She was naked and spread-eagled on a couch. She was covered in blood. The ligatures were still around her wrists and ankles. Her head was tilted and they could clearly see the crimson necklace of blood running from ear to ear.
The officer who spotted her got on his police radio, switched it to tactical mode, and announced. “There’s a possible homicide victim inside. No other movement.”
Palmer came back on the line. “Hold your positions. SWAT is on the way. I’ll contact the coroner. Repeat! Hold your positions. Do not enter the premises” He then added, “The Volvo belongs to Sherry Dawson, Jeffrey Dawson’s wife.”
It took twenty minutes, not fifteen, for SWAT to arrive. Ten SWAT team members dressed in body armor, carrying ballistic shields, assault rifles and breaching shotguns took positions around the house in case anyone inside decided to make a run for it.
The SWAT commander got on his bullhorn.
“This is the LA SWAT team. The house is surrounded. Come out the front door with your hands, palms up. You have two minutes. If you don’t, we’re coming in after you!”
The seconds counted down.
At a minute and a half, two officers took a position at the front door. One was high. One was low to make it more difficult for anyone inside to get a clean shot.
At two minutes and ten seconds, a third officer kicked the door open and threw three flashbangs into the living room. The flashbangs would disorient anyone inside. He threw two tear gas canisters in as well. The officers surrounding the house broke the windows and did the same.
Four SWAT team members with gas masks on broke the sliding glass door and entered quickly searching from room to room.
After only three minutes, the scene was cleared.
Only one person was in the house, and she was dead.
Chapter 37
Randy and Charlene finished their drinks, made love and were fast asleep in the forward cabin when Todd plummeted to the deck. The fiberglass was not soundproof and the noise Todd’s body and head made was a double thud. It was as if someone had dropped sack of rocks right over them.
They both sat bolt upright in bed.
“What was that?” Charlene asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe we hit something.”
It happened so quickly, Randy didn’t have time to process what it might be.
He pulled on his jeans and ran shirtless for the companionway. When he got topside no one was in the cockpit. The boat was on autopilot and making a zigzag course toward the Isthmus.
The jib was still acting erratically, but the autopilot was generally keeping her on course. When he looked forward, he saw Jeff, Stephanie and John standing over Todd’s body.
Stephanie was hysterical, sobbing uncontrollably.
Jeff and John were arguing what to do but because of the wind and the flapping sails, Randy couldn’t tell what they were saying.
Jeff wanted to throw Todd’s body overboard and act as if nothing happened.
Slither brain was in full control and very convincing. He didn’t want to sail into the Isthmus with a dead body on board. He didn’t need the attention it would bring and tried his best to convince John that the safest bet would be to contrive some story about Todd falling overboard, but John, being a lawyer, finally won the argument, in spite of Slither brain’s protests.
They saw Randy, and continued their argument when they joined him in the cockpit, followed by Stephanie choking back tears.
Randy saw Todd’s body, arms and legs akimbo, head bent at an unnatural angle lying in a crimson pool. He still didn’t quite grasp what had happened. “What the hell?” Randy exclaimed when he saw the blood and brain matter in the gunnels.
Jeff frantically tried to explain, but was in shock himself. “Todd was fixing the jib. The boat lurched. I was cranking him up the mast. I lost my footing and the rope slipped out of my hands. There was nothing I could do.”
He distanced himself from blame. He tried to sound convincing, although he didn’t care at all that the drunken bastard who had verbally accosted him was dead. He was glad. He didn’t want to be accused of doing it purposefully.
His tone was clipped. He didn’t have time for a long explanation. Then he added, not so much for Randy’s benefit, but for his own. “It was an accident, a horrible accident. I swear. It was an accident.” Slither brain was doing what Slither brain did best, averting any attention from them both.
Sane Brain appreciated that and kept quiet.
Arachne was still on an erratic course, but generally headed for Ship Rock, a thirty-yard triangular pinnacle covered in white seagull shit that sticks fifty feet up out of the ocean and guards the entrance to the harbor about one mile from shore.
The Isthmus lay only eight miles ahead.
They could see the flat spit of land that separated the Isthmus Harbor from Cat Harbor, which lay only a three hundred yards walk on a dusty trail away. Cat Harbor is another hour around the West End of the Island and offers more tranquil mooring conditions than being in the Isthmus. It has a narrow neck and blocks the ocean waves giving those who spend the extra time to get there a better night’s sleep. It does have the drawback of being so far away from the only bar, that it makes it a challenge to hike back on the dusty, dimly lit dirt road.
Life is a series of tradeoffs.
The Isthmus is surrounded by rugged, mountains on both sides. The pall of smoke that had obscured the Island earlier had passed and the golden hills covered in cactus and sagebrush reflected the afternoon sun.
They could see it perfectly now.
The wind had shifted and was coming from the East, heeling Arachne over as she sliced through the swells, which had increased to six feet and were running at seven second intervals making the boat sway from side to side, not rhythmically like before, but bucking hard to the port and starboard irregularly.
However, in spite of the jib malfunction, she was gaining speed giving the crew only an hour and a half to get their stories straight before they arrived.
Jeff took the helm, but John immediately confronted him. He was very protective of his new toy. “I can steer her. Back off! She’s my boat.”
He pushed Jeff aside, flipped the autopilot off and grabbed the wheel.
Arachne lurched to port. The jib back winded and the bow dipped into a swell sending a huge wave of water over the bow, washing Todd’s body under the lifelines and into the sea.
Jeff, aka Snake Brain, would have none of it.
He pushed John aside.
“God damn it. You don’t know the first thing about sailing.” He let loose the jib and jibed, making a quick one-eighty.
“Stephanie. Keep an eye on Todd’s body. Keep pointing to it. I’ll watch where you are pointing and we’ll recover it. Do as I say. I’ll take my cues from you!” He barked his orders.
Stephanie kept pointing to Todd, now several yards away.
“John. Go down below and get the boat hook. I’ll bring the boat up in irons when we get near him. Use the boathook to snag him by his jeans. Or we can let him drift away and be shark bait as I suggested earlier. It would be easier on all of us.”
“Not on your life. We have to recover the body. It’s the right thing to do. It was an accident.”
John then backed off. He felt guilty about shoving Jeff out of the way. “OK, we’ve only had one lesson. I admit I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Then he showed his total lack of seamanship skills and asked, “What’s a boat hook anyway?”
He was such a novice.
Jeff wasn’t surprised.
“Come here and hold this course,” he ordered.
“I’ll get it, you stupid bastard.”
John had no reply.
Jeff was right and he knew it.
Jeff went below and retrieved the boathook, which was mounted to the ceiling in the salon. He was only gone for a minute. When he got up, he extended it and thrust it into John’s hands.
Stephanie was still pointing to Todd’s
body, now thirty yards away.
John spotted it and sailed past it, jibing again and bringing Arachne up in irons.
Stephanie watched the ease at which Jeff was maneuvering the boat. It impressed her. Her husband was such a lame bastard. She started remembering the time she spent with Jeff on Arachne earlier and did a mental comparison between Jeff and John. Jeff won on every count. He was commanding. He was suave. He acted as if he truly cared for her.
When they approached the body, Jeff yelled out. “Get the hook into his belt and hold on as tight as you can. I’ll start the engines and keep us from turning. Just don’t miss him on the first pass. If you do, he might sink.”
John followed instructions and Jeff brought Arachne up so Todd’s body was on the port side. He slowed the boat with the engine allowing John to snag Todd’s belt loop.
However, John wasn’t ready for the weight on the other end. He nearly lost the boathook when he snagged him. Todd’s body was being dragged against the waves nearly pulling him over the lifelines.
He recovered his footing and called out for help. He couldn’t hold on. “Stephanie, grab the end of the boathook!”
He thrust it into her hands.
She grabbed it and braced herself. Had she not done so, her darling husband would have lost the boathook and Todd.
She wished he were the shark bait.
Within minutes, which seemed like hours to them as Todd’s body was being dragged through the waves, they had him aboard.
Jeff left the helm, reached over and grabbed Todd’s pants. It was obvious John and Stephanie couldn’t handle it.
When he was finished and the body lay in the cockpit, Jeff took control again. “Take him below! Cover him with a blanket and put a trash bag over his head. We don’t want blood in the cabin.”
John followed orders and went below dragging Todd’s body through the companionway.
Jeff had it under control.
Although John was humiliated at being ordered around, he knew in the end, it would be worth it when he got the inheritance. He swallowed his pride, took a blanket and put it over the body.
Blood and brain matter was still dripping from Todd’s skull.
John got a trash bag and carefully put Todd’s head in it. He tied it off tightly around his neck.
Then he lost it.
He hadn’t seen a dead body before and the bile in the back of his throat erupted.
He puked on the floor.
Stephanie remained in the cockpit with Jeff, admiring his ability to remain calm under the circumstances. He was so much better under pressure than John was. Score another one for Jeff. She looked into the salon, saw John vomiting, and was appalled.
She turned her attention back to Jeff who put Arachne back on course. “I didn’t know you knew how to sail,” she said drawing closer to him. He was obviously in command, something she needed, not only on the boat, but also in her life. Outside she exuded confidence, but inside she was a scared little girl who had built a wall of defensive behavior to shield her from what the world was throwing at her. She had been like this forever. She merely wanted to be protected, admired, but also loved, in spite of her narcissistic tendencies.
She grasped his arm and held him tightly to her.
Arachne lurched as a huge swell hit her broadside. He had to hold onto the wheel to help her keep her balance. She held on to him, enjoying it.
“I’ve only sailed small boats, as a kid.” Jeff said steadying himself.
Her touch was electric and triggered memories of their earlier tryst.
Sane Brain and Snake Brain loved this part.
They were one, loving the feeling of being loved. And more importantly, loving that they were sharing the experience across the void of their life that had heretofore been a chasm neither one knew was there, but was crossed.
Slither brain took a backseat and let Sane Brain handle the interaction with Stephanie. He wanted to see how this would go.
He’d be there to bail him out if he needed it, but something told him he wouldn’t.
Randy went down and got Charlene from the forward stateroom. She was confused and had no idea what had just transpired. From her perspective, it was pure chaos and made no sense whatsoever.
When Randy entered the stateroom, she wanted answers.
He gave her a brief description and they went up the companionway to the cockpit.
Ship rock was only four miles away.
All four sat in the cockpit quietly, watching the Isthmus getting closer with each passing second, each knowing nothing more could be said.
Jeff finally spoke up and broke the silence. He had the most to lose, and he wanted to orchestrate the interaction with the police, which would most certainly occur.
“Stephanie, grab your phone and google Catalina Isthmus Harbormaster on your phone. Get me the VHF frequency. We need to call in for assistance to grab a mooring. It’s going to be tricky in this wind.”
She googled it and found what she needed. She told Jeff, “Tune to Channel 9. It says to call shortly after we pass Ship Rock.”
Jeff turned on the VHF radio and listened to the chatter between other boaters looking for a mooring. (At the Isthmus, it’s possible to make mooring reservations, but in their haste to leave, none of them had thought that far ahead.)
Thirty minutes passed and now they were abeam Ship Rock. Several seabirds were perched on it. In spite of the wind dying down, the stench from the bird droppings was enough to make a maggot gag.
Jeff got on the radio. “Isthmus Harbormaster, this is Arachne, a 52 foot sailboat at Ship Rock. We’re going to need assistance mooring. Also, you’ll need to get the Sheriff. There’s been a horrible accident and one of our crewmembers died.”
The Harbormaster didn’t get back to them immediately. He was stunned by what he just heard.
Finally, he replied. “Arachne, did I hear you correctly? You say one of your crewmembers is dead?”
“Roger that. He was up the mast fixing the jib. The halyard line slipped and he fell to the deck. He cracked open his skull. There was nothing we could do. It happened about an hour ago.”
“Roger that. I’ll alert the sheriff. When you get near the moorings, wait for the Harbormaster boat. It’s battleship grey. The driver will help you. It’s blowing pretty hard here.
He’ll put a line on your stern and keep you from hitting other boats while you get set up on the can. You’ll be taking mooring Nancy 2. He’ll lead you in to it.”
“Thanks. We’re new at this and could use any help you can give us. Arachne out.”
Immediately the VHF radio came alive. Several people were speaking at once over each other. Broken conversations were filling the airways. It was like trying to tune into private discussions in a railway terminal where there was nothing but cacophony—a blurred combination of voices that were unable to be discerned. One would start. He or she would be interrupted when another boater cued his mike. Each was trying to tell his or her friends that someone was dead aboard a sailboat coming in from the mainland.
Jeff turned the squelch and volume down.
He didn’t need to be reminded.
Jeff took control.
“Okay, guys, when the sheriff comes on board, I’ll do the speaking. They’ll want to question each of you alone. As far as they’re concerned, the entire boat will be a crime scene. So follow my lead.
John, I’ll give them my version of what happened. You tell them yours next.
Randy, you didn’t see it, but tell them the truth. It was a horrible accident.”
They all agreed to do as Jeff suggested. He had the facts. They wanted this whole situation to be over and forgotten.
They were all still in shock.
Stephanie was curious how Jeff knew the boat would be a crime scene. She didn’t know about the caution Snake Brain had given Sane Brain. She didn’t give it a second thought, but uneasiness still lingered. There was something in his confidence when he said it. It was as i
f he had been here before.
Arachne was one hundred yards from the outermost mooring when the Sherriff’s boat, with blue lights flashing, sped towards them followed by the battleship gray Harbormaster’s boat.
When the sheriff got twenty yards away, he took his bullhorn out. “Arachne cut your power. I’ll throw a line on your bow. The Harbormaster will throw one on your stern. Attach them both. When you’re secure, we’ll get you moored and then take your statements.”
Jeff ordered John to lower the main. Simultaneously, he pulled in the jib, cut power and waited.
Twenty minutes later after what seemed like a random walk through the buoys, dodging boats left and right, they were safely moored at N2.
The Sheriff, a stout bearded man with coke-bottle-thick glasses who looked like a fireplug, got aboard. He asked everyone for ID’s and took their statements in the cabin, bringing each one in separately, as Jeff had said they would.
Stephanie and Charlene were frenetic when telling what they knew.
When John corroborated Jeff’s story, the Sheriff went below and examined Todd’s body, removing the trash bag from his head. He checked for a pulse, but saw Todd’s eyes were fixed and dilated.
That was all the evidence he needed.
The trash bag, full of gore, spilled out onto the deck when the sheriff loosened the ties. He jumped back to avoid getting it on his docksiders.
“Sorry about that. I’ll get someone over here to clean up the mess,” he said while retying the bag around Todd’s neck.
Ten minutes later, a second Sheriff’s boat arrived. Another officer carrying a camera and two paramedics in their thirties got aboard.
The officer with them took several photos of the body and the brain matter in the gunnels. He didn’t say a word, but went about his work methodically.
It was surreal, like something out of a crime story on TV.
Stephanie, Charlene, and John remained silent.
Jeff, who had the most direct evidence of what occurred, pointed to the spot on the deck where Todd hit and answered what few questions the photographer asked. He pointed to the blood spatters on the deck, halyard line and mast and described how he slipped and Todd had fallen to the deck.
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