Murder at the Beach: Bouchercon 2014 Anthology

by Patricia Abbott

  “But somewhere, during one of those times, he met Neeshawah. After that, there was no keeping him away. Couldn’t get her out of his head.”

  Ferret started giggling. It was a creepy sound. It got louder, and faster. Then he snorted.

  “Come on!” he said. “A head for some head? This Rounder guy wanted some head, so the old guy took his. That’s funny!”

  “Tenecate didn’t take Rounder Jon’s head,” I said. “I bet he thought about it a few times, though. Just shows you have no kids of your own.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

  Huh, maybe he does. Now, that’s a disturbing thought.

  At least he’d stopped the weird giggling noise.

  “Tenecate could have taken Jon’s head, but what about Neeshawah? She loved Rounder Jon. No father would cause his only daughter that much pain. So, he made Jon give his hand instead.”

  “Marriage,” Gravel Voice said. “Tenecate made Rounder Jon marry Neeshawah. That’s what you were there to witness, a wedding.”

  I nodded. “A hand fasting but, yeah. Jonny married Neeshawah. He swore to stay by her side for the rest of their lives.” I tipped my drink back and swallowed the last of it. Then I pointed at them with the empty glass. “The result is the same. Like I said, Rounder Jon never escaped from the Meska Té, and he never will.”

  “Guess we’ll just have to go find him, then, and take what he owes us,” Ferret said.

  “You gotta do what you gotta do.” I shrugged.

  “Oh, I don’t know that we need go to all that trouble,” Mr. C said. He leaned back on the stool and looked at me. “I believe we can accomplish our goals right here.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “I notice the little finger is missing from your left hand,” he said. “Something tells me it wasn’t an accident. So, what did you get for delivering Rounder Jon to the Meska Té?”

  I was gonna protest, but hey, the truth is the truth.

  “This place,” I said, motioning around me.

  “Not entirely accurate, I suspect,” he said. “I think you got money. I think you purchased this establishment with the money from Rounder Jon’s boat, money that he was to have...invested for me.”

  Like I said, truth is truth.

  Ferret jumped off his stool. “So maybe what I do is come around the bar and start taking the money out of your ass?”

  Mr. C raised his hand again. “Be still! Look around you. Try to think instead of speak.”

  More people had been arriving while we talked. The word was already out about the night’s music. Folks were still leaving us alone, giving us an ever smaller bubble of space. I was going to have to get back to work pretty quick.

  Mr. C’s hand returned to the bar. “My nephew is slow to learn the value of patience. I, however, was not. This would appear to be a very useful establishment to own a piece of,” Mr. C said. “Or all of.”

  “Now, wait a minute...” I started to object, but he stood up next to Ferret.

  “The money was mine. So, this bar is rightfully mine. However, for now let’s consider ourselves partners, eh?” That cold humor was back in his eyes. “Take the night to get used to the idea,” he said. “Mull the alternatives. You won’t like them. We’ll come back tomorrow and work out the details.”

  Ferret said, “Maybe one of us should stay here and keep an eye on him tonight?”

  “Oh, I don’t think that is necessary.” But then he paused. “On the other hand, it would be worthwhile to have a firsthand account of the night’s business.” He turned to Gravel Voice. “Would you mind staying behind?”

  “Shouldn’t I stay close to you. I mean, just in case.”

  “Hey, stick around,” I told Gravel Voice. “The music’s gonna be good, and you’ll have more fun here. Uh, no offense,” I said to the other two.

  “None taken,” Mr. C said, with a thin smile. He looked at Ferret. “Let’s go.”

  I stood there behind the bar, making a fist around the rag in my hand. As they left, Franky Fingers and Willie came in.

  Time to get this party started.

  I turned my attention to the people lining up at the bar. It was awhile before I found myself back in front of Gravel Voice.

  “Why’d you want me to stay?” he asked.

  “Figured you’d be more fun than the other guy.”

  “Maybe.” He nodded. “Then again, maybe not.”

  “Consider it a favor, then. Where they’re going is no place for a cop.”

  I had to hand it to him. He didn’t even try to deny it. We didn’t have to go through all of the “What gave me away?” or the “Where have we seen each other before?” crap.

  “Besides, I have a confession to make,” I said. I motioned toward a new group gathering at the end of the bar. “Just give me a couple minutes.”

  I poured him a fresh one and went down the bar to fill some drink orders. Up on stage Stringfellow Joe and the guys started in on some vintage Django Reinhardt riffs. Joe’s fingers danced up and down the neck of his guitar. I could feel the crowd getting into it.

  It’s gonna be a good night. I glanced at the door. Better for some than others, of course.

  I went back to Gravel Voice and pointed at his glass.

  He shook his head and said, “You were gonna confess something.”

  “Forgive me, Father,” I began, and he gave me a tight smile. “It’s like this. The Meska Té weren’t gonna just let me go after the hand fasting. It wasn’t some ‘Hey, thanks for coming. Be sure and take a piece of cake.’ affair. I had to make them a promise, and I had to swear I’d live up to it.”

  I raised my left hand. The skin was still pink and healing. It was going to be an ugly scar. “Even that cost me my pinkie.”

  “What was the promise?”

  “You ever heard of a bride price?”

  He shook his head.

  “You know what a dowry is, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Bride price is like that, except it’s paid by the groom, to the bride’s family.”

  “Ahh.” He nodded. “So, you didn’t buy this place with the money after all.”

  I shook my head. “Sure I did. The Meska don’t care about money. I doubt they even know what it is. They care about the land, and about family. The groom has to prove he’s worthy of marrying the bride, prove he has the strength and position to protect her and support her at least as well as her father. Among the Meska, that’s proven by sacrifice. The bride price is paid with a soul, a life. The body is returned to the land. The soul stays behind, a spirit bound to protecting the bride, and later, her own family.”

  “That’s just...” he started, then trailed off.

  “Yeah, like you or I don’t have any weird relatives,” I said. “The more valuable the bride, the bigger the price. Sometimes it’s just the soul of an animal—livestock, say. Sometimes it’s the life of a servant, or even a lesser family member. In rare cases, like with royalty, it requires two souls.”

  “Two souls? You mean two people?”

  I nodded. “It’s worse if a guy has no holdings, no servants. Then he has to find two friends or family members who love him enough, and believe the marriage is important enough to the village or the family, to sacrifice themselves for it.”

  “Then shouldn’t you be dead?” he asked.

  “Believe me, I would be, and Jon would still be one short. But he and Tenecate made a deal. As part of marrying Neeshawah, Jon offered up an alternate sacrifice, one that would help put a stop to the illegal boats running in and out the marshlands.”

  “Just how was he supposed to do that?”

  I looked away from him. “Well, that’s where the confession comes in...”

  He jumped up and started for the door.

  “It’s too late. The Meska Té were waiting outside. They’re already gone. And you’ll never find what’s left of them by morning.”

  He stopped and turned to look at me. Then he came bac
k and sat down.

  “So. What happens next?”

  I shrugged and poured him a drink. “The world turns. The tide rolls in.”

  Back to TOC

  Tsunami Surprise

  Delaney Green

  Why did it have to be an arm?

  The other garbage that had washed up in the last fifteen months had been stuff Frank could tag for the tsunami debris team if it was big or leave for the cleanup volunteers who showed up every weekend to pick up the beach. They picked up shoes. Dolls. Plastic. Construction waste. Oceanographers said tsunami trash would be washing ashore in Washington State for a generation.

  “Who was that?” Doris yelled from the lab.

  “A kid found an arm under that dock on Ruby Beach.”

  Doris stepped into the doorway. “A Japanese arm?”

  “I guess. He said it was chained to the dock.”

  “How come nobody saw an arm chained to a dock?”

  “It was buried. The kid’s dog dug it up.”

  When Japanese debris first started washing ashore, a few men in Forks had talked about scoring a free boat, but Frank only knew of one guy who’d actually scraped off the layers of marine slime and gooseneck barnacles from the little runabout he found. Nobody else wanted a boat that bad, including the original owners in Japan.

  By the time that big dock from Misawa washed up in Newport, the novelty had worn off. Nobody wanted any part of any Japanese junk. The Newport dock was cut into pieces and hauled away, but the state park commission still hadn’t awarded a contract to remove the dock in Frank’s back yard.

  And now a kid in Queets had found an arm under it. Frank hadn’t even had his coffee yet.

  He emptied yesterday’s leftover joe into a mug. “I gotta drive down there.”

  Doris said, “Don’t drink that. Stop at the coffee shop on the way out of town.”

  Frank took a mouthful and spit it back in the mug. “Why does it turn to battery acid overnight?”

  “It’s day-old. I’ll make fresh before you come back. Don’t forget the bolt cutter.”

  “Right,” Frank took it down from its peg by the door. “Did Wally come to fix the freezer yet?”

  “No. He said he was sorry.”

  “Well, where am I supposed to put the arm when I bring it back?”

  “Your house I guess.”

  “Mel told me no more evidence at our house.”

  “We got no choice.”

  “Why can’t you put it in your freezer?”

  “Frank, you know I just bought a quarter of a pig. Bring the arm here first so I can get the prints off it. Have you got your camera?”

  Frank took the digital out of his desk drawer and dropped it into his pocket. “Yup.”

  Doris said, “I’ll figure out who to contact in Japan. Take an ice chest along.”

  “What, mine?”

  “I won’t tell Melanie if you won’t.”

  Frank parked the squad in the gravel lot next to Ruby Beach. He grabbed the bolt cutter and the ice chest and took the path that led to the water. The beach would be crawling with cleanup volunteers tomorrow and Saturday. Lucky the kid found the arm today.

  He heard barking when he stepped to the sand. Sounded like a big dog. He squinted at the dock and saw a black lab galloping toward him. Heard a kid yell, “Stop, Joe! Friend.” The dog paced, waiting for the boy to catch up. Frank heard the growling from fifteen feet away.

  Frank waited for the boy. “Hi. I’m Tommy Jeever. This is Joe.” Joe growled. “Friend, Joe. Sit.” Joe sat, but he had the same look on his face Doris wore all day every April 1st. Tommy panted. “It’s a good thing you’re here,” Tommy said. “Two guys down the beach had metal detectors, but Joe scared ’em off.”

  “So nobody knows about this yet?”

  “Nope. Man, am I lucky school got out last week. Otherwise, those two guys mighta found it first.”

  “Lucky. Take the cutter, will you?” Frank handed it over. They started for the dock. Joe nosed between them.

  “Wow, is this police equipment?”

  “Sure. Special issue. So, what made you decide to dig under the dock?”

  “Joe started digging. I let him go because Mom never lets him dig at home. Then I saw what he had. Then I called you.” Tommy held up a track phone. “Check it, Chief. My very own phone. So far I got numbers in it for Forks police, Mom, Dad, my cousin, and the casino.”

  “Sweet. Can you hold the dog? I’ve got to take pictures.” Frank got a long shot of the dock and a couple shots of the hole, then zoomed in for a close-up of the arm and the way it was attached to the dock. He shot a close-up of the plaque screwed to the dock. Then he put on gloves, cut the chain, and lifted the arm. Joe barked.

  “Don’t worry, Chief, I got him,” Tommy said. Frank saw a black line on the skin. He brushed away the clinging sand. It was a tattoo. A bamboo leaf tattoo trailed from the severed elbow down the outside of the arm almost to the wrist. Frank shot a picture of the tat, too. He placed the arm in the ice chest.

  “What happened to the rest of him?” Tommy asked.

  “How old are you?”

  “Ten-goin’-on eleven.”

  “Well, the rest of him could’ve stayed in Japan when the dock tore loose. Or he could’ve been eaten by a shark or something else. It’s four thousand miles of ocean between here and Japan. Lotta hungry animals in that much water.”

  “Gross.” The dog pawed the ice chest. “Leave it, Joe,” Tommy said. “Sit.”

  “Well, Tommy, I’ve got to get this back to Forks so my deputy can lift some prints. Can I ask you not to talk about this just yet? Ongoing investigation.”

  “Can I tell Robbie I found an arm?”

  “Robbie a friend?” Tommy nodded. Frank said, “I wish you wouldn’t. Give me a week to get hold of the Japanese authorities and find out what they want to do, and then you can tell.”

  “How about my mom?”

  “Would she let you keep coming down to the beach if she knew?”

  “I won’t tell anybody.”

  Back in the parking lot, Frank put the ice chest in the trunk. Joe growled. Tommy said, “He thinks you’re taking his toy.”

  “Sorry, Joe,” Frank said. Tommy handed over the bolt cutter. Frank said, “You did good. Someday you could be a cop.”

  “Thanks, but I’m gonna play basketball for the Blazers.”

  “I’ll come watch you play.” Tommy waved and Joe glared until Frank turned left out of the lot to drive back to Forks.

  At the station, Frank hauled the ice chest into the lab. Doris put on a mask and gloves before lifting the arm to the stainless steel table. “Pretty beat up,” she said. “I hope I can get prints. Ooh, check the tat. What is that, bamboo?” She flipped down her magnifier. “This is really fine work, Frank. This isn’t your everyday tat.”

  “Let’s take a couple more pictures and get prints off the hand. Wouldn’t hurt to dust the rest of the arm just in case.” Frank zoomed his camera in on the tattoo.

  Doris said, “I contacted the National Police Agency in Tokyo. They sent the address for the cops in Misawa, since that’s where the dock came from. All the prefectures handle their own cases. Prefecture’s like a state.”

  “Doris, I am not keeping this thing until somebody gets around to calling us. Their whole city was wrecked. They may never call. Let’s mail the arm and let ’em keep it in their freezer.”

  “Human remains. It’ll have to go from Seattle to Hawaii and on to Tokyo. It’ll cost us a grand, and we’ll have to get a ton of documents.”

  “You looked it up already.”

  “Sure.”

  “Dammit. I should’ve let the kid’s dog have it.”

  “Frank McCormick, you don’t mean that.” He looked at her. “Okay, maybe you do. Let’s just get the prints, send ’em to Misawa with the pictures, and see what they say. They might be too busy to deal and just ask us to handle it.”

  An hour later, Frank had uploaded the pictures an
d was filling out a report. Doris came in and thumped the ice chest next to Frank’s desk. “Done. Got prints off the hand. No prints on the arm. Everything’s pretty waterlogged. Got some marine crawlies wedged in there, too.”

  “And now they’re in my ice chest.”

  “Clean it with bleach. How do you suppose a guy got cuffed to a dock?”

  “Not my problem. My problem is hiding that thing from Melanie.”

  “I’ll send the email and pictures to Misawa if you want.”

  “Forward the email to Tokyo, too.”

  Back home, Frank wrapped the arm in butcher paper and labeled it “Tripe,” which he was pretty sure was cow stomach. He put it in his big freezer under packages of salmon and beef. Melanie wouldn’t take it out. She never cooked tripe. Nobody he knew cooked tripe.

  On Monday, Doris met Frank at the door of the station first thing in the morning. “Frank, guess what?”

  “You made me coffee. God bless you.”

  She handed her cup to him. “No—yes, here, take mine—about that arm. Misawa City is sending a guy here to pick it up.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Frank preferred Doris’s coffee to his own and sucked down a heart-jolting swallow. “Oh, that’s good, Dorrie.”

  “You’re welcome. The guy is an agent. He’ll be here on Wednesday, the email said.”

  “Wow, what’s the hurry? Must be a big case.”

  “They said it was something they’d been working on before the tsunami. They had a guy that disappeared, a businessman, rich guy. He was supposed to come in for questioning, but the tsunami hit and nobody’s seen him since. The police thought this guy was mixed up with the Yakuza. Anyway, they want the arm.”

  On Wednesday, a rental car pulled up outside the jail. Frank watched a small, neat man in an expensive suit get out. Frank said to Doris, “Looks like Misawa cops get paid a lot more than we do.”

  “Figures,” Doris said.

  The Japanese agent walked in showing his ID. “You must be Chief McCormick,” he said, sticking out his hand. He had an accent, but not so thick Frank couldn’t understand him. “I’m Special Agent Matsushita.”