Gray Ghost

by William G. Tapply

  “Sit,” Calhoun said to him. “Wait here.”

  Ralph sat. He continued to growl.

  Calhoun went down the ramp. Dr. Surry was holding the bow line in both of her hands. The way her neck and shoulders were kind of hunched over, he thought she might be crying.

  The other figure was a man. He was wearing a camouflage rain jacket with the hood pulled over his head.

  When Calhoun got closer, he saw that it was Otis Maxner, the real estate lawyer, and he was pointing a semiautomatic handgun at Dr. Surry. It had the distinctive shape of a classic old Colt Woodsman .22 like the one Calhoun kept in his kitchen drawer.

  About then, everything made sense.

  Calhoun walked up to them. “Mr. Maxner,” he said. “What’s up?

  “I’m going with you,” said Maxner.

  “Didn’t know you were an angler.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Just a killer, huh?”

  “You’re too smart for your own good, Mr. Calhoun. I just hope you aren’t thinking about doing something stupid, because I’d hate to have to shoot this pretty lady.”

  “You’re the man with the gun,” said Calhoun. “What do you want?”

  “Get into the boat. In the back.”

  “That’s called the stern,” said Calhoun.

  “Do it.”

  Calhoun got in.

  Maxner spoke to Dr. Surry. “You, drop that rope and get into the middle seat.”

  She climbed in and sat there facing the stern with her arms folded. She looked hard at Calhoun, and he saw in her eyes that he’d been wrong. She had not been crying. She wasn’t frightened. She was pissed.

  Maxner got in and sat on the bow seat, facing the stern. He kept his Woodsman pointing at Dr. Surry’s back as he pulled a roll of duct tape from inside his slicker and tossed it to Calhoun. “Wrap her wrists.”

  “You’re pretty dumb, even for a lawyer,” Calhoun said. He slid his hand into his pants pocket and depressed the little button on the side of his cell phone. “Sheriff Dickman has already got you figured out.” He spoke the word “Dickman” extra loud. “Be careful where you point that pistol, will you?”

  “Wrap that tape on her,” said Maxner.

  “You want me to take you on a boat ride?” said Calhoun. “Revisit the scenes of all your crimes?”

  “Oh,” said Sam Surry. “I get it. Him.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Calhoun.

  “You talk way too much,” said Maxner. “Just do what I’m telling you.”

  Calhoun knelt in front of Sam Surry. “It’s going to be okay,” he said.

  She gave him a tight smile. “I know.”

  As he wrapped the tape around her wrists, Calhoun looked up at Maxner and said, “So, what’s all this killing about? You feeling guilty or frustrated or morally conflicted or something, being forced to defend those evil sex offenders in court? Is that it? Figured you’d single-handedly rid the world of them? Otis Maxner,” he said, pronouncing the name loudly and clearly for the benefit of the cell phone in his pocket, “by day a mild-mannered real estate attorney, by night some kind of avenging Spider-Man?” He was saying all this for the sheriff’s benefit, hoping he’d picked up. Even if he hadn’t, his voice mail would be catching it.

  “You shouldn’t make fun of me,” said Maxner.

  “Yep,” said Calhoun. “It’s serious business, all right. Worth torturing poor old Albie Wolinski and then plugging Mr. Vecchio. What happened? Albie betray you? Sell your secret to the writer? That what happened ?”

  “I paid him a lot of money,” said Maxner.

  “Helping you load those men on his boat, huh? Driving you out to the islands so you could set ‘em afire?” He finished binding Sam Surry’s wrists and tore the tape off the roll. “How’s that?” he said to Maxner. “All set?”

  “Tell the dog to get into the boat,” said Maxner.

  “Leave the dog out of it,” said Calhoun.

  Maxner shook his head. “Can’t have him wandering around.” He poked at the back of Dr. Surry’s neck with his handgun. He was sitting close behind her. “Do what I say or I’ll shoot her.”

  “Ralph,” said Calhoun. “Git in the boat.”

  Ralph had been sitting there waiting for his instructions. Now he stood up, sauntered over to the boat, and hopped in. He sat in front of Calhoun and stared at Otis Maxner.

  “He makes one false move,” said Maxner, “I’ll shoot him.”

  “Ralph never made a false move in his life,” said Calhoun. “He

  makes nothing but true moves. He don’t like you, you know. Did you take a shot at him that night you killed Mr. Vecchio?”

  “Push us off,” said Maxner. “Start up the motor. Let’s get going.”

  “Where to?”

  “Head for Quarantine Island.”

  “Quarantine Island?” Calhoun said, practically shouting for the sheriff’s benefit. “Not sure I’ll be able to find Quarantine in this fog.”

  Maxner smiled. “Oh, you’ll find it. I know about you. You’ve got quite a reputation. Stoney Calhoun, best guide on Casco Bay, I keep hearing. Knows it like the palm of his hand. So let’s go. And don’t try something tricky. Mess around with me, I start shooting. First the dog. Then the lady.”

  “Gotcha,” said Calhoun. “Quarantine it is. No need to shoot anybody.”

  He pushed them off with an oar, got the motor started, put it in gear, and began to chug out through the harbor. The motor thrummed softly in low gear, and even with only one functional ear, Calhoun could hear some gulls squawking and the water lapping against the sides of the aluminum boat.

  “Tell him to stop looking at me like that,” Maxner said.

  Calhoun looked at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Your dog. He’s staring at me. I swear I’ll shoot him.”

  “He won’t do anything unless I tell him to,” said Calhoun, “but I can’t control where he decides to look.”

  Maxner shook his head and kind of hunched his shoulders inside of his bulky camouflage rain jacket, as if he was cold.

  Calhoun supposed the sheriff’s voice mail had clicked off a while ago, but just in case, he wanted to keep Maxner talking. If things didn’t work out, he wanted the sheriff to know as much as possible. “So tell me,” he said to Maxner, “what was it made you decide to come after me? You kind of gave yourself away, you know.”

  “Albie Wolinski,” said Maxner. “When you asked about him, it caught me off guard. Otherwise I wouldn’t have lied. I handled his closing. That’s how I got to know him. But when you asked, I lied. Regretted it instantly. I assumed you’d check. Public records show that he was a client.” He shrugged. “So then you’d come after me, and you’d probably bring the sheriff with you, and then it would be too late. Now it’s not too late.”

  Calhoun smiled. “Of course it’s too late. You’re cooked.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He looked around. “In case you were thinking of trying to confuse me, I know the bay pretty well myself. I know where we are. I know where Quarantine is.”

  Calhoun had noticed that as they moved farther from the shoreline the fog seemed to become thinner. There was a brightness overhead that suggested the afternoon sun might burn through it, and the distant islands appeared more clearly.

  “I ain’t going to try to confuse you,” said Calhoun. “You’re already pretty thoroughly confused, I’d say. Going around killing people.”

  Maxner shrugged. “You better stop talking now. You’re starting to make me mad. Let’s get up to speed.”

  Calhoun throttled up the motor, and then they were skimming across the bay. He glanced at Dr. Sam Surry. She was sitting there with her duct-taped wrists in her lap watching him. A little smile played on her face, as if she thought that Calhoun was in control of the situation. He didn’t quite feel that way, but he gave her a quick smile and a wink anyway.

  Pretty soon the low outline of Quarantine Island appeared on the horizon. Cal
houn figured that Maxner intended to shoot all three of them and leave them there. He’d take Calhoun’s boat back to the mainland, get off somewhere where he wouldn’t be spotted, and let the tide take the boat away. Maxner knew that local people thought the island was haunted. Autumn was here and winter was fast approaching, and there wouldn’t be much boat traffic in the bay. It could be months before anybody beached a boat on Quarantine Island. Their bodies might not be found until April.

  As he approached Quarantine, Calhoun cut back the motor. The cove where he had landed with Paul Vecchio was studded with sharp-edged boulders, some of them just under the surface.

  Maxner glanced quickly over his shoulder. His gun never stopped pointing at Dr. Surry’s back. “Okay, good,” he said. “We’re here. Find a place to land.”

  Calhoun stood up, steering with the side of his leg.

  “What’re you doing?” said Maxner. “Sit down.”

  “I’ve got to see where the rocks are. You wouldn’t want us to sink.” Calhoun memorized the little cove, then sat back down.

  He caught Sam Surry’s eye and gave his head a tiny nod. Then he suddenly goosed the motor.

  The boat shot forward, and both Dr. Surry and Otis Maxner were jerked in their seats by the little burst of speed.

  Then it all seemed to happen at once.

  Calhoun grabbed Dr. Surry’s leg and pulled her to the bottom of the boat.

  The bow rammed the underwater rock Calhoun had been aiming at and slammed to a stop.

  Otis Maxner pitched backward in his seat.

  Calhoun leaped over Dr. Surry and landed on top of Maxner.

  So did Ralph.

  Maxner’s gun exploded.

  Calhoun felt a searing heat on his left side, as if someone had shoved a red-hot branding iron against his ribs.

  He grabbed Maxner’s right wrist, the one holding the gun, in his left hand and got a grip on his upper arm with his other hand. He pushed the wrist in one direction and levered the arm in a different direction.

  The crack in Maxner’s shoulder sounded as loud as the gunshot.

  Maxner screamed.

  Ralph was growling deep in his chest. He was shaking his head back and forth, and Calhoun saw that his jaws had clamped down on Otis Maxner’s crotch.

  Maxner screamed again.

  Calhoun gave his arm another twist, and the Colt Woodsman dropped into the bottom of the boat.

  Calhoun tried to reach for the gun, but his left arm had suddenly gone numb, and it refused to move. It was hanging motionless at his side. He turned his body, got the gun in his right hand, then sat back on the middle seat.

  Ralph was still worrying Maxner’s crotch.

  “Okay, bud,” said Calhoun. “Let it go.”

  Ralph let go. He sat down right there, glaring at Maxner.

  Maxner was lying on his back holding his right arm against his body and groaning. Calhoun figured he’d wrenched the man’s shoulder out of its socket, ripped the tendons and ligaments beyond repair, cracked some bones, shredded some muscles.

  He wondered where he learned to do that.

  He slumped there on the seat, trying to keep the .22 pointed at Otis Maxner. He took several deep breaths. He was feeling lightheaded and nauseated. He swallowed against the urge to vomit.

  Dr. Surry sat beside him. “Are you all right?” she said.

  Calhoun tried to shrug, but it hurt. “He shot me in the side. It’s starting to hurt. My arm’s gone numb.”

  “Can you cut this tape off me?”

  He glanced at Maxner and figured he wasn’t any threat. Anyway, Ralph was sitting there, waiting for the word to resume chewing on the man’s testicles.

  Calhoun put the gun on the seat and fished in his pocket for his fishing knife. Going into his left pocket with his right hand was awkward, plus twisting his body hurt like hell, but he got it out, opened it with his teeth, and sliced through the tape on Dr. Surry’s wrists.

  She peeled the pieces off, then said, “Let me take a look at you.”

  She opened Calhoun’s jacket and shirt, baring his torso.

  Calhoun closed his eyes and took some deep breaths against the pain.

  Dr. Surry clicked her tongue. “It’s bleeding a lot. Up to a point, that’s good. Clean it out. Looks like the bullet glanced off your ribs and kept going. Also good.” She laughed quickly. “This is ironic. I never go anywhere without my black bag, but looking at dead bodies all the time, I’ve never needed it. Now I need it and it’s back in my car. I hope you have a first aid kit on this boat.”

  “Under the stern seat,” Calhoun mumbled.

  She turned, lifted the seat, and took out the big tin box. She used a wad of gauze to wipe the blood away, and then Calhoun saw how the bullet had hit him just under his left nipple and had ripped a gouge along the side of his rib cage, angling upward toward his armpit. He guessed another inch to the middle and it could have slipped between his ribs and drilled his heart.

  Dr. Surry soaked another hunk of gauze with iodine. When she swabbed his wound, he didn’t feel anything for a couple of seconds. Then it hurt worse than the bullet had.

  She looked up at him. “Doin’ okay?”

  He nodded and tried to smile. He didn’t dare speak.

  She bandaged him up and helped him button his shirt and zip up his windbreaker. “Don’t flail around too much or you’ll start it bleeding again,” she said.

  “Not sure I’m capable of much flailing,” he said. The dizziness and nausea had passed. He felt a little weak, that was all. “I got that cell phone in my pocket. See if you can fish it out for me.”

  She leaned close to him and patted the sides of his legs. She found the phone and slid her hand into his pocket. She gripped the phone, then paused with her hand still in his pocket. “I apologize for the, um, intimacy,” she said.

  He looked at her. She was grinning.

  “Good thing Kate ain’t here,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes, then smiled and nodded and pulled out the phone. She held it up, squinted at it, and said, “Oh, this is a big help.”

  “What’s the matter ?”

  “Your battery’s dead.”

  So much for his tricky telephone call and voice mail message. The sheriff had given him a recharger for the phone. Calhoun had used it once, then stopped thinking about it.

  “You’re going to have to show me how to drive us back,” she said.

  “It ain’t rocket surgery,” he said. “It’s just a damn boat.”

  “Rocket surgery.” She smiled.

  “You want to take a look at that man’s shoulder, Doc ?”

  She raised a finger and pointed at him. “Will you please not call me Doc. Makes me think I’m some old geezer with a limp and a drinking problem. Everybody calls me Sam except you.”

  “Sorry,” said Calhoun.

  She looked past Calhoun to where Otis Maxner was slumped in the bow of the boat. “That man’s shoulder isn’t going to kill him,” she said. “I don’t have much interest in getting any closer to him than this.”

  “Fine by me. Why don’t you sit back there and drive us home, then. I’m about ready to turn this man over to the sheriff.”

  “And get that bullet wound of yours looked at,” said Sam Surry.

  Calhoun turned and looked at Maxner, who was curled fetally on the bottom of the boat. He was cradling his destroyed right arm against his body and whimpering softly. “You sit tight,” Calhoun said to him. “We’re heading back now. In case you might think of moving around, I can tell you that Ralph here has now got a taste for your balls, like one of them man-eating tigers, and he’d love nothing more than to chew on them some more. All I got to do is tell him okay. Understand?”

  Maxner opened his eyes, gave a tiny nod, then closed them again.

  Ralph continued to sit there glowering.

  Calhoun gave directions, and Sam Surry managed to back them away from the underwater boulders and get them headed back to the boat landing. Once he sa
w that she was handling it like a veteran, he allowed himself to slump on his seat and close his eyes.

  He felt himself drifting, and from a long distance away came the voices of the Quarantine Island nuns, the old gray ghosts with their habits billowing in the wind, moaning and keening and wailing, and he wondered if it was his death they were mourning. He opened his eyes. The sun had set, and darkness was spreading over the bay, and the fog seemed to be thickening again.

  Sam Surry was concentrating on where she was steering, and Ralph was still glaring at Otis Maxner’s groin area. They apparently hadn’t heard the nuns. Calhoun supposed he was a little wacky from getting shot.

  When he closed his eyes again, he didn’t hear the gray ghosts anymore.

  After a while, Sam Surry beached the boat at the landing. When Calhoun felt the bump of the boat, he opened his eyes and sat up. Sheriff Dickman was holding the bow steady, and Lieutenant Gilsum and three or four uniformed cops were standing there.

  Ralph leaped out immediately and proceeded to go exploring.

  The sheriff held on to the boat while Lieutenant Gilsum helped Sam Surry get off.

  “He’s hurt,” she said, pointing at Calhoun.

  Two of the cops helped Calhoun get out of the boat. With one on each side, they steered him over to some big rocks and helped him sit down. Ralph came over and put his chin on Calhoun’s knee. Calhoun patted him with his good hand.

  He watched as they wrestled Otis Maxner out of the boat, half-carried him up the landing, and stuffed him into the back of a cruiser. Then the cruiser pulled out of the lot.

  The sheriff and Gilsum came over and stood in front of Calhoun. “I got two messages from you on my cell phone,” said the sheriff. “First one, mentioning Albert Wolinski, I checked, and sure enough, Otis Maxner handled his real estate transaction. That’s when things started to make sense. Couldn’t understand your second message at all, to tell you the truth. It was all muffled and faraway, and after a minute it died completely. Saw that it was from your phone again, so I called Kate, and she said you’d gone fishing. Figured I better see what was up, and giving it a second thought, I gave the lieutenant a call. Not that you needed any help that I can see. You doin’ okay?”