He watched as the tiny sailboat attempted to reverse direction and kept blowing the horn.
He knew disaster was imminent, but Arachne finally gained speed and the cable narrowly missed cutting her in two by only thirty feet.
Jeff struggled sailing Arachne, which was now crossways to the swells and lurching violently from side to side.
He kept trying to wake Todd, who finally fell off the settee, when a rogue wave heeled Arachne over almost twenty degrees.
Todd hit his head on the deck and got a deep cut over his right eye. Blood covered his face.
Jeff was yelling and pointing. “Look at the cable! We’re going to hit the cable.”
The cable was so close individual stands dripping seawater were now visible. Arachne was paralleling the course of the freighter, but the wind was pushing her closer to disaster. The cable was visibly rusted and covered with a green patina, having been pulled through thousands of miles of seawater. Kelp hung from it adding to the macabre scene.
Todd looked around, stunned, and when he finally focused and saw it, he started the engine and gave it full throttle. Had he not done that, the mast would have been torn down, Arachne would have been dead in the water, and the following freighter would have shattered it to pieces.
Todd steered the boat out of harm’s way.
“God damn it. What happened? How did we get so close anyway?” He was momentarily sober and wanted an explanation.
“I fell asleep,” Jeff said sheepishly. “I only woke up when the freighter sounded his horn. Damn it, I’m shaking. Snake Brain and Sane Brain were one. “We could have been killed. Damn it. I’m sorry.” (He was, of course referring to his two personalities, not his new acquaintances.) When faced with a life or death situation, the survival instinct kicks in leaving friends and family to fend for themselves.
Once they were a couple of hundred yards from the deadly cable, Todd turned on the VHF and hailed the captain of the Miraki Maru, the name of the leading freighter.
“Miraki Maru, this is Arachne calling. Come in. Miraki Maru, this is Arachne calling. Come in.”
The sound coming from the VHF was full of static. After only a few seconds, the captain of the Miraki Maru answered.
“Miraki Maru, come back. What you think you were doing? You could be killed. I could not stop boat in time. Anyone on board hurt? Why you drive your boat there in the first place. Stupid Americans! You always think you own road!” The captain had an Oriental accent. The boat was registered in China. Obviously, English was his second language.
Todd was furious by the attack but knew he was in the wrong. He decided truth was the best tactic. “We fell asleep on watch. We apologize. All aboard are OK. Thank you for your concern. We’ll steer clear until your tow is well out of the way. Arachne, out!”
He kept his response brief, in spite of the fact he wanted to give the captain a piece of his mind. He didn’t wish to get into an argument he would never win. It was best to apologize and move on. He knew the captain would have to file an incident report, and in the incident report, it might ultimately get back that he was captaining Arachne. He might lose his license to teach if it did.
He was convinced he had done the right thing.
The second freighter in tow finally passed and Todd secured the jib line, set the sails and put Arachne back on autopilot on a course to the Isthmus.
“Fast thinking back there to cut the jib sheet,” Todd said to Jeff.
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
After a few moments, Todd noticed the boat was acting erratically. The autopilot was having trouble keeping on course. Todd adjusted the traveler on the main sail bringing it more to the centerline to see if that would help. It did momentarily but didn’t solve the problem.
Todd tried hauling in the jib, to trim it with the main.
That did nothing either.
He looked up at the mast to see if he could tell what was amiss, and then he spotted it. The roller-furling jib was not letting the jib sail out all the way. Somehow, during the maneuver to get away from the cable, the outhaul on the roller furling had snarled, and the jib halyard had come loose allowing the jib to lower increasing making it harder to set the sail correctly.
Todd knew immediately what had happened.
“Damn it. The roller furling is snagged at the top.”
“What?” Jeff asked.
“The roller furling is snagged. I’ll have to go up and fix it. Go down below and get John. Ask him where the bosun’s chair is. I’ll use it to go to the top of the mast and unsnag it. It won’t take long.” (A Bosun's chair (or boatswain's chair) is a device used to suspend a person from a rope to perform work aloft. Originally, it was a short plank or swath of heavy canvas seat. Today, modern bosun's chairs incorporate safety devices similar to those found in rock climbing harnesses.)
Jeff looked to see what the problem was. The mast was over fifty feet high and swaying back and forth each time Arachne crossed a swell. He didn’t see it, but the roller-furling jib had lowered almost four feet. It put tension on the roller and kept the jib from unfurling.
Both Snake Brain and Sane Brain wanted no part of climbing up there and were glad Todd was going instead of them. It not only looked dangerous, but it also was. They both knew it.
Jeff went below and brought the bosun’s chair out to Todd, who was at the base of the mast lowering the halyard he would hook to the chair and have Jeff winch him up the mast.
The FallTech 8039 bosun seat was built for safety and reliability. It had a 13-ply Baltic Birch wood seat equipped with sturdy side snaps on which to hang equipment or tools. It had durable 1-3/4” wide polyester webbing suspension straps and an integrated TB body belt, seat and back pad. Two brass D-rings were used to secure the chair to the halyard shackle.
Todd took the seat from Jeff and began to adjust it to his size, ensuring he was snugly and safely in it by tightening the waist belt. Once satisfied it fit, he took the two D-rings and connected them to the halyard shackle, handing Jeff the loose end.
“OK, Jeff, I can’t do this alone. I need you to take this halyard and make a few wraps around the winch drum on the mast. Then put the handle into the winch and crank me up to the top. Whatever you do, don’t let the halyard slip. If you do, it won’t be pretty. Although I’ll have a safety line around the mast in case anything goes wrong, I don’t want to fall.”
Jeff took the halyard line and made a couple wraps around the winch drum. He put the winch handle in and started cranking. Unfortunately, he had wrapped the halyard line the wrong way and instead of lifting Todd, the line went slack and Todd, who had put his weight on the seat, fell to the deck hard on his ass.
“Dammit, Jeff, wrap the halyard the other way.”
Snake Brain was pissed. He wasn’t used to this type of treatment. “Dammit to hell, yourself, you drunken bastard. Don’t yell at me! If you do, you can get someone else to haul your ass up the mast. I mean it. Don’t fucking talk to me that way!”
Jeff let loose of the halyard line again prepared to walk away and have John help Todd up the mast, but because Todd had taken his weight off the chair, he didn’t fall to the deck again when the line went slack.
They were burning daylight and Todd knew it might take him more than thirty minutes to unsnag the jib. He didn’t want to waste time. He had some serious drinking to do when they finally got to the Isthmus.
The blood from the cut over his eye was blurring his vision, and he wiped it away. It stung.
“Sorry, bud! I want to get this done quickly so we can hit the bar at the Isthmus. Wrap it the opposite way, but do it quickly. Take three or four wraps on the winch. That should be enough to hold me. Try it again.”
Snakey wasn’t convinced the apology was real, but Sane Brain kicked in and did as he was told, in spite of the reptile’s protests.
After wrapping the halyard line correctly, Sane Brain started cranking. The snake slithered into the background, letting his alter ego take con
trol.
It only took three cranks on the winch handle until Todd, fully seated in the chair, was six inches off the deck floating freely, suspended on the line, his legs extended, feet placed firmly on the mast for leverage.
Todd took a safety harness out from his tool belt and clipped one end to the leftmost D-rings. He leaned forward and wrapped the safety line around the mast reconnecting it. Using his feet against the mast, he leaned back in the chair and was ready to be cranked to the top. With each crank, he would readjust the safety line inching himself up like the natives in the South Pacific, who use a piece of fabric around their waist and the palm tree to climb to the top to cut down coconuts.
“Ok. I’m ready. Start cranking!” Todd ordered.
Jeff, cranked three or four times and with each crank Todd, leaning back, started walking up the mast.
Todd was now suspended eight feet off the deck.
With each third crank, Jeff was raised higher and higher. When he got to the spreaders about twenty feet up, he had to unloosen the safety line. When he did, he was fully supporting himself on the halyard, bracing himself with his feet on the mast.
At that moment, Arachne lurched sideways from another swell and Todd lost his footing against the mast. He was momentarily suspended in mid-air moving away from the mast quickly. The halyard held, but when Arachne righted herself, he was slammed against the mast, hitting his head against it, re-opening the wound above his right eye.
Blood gushed out, making him momentarily blind.
This new wound opened the gash over his right eye deeper and blood spurted out dripping onto his face falling below towards Jeff. The blood cascaded off his face, was caught in the wind, splattered on the mast and started pooling on the deck.
Four or five drops landed on his face and on his hands, making it difficult to see and hold the halyard.
Arachne lurched again.
Jeff lost his footing when he stepped on the blood spatters. He tried to hold himself but fell backward.
The halyard line slipped from his fingers.
Todd’s safety line, now unattached, was no help.
He fell twenty feet and slammed to the deck landing on his back. The impact was so severe it snapped his spine and shattered his skull.
White brain matter leaked from the back of his head, mixed with his blood and pooled on the deck, finally dripping into the gunnels then into the sea.
He died instantly.
Chapter 35
Fred pulled his cruiser into the main parking lot at headquarters. He took the steps two a time brushing past Captain Palmer, who was on his way to Court without saying a word.
Palmer spoke up in spite of being ignored. “Wow, Fred, I’ve never seen you move so fast. Are you in that much of a hurry to retire? We’re still on for a fishing trip in Bridgeport, right?”
“Right, Captain. I can’t talk right now. They found another blonde murdered up in Malibu last night. Surveillance cameras might have captured the perp’s car. I’m going to forensics now to review the tapes. They were a little blurry and the guys in the lab were enhancing them.”
“I heard about that in this morning’s briefing. Carry on. Get the bastard. It’s getting hard to keep the public away from this one. A reporter from the LA Times tried to pigeonhole me yesterday about the case. I put her off, but she’s a stubborn one. I have to meet her later today. The Task Force prepared a statement for me that will provide the public a little of the information we have, but they also caveated it with the standard, ‘this is an on-going investigation BS, and I’m not at liberty to say.’
She’s already found out about two of the other murders. She’s threatened to go public if we don’t give her something to report. They have to sell papers, I guess, but I’m afraid she’ll get all of LA in an uproar.
You know how on slow news days, a story like this can go national in a heartbeat. Look what’s happened all over the US in just the past year. Any time a police agency does something where someone is killed, the press plays the race card. They hate us, even though we’re here to protect and serve. I don’t want that, especially not in this election year.
She’s good.
She’s really good at what she does and I won’t be able to keep her at bay for long. Can you imagine me having to do be interviewed by a national news correspondent from one of the major networks?”
“I’ll do what I can Captain. I’ll keep you informed.”
“Great!” Palmer stated, then turned and left.
Fred got to the forensics lab and two technicians dressed in jeans and pullover shirt were huddled next to a computer. One of the technicians used his mouse and drew a circle around the license plate of the black Mercedes. With three or four keystrokes, he brought the plate into focus.
The other technician went to his computer and typed the plate number into the DMV database.
In seconds, Jeff Dawson’s photo filled the screen.
Fred leaned over. “I’ll be damned! It’s him.”
“Who,” asked the first technician?
“Jeffrey Dawson. I interviewed him a few days ago. He owned a knife similar to the one we found a piece of at the Dockweiler murder scene. It might be a coincidence, but I don’t think so. What are the odds?
Hey, print me out the photo of the car, the license plate, and Jeff’s driver’s license. I’m going to pay him a visit.”
Fred took the photos and dashed down the hall.
In his cruiser, he called for backup and told the detectives to meet him at Dawson’s house.
Fred picked up his cell phone and called Detective Riddick.
“Alvin, do you have anything yet? It’s been over a week.” (Fred needed the information now. If he didn’t get it, he had Alvin’s wife on speed dial and he would tell his wife all he knew. He was a week from retirement and he felt he was only hours from busting this case wide open.)
Riddick hadn’t thought about Fred’s request for days. He was too interested in setting up something with his stripper girlfriend. “Fred, I was just gonna call you! I got a list from the manufacturer of the knife today. It has about a hundred names on it. Who knew that it was so popular?”
“Cut the crap. Is there a Jeff Dawson, or any Dawson for that matter on the list?”
Alvin scanned it. The items were shown by date purchased, not alphabetically. He remained silent while he checked.
Fred got impatient. “Come on, Alvin. I need to know NOW.”
Alvin flipped to the second page and found it.
“Got it, boss! A Jeffrey Dawson bought one of them one month ago. Do you need the address?”
“No. I’ve already been there. I’m headed his way now. Thanks. And by the way, I’m removing your wife’s name from my speed dial. If you hadn’t come through, the next call I was going to make was to her.”
Fred knew immediately Dawson was the Blonde Killer. He thought back to the moment when he was at his place and asked him about the knife. He remembered Jeff offering to go get the knife so Fred would cut his name off the list. Dawson was cooperative---much too cooperative. Something didn’t ring right with Fred then. Now he knew. It was too easy. His gut feeling on meeting Dawson was spot on!
Alvin slammed the phone down and dialed one of his stripper girlfriends. He had a free hall pass now and he intended to use it.
Chapter 36
Fred pulled his cruiser up in front of Jeff Dawson’s home. There was a green Volvo parked in front, making it difficult for Fred to park. He had to pull up partly onto the gravel cactus garden that bordered the driveway or risk not being able to get out of his car.
The Volvo driver’s side door was open and there was a trail of blood leading to the front door. A purse was lying open on the front doorstep, its contents strewn out haphazardly as if a small explosive device had gone off inside it. Mascara, change, car keys, old receipts and a wallet littered the sidewalk.
Two other police cars were parked on the opposite side of Pacific Coast Highway and four
uniformed officers were stuck waiting for traffic to clear before crossing the busy road and joining Fred.
Fred kneeled down and put his index finger on one of the blood spatters.
It was viscous, but not dried and the day was hot, indicating it was fresh.
He waited for the other officers to join him.
“This doesn’t look good at all,” he said pointing to the blood on the driveway, the purse and the front door to the house, which was ajar.
All five officers drew their weapons. One got on the radio and called into dispatch. “There is a possible crime scene here.” He gave the address. “Put me through to Captain Palmer.”
Dispatch got Palmer on the line.
“We arrived at the Dawson house in Malibu five minutes ago. There’s fresh blood leading from a late model green Volvo License Plate 657DDN to the front door. We request backup, Captain. Things might turn ugly!”
“Secure the perimeter. Wait for SWAT. I don’t want any of you to go inside until SWAT arrives. They’ll be there in 15 minutes. Meanwhile, don’t do anything rash. Contain the situation. If there’s any disturbance or if you think anyone in the house is being held hostage or threatened, you have permission to confront. If the situation remains static, just wait.”
“Roger that, Captain.” The officer said.
“Captain says we’re to wait for SWAT,” he told the other four.
Fred was beside himself. He wanted to see what was going on inside.
The house was quiet—forebodingly so.
Two officers went to the back of the house, which faced the ocean.
Fred and the other two remained out front.
There weren’t any signs of movement in the house.
When the two officers who were securing the back got on the porch, they looked through the sliding glass door into a den. Chairs had been overturned. A glass coffee table was shattered in pieces.
That’s when they saw the victim.
Dawson's Web Page 20