Harmful Intent
Page 42
16
SATURDAY,
MAY 20, 1989
7:52 P.M.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t try to fly,” Kelly said to Jeffrey as a jet rumbled in the distance. “We wouldn’t have gotten here yet. It looks like the fog is just lifting now.”
“At least it stopped raining,” Jeffrey said. He watched the scoop of the backhoe dig into the soft earth.
They had come across to the island on the Steamship Authority ferry from Woods Hole. It was a good thing they’d taken Seibert’s official Medical Examiner’s van, complete with the official seal on the door. They never would have managed to get on the ship with a vehicle had it not been for Seibert’s insisting they were traveling on official business. Having his truck rather than Kelly’s Honda helped him make his case. Even then, there had been some grumbling. Theirs was the very last vehicle to board.
The trip had been uneventful. Between the fog and slight drizzle they had stayed belowdecks, finding a nonsmoking corner to sit in. Jeffrey and Kelly had spent most of the time going over Trent’s address book, but they hadn’t turned up any clues.
The only listing that had caught Jeffrey’s attention was a Matt, listed under the Ds. Jeffrey wondered if it was the same Matt who’d left a message on Trent’s machine when Jeffrey had been there the first time. The area code was 314.
“Where’s 314?” Jeffrey asked Kelly.
Kelly didn’t know. Jeffrey asked Seibert, who was skimming one of the dozen professional journals he’d brought along for the ride.
“Missouri,” Seibert said. “I have an aunt in St. Louis.”
Once they had arrived at Vineyard Haven, the largest town on Martha’s Vineyard, they’d gone directly to the Boscowaney Funeral Home. Thanks to Seibert’s call that morning, Chester Boscowaney had been expecting them.
Chester was in his late fifties, overweight, with cheeks so ruddy they looked rouged. He was dressed in a dark suit and vest complete with pocket watch and fob. His manner was unctuous, even servile. He’d snapped up the several hundred dollars that Jeffrey had offered on Seibert’s advice with the eagerness of a hungry dog.
“Everything’s been arranged,” he’d said in a whisper as if a funeral was in progress. “I’ll meet you out there at the site.”
Kelly, Jeffrey, and Warren had driven to Edgartown and had checked into the Charlotte Inn. Kelly and Jeffrey registered as Mr. and Mrs. Everson.
The only remaining stumbling block had been the backhoe operator, Harvey Tabor. He’d been out on Chappaquiddick digging a septic system for a beach house and couldn’t get back to Edgartown until after four. And even then, he’d not been able to get to the cemetery. He’d explained that his wife had made a special dinner for his daughter’s birthday, and that he couldn’t join them at the cemetery until after that.
The whole affair had gotten under way a little after seven. The first thing Jeffrey had pointed out to Seibert was that no one had asked to see the permits. Boscowaney hadn’t even asked if they had them. Seibert had said that it was still good to have them in hand. “It ain’t over till it’s over,” he’d added.
The sexton of the cemetery was a man named Martin Cabot. His face was craggy, his build slim. He looked more like a weathered mariner than a cemetery caretaker. He’d eyed Seibert for a full minute before saying: “You’re kind of a young fella to be a coroner.”
Warren told him that he’d managed to skip the third grade, so that he’d been able to cut the duration of his schooling. He also told him that he was a physician and a medical examiner and not a coroner. Jeffrey guessed that Warren was sensitive about the issue.
The sexton and the backhoe operator obviously didn’t get along too well. Martin kept telling Harvey where he should be and what he should be doing. Harvey told Martin that he’d been operating his backhoe long enough and didn’t need any advice.
Groundbreaking had occurred just past seven-thirty, behind Henry Noble’s granite headstone. It was a pleasant site under a large maple tree. “This is encouraging,” Seibert had said. “With this shade, there should be less deterioration and putrefaction.”
Kelly had felt her stomach turn.
There was a sharp screech from the ground.
“Ease up!” Martin shouted. “You’ll bust through the top of the vault.” A line of stained concrete appeared in the fresh earth.
“Shut up, Martin,” Harvey said as he lowered the backhoe into the pit. It struck the concrete gently. Harvey drew the hoe toward him and up. A large portion of the top of the vault became visible.
“Don’t break the handles,” Martin cried.
Kelly, Jeffrey, and Seibert were standing on one side of the grave, Chester and Martin on the other. The sun was still up, although low in the sky, and it was obscured by dark rain clouds. Wisps of fog swirled about the cemetery grounds by the force of the sea breeze. Martin had looped an extension cord around one of the maple tree’s branches. The sight of it made Jeffrey think of a hangman’s knot, even though the only thing dangling was the solitary bare bulb of a drop light. Its light shone directly down into the trench that the backhoe was digging.
Kelly shivered, more from the endeavor than from cold, although it had grown progressively cooler. The cozy room with its Victorian wallpaper at the Charlotte Inn seemed a long way away. She reached out and clutched Jeffrey’s hand.
It took another fifteen minutes to clear away the rest of the dirt covering the cement slab. When it was clear enough, Harvey and Martin got down on its surface to shovel the remaining dirt from the grave.
Then Harvey climbed back onto his backhoe and positioned the scoop directly above the slab. He and Martin scrambled back into the hole to run steel cables from the slab’s handles to the teeth of the scoop.
“All right, Martin, out of the hole,” Harvey said, taking pleasure in giving Martin an order for a change. He climbed back on his machine. Then, looking at Jeffrey, Kelly, and Seibert, he said: “You folks will have to move. I’m going to swing the top your way.” The three of them did as they were told. Once they were out of the way, Harvey again set to work.
The backhoe engine grunted and strained. Then, with a popping noise, the top of the vault came away. Jeffrey could see that it had been sealed with a tarlike substance. The backhoe swung the slab to the side and lowered it to the earth.
Everyone crowded to the edge of the hole. Within the vault rested a silver coffin.
“Isn’t it a beauty?” Chester Boscowaney said. “It’s one of our top of the line. Nothing better than a Millbronne casket.”
“No water in the vault,” Seibert said. “That’s another good sign.”
Jeffrey’s eyes swept the graveyard. It was an eerie sight. Night was falling fast. The headstones cast narrow, purple shadows across the cemetery.
“Well, what do you want us to do, Doc?” Martin asked Seibert. “You want us to lift the coffin out or you want to jump down there and open it in place?”
Jeffrey could tell Seibert was debating.
“I never have liked to get down in those vaults,” he said, “but lifting the coffin will only take more time. I say the sooner we get this over with, the better. I’m looking forward to a nice dinner.”
Kelly’s stomach turned again.
“Can I help?” Jeffrey asked.
Seibert looked at Jeffrey. “Have you ever done anything like this before? It might be a little gruesome, and I can’t guarantee what it will smell like, especially if there’s any water inside.”
“I’ll be okay,” Jeffrey said, despite his misgivings.
“That’s a Millbronne casket,” Chester Boscowaney said with pride. “It’s got a rubber gasket all the way around. There won’t be any water.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Seibert whispered. “All right, let’s do it.”
Jeffrey and Seibert stepped down to the concrete edge of the vault and lowered themselves in at either end of the casket. Seibert was at the casket’s foot, Jeffrey at its head.
&nbs
p; “Let me have the crank,” Seibert said.
Chester handed it down to him.
Seibert felt along the back of the casket with his hand until he felt the spot. Then, inserting the crank into the hole, he tried to turn it. He had to put his weight into it before it would budge. Finally it turned with an agonizing screech. Kelly winced.
The coffin’s seal broke with a hissing sound.
“Hear that air?” Chester Boscowaney said. “There’s not going to be any water in there, mark my word.”
“Get your fingers under the edge,” Seibert said to Jeffrey, “and lift.”
With a creaking sound the lid of the coffin opened. Everyone looked in. Henry Noble’s face and hands were covered by a fine web of white fuzz. Beneath, his skin was a dark gray. He was dressed in a blue suit, white shirt, and paisley tie. His shoes appeared shiny and new. On the white satin of the interior was a rash of green mildew.
Jeffrey tried to breathe through his mouth to avoid the odor, but to his surprise, it wasn’t all that bad. The smell was musty rather than rank, like a cellar that hadn’t been opened for a long time.
“Looks very good,” Seibert said. “My compliments to the funeral director. No water whatsoever.”
“Thank you,” Chester Boscowaney said. “And I can assure you that you are looking at the body of Henry Noble.”
“What’s the white fuzz?” Jeffrey asked.
“Some kind of fungus,” Seibert said. He asked Kelly to hand him down his kit. Kelly passed him his black bag.
Seibert worked his way along the side of the coffin. There was barely enough room for his feet, but he managed. Setting his bag down on Henry Noble’s thighs, he opened it and took out a pair of heavy rubber gloves. After putting on the gloves, he began to unbutton the man’s shirt.
“What can I do?” Jeffrey asked.
“Nothing right now,” Seibert said. He exposed the sutured incision made at the time of the man’s autopsy. Taking a pair of scissors from his bag, he cut the sutures, then spread the sides of the wound. The tissue was dry.
Jeffrey straightened up. The smell was more obnoxious now, but Seibert seemed indifferent to it.
Seibert got the wound open, then reached inside the body cavity and pulled out a heavy clear plastic bag. The contents were darkened. The bag contained a good deal of fluid. Holding the bag up to the light, Seibert twirled it slowly, examining its contents.
“Eureka!” Seibert said. “Here’s the liver.” He pointed, for Jeffrey’s benefit. Jeffrey wasn’t sure he wanted to look, but he humored Seibert. “My guess is that the gallbladder will still be attached.”
Seibert rested the bag on Henry Noble’s torso and undid the cinch. A very disagreeable odor filled the damp night air. Seibert reached in and pulled out the liver. Turning it over, he showed Jeffrey the gallbladder. “Perfect,” he said. “It’s even still moist. I thought it would be dried out.” He palpated the small organ. “It’s got some fluid in it, too.” Putting the liver and the gallbladder down on top of the plastic bag, Seibert went back into his black bag and pulled out a syringe and several specimen bottles. He punctured the gallbladder and suctioned as much bile as he was able. He squirted some in each of the sample jars.
Everyone had been watching Seibert’s efforts so intently, they were oblivious to other goings-on. They hadn’t noticed a blue rental Chevrolet Celebrity pull into the cemetery with its lights out. They hadn’t heard the doors open, or the sound of the two men approaching.
For Frank it had not been a smooth afternoon. Once again what he thought would be an easy operation had turned into a major headache. He’d looked forward to riding in a private jet, something he’d never done before. But after getting into the plane and strapping himself into the seat, he’d had a bout of claustrophobia. He’d never realized just how small these private planes were. And then to make matters worse, they weren’t able to take off right away because of the volume of incoming traffic at Logan. Then the weather changed.
At first, a fog bank had engulfed the Cape and the islands, then a severe thunderstorm had swept in from the west, pelting the city with marble-sized hailstones. Frank had gotten off the plane to wait out the storm in the general aviation terminal. By the time they had clearance to leave and adequate visibility to land on the Vineyard, it was almost six o’clock.
Then, to make matters worse, the flight had been a nightmare. With all the turbulence, the plane had bounced around like a cork in a bubbling brook. Frank had gotten airsick and had to puke in a paper bag. The whole time, Vinnie had been carrying on about how great the plane was. He’d munched on peanuts and potato chips nonstop.
By the time they’d arrived on Martha’s Vineyard, Frank was weak. He’d sent Vinnie to get the rental car while he stayed in the men’s room. Only after eating some soda crackers and drinking a Coke had he started to feel like his old self again.
They’d gone directly to the Charlotte Inn. At the front desk they’d inquired about Kelly Everson. Frank had used the same ploy about being a relative, but now he’d embellished his story by saying he was trying to surprise his cousin. He and Vinnie had exchanged winks at that little ruse. They certainly did have a surprise in mind. Both were armed with guns discreetly hidden in shoulder holsters, and Frank had another dose of the tranquilizer in his pocket.
But the surprise had turned out to be for Frank. The woman at the desk at the Charlotte Inn had told them that she believed the Eversons were in the Edgartown cemetery. She said that Mr. Everson had spent some time on the phone next to the check-in desk, trying to arrange a rendezvous with Harvey Tabor, the backhoe operator.
Back in the car, Frank had said to Vinnie: “The cemetery? I don’t like the sound of this.”
They’d circled the cemetery first. It was a big place, but it was easy to see the group in the center. There was a light in a tree that illuminated the four people standing in front of a backhoe.
“What should I do?” Vinnie had asked. He was driving.
“What the hell do you think they are doing?” Frank had asked.
“Looks like they’re digging somebody up,” Vinnie had answered with a macabre laugh. “Like in a horror movie.”
“I don’t like this,” Frank had said. “First Devlin shows up at the Esplanade, now this doctor is in a cemetery at night, digging up dead people. This doesn’t feel right. Besides, it gives me the creeps.”
Frank had had Vinnie drive around the cemetery a second time while he thought about what to do. It had been a good decision. From the opposite side they’d been able to see that there were two more people, down in the open grave. Finally Frank had said: “Let’s get it over with. Kill the lights and drive in halfway. Then we’ll walk.”
Devlin hadn’t had much better luck than Frank. He’d flown commercial and had spent most of the time sitting on the runway in Boston. Even once they’d gotten going, the plane had made a stop in Hyannis that lasted forty minutes. Devlin hadn’t reached the Vineyard until after seven. Once there he’d had to wait for his gun, which airport security had prevented him from carrying on the plane. By the time he got to the Charlotte Inn, it was almost nine.
“Excuse me,” he said to the woman at the front desk. She’d been reading by the light of an antique brass lamp.
Devlin knew he looked worse than usual with the large, sutured incision. With all the hair they’d cut off, he’d been unable to form his usual ponytail. Instead he’d tried to comb the hair from the other side of his head over the suture site. He had to admit the result was startling at best.
The woman looked up and did a double-take when she saw Devlin. On top of everything else, Devlin guessed that not too many guests at the Charlotte Inn sported a Maltese cross earring.
“I’d like to inquire about several of your guests,” Devlin began. “Unfortunately, they may be using aliases. But one’s a young woman named Kelly Everson.” Devlin described her. “The other is a man about forty years of age. His name is Jeffrey Rhodes. He’s a doctor.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Devlin said. “But maybe you could tell me if a large, rather overweight man with dark hair and puffy, deeply set eyes was here inquiring about the same couple. His name is Frank Feranno, but he’s not choosy about what name he goes by when he’s working.”
“Maybe you should talk to the manager,” the woman said.
“That’s okay,” Devlin said. “You’ll do fine. Was this gentleman in here? He’s about this high.” Devlin held his hand out to show about five-ten.
The woman was clearly flustered, and she relented, hoping that if she did, Devlin would go away. “A Frank Everson, a cousin of Mrs. Everson’s, was here,” she said. “But no Frank Feranno. At least not while I’ve been at the desk.”
“And what did you tell this purported cousin?” Devlin said. “That wouldn’t be telling me anything about a guest, now would it?”
“I told him that the Eversons were most likely over at the cemetery.”
Devlin blinked. He studied the woman’s face for a moment to see if she’d waver with her story, but she held his gaze. The cemetery? Devlin didn’t think the woman was lying. Was this yet another bizarre twist to this already strange case?
“What’s the quickest way to the cemetery?” Devlin demanded. Whatever was happening, he had the feeling he didn’t have a lot of time.
“Just go down the street and take the first right,” the woman said. “You can’t miss it.”
Devlin thanked the woman and ran out to his car as fast as his bandaged arm would allow.
* * *
Jeffrey watched Seibert balance Henry Noble’s liver in his left hand. Holding it at an arm’s length so that the embalming fluid wouldn’t drip on his clothes, he opened the plastic bag containing the rest of Henry Noble’s decomposing internal organs. Jeffrey winced as Seibert unceremoniously dropped the liver back into the sack and cinched the top of the bag so no fluid would escape.