Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries)

by Bartlett, L. L.

  Sam’s call didn’t take long, and he soon rejoined me. “He was the real thing,” he said, which I already knew. “Armstrong described him to a T. It just seems odd that he was so willing to talk.” He shook his head. “You said you got nothing from him?”

  “Not a thing. But I’m also sure he wasn’t the one who held that billiards chalk when playing pool with Jack Morrow.”

  “I asked him about it. He said he hates the game, but his father would snag anyone who came in the door — guests, friends, relatives — to play. Morrow liked to make it more interesting with a side wager — and he usually won.”

  “Do you think the person who killed him was a disgruntled pool player?” I asked skeptically.

  Sam shook his head. “But say the topic of hidden assets came up while they played. Did Morrow brag about how he’d outfoxed his creditors and the IRS? Everyone I’ve spoken to said the guy had a big personality, that he liked to brag. It wouldn’t be the first time a tall tale got a guy killed.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Did you learn anything from coming here today?” Sam asked, sounding a little desperate.

  “What do you know about diamonds?”

  “Diamonds?” he asked, his eye growing wide.

  “I’m not saying I got anything solid, but when I was in Morrow’s office I got a couple of flashes of — ” It wasn’t really insight. “Of something. And when I thought about it, I thought of diamonds.”

  “Hidden in the office somewhere?”

  “No, definitely not. And I get the feeling they weren’t in his home, either. They’d be somewhere he considered safe, but he never got a chance to retrieve them, and I haven’t got a clue where that could be, either.”

  “You’re not being all that helpful.”

  I shrugged. “Sorry. It’s the best I can do. But maybe if we go to enough places I’ll soak up something else and figure it out.”

  “I’m running out of ideas,” Sam admitted. He let out a long breath. “I’ll do some more digging and get back to you by Monday at the latest. That is, of course, unless you want to call me to join you at the game on Sunday.”

  “Don’t push it,” I warned him.

  He shrugged. “It isn’t sold out, so it won’t be on TV. You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “What’s your next line of inquiry?” I asked.

  “I’ll spend the weekend rereading my notes. I’ve got a hunch there’s something we’ve overlooked.”

  “I’m the one who’s supposed to have hunches.”

  “Then reconsider everything we’ve looked at. Maybe you’ll come up with something.”

  “Okay. But right now I’ve got another errand to attend to.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  I shook my head. “Just something my brother needs help with.”

  “Remember, I’m free all day Sunday if you want to contact me,” he said with another not-so-subtle hint for Richard’s Bills tickets.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  We headed for the exit.

  “Later,” I called, and Sam gave me a wave before we separated. I had a lot to consider that weekend, but was determined to put Jack Morrow and his hidden assets at the bottom of my list. I was supposed to work on Sunday evening. I might be able to fudge an hour so and go to the game, but I hated to even mention the tickets that would probably go unused. Then again, Richard would probably rather see them used. I’d wait until Sunday morning to ask him about it.

  I stopped dead on the sidewalk as Sophie’s warning once again bombarded my thoughts. I might not be alive on Sunday.

  Thanks, Sophie. Thanks a lot.

  I’d barely been home a minute — and hadn’t had time to change into my grungies — when Richard showed up at my door. I let him in. “Ready to go?” he asked.

  “No. Give me a minute, will you?”

  I went into my bedroom and he waited in the living room. “I’ve got two worried women on my hands,” he called out.

  “What?”

  “Brenda is about ready to jump out of her skin. If this baby doesn’t come this weekend, she wants to be induced.”

  “I have it on good authority that the baby will be here before the game on Sunday.”

  “Damn. We’re going to miss it. Why couldn’t the team be on the road this week?” he groused.

  “Sam has already begged me for the tickets.”

  “Do you want them?”

  “I wouldn’t mind going. Maybe I can get Sam to buy the beer.” Of course, that was supposing I was still alive come game time. Damn you, Sophie, for being so enigmatic.

  “Then they’re yours,” he said as I came back into living room, carrying my sneakers. I sat down on the couch and put them on. He’d already grabbed my denim jacket from the coat closet and held it out for me. “Let’s go.”

  The sunny weather was holding when, a minute later, we were pulling out of the driveway and heading for the marina. Richard spent the next twenty minutes giving me a blow-by-blow description of his discussions with Evelyn about Da-Marr. I wanted to hear that like I wanted a tooth pulled and barely paid attention, thinking about what I’d learned that morning and hoping I didn’t experience any more of those annoying flashes of light.

  Our first stop was the Grand Island police impound lot. The tow job had cost a hell of a lot more than if Richard had been given the option of a Triple A tow and, as he expected, he found Brenda’s gas tank dry. The sky seemed to darken as I drove to the nearest gas station, paid an outrageous deposit on a five-gallon jug, and then returned to the lot to dump the gas in Brenda’s tank. Richard followed me back to the station where my credit card was refunded and then he filled the tank. By that time, it was nearly two.

  “Did you eat breakfast?” Richard asked.

  “A couple of cookies.”

  “That’s more than I had. I’m starved. I think there’s a diner down the road. Are you up for it?”

  “Why not?”

  I followed him to the diner. It was busy, and obviously filled with the local retired population. The young skinny waitress, dressed in dark pants and a white shirt, brought us some menus and upended the coffee cups before us on the paper placemats, pouring before I had a chance to stop her. I would have preferred a beer.

  “I’ll be back to take your order in a couple of minutes,” she promised and commenced to pour more coffee for the people at the next table.

  We perused the menu for less than thirty seconds before we both set them aside, and then Richard and I sat and looked at each other. It reminded me of the time we’d hit a diner before we went to spill our guts to the investigating detective in the Matt Sumner murder. But this was different. Thank God, this time we weren’t going on a mission to reveal a killer. But then Sophie’s warning came back to haunt me once again.

  Damn her.

  I needed to distract myself. I added a container of half-and-half to my coffee and took a sip. “You’re a rich guy. Have you got any hidden assets?”

  “Only in my underwear,” he said with a wry smile.

  “Seriously, have you ever thought about hiding assets?”

  “What for? I have more money than I can possibly ever use. I’ve been giving it away and intend to do more of it in the near future.”

  “Okay, but say you did want to hide it. What would you do?”

  He shrugged and picked up his cup. “I might buy gold coins, or jewelry. But then I’d have to worry about it being stolen. Insurance might be a nightmare.”

  He thought too practically. I needed a little creativity here. I thought about the flashing light. How it had sparkled. “What about diamonds?”

  He shrugged. “The diamond market has changed since DeBeers lost the worldwide monopoly.”

  “Who did what? And how do you know about it?”

  He frowned. “I read. DeBeers used to control nearly all the diamonds sold in the world. That was before lucrative mines were discovered in Russia, Australia, and even Canada. Still, the bigg
er the uncut diamond, the more it might be worth when it comes time to shape it. Big uncut stones are becoming a rare commodity, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t.” And I wasn’t sure I wanted to know it. “What about cut stones?”

  He shrugged. “It depends on their size and clarity. Why are you so interested in all of this?”

  “It’s something Sam and I have been looking into.”

  “Yeah, you were going to tell me all about it.”

  I took another sip of coffee. He wasn’t going to like this. “Sam’s doing a story on Jack Morrow.”

  “The racketeer who was shot to death?” he asked, his voice rising. He definitely didn’t like this. “Please tell me you’re not looking for his killer.”

  “We’re not looking for his killer. Although if we found him, Sam would probably dance a jig. We’re actually looking for his missing assets.”

  “And you think they might be diamonds?”

  “No. Well, not really. I was thinking maybe gold. But we haven’t found anything concrete.”

  “I wish you’d stop looking. It’s dangerous. You’ve had a rotten week and you deserve some peace.” He lowered his voice. “We both know that invoking this psychic crap really takes a toll on you. Please drop it.”

  I wasn’t sure I could. Not with the debt I still owed Sam.

  The waitress arrived, giving me the out I needed.

  “Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” I said.

  “A Reuben,” Richard said.

  She collected our menus. “They’ll be out in a couple minutes.”

  Richard nodded, and picked up his cup once more. “I didn’t think to check the boat’s fuel tank the last time we used it. We might have to top it up, but I don’t want to get too much diesel. I’m not even sure if they drain the tank before they put the boat in storage. We’ve got so much to learn.”

  “You said this was our last chance to run it.”

  “Everything’s got to be out of the marina before the end of next week. The baby will be here any minute, so after we’re done with our ride today, I’m going to tell them to do whatever it is they do. I’ve seen a lot of boats with shrink wrap. I guess I’ll go for it, even though it’ll be stored in a building off-site.”

  “You went for that? What did Brenda say?”

  “I didn’t bother her with the details.”

  And probably for good reason.

  As promised, our food arrived quickly and we dug in. For someone who had wanted to take one last boat ride of the season, Richard seemed antsy — as though he wanted to get this over with. This was going to be my first and last chance of the year to drive the thing and I intended to milk it for all I could. After all, if Sophie’s rather vague but dire prediction came true, it might be the last fun thing I got to do.

  Had she seen a boating accident in my future?

  Surely, she would have said.

  I chewed my sandwich a little slower.

  Richard finished long before me, and in fact, I just gave up and pushed my untouched soup away. He paid the tab and we started off for the marina once again.

  We got separated at the next traffic light, and I arrived at the marina before Richard did. I got out of the car and planted my butt against the warm metal of the driver’s side door. The wan sun ducked behind yet another cloud, one of many that seemed to be gathering in the west and north.

  As I waited, I wondered again about the life jackets. I hadn’t seen them the last time we’d been onboard. I remembered Sophie’s worried face and I wondered if we ought to pick up a couple before we took off. As soon as Richard arrived, I asked him about it.

  “Good idea,” he said. “You go on ahead and I’ll get some from the marine store.”

  “Okay.”

  We split up. As I walked along the wide dock, I noted that there were only four other boats left in their slips, including the one Da-Marr had been aboard several days earlier.

  A cold wind blew off the water, and I found myself walking slower as I approached Richard’s boat. Sophie’s warning buzzed through my mind like an angry insect — a bee or a wasp — just as deadly.

  The smoky glass doors made it difficult to see into the salon, so I backed up a few feet until I was in line with the starboard side window and definitely saw movement within. Damn that Da-Marr. He turned, saw me, and I could see rage unfold across his features. He charged for the sliding glass door to the deck, shoving it back with such force I was sure it would shatter.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “Go!”

  “Who the hell do you think you are ordering me around? First you steal Brenda’s car — that’s grand theft auto — and now you’re trespassing.”

  “Get the fuck away from here!” he hollered even louder.

  Although I was sick of letting this petty thug intimidate me, I backed up a few paces. For such a big guy, Da-Marr was fast. In one fantastic leap, he made it over the side of the boat and onto the dock.

  I flashed back to the mugging.

  The baseball bat came arcing toward me.

  I raised my arm to stave off the blow.

  Da-Marr grabbed hold of my jacket, knocking me off balance, and hauled me back toward the boat. Stunned, I had no time to offer resistance as he tossed me onto the deck. I smacked my head so hard I saw stars and time seemed to stop. I was vaguely aware of him rifling through my pockets until he’d fleeced me of my keys.

  “Don’t move!” he shouted.

  I could barely think, let alone move.

  I heard a noise that took me far too long to identify.

  Rolling over on my side, I managed to pull myself into a sitting position, and realized the boat was bobbing. The powerful diesel engines fired up, and suddenly we were moving away from the dock.

  What the hell?

  I looked up to the bridge deck to see Da-Marr at the boat’s controls.

  “Da-Marr!”

  I looked back at the rapidly retreating dock where Richard stood holding onto a couple of orange life jackets. “Da-Marr, wait!” he hollered, panic-stricken. He tossed the life jackets onto the dock and started running. “Jeff! Jump — jump!” he hollered, but my head was still spinning. He was gaining on us, and when he got to the end of the dock he dove in — just as Da-Marr hit the throttle. The momentum knocked me over. By the time I crawled to my knees to look over the back of the boat, all I could see was the top of Richard’s head in the water as we sped away.

  Chapter 24

  “What the fuck are you doing?” an unfamiliar voice shouted.

  The engines cut back, but Da-Marr stayed at the controls. “We almost got caught.”

  I looked at the open door to the salon and saw a vaguely familiar figure — a skinny white guy, older than Da-Marr by a few years — step onto the deck. I’d seen him somewhere but couldn’t place him, and yet I knew who he was — but not his name. Clutched in his hand was a large Philips screwdriver. He looked down at me in anger. “Who the hell are you?”

  I swallowed — didn’t answer. Understanding dawned as I realized that Easy Breezin’ had to have been Jack Morrow’s boat — one of three that the IRS had confiscated. One of three sold at auction. Why the hell did Richard have to pick this damn boat?

  The engines began to idle, and Da-Marr trundled down the stairs from the bridge deck.

  “He’s the asshole brother of the dude that owns this boat.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “I figured if he was at the marina, so was the brother and we’d get caught. I ain’t goin’ to jail for this.”

  “For what? What are you looking for, boys? Something shiny?” I asked.

  Whitey turned abruptly. “What do you mean?”

  “Diamonds. Isn’t that what you’re searching for? Isn’t that what you were searching for when you ruined the salon’s upholstery the other day?”

  Da-Marr looked scared; despite the stiff wind, his upper lip
had beaded with sweat. “Shit. How did you know about that?”

  “I know a lot of things — especially about Jack Morrow.” I turned to Whitey. “About how you two used to play pool at his house. How you let him beat you every time.”

  “Who the hell are you?” he demanded again, growing angrier.

  “I told you,” Da-Marr said. “And he don’t know nothing.”

  “Don’t give me that shit. You squealed. Who’d you tell?” Whitey demanded.

  “I swear, Bobby, I told nobody.” He glared down at me. “Especially not this pussy.”

  Bobby glared at me, convulsively clenching the screwdriver, thinking things over.

  The boat began to drift north with the current, waves smacking the sides as it bobbed.

  Finally, Bobby nodded at me. “Get up.”

  “What you gonna do?” Da-Marr asked, fear creeping into his voice.

  Bobby ignored him. “I said get up!”

  Holding onto the end of the boat, I struggled to my feet.

  “If you know so much, you can lead us to the diamonds.”

  “That’s one secret Jack Morrow never shared with me.”

  “He’s lying,” Da-Marr said. “He never knew the guy. Richard said they didn’t know who owned the boat before him.”

  “I’m not taking any chances,” Bobby said. He stood back and motioned me to enter the salon.

  Richard was right. I should have jumped overboard. Bobby could easily stab me with the screwdriver and toss me over the side anyway. It made sense to bide my time.

  I hoped.

  I stepped forward and Bobby grabbed my jacket.

  The baseball bat arced toward me, and I raised my arm to protect my head.

  Bobby shoved me into the salon that bore no resemblance to the peaceful sanctuary of leather and cherry wood I had known only days before. Everything had been dismantled. Holes had been punched into the walls and ceiling, and I saw the baby sledgehammer that had been responsible for the destruction lying on the floor.

  The microwave had been ripped from its housing, its case removed. The two-burner ceramic range had been smashed, no doubt another victim of baby sledge. The Corian counters were gone, and I had a feeling they lay at the bottom of the marina, too bulky to throw into the dumpster, and too heavy to have to move, they’d probably slid into the water the night before, on the port side and out of range of the dockside security cameras.