all of the men you work with? Wasn’t one of the reasons you came here so you could make a play for Joe Begay?”

  She gave a wry smile. “And I struck out. It doesn’t happen often.”

  I imagined it didn’t. “Joe says that one reason he trusts you is because he worked with you earlier and you can be depended on to do your job. Who worked on that earlier mission?”

  She thought for a moment. “Susan and Joe and Stephen.”

  “The same Susan?”

  “Yes. Susan Bancroft. In my business you work with the same people sometimes.”

  “You told me that you and Susan weren’t lovers. What about Stephen?”

  She made a small sweeping gesture with one hand. “As far as I was concerned, it was over between Stephen and me before that assignment. He made a play for Susan, but she had a boyfriend at home and she said no in pretty strong words.” Kate smiled a humorless smile. “Susan and I were different people, as you can tell. Anyway, Stephen was furious with Susan, and then he got badly hurt as we were coming out. We got him home and they patched him up as well as they could.” She shook her head and the light danced on her long, dark hair. “I don’t think he’s your man, unless your killer uses a wheelchair.” “Does he have a last name?”

  “Harkness. Stephen was our communications guy. He may still be in the IC, sitting at a desk somewhere, but I don’t think he’s up to fieldwork anymore.”

  “Anyone else I should check on?”

  “Old lovers or just anyone at all?”

  Her tone was almost gentle and I was aware that I had been alternating between liking her and not liking her. There had been no alteration in my body’s awareness of her beauty and sensuality.

  I said, “Anyone at all who has a tie with the trade mission and who might want the members all dead. Other than the Easter Bunny, that is.”

  “I thought we’d eliminated the Easter Bunny.”

  I shook my head. “Arbuckle might have, but I haven’t eliminated anyone. I’m trying to add to the list before I start subtracting. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted the trade mission crew dead?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll settle for the names of other pissed-off lovers and of people who had ties to the mission.”

  “It won’t be much of a list, because I don’t know who planned the mission or knew about it, other than some foreign assets who helped us out over there. And I think you can discount them because most of them were local and were glad to help ax Rudolph and the Scarecrow.”

  “Any of them make it to your bed?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I had no time for foreign affairs, if you’ll pardon the expression. Worse luck, too. One of the boys was a good-looking lad.”

  “Americans, then. Anybody who went away mad sometime in the last five years.”

  “It’ll be a short list.”

  I gave her pen and paper. “Write down addresses and anything else you can remember.”

  She hesitated. “What are you going to do with this? Some of these guys are married with kids. I don’t want to wreck any innocent lives.”

  “They don’t sound too innocent to me.”

  She shook her head. “What a puritan you are. They’re men who like sex, that’s all. Hell, so do you and I. We’re not talking immorality here.” But she bent over the paper and wrote one name and then others.

  When she was done, she handed the paper to me. “Here. These men didn’t want to break off with me, but none of them is a killer.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I know a killer when I meet one.”

  “Do you sleep with them anyway?”

  She stood and came close to me. “A couple, maybe. How about you? How about changing your mind?” She leaned over me and her arms went around my neck.

  I could feel the magnetic heat of her body pulling me to her.

  Maybe I hesitated, but then I put my hands on her arms and pushed them away.

  “No.”

  “You want to.”

  “I don’t always do what I want to do.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not because I’m moral. Probably because I’m not but think I should be.”

  She eyed me, then shook her head. “You and Joe Begay are two of a kind.”

  “I call that flattery.”

  She smiled a beautiful crooked smile. “I call it a mystery. Two guys like you on one little island. I guess I’ll have to start hitting the bars if I want any action.”

  “You won’t have any trouble finding what you’re looking for there, but be careful. There’s a killer around and we don’t know who it is. But he knows you.”

  Her hand strayed to and then from her hip, where her pistol was holstered. “Don’t worry about me. What are you going to do with that list of names? I don’t want anybody to get into trouble because of me.”

  “They’re already in trouble because of you,” I said. “My truck’s blocking the driveway. I’ll bring it down and then you can be on your way.”

  16

  It had been a long day, but I still had a stop to make before I headed to my family at
John Skye’s farm. It was confession time. I got into the truck and drove to the state police barracks in Oak Bluffs.

  Dom’s office was on Temahigan Road in a building that for years had been painted an unstylish blue but had then been refinished with cedar shingles, which were now properly weathered and much more Vineyardy.

  When I pulled off the road and stopped in the narrow parking space in front of the building, I took note of two other cars already in the back parking lot. They had that rental look about them, an impression confirmed when I saw local stickers in their windows. First Kate, then Arbuckle, and now these two drivers were contributing to the island’s winter economy. Crime was paying for local car renters.

  I went inside and found four men with Dom in his office. Their stylish winter coats were open, showing suits and ties beneath. On Martha’s Vineyard, only lawyers and Mormon missionaries wear suits and ties, but these guys weren’t islanders. Their voices stopped when I appeared and they looked at me with flat eyes.

  “Well, well,” said Dom, looking over his desk. “We were just talking about you, J.W.”

  One of the men hooked a thumb at me and asked, “Is this him? Is this Jackson?”

  “This is him,” said Dom. “We were about to go looking for you, J.W., but you’ve saved us the effort.

  These gentlemen want to hear your version of what happened to their colleague Samuel Arbuckle.”

  “That’s right,” said another of the men. “We want your story.”

  DIA people for sure. “I need to talk to you,” I said to Dom.

  “These gentlemen represent the United States government,” said Dom, “and they need to talk to you. You can talk with me afterward.”

  “I’d like to talk with you first,” I said. “It won’t take long.”

  The tallest of the four men showed his ID card. “We’re from the Defense Intelligence Agency,” he said. “We’d appreciate hearing anything you can tell us about Agent Arbuckle.”

  His eyes were on the level with mine. I looked into them. “I want to talk with Sergeant Agganis first,” I said, “then I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “I think we have priority here,” said the man. “A man’s been murdered.”

  I looked past him. “Dom, I want a minute of your time.”

  “I don’t think you understand,” said the tall man. “We have a special interest in this case and every minute is important.” His voice was touched with temper and he put a hand on my arm.

  I looked at the hand, and as I did I heard Dom’s voice: “All right, J.W. Let’s all relax, gentlemen. J.W., let’s step down the hall.”

  The hand hesitated then left my arm and I looked into its owner’s eyes. Dom rounded his desk and waved toward a door. He and I went through the door and into a small room off the hall.

  “Those guys are already mad,” he said. “Don’t make things worse. Now what is it that’s so damned important that it can’t wait?”

  “I’ve had a memory improvement. There are some things you should know.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Like what? Your ass can be in a sling if you’ve been lying to me. Talk. You’ve got one minute!”

  “It’ll take more time than that,” I said, and I told him the whole story. When I was done, I said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I know it’s something you should know about. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but—”

  “But you didn’t want our sights to land on your friend Begay,” snapped Agganis. “Very loyal of you, I’m sure, but not very bright!”

  “I think the local police should be told,” I said. “There’s a killer wandering around loose and—”

  “I think I know who to talk to!” said Dom. “Jesus, Olive may be right about you belonging in jail.”

  “I said I was sorry. You want to hear it again?”

  “No! What I want is more cooperation than I’ve gotten so far. You can start by telling those suits out there what you’ve just told me.”

  “I don’t want to get Joe Begay in trouble.”

  “Joe Begay is already in trouble. We’re trying to get him out of it. Come on.”

  We walked back to his office and into the stares of four pairs of eyes. “J.W. has a story to tell you,” said Dom in a calm voice, sitting down behind his desk. “When he’s through you can ask him any questions you want.”

  I started with Joe Begay coming into my shed while I was scalloping and went from then to now, leaving out nothing but some of my wilder conjectures.

  When I was through, one of the men said, “So this woman, this Kate MacLeod, put the moves on you, eh?”

  I shrugged. “She likes men. It was nothing personal.”

  “And she’s also hot for this Joe Begay, this friend of yours who told you he was on this trade mission?”

  “That’s my impression.”

  “And you think maybe it’s one of her ex-beaus who’s knocking off her new loves?”

  “It seems possible.”

  “And this guy shot Arbuckle?”

  I don’t know if you can hear a curled lip, but I thought I detected one around his voice. “I don’t know who shot Arbuckle or why,” I said. “All I know is what I’ve told you.”

  “The woman told you she knew Arbuckle?”

  “She said she’d met him briefly in a restaurant while she was dining with a friend who knew him.”

  “We’ll check out Arbuckle, the woman, and Begay, and those names she gave you,” said the tall man. “Where can we find MacLeod and Begay?”

  Dom and I exchanged glances. “You won’t find Joe unless he wants you to,” I said. “I’ll give you his cell phone number. You can talk with him and arrange a meeting.”

  “You know where he is,” said the fourth man, who up to now had said nothing. “If we phone him, he’ll have time to split. Tell us where he is.”

  I looked at him. “I know Joe and I trust him. I don’t know you four from a pile of shit. He won’t run away, but I don’t know where he is, so don’t ask. Call him. That’s what I do when I want to see him.” I gave him Begay’s cell phone number.

  “We can triangulate his phone and find him,” said another of the men. “Sergeant Agganis, I suggest that you put your friend here in jail and keep him there until this is over. If he’s got a cell phone, take it away from him so he can’t tip off his friends.”

  “I know it’s fashionable in Washington to throw people in jail without charges and keep them there,” said Dom, “but this isn’t Washington. Here on our backward little island we usually don’t toss people into the hoosegow until they commit a crime.”

  “How about tossing him in for interference with a police investigation?” asked the fourth man, almost genially.

  “So far,” said Dom, who had good reason to do exactly that, “J.W. has told you everything he knows. He isn’t interfering with your investigation, he’s advancing it. If I were you, I’d get to work on the evidence he’s offered. I plan to do that myself.”

  Good old Dom.

  “Since you trained professionals are on the job,” I said, “I’m going home to my wife and kids.”

  “I’d like to see where Arbuckle died,” said the fourth man. “You mind taking me there before you call it a day?”

  “No problem.”

  “I’ll follow you,” he said.

  I turned toward the door.

  “If you think of anything else, let me know,” said Dom dryly.

  “I believe you have it all,” I said.

  Outside, the fourth man put out a hand. “Name’s Sid Roebuck,” he said. He had a firm grip. So did I.

  “J. W. Jackson.”

  “Sam Arbuckle was a friend of mine, so this is personal with me.”

  “It’s personal with me, too, because Joe Begay is a friend of mine.”

  He followed me in one of the two rental cars. The winter day was short, but there was still light when we drove down my long, sandy driveway and parked in front of the house.

  Roeb
uck got out of his car and looked around. He nodded toward the dark house. “Nobody home.”

  “I moved my family to another house when this business began to seem dangerous.”

  “I doubt if you’re in any danger.”

  “I hope you’re right.” I showed him where Arbuckle’s car had stopped and where he had died in my arms.

  “Mind if I look in the house?”

  “No.”

  We went in together and he went into every room. He tried the back door and looked at the windows. “You always keep the place unlocked?”

  “I don’t like locks.”

  “You keep one on the gun cabinet.”

  “I’ve got two little kids. They’re not old enough to handle weapons.”

  “You mind giving me a look inside.”

  “No.” I opened the cabinet and he examined its contents.

  “The rifle and shotguns were my father’s,” I said. “The pistol is my wife’s. She’s a competitive shooter.”

  “I see you have ammunition for a couple of handguns that aren’t here.”

  “My wife has one of her pistols, and the police have my revolver.”

  “Why?”

  I told him about giving the .38 to Olive Otero. He grunted and shut the cabinet door.

  Outside again, in the falling light, Roebuck looked at the surrounding woods and out over the brown gardens toward the cold waters of Sengekontacket Pond and Nantucket Sound, then stared up the driveway.

  “You hear any shots before Sam drove down here?”

  “No, but it was shotgun season, so I probably wouldn’t have noticed if there was one.”

  “From what Sergeant Agganis said, it doesn’t seem that Sam could have traveled very far after he was shot.”

  “He had to be tough to travel at all.”

  “Why do you suppose he came here to die?”

  I gave him my thoughts about that, such as they were.

  He nodded. “Well, we’ll figure it out. You know this island and I don’t. Any ideas about where to get started?”

  “Nothing you and Dom Agganis haven’t already thought of. I’d start asking everybody in this area if they saw or heard anything, and I’d go up every driveway and road on the off chance that I’d find the place where Arbuckle was shot. My guess is that it happened on a road that’s pretty isolated, and that Arbuckle was meeting someone he knew and trusted.”