Dead in the Water

by Glenda Carroll

  Lena started singing the childhood song for the nth time. “Rowing…row…rowed my boat.”

  “You killed Dick Waddell. That’s what Justin said.”

  That’s not what Justin had said, but I wondered how he would respond.

  “Justin’s an idiot. Was an idiot. He killed Dick. It was his idea. I just got him the stuff to do it with. He concocted the formula, then readjusted it to make sure that Waddell wouldn’t finish his next swim. Justin was stupid. I did him a favor. Took him in. Bankrolled a business aimed at athletes. What does he do? Start knocking off people he doesn’t like. You know, we have cameras and listening devices in all our offices. I heard what he told you last night.”

  “Did you talk to him after I left? He was alive when you saw him, wasn’t he?”

  “Did you think your pathetic blows killed him?”

  Spencer sounded incredulous. He kept his eyes on the road as we traveled up Bay Street and stopped for a red light.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. One of the guards called me when he reviewed the tape after you came running out of the office. I showed up about an hour later. There he was at his desk with ice packed around his nose. He told me what happened. But I already knew. Jackass. You know that idiot liked you, thought you could be trusted.”

  “Liked me?” I shuddered. What would he have tried to do if he didn’t like me?

  “I had him taken care of. Guy was always running off at the mouth about something to someone.” He glanced back at me.

  “You mean, you killed him.”

  “Don’t know anything about that.”

  Lena had stopped singing. She picked her head up, looked around, blurry eyed.

  “Lena” I said.

  She turned toward the backseat. Quick as can be, Spencer shot his hand off the steering wheel and slapped her across the cheek. She let out a moan; her head jerked back and came to a rest against the window.

  “Leave her alone,” I said, moving forward, speaking right into the back of his head. He reached down by his legs and pulled up the gun and aimed it at Lena’s chest.

  “Shut up or both of you will die right here.”

  I sat back in the seat. If I opened the door and threw myself out, he might kill Lena. I thought about the scene in the Godfather when Pauli is strangled by the guy in the backseat. But that car had been parked. If I tried to choke him, he might drive into oncoming traffic, killing us all.

  How to get me and my sister out of here alive was the main objective.

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “A little sightseeing.”

  He turned left on Bay Street.

  “If I’m going to die, I want to know the reason.”

  “Very simple. You and your sister are a nuisance. You know where I work. You’ve been there. You’ve seen our products. Not a good thing. Your sister hacked into our computers. She was printing out a list of our distributors and some very big clients when I got back to the office today. And that was after I found the Swim Association card on the ground by the fence and then noticing your car across the street. I’d seen your car at Waddell’s house. What do you think I am, stupid?”

  “Look, this isn’t Lena’s fault. I asked her to find out who your clients were. She doesn’t know why,” I lied. “Let her go. Stop the car and push her out. She’s not involved with this. I am.”

  Spencer gave a short ugly laugh.

  “You’re like that dumbass boyfriend. Drugged girl ends up in middle of Bay Street and doesn’t know how she got there. Ridiculous.”

  I looked out the window. My options were narrowing as each minute passed. The safest thing for me to do was keep him talking.

  “Why is the teenager, Nick, involved?”

  Spencer shook his head.

  “Another one of Justin’s pet projects. The kid and his girlfriend were always hanging around the RazzleD booths. Justin saw him as a drug pipeline to high school athletes. Actually, not a bad idea. He’s smart, a quick learner. But that’s over now. Kid will disappear, just like you and your sister.”

  The car turned left on Van Ness and was heading down toward the parking area that bordered Aquatic Park. Through the trees, I could see the long white boat-shaped Maritime Museum off to the right, its curved edges erased by heavy fog. Although the evening was damp and cool, the nightly improvised drum concert on the concrete steps that bordered the beach, was in full force. Spencer slowed the car to a crawl as he made his way down the hill to the entrance of the Municipal Pier. He pulled into a parking spot.

  “Get out. We’re going for a walk.”

  I climbed out of the backseat and moved toward the passenger side to help Lena.

  “You okay?” I whispered. Lena began to sing ‘row, row row your boat’ softly again. There had to be a way out. I slowed down every movement I made to give me time to think. Spencer came over and took my right arm as I tried to guide Lena with my left. My steps were sluggish and labored. I stopped again and again. Spencer jerked at my arm.

  “Keep moving,” he said.

  We headed toward the gate of the long curving Municipal Pier that separates Aquatic Park from San Francisco Bay. It was still open. In front of us, the wharf melted into a breathing dangerous darkness. I didn’t want to move forward. The wind whipped at our light clothing. Food wrappers and newspapers blew around the pier in circles.

  Spencer pushed me and Lena through the gate to the pier.

  “Quickly, move.”

  He kept nudging us forward. She stumbled and I bent over to pick her up.

  Off to one side, the lights of Ghirardelli Square twinkled through the fog; on the other side, straight out in San Francisco Bay, the navigational lights blinked on and off from the dark mound that was Alcatraz Island. In the distance was the Golden Gate Bridge. The russet towers looked paper thin. Only the bottom third was visible. A row of amber lights danced along the deck of the bridge, connecting San Francisco with Marin County. A few red lights marked the cables of the famous suspension bridge and appeared now and then through the thick fog at the top of the towers. It was almost too grand to look at. Especially now.

  The two-toned bellow of the bridge’s foghorns tumbled through the mist.

  “Please don’t do this,” I said.

  Off in the distance I heard the shriek of a police siren. Then another. They were getting louder. If the police were coming in this direction, Spencer wouldn’t have time to go much further. He pushed me and Lena toward the Bay side of the pier.

  “Climb over.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Climb over,” he said again, thrusting the gun closer to Lena’s face. I sat my semi-conscious sister down on the concrete bench and went to the rail. My hands were shaking as I lifted one leg over, then the next. I was standing on a small ledge, holding on. My hair whipped in front of my face. I could barely see the dark shadow of a container ship moving underneath the bridge. Spencer pushed the gun against my back. He glanced over to my sister who had collapsed on the bench and slowly rolled off onto the concrete floor of the wharf.

  Two more police cars were heading down Van Ness toward the pier. Red, yellow and blue lights from the flash bars on the roofs pulsed through the trees. The ear-blasting whine of their sirens was close, very close.

  I heard the gun cock behind me. I wasn’t going to wait until I was shot. I was going to jump. Right then, the pressure of the gun against my back eased slightly. I turned my head. Spencer was glancing at my sister on the concrete floor of the pier. Then his eyes tracked to the direction of the pulsating lights and sirens. He paused a second. That’s all it took. Lena rolled up into a tight crouch and lunged at his legs. She tackled him like a 49er linebacker. His knees buckled and his head jerked back. His left arm grabbed at the air, while his right hand, still holding the gun, sunk into my back.

  I let go of the rail and plummeted toward the black water twenty-five feet below. The gun exploded behind me. Who was he shooting at? Me? Le
na? Didn’t matter. No one would hear that shot down here. No one would know what was happening.

  I tumbled into the water with a loud splash. Cold, so cold. I felt my lungs collapse. I couldn’t breath. I tried to grab bites of air, but nothing was coming in. No air. I sank below into the darkness. Too cold. My skin felt like it was being stuck with millions of pins. The pilings of the pier were close and the black waters of the Bay were moving me closer. I had to swim or I’d hit them. I took a few strokes away from the pier and glanced up. My skin was burning. I couldn’t see Spencer or my sister. I didn’t think I’d been shot. Nothing hurt, except for the impact of me hitting the water. Was my sister still alive?

  It was a flood tide and the water was coming into San Francisco Bay, moving me eastward toward Berkeley. Good sign. At least my body won’t end up out at the Farallones, the remote islands about twenty-eight miles west of San Francisco in the Pacific.

  My jeans had absorbed all the water they could and were beginning to drag me down, pulling me under the water. My shoes felt like anchors. I held my breath, stuck my head underwater, trying to reach my feet. It was pitch black. I couldn’t see my hands in front of my face. I curled up into a ball, leaned my back into the water and lifted one foot at a time, until I could push off my shoes. I was getting colder. I had to move, but my arms stiffened up. I took a few strokes and stopped. My arms were useless, weighed down by my clothes. The backwash off the pier slapped me in the face and I swallowed the salty water coming in from the ocean. Coughing and sputtering, I kept my face out of the water as I swam following the curve of the pier. I knew there was an entrance into Aquatic Park. Could I see it in the dark? Would the tide push me past it?

  Above me, flashlights pierced the darkness. I tried to yell, but I swallowed water instead. I had to keep moving. My body was numb.

  Then, I heard a voice.

  “Trisha, Trisha. Where are you?” It was Lena. My semi-comatose, singing, tackling sister was yelling at the top of her lungs.

  “Here. I’m here. Down here.” Did they hear me? Could they see me?

  The tide kept pushing me along. Moving me closer to the pilings of the wharf. They were black and slimy. They smelled of rotting seaweed and tar. Barnacles ripped my hands when I reached out to push myself away. I gasped. Snapped my arms back and started kicking as hard as I could away from them. I only went a few feet before I began to wonder what was in the water with me, under me. Sea lions hung out here. I didn’t want to touch anything, living or dead.

  Now, two powerful flashlights shone down on me. I looked up but all I could see were lights. No faces, just searing white light.

  “Follow the lights,” said a male voice. One light stayed on me; the other turned into a moving narrow path on the dark Bay. Still keeping my head out of the water, I stroked and kicked, following the light.

  “Now,” said the voice, “swim to your right, through the entrance.”

  I turned sharply and hit one of the piers. Pushed off and bounced against it again. I took a few strokes and I was finally in the calmer waters of Aquatic Park. In front of me, I could see the twinkling red and blue “G” of Ghirardelli Square. Off to my left was the shadow of the tall three-masted sailing ship, the Balclutha at Hyde Street Pier. I knew where I was. I almost cried. The beach was so close.

  But I was cold. I couldn’t feel my feet or my hands. My arms were thick and heavy, like two lead pipes. It was too much of an effort to lift them out of the water. The lights from the buildings near the shore grew fuzzy. They danced in front of me, teasing me. ‘We’re just out of reach,’ they seemed to say.

  I took one stroke; then stopped. Then another; then stopped again. In the distance, I could hear the low grumble of an outboard engine. It grew louder. Through the darkness, a jet ski with a rescue sled off the back was approaching.

  “Grab my hand,” yelled the driver.

  The man reached down, seized my wrist and pulled me onto the sled. I managed to grasp the thick handles spaced along the sled’s edges.

  “You ready?” he asked with a look back in my direction. Then we roared toward shore.

  Two police cars, their lights swirling, and an ambulance were waiting when the rescue watercraft pulled up on the beach. I turned over and looked at all the concerned faces staring down at me.

  “Lena? Is my sister okay?” My tongue felt too big for my mouth and the words came out slurred. I don’t think anyone understood me.

  The area in front of the Maritime Museum was lit up like a stage set. Glaring lights and deep dark shadows were everywhere. Tourists were cordoned off to one side but watched the goings on with curiosity. Another car drove up onto the sidewalk and stopped close to the ambulance. It was a NPS security car. Driving it was my friend, Jon. Sitting next to him in the front seat was Lena, no longer singing about anything to do with a boat. She jumped out of the car and trotted over to the circle of emergency technicians surrounding me. Jon followed her.

  I sat up.

  “How you doing?” said one of the paramedics as he squatted down beside me.

  “Cold…colder now, than in the water,” I managed to say.

  My arms were shaking badly.

  “Night swimming is frowned upon, you know,” said Jon, “especially in your clothes.”

  “Not funny,” I said through chattering teeth. My lips and jaw were numb. Even my tongue was thick, like I just had a shot of Novocain at the dentist’s. My hands looked like witches’ claws. I couldn’t make a fist. And if I wasn’t looking directly at them, I’d swear my feet were in the Bay with my shoes.

  One of the EMTs gave Lena a dry pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt and she helped me change in the back of the ambulance. I began to warm up quickly once the wet clothes were off. Then, she climbed out of the ambulance and the medical professionals climbed in. They checked my vital signs, blood pressure and heart rate. And they looked into my eyes.

  “You’re going to be fine,” said one of the EMTs.

  I sat on the back bumper of the ambulance and someone stuck a cup of hot tea in my hand. Lena threw her arms around me and almost knocked me over.

  “You’re okay?”

  “I guess.”

  “I thought I lost you.”

  She looked closely at my face. Then she smiled.

  “Cold, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know. I swim in Aquatic Park sometimes. It must be about 59 – 60° now. Not too bad. Your body gets used to it over time.”

  “Thanks. I’ll pass.”

  “I didn’t know you could swim.”

  I looked at my sister in disbelief.

  “Of course I can swim. Who do you think taught you?”

  “You?”

  “Yes, me. I came before the swim coaches.”

  She looked a little surprised. I glanced over at Jon.

  “When did you show up?”

  “I saw your car pull into Fort Mason with a flat tire. Before I had a chance to see if you needed help, I saw this guy stop. Then the two of you got into his car. I couldn’t tell exactly what was happening. I thought I’d better keep my eyes on all of you, so I followed the car. When he started leading you toward the Municipal Pier, I called for the SF Police.”

  “I called 911, too,” said Lena.

  “And how did you do that?” I asked. “You could barely talk. Where did you get a phone?”

  “The phone was yours. When you dropped it in the car and you and Spencer were walking to the passenger side, I reached over and put it in my pocket.”

  “So you weren’t really drugged?”

  “Yes, but it was wearing off. I have to thank Spencer for bringing me completely back. When he slapped me, it was like a wake up call. But I could tell from the conversation that it might be better for me to appear semi-conscious.”

  I looked at her in amazement. “Smart move,” I said.

  “Normally that gate on the pier is locked; when you didn’t turn around…well. It was hard to hear the gunshot be
cause of the drumming going on at the steps of the Maritime Museum. But I could make it out. I radioed the police again and reported gunshots. It wasn’t looking good. You’re both lucky to be alive,” Jon said.

  “You weren’t shot were you?” asked Lena.

  “No. When you tackled Spencer, he pushed me, still holding the gun. I was afraid he’d pull the trigger, so I jumped.”

  “You jumped at the same time his gun went off. It went flying. I was running down the pier and was able to kick it out of his reach. The police were right behind me,” said Jon.

  “They arrested him, cuffed him and read him his rights. He’s on his way to jail, as we speak,” said Lena. “The guy is a complete psycho.”

  Jonathan and I nodded.

  “He’s a murderer. He had Justin killed. You heard him say that, right? And he’s a drug dealer.”

  I stood up. A dark fuzzy curtain dropped over my eyes. Flashing lights erupted inside my head. The paramedics were watching me closely. When I began to sway, they moved in.

  “We’re going to take you to the hospital, just to make sure everything’s okay.”

  34

  It was a quiet night at the Emergency Room at San Francisco Memorial.

  “Incoming,” called out the nurse to anyone who was listening.

  “What’s up?” said Dr. T.

  “Someone went swimming in Aquatic Park at night, sounds like hypothermia,” answered the nurse.

  With that the double doors swung open and I was rolled in on a gurney.

  Terrel looked at me.

  “You have got to be kidding.”

  I smiled weakly. The paramedics handed off the paperwork to Terrel while I was pushed into a room. I could hear him.

  “Say again, she did what?”

  I was perched on the edge of the bed when he walked in.

  “Here’s the problem,” he said sitting down on a stool by my bedside. “I have to treat you because I’m a doctor and you’re a patient. But I don’t want to. You understand? I am angry, very angry. You were supposed to call the police, remember?”