Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries)

by Bartlett, L. L.

  “What?” he persisted.

  “I saw a kid’s face.”

  “He’s got a son and a daughter.”

  “How old?”

  He shrugged. “Twenties. Maybe thirties. I’m not sure. I haven’t done much research on him yet.”

  “Then who wrote the stories for the paper during the trial and after the murder?”

  “Alison Kiefer.”

  “Can’t say I’ve heard of her.”

  “You will. She’s vying for my job.”

  “So that’s why you want a hot story.”

  He took a swig of his beer, looking grim. “You got it.”

  Was Sam really worried about losing his job to the competition? Newspapers all over the country seemed to be hemorrhaging staff, and more and more of them were carrying stories from the Associated Press and other news agencies. I admit I didn’t pay that much attention to the local section of the daily rag. I preferred to read the comics, the editorials, and the letters to the editor.

  Sam shoved the envelope toward me once again. “Why don’t you read the summary? Maybe you’ll get some additional insight.”

  I wanted to touch those papers like I wanted to grow a third leg — yet I did it anyway. An unpleasant sensation bubbled up within me as I read the terse paragraphs. Jack Morrow was bad news, and yet I couldn’t quite connect the sensations I experienced with anything specific I was learning about him.

  I set the papers back on the bar and pushed them toward Sam. “Your notes alone aren’t enough. If you want more, you’ve got to give me something the guy touched. Maybe take me some place he used to go. And I’m not even sure that will give me anything you can use in an article. What is it you want to write about, anyway?”

  “I’m not looking to find his killer. But before the cops arrested him, Morrow cashed in a lot of his securities. He had millions of dollars in assets that the regulators were never able to trace. I want to be the one who can lead them to his hidden fortune.”

  “And you expect me to be able to find them for you?”

  “Yeah, if you can.”

  “Would you like me to gift wrap the moon and give that to you, too?”

  Sam grinned. “I wouldn’t turn it down.”

  “And what if I could help you with all that? What would I get out of it?”

  Sam sobered. “Morrow cheated a lot of people out of their life savings. You lost just about everything when you were mugged and they robbed your home. Wouldn’t you like to help others who suffered a similar fate?”

  Yeah, but I wasn’t about to be suckered in so easily. “Except that I was physically robbed. A lot of Morrow’s marks were just greedy, making risky investments because they let the guy blow smoke up their asses — promising them whatever they wanted to hear. The guy had to have some kind of charisma to pull that off with so many people.”

  “That he did. But can you blame people with kids who’ve got substantial college debt — or people who were looking to have a carefree retirement? It’s human nature to want as much as you can get.”

  And Sam wanted to cement his job and reputation by nailing a story and looking like a hero. He had a slew of awards to his credit, but he was still worried about staying on top. If he felt this way in his late thirties, what was the next decade likely to bring? And how could I turn him down? He’d saved my ass by loaning me his gun not six months before. It had saved me, Richard, and Maggie, and he’d asked no questions when the gun wasn’t returned.

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked, resigned.

  His mouth quirked into a smile. He knew he had me right where he wanted me. “I haven’t figured that out yet, but now that I know you’re on board, I’ll think about it and get back to you.” He took another sip of his beer. “So, anything interesting going on in your life?”

  I shrugged. “Richard bought a boat.” God, my life was so friggin’ boring the most exciting thing going on didn’t even have much to do with me.

  Sam’s eyes lit up.

  “A Slipstream 9000,” I went on.

  He nodded, impressed. “Not the top of the line, but not far from it, either. Kinda late in the season, isn’t it?”

  “He picked it up for a song at a government sale. And how do you know so much about boats?”

  “Who do you think writes the yearly feature on the subject for the Buffalo News?”

  “Have you got a boat?”

  “Yeah, and not nearly as nice. I sure hope you’re going to invite me onboard sometime.”

  “I haven’t even driven the damn thing,” I said, still smarting from the morning’s non-adventure. “We’ve got the week to play with it before it goes into storage for the winter.”

  He shook his head. “The summer is far too short for those of us who enjoy the water.”

  “I don’t swim and I don’t fish — but I’m not immune to the pleasure of a sunset cruise with a beer in my hand, either.”

  “Well, don’t count on it happening this week. The forecast is for cold, rain, and wind for the next few days. But believe me, on a frigid winter’s night you’ll be counting the days until the fair weather hits late next spring. If nothing else, it gives you hope,” he said, tipped back his bottle and drained it.

  “So now that you have a story to work on, what’s next on your agenda?”

  “Interviews. Would you be interested in coming along on a few of them?”

  “What for? Do you want me to act as a human lie detector or something?”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “I dunno. There’s a lot going on right now.” Then again, tagging along with Sam might give me an excuse to avoid the company at Richard’s house. Again, I shrugged. “Call me,” I said, leaving the acceptance of the invitation open.

  “I’ll do that.” Sam grabbed his wallet, left a five on the bar, and gathered his envelopes. “Talk to you soon.”

  I watched him leave, and then picked up the money, put it in the till, and gave myself the change as a tip. I had a feeling that chump change would be a small price for Sam to pay for whatever we learned about Jack Morrow, since I had a feeling that that information wasn’t going to be good.

  I grabbed a damp rag and wiped down the bar, thinking about the envelope that had given me a jolt. Why had I thought about Da-Marr when touching it?

  Jack Morrow had been a felon. Was Da-Marr destined to walk a similar path?

  At that moment, I didn’t doubt it.

  Chapter 5

  Autumn had settled itself upon Western New York. The days were already getting a lot shorter. The lackluster sun came up at 7:18, but Richard found himself up hours before that. He’d slipped out of bed, leaving his sleeping wife, dressed, and tip-toed down to the kitchen where he’d read every section of the Buffalo News and was on his third cup of coffee when the phone rang. Everyone else in the house was still sound asleep, so he practically broke the Olympic long jump record to snatch the landline before it could ring again.

  “Hello?”

  “Richard Alpert?”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Frank Murray, manager of Sundowner’s Marina. I’m sorry to disturb you so early, but I thought you should know that we’ve had some trouble here at the marina. Vandalism.”

  “My boat’s been vandalized?”

  “I’m afraid so. The lock on the sliding glass door was broken, and someone got inside and trashed the salon. The seats have been slashed — with all the stuffing taken out of them — likewise all the life jackets. Every cupboard was emptied, too, their contents smashed and scattered.”

  Richard swallowed hard. “How many other boats were ransacked?” he asked, his voice tight.

  “Just yours, sir. I’m terribly sorry. We do have a security guard, but he didn’t see anything or anyone unusual. We’ll check our video cameras to see if they captured anything suspicious and turn it over to the police. You did have insurance on the boat, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s fully insured,” Richard said, feeling sick a
t heart.

  “Will you be coming in to assess the damage?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  “We’ve called the police and they said they’d send someone over as soon as possible. I’m really sorry about this, sir. We haven’t had any vandalism in quite some time.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for calling.”

  Richard hung up the phone, stared into his cooling coffee, and wondered if Jeff would be up to going with him. He didn’t think he wanted to do it alone, and he sure as hell didn’t want Brenda to find out about it — at least not while Evelyn was in residence. He could almost hear her not-so-subtle rebuke. Brenda had too much on her mind to worry about his folly. And right now, that’s just what owning the boat looked like.

  A dark silhouette blocked my path.

  “Hey, dude, got some spare change?” The hefty teen stepped into the lamplight, grabbed my jacket, jolting me.

  Another figure emerged from the darkened doorway of a closed deli. This one held a baseball bat. “Give us your money.”

  The big guy grabbed my arm in a vise grip.

  I handed over what I had.

  It wasn’t enough.

  The smaller one whacked the bat against his open palm. “Reggie wants to teach you a lesson.”

  In one swift move, I kicked the little guy in the nuts. He went down hard.

  His bigger friend snatched the bat, heading for me like a killing machine.

  My arm went up to shield my head. The bat came down and cracked my ulna.

  Before I could do more than wail in pain, the bat slammed into my shoulder, knocking me to my knees.

  The bat arced high once more and crashed into my temple. I tried to raise myself as solid ash connected with my skull once more.

  And then like an explosion, everything was obliterated by a blinding white light, and once again I felt myself spiraling upward into the cold dark sky, away from this life, away from everything I knew and loved … forever and ever and ever.

  I’d been awake for a full seventy-six minutes, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come again and had been sorely disappointed. My cat, Herschel, grunted in his sleep and nestled closer to my chest. It was the same damn dream — nightmare — that haunted me. First the mugging — always in greater detail than the last time — then the vision of spiraling into scalding white light. It bothered me that the light wasn’t welcoming. That instead of salvation it offered obliteration. And how the hell did I know that?

  I’d never been much of a churchgoer. I’d left that to my guilt-ridden alcoholic mother. She’d trudged off to mass three or four times a week, seeking peace but never finding it. I had no use for the institution. It was nothing more than a place of empty rituals. Sit, stand, kneel, reel off prayers in a monotone before I could get the hell out of there and back to my basketball or classic Trek reruns.

  That said, it was the dreams that made me decide that it might be a good idea to talk to someone who might have insight on such things. For some reason I still can’t fathom, a part of me needed to hear a theologian’s assessment, if only to rule out that what I’d experienced was indeed a religious experience.

  Before I could ponder much more, the phone rang.

  Ten minutes later, a rather frantic Richard stood on my doorstep holding a large take-out coffee.

  Twenty minutes after that, I’d drunk the last of Tim Horton’s best brew as we stood on the dock at Sundowner’s Marina and peered into the ruined salon of Richard’s beautiful boat.

  “Who could have done this?” he asked, “and don’t you dare say Da-Marr. He was with us at the house last night — flipping channels until I thought Brenda would go insane.”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling whoever did this is someone even more sinister than Da-Marr — and that’s saying something.”

  Richard studied my face. “What do you mean?”

  “Until you get the title, we have no idea who owned this boat, but we do know it was seized for criminal activity — be it tax evasion or some other unsavory act.”

  “And you think someone believes there’s buried treasure on this boat?”

  “I don’t, but somebody must. I mean, none of the other boats was vandalized. That means someone was targeting you — or at least your boat.”

  Richard sighed. “Insurance will take care of the damage, but that’s not the point.”

  “Do you think you can get a claims adjuster out here today? Otherwise this baby is going into mothballs without us getting a chance to see what she’s really got.”

  “What she’s obviously got is a reputation. And not a good one at that.” He stared at the ruin, looking depressed. “Have you got any ideas?”

  “I’d love to just jump inside and give it the old touch test — to see if I can pick up any residual vibes — but that’s not a good idea until after the cops take a look and test for fingerprints. My guess is they’ll find nothing.” The fact that they hadn’t already made it to the marina, meant they’d had other more important incidents to deal with.

  Richard shook his head, looking heartsick.

  “I take it you haven’t said anything to Brenda.”

  “You’re damn right I haven’t. And don’t you say anything, either. I’m worried about her. This was not the time to have guests arrive, and she’s doing too much trying to make Evelyn happy. A lost cause, if you ask me,” he muttered.

  I wasn’t about to offer an opinion on that subject.

  I don’t know what story he’d fed Brenda to explain his absence, and I didn’t want to know in case she grilled me later — that way I could plead innocent.

  I patted him on the shoulder. “Look, I’ll give my friend Sam a call. I spoke to him last night and it turns out he’s a boat aficionado and he’s got connections. He might have some ideas.”

  Richard nodded. “Thanks.” He turned and headed back up the dock for the marina manager’s office.

  I pulled out my cell phone and hit Sam’s number, which was on speed dial. Unfortunately, I got his voice mail, but I told him the short version of what had happened, and gave him the boat’s registration number. I may have stressed that the boat had previously belonged to a drug dealer. I asked him to call me, reminding him I was open to accompanying him on the interviews, and left my number, hoping our conversation the evening before might give him the incentive to dig a little for my — well, Richard’s — benefit.

  After that, I caught up with Richard, who was waiting in the front parking lot for the cops to show up. He’d get a lot further with his insurance company if he had a police report to back him up. And knowing Richard, he’d probably already made a call to his insurance agent. The company appreciated his business and I was sure he would make it worth their while to send an adjustor out before the end of the day. Well-heeled clients had done the same for me when I worked in the insurance business. Knicks game tickets, restaurant vouchers — not that I’d asked for or expected them, but it had made them feel better, and keeping the customer satisfied — even ordinary Joes — had its own rewards.

  I clapped Richard on the shoulder but didn’t say anything. He seemed grateful for even that small gesture. We’d get through this. But something niggled the back of my brain, telling me that whoever had vandalized the boat hadn’t found what he was looking for.

  Not yet, at least.

  Chapter 6

  Richard pulled up the driveway and found Da-Marr in front of the garage door, down on one knee beside the guts of the old lawnmower, which had been spread out across the asphalt.

  Now what?

  Richard switched off the engine, grabbed his keys, and got out of the car. “What’s going on?” he asked, trying to sound jovial.

  Da-Marr looked up, disgusted. “This thing is a piece of shit. You know that?”

  “We don’t use it. I have a lawn service come and cut the lawn every week.”

  “Yeah, well tell that to Aunt Evelyn. She told me to get out here and cut the grass, but this thing hasn�
��t been started in years. I cleaned it up, but this spark plug needs to be replaced. It ain’t firing right and I know you don’t got no gap gauge.”

  “A what?” Richard asked, puzzled.

  “See?” Da-Marr challenged. He straightened. “If Brenda will loan me her car, I’ll go get a new one — and a gallon of gas — and get this grass in shape.”

  “But I already told you — ”

  “And I told you what Aunt Evelyn said.”

  He certainly had. Richard was also glad the kid hadn’t asked to borrow the Mercedes. He didn’t even like Brenda driving it, and he knew she was careful. Well, most of the time.

  Da-Marr went back to work, reassembling the engine, and Richard headed for the house. He hesitated before opening the door. He couldn’t pick up bad vibes like Jeff could, but it seemed like a cloud of tension had settled over his home. He wished he had an excuse to escape, but the hospital board wasn’t meeting for another two weeks, and he was caught up with the paperwork the volunteer job entailed.

  Once inside, he hung up his jacket and entered the kitchen. Evelyn sat at the table with a hardcover book open before her. “Good morning,” she said with what sounded like disapproval.

  “It’s getting close to noon now,” he answered with a nervous smile. “Is Brenda around?”

  “She felt tired, so I made her go lie down.”

  Like Brenda couldn’t have figured that out herself.

  “I think I’ll just head on up and check on her.”

  “Don’t wake her,” Evelyn ordered.

  Richard forced a smile and made a hasty exit.

  He trudged up the stairs and quietly opened the door to their bedroom. Brenda wasn’t in bed, but she sat by the window with her feet up on the hassock and her e-reader in hand. “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself,” she said and switched off the device.

  “Evelyn said she told you to take a nap.”

  “If I were to lie down without you here, I’d never get back up again,” she said tersely.

  “It’s only a few more days.”

  “It seems like an eternity right now.”

  Richard moved closer and sat on the side of the bed. “Want to go to Ramon’s for lunch? They say spicy food can jumpstart labor.”