CHAPTER 31
Sea Life
I awoke to the roaring sound of a boat engine pushed to its limits. I wasn’t blindfolded or even tied up. What would have been the point? There was nowhere I could go. Nick James had me locked up tight in the tiny cabin at the stern of the fishing boat. I looked at my watch - 3:32 a.m. When the hell was I going to get a full night’s sleep? I suppose I shouldn’t have been worried about that. It looked like I was about to sleep forever.
The boat hit a rough wave, and I was thrown violently against the wall. The pain in my head was so intense that I vomited all over the floor. Then I passed out again.
When I awoke, the boat had stopped moving. I was surprised that I had been given the opportunity to wake at all. Maybe Nick wanted me conscious when he put the bullet in me. It was another twenty minutes or so before Nick came below to fetch me. The tiny door creaked open, and I was greeted again by the rude sight of a 9mm pointed at my face.
“I was wondering when you were going to be kind enough to invite me on a little fishing expedition,” I said, doing my best to remain calm and humorous in the face of danger, much like James Bond would. But my voice was shaking slightly, completely ruining the intended effect.
“Upstairs,” he said.
It was a gorgeous, star-filled night. I inhaled the cool air deeply, trying to fully appreciate my last sensations of this life. But the effort seemed to increase the throbbing in my head, and I thought I would vomit again. Actually, I wanted to vomit. Maybe I could hit Nick’s shoes.
No doubt you’ve heard the saying “my life flashed before my eyes.” Well, nothing flashed before me. All I could think about was that damn gun pointed at me. Then something interesting happened. I thought of Alana, how I would not be able to apologize to her, how I would not be around to see if a relationship with her would go anywhere. That was my only regret. Foxx tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen.
Nick brought me back to harsh reality with a painful poke to the ribs, nudging me towards the side of the boat. I was half expecting him to tell me to walk the plank, but of course there was no plank to be found.
There are two theories when it comes to entering cold water. You can wade in an inch at a time and slowly but surely acclimate your body to the chilly temperatures, or you can take the brave approach and plunge right in.
At several miles out to sea and with Nick James pointing a gun at the back of my head, I didn’t think he was going to give me the option of wading in slowly. I was pretty sure I was going into the Pacific Ocean headfirst. The fact that he hadn’t attached a weight to my ankle was a pleasant surprise. But that wouldn’t have made much difference anyway. This far out to sea, there was no chance of me swimming back to shore.
“You shouldn’t have gone poking your nose where it didn’t belong,” Nick snarled.
How was I supposed to respond to that? If Nick thought I was going to beg for my life, he had another think coming. There was no way this asshole was going to let me live anyway, so I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart.
“I know you killed George,” he said.
This statement was such a shock to me that I turned around to face Nick, completely forgetting all about the gun at my head.
“Kill George? The guy hung himself while whacking off,” I proclaimed.
“You don’t think I knew what George liked and what he didn’t like? George wasn’t into that kind of stuff. You strangled him, than rearranged the scene to make the death appear accidental.”
I laughed so hard I thought I was going to pee in my pants.
“That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard, Nick. It wouldn’t surprise me if you were the one who strangled George to cover up your blackmail scheme.”
“You son of a bitch,” he roared.
“George was a loose canon. You couldn’t afford to have him hanging around, even on the off chance that you actually loved him. And for the record, Lauren Rogers was a better artist than you.”
I don’t know if it was the comment about George or Lauren that finally pushed Nick pass the point of no return, but he got a look in his eyes that said “I’m about to send a bullet right between your eyes.”
I dove for the water half a second before the gun went off. There’s nothing quite like the stinging sensation of a bullet exploding into your shoulder with the force of a rocket launcher, quickly followed by the icy daggers of the Pacific Ocean stabbing every square inch of your skin. I stayed under water for what seemed life forever, praying that Nick would assume I was dead and leave the scene. Thank God it was dark, for when I broke the surface the Sea Life was still there. Nick was a cautious man and seemed determined to find a body.
I went underwater again and swam for the stern of the boat, hoping it would make it much more difficult for Nick to spot me. Finally I heard the engine start and the Sea Life sped away. It nearly ran me over in the process. At least I wasn’t going to get shot again, but maybe that would have been a more preferable death. I had read somewhere that drowning was the worst way to die. I don’t know how they figured that out. I can’t imagine researchers got any feedback from dead people.
I thought about just going under and ending it right then and there. But that thought only lasted a few seconds. There was no way I was going to give up, even if survival seemed impossible. The pain in my shoulder was excruciating, making treading water even more difficult.
My watch is waterproof, so I can tell you with great accuracy that it was exactly four hours thirteen minutes later when I tried to name (unsuccessfully I might add) all fifty states of the grand old US of A, seven hours forty-two minutes when I started begging God for forgiveness for the time as a child when I accidentally killed a baby frog with a pinecone, and eleven hours thirty-eight minutes when I finally figured out who killed Lauren Rogers.
I don’t know when it was that the charter fishing boat came upon me, for at that point I was completely delirious. But I can tell you it was around nine p.m. that night when I awoke to see Alana staring at me. The walls of the room were completely white, so I figured I was either in a hospital room or a holding station for Heaven. Alana’s presence sort of tipped the scales in favor of the hospital.
“Thank God you’re alive, Poe.”
“You’re the most beautiful woman I think I’ve ever known.”
She smiled at me. I don’t know why I said that. It just came out. But it was the truth, and I wanted her to know it. I would no longer put anything off anymore. Life is too short. We all think we know that, but sometimes it takes a heavy flirtation with death to make it a reality for us. I tried to push myself up into a sitting position. But the muscle cramps and the bullet wound felt like a thousand daggers sticking into me at once, and I collapsed in agony, my head swimming in a pool of nausea.
“Don’t try to sit up. You’ve been shot.”
She didn’t need to tell me that.
“Who did this to you?” she asked.
“I told Nick his art sucked, so he shot me and threw me off his boat. You know those artists. They tend to be overly sensitive.”
“Poe, this isn’t a time for jokes.”
“If you can’t joke now, when can you?”
“Why did Nick try to kill you?”
“He accused me of strangling George.”
“He what?” she asked.
“Funny, I had the same reaction. But afterwards everything made sense.”
“After what?”
“After I’d been floating in the ocean for several hours. It’s amazing how focused your mind gets when you think you’re going to die. Everything becomes so clear.”
“I need to call the station and tell them to pick up Nick James for the murder of Lauren Rogers.”
She reached for the phone, but I put my hand on hers to stop her.
“Nick didn’t kill Lauren. He didn’t kill anybody.”
“He tried to kill you.”
“I won’t argue that point for
a second.”
“If Nick didn’t kill Lauren, than who did?”
“You want me to tell you and ruin all the fun we’re about to have?”
“Tell me.”
“By all means arrest Nick for attempted murder. But don’t tell the media why you arrested him. Let them think it was for Lauren’s death. That way we’ll put the real killer at ease. They’ll think you’re looking at both Foxx and Nick. They’ll never see us coming.”
“When you say ‘they’ does that mean there’s more than one killer?”
“Again, don’t make me ruin the surprise.”
I tried to sit up again, but again the pain kept me down.
“Would you stop trying to get up,” she said.
“I’ve got to get up. Will you help me?”
“Why?”
“If you don’t, I’ll just roll over until I fall off the bed. Then you’ll feel guilty for not helping.”
“What’s so important that you get up?”
“I just need to get up.”
Alana helped me struggle to a seated position on the bed. Then I swung my legs over to the floor. I stood up, with Alana holding me by my arm, and I went down to my knees.
“What are you doing, Poe?”
“Thanking God for saving my life.”
I closed my eyes and prayed to God. When I opened my eyes I saw Alana looking down at me. I couldn’t tell if she thought I was crazy or not.
“I’m sorry Alana, for every bad thing I said or did.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” She was starting to tear up.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to get back into the bed,” I grunted as I tried to stand up.
Alana put my good arm over her shoulder and hefted me to my feet. For a second I thought we were both going to fall back down. I probably outweigh her by a good hundred pounds.
“I told you not to get out of bed,” she said.
“I’ve got bigger problems than getting back into bed.”
“Like what?”
“Trying to figure out how to never commit another sin for the rest of my life.”
This time she definitely looked at me like I was crazy.
“My deal with God for letting me live,” I said as I slid back onto the bed.
“I think God will understand if you slip up a few times,” she said.
“Does having sex on the beach with a hot detective count as a sin?”
“I don’t believe so,” she smiled.
“Then I’m ready for round two.”
Alana wiped the sweat off my forehead.
“In your condition? I’d kill you.”
I leaned back against the pillow. “Maybe I could just lie there and let you do all the work,” I said.
Alana sat back down on the chair beside me, completely ignoring my previous statement.
“So, back to business. What do we need to do to catch Lauren’s killer?”
“First thing we need to do is organize another séance.”
“A séance?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’ve got a bone to pick with Queen Hatchepsut.”
CHAPTER 32
Big Old Fat Clues
I knew Alana would probably shoot me if she knew I was driving this soon after getting out of the hospital. Okay, she probably wouldn’t shoot me. Just a mild pistol whipping to express her displeasure in my foolishness. One of my arms was in a sling, to take the pressure off my shoulder, which made things somewhat awkward. But it wasn’t that hard driving one-handed, especially since Foxx’s Explorer is an automatic. Then my cell phone rang.
I pulled over to the side of Hana Highway and answered the phone.
“Poe, this is Alana. We got Nick James.”
“Did you have a hard time finding him?”
“Not at all. He was at his gallery. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him you send your regards. We managed to cause quite a scene too.”
“Score one for the police. Do me a huge favor and put him in the same cell as Foxx.”
“Where are you at now? I tried you at Foxx’s.”
I thought about telling her a harmless white lie, but then remembered my vow to live a holy and pure life.
“I’m on my way to the Londons’ house,” I said meekly.
“You’re driving?” she screamed this more than asked.
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I was taking a cab?”
“Are you?”
“No,” I said.
“Then no it wouldn’t make me feel better.”
“Well let’s just pretend I’m in a cab.”
“You should be resting in bed,” she admonished me.
“No time. I’ve got theories to prove correct, and I think the Londons hold one of the keys to enlightenment.”
“Be careful, and call me if you get lightheaded. I’ll come pick you up.”
I hung up the phone, expressing my undying gratitude. It certainly felt good to be cared for. I hadn’t felt that way in a long, long time.
If there was one thing I learned during my first attempt at being a detective, it was the fact that it’s extremely easy to overlook the obvious. Sometimes there’s a big old fat clue smacking you right in the face, but you’re too busy looking for the more subtle stuff to notice it.
I thought back to my photography classes at the Hermitage Museum in Norfolk, Virginia. In addition to learning about taking pictures, we spent a considerable amount of time in the dark room. We went over all the different types of film stock and photography paper in the class. Ultimately, the instructor had us shoot and print on Ilford photography products.
Do you recall me saying to you while I was in Bernard’s studio that something felt odd about the black and white negatives? The pictures were shot with Kodak film. What’s strange about that? Nothing. Expect that all the other negatives in Bernard’s studio were Ilford film. But it wasn’t just the negatives. All of the photography paper was also Ilford. But not the pictures of Lauren. That paper was produced by Kodak.
So what does this mean? Well, in my experience, once a photographer finds a film stock and paper they like, they usually stick with it. Therefore we now have even more proof that Bernard didn’t shoot the nudes of Lauren. Okay, it isn’t exactly proof, but it’s pretty damn close in my book. You’re probably saying to yourself, “So what? I thought we had pretty much already established the fact that Bernard didn’t shoot the photographs.” You’re absolutely right. But what I was so excited about was the Kodak paper. If I could find other pictures the photographer took that were printed on Kodak paper, then I would be one step closer to finding the killer. But where was I going to find other pictures? Well, I thought I knew exactly where to look.
I rang the doorbell in the middle of the mouth of the smiling clay dragon. Stephanie London answered the door.
“Well hello, Poe, come back for another fortune telling?” she asked. Then she noticed my arm in the sling and gasped. “Oh my God, are you all right? What happened to you?”
“Nick James shot me.”
“He what?”
“Then he threw me off his boat in the middle of the ocean. But enough of that. I was hoping I could ask you and Ray a couple of questions.”
“Sure, come on in.”
I followed Stephanie into their living room. Ray was curled up on the sofa reading a Harry Potter book.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Nick James shot Poe,” she said.
“He what?”
“He shot Poe,” she repeated.
This was getting tiresome, and I couldn’t wait to get out of this sling so I could stop explaining what happened. Maybe I should come up with a boring story like falling down while gardening.
“That son of a bitch,” Ray said. “Rudest man I ever met.”
Did shooting someone qualify as rude? I guess if it didn’t, then I don’t know what would. All of a sudden Stephani
e gasped, even louder than she had done a second earlier. She sat back on her chair, her eyes bugging out of her head. She looked like she might faint.
“What’s wrong, Stephanie?” Ray asked.
“I just thought of something. The Death Card. I predicted you would die. This is all my fault.”
“How is it your fault?” I asked. “You didn’t pull the trigger. Besides, I didn’t die, so the Death Card was wrong.” I paused, wondering if I had just jinxed myself. “Knock on wood,” I said, gently rapping the stone coffee table with my knuckles.
I carefully sat down on the sofa beside Ray, still cramped from the twenty hours of treading water. Stephanie plopped down on a chair in front of us.
“Is this somehow related to Lauren’s death?” Ray asked.
“Yes and no,” I responded. “I don’t think Nick was involved with Lauren’s death. But his lover was smack in the middle of it all.”
“His lover?” Stephanie asked.
I ignored her question, then stood up and walked over to the table against the wall. I gazed at the four beautiful black and white infrared photographs of Ray and Stephanie. I asked them who took the pictures. Their answer confirmed my theories.
“Do you mind if I look at the back of the photograph?” I asked.
“No problem, but why do you need to do that?” Ray asked.
“Just wondering what type of paper they were printed on.”
I eased the back of the frame off. It was difficult, using just one hand. But the answer was worth the effort. Just as I thought. Kodak paper.
CHAPTER 33
Pancakes
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the séance?” I asked Alana.
“The boys are pulling everything together as we speak,” she said. “Besides, Gina told you not to show up again until midnight. So we’ve got plenty of time.”
Alana had offered to cook me an early dinner at her apartment. I almost politely declined. It sounded a little too much like the last meal for a condemned man. What I intended to do later was not without its risks. But if things turned really bad, then wouldn’t it be better to die on a full stomach?
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