Death in a Summer Colony

by Aaron Stander

  Ray walked Sue to her Jeep. “Did you learn anything from Tom?”

  “We just got to a point that sounded interesting. Tom said when it started raining he went down to the picnic shelter. He saw someone near the back of the auditorium.”

  “And?”

  “Then he took a phone call, a call from Garr. And then he flipped out, accusing me of killing Garr. I really thought he was about to attack me, but he took off down the beach instead.”

  Ray just shook his head, “We better get going. There are only a few hours of light left. I’ll establish a rendezvous point when we get a fix on the boat.”

  34

  “This is Tom’s usual pattern after he’s had a meltdown,” Alice Lea explained to Sue. “He goes into full panic mode. He believes that anyone who comes close to him is trying to kill him. And that’s how he’s gotten in trouble with the law. There have been a number of incidents where people have called the police for assistance in handling him when he’s gone out of control. Tom just thinks he’s going to die, but he’s going to put up a good fight on the way. He sometimes ends up assaulting the police officers…it’s just not pretty.

  “I thought you would be okay, that you could question him without incident. He likes the attention of attractive women. Usually he’s quite charming.” She gave Sue a weak smile. “There are parts of his brain that are normal. In terms of threats, he differentiates by gender. Males are bad, women not. The really bad confrontations have always been with men. And most of these have led to his hospitalization.”

  “Can you walk me through one of the episodes?” asked Sue. “We need to know what to anticipate when we locate him.”

  Alice Lea looked thoughtful. “Simple question, complicated answer. The safest response is that there is no pattern you can depend on. That said, most of the time he crashes after one of these episodes. He falls into a deep sleep, sort of a stupor. When he wakes, he’s usually lethargic the rest of the day. But that’s not always the case. Sometimes he goes through this whole cycle a second time.” She looked at her watch. “He gets his meds twice a day, so he’s long past his afternoon doses. I don’t know if that will make a difference.”

  “Does Tom have any weapons—guns, knives—or does he have access to anything like that in your house?”

  “Absolutely not. There was a shotgun from my grandfather’s time. I gave that away years ago. Tom has suicidal tendencies. He’s tried it more than once. I’ve made sure there’s nothing around that would give him an easy exit.”

  “He told me his friend Garr gave him a gun.”

  “Garr is a fantasy friend. I don’t think he ever knew the man. But that’s all Tom has talked about since that horrible day. Tom has some kind of romantic fantasy about that whole incident.” She paused and looked at Sue, “What’s going to happen now?”

  “We will try to locate the boat. Mr. McDaniel told us there was very little fuel onboard. So if Tom took it way out into the lake, he’s probably just sitting there. Or he might have landed somewhere and is off on foot.”

  “I need to be close by when you find Tom. His big fear is going back to the hospital. If he sees me, he knows he’s alright.”

  “We will do our best to make sure that happens. Give me your cell number, and we’ll stay in contact.”

  “I’ll be back in a second, let me go write it down.” Lea disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a few minutes later.

  She handed Sue a slip of paper, “I went to an early morning yoga class today. I had Tom’s pillbox laid out with his breakfast,” she held up the blue, plastic container. “He didn’t take his meds this morning. This is not good.”

  “I will call you when we find him. Please bring those with you.”

  Ray handed Sue the binoculars. “You can see the boat just left of the island. That was probably his destination. He ran out of gas a few miles short and right smack in the shipping lane.”

  “Any signs of life?”

  “Not that I’ve seen. The pilot of the coast guard chopper says someone is sprawled on the floor.”

  “That’s consistent with what his mother told me.” Sue quickly summarized her conversation with Alice Lea.

  “So what’s our plan?” Sue asked.

  “Brett’s on his way with the Zodiac. I thought we’d run out and tow him in. But given what you’ve just told me, that’s not a good idea.”

  “There’s not a lot of daylight.”

  “Two hours at best,” said Ray.

  Hanna Jeffers joined them. “Are we paddling?”

  “No, change of plans. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.” Ray explained the situation.

  “How about the doc?” asked Sue, looking at Hanna.

  “We can’t put her in that situation.”

  “So what are you suggesting?” asked Hanna. “I paddle out there, check out the situation, and see if I can get him comfortable enough that you can tow him in without him jumping into deep water?”

  “That’s the idea?” said Sue.

  “We can’t put a civilian….”

  “I’ve dealt with this kind of situation lots of time, especially in Iraq. Help me get my boat off the car.”

  Hanna Jeffers dipped one paddle blade into the water, then the other, side to side, catch, pull, rotate. Connected acts, each contributing to the rhythm that propelled her long, slender kayak through the mirror-like surface. From the launch point, her destination was less than two miles out. The marine radio on her chest was switched off, as was the phone in the waterproof bag secured under the bungees on the deck in front of her.

  Her target had been in view from the moment Ray pushed her kayak away from the shore. As she approached nearer, she could make out the lines of a speedboat sitting dead in the water. When she was twenty yards away, she stopped paddling and listened. A steady, pulsating sound came from the direction of the boat, deep breathing or perhaps snoring.

  She closed the distance by half and shouted in the direction of the craft. “Hello, anyone on board?”

  No response, just the sound again, louder. She paddled to the stern of the powerboat and secured her boat to the teak swim deck. She released her spray skirt and carefully climbed onto the deck. Then she peered into the boat. Tom was sprawled on the floor, eyes closed, chest gently rising and falling.

  “Hello,” Hanna said. She repeated herself three more times, raising the volume of her voice each time. There was still no response. She moved closer, grabbing a shoeless foot and shaking it, first gently, and then more vigorously, her gaze fixed on Tom’s face.

  One eye opened, closed, and opened again, this time wider, slowly moving in her direction.

  Hanna tensed, surveying the boat for possible weapons and routes of escape. She had been in this situation before in the military, dealing with patients emerging from psychotic episodes, some quiet and spent, others physically and emotionally out of control.

  “Are you okay?” she asked softly. She held her position beyond his grasp.

  The other eye opened. “Bitch, you killed….”

  “ I didn’t kill anyone. I’m here to help you.”

  Tom crawled forward to the front of the boat, sprawled on the cushions and looked back at Hanna.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “My kayak, it’s tied up back there. I saw the boat dead in the water. I thought maybe the driver had a heart attack or something. I’m a doctor. I came onboard to see if someone needed help. What’s your name?”

  “I don’t need any help.”

  “It’s going to be dark soon. It’s already starting to cool off. Don’t you want to be on shore? Get a warm meal.”

  “I’m good to go. I like sleeping under the stars.”

  “Storm coming in later tonight. You’re going to get tossed around when it hits.”

  “I’m thirsty. Got anything
to drink?”

  “Water. Want me to get you a bottle?”

  “I need caffeine. How about Rock Star or Red Bull?”

  “All I have is water. You want a bottle? I have to go back to my kayak.”

  “Okay, water.”

  Hanna moved toward the stern, her eyes fixed on Tom. She crawled onto the transom and pulled a plastic water bottle from under the bungees. Then she moved forward in the boat and rolled the bottle toward Tom.

  “How do I know you didn’t put anything in this?”

  “Check it out. It’s sealed. Just twist the top.”

  “Are you a cop?”

  “I told you, I’m a doctor.”

  “Why are you wearing a knife on your life vest?”

  Hanna looked down at knife. How could have I been so stupid? she thought.

  “It’s a piece of safety equipment. It’s for emergencies.”

  “Let me see it.”

  “You want a power bar. You must be hungry.”

  “I want to see your knife.”

  Hanna pulled a bar from her vest and tossed it in his direction. “Double chocolate. Red Bull in a bar,” She moved back in the boat, getting into a defensive position. In a soft voice she instructed, “Eat the bar. It will make you feel better.” She switched on her radio.

  “That water was poisoned, and now you’re trying to give something else. You cops are all alike. You killed Garr and now you’re after me.” He tossed the bar at her, then the water bottle. Pulling himself to his feet, he started toward her, finally lunging in her direction. Hanna moved to the side, tripping him with her hand as he went past her. He fell hard on the carpeted deck, his head striking the back of the boat.

  Hanna scrambled toward the bow and waited for Tom’s next move. After a minute or two she cautiously crept closer. He appeared to be unconscious.

  “I need help now,” she said, squeezing the transmit button on her radio. The Zodiac that had been lurking a half mile off the stern, roared to life. Soon Ray and Sue were at Hanna’s side as she checked Tom’s vitals.

  Hanna was in scrubs, waiting as Ray came through the emergency entrance. “I just talked to the radiologist. The CT scan is unremarkable. They sedated Tom for the scan. He’s awake now, but remains quite subdued. His mother is with him. He’s been admitted for observation and most likely will be released in the morning.” She chuckled.

  “What?” asked Ray.

  “I was in the room when Tom started to become aware of his surroundings. He kept looking at me with this confused expression. Finally he said, “You really are a doctor.”

  35

  Shortly before 9:00 A.M. Ray slowly rolled through the three-block long business district of the Harbor Village. Most of the brick buildings lining both sides of the street were constructed after the great fire of 1906. Once a thriving mercantile hub for farmers, lumbermen, and sailors, the stores now catered to the tourist trade with windows filled with t-shirts, sandals, summer frocks, and regional art—seascapes in oil and watercolors. The summer people and tourists were already filling the streets, heading to the coffee shops, the bakery, and restaurants in search of breakfast.

  A few blocks away from the lake, a series of widely spaced, single-story structures—most constructed of cement block—housed auto and marine repair facilities and the shops and businesses of the local tradesmen. Ray pulled onto the blacktop lot in front of North Lakes Electrical and Fire Equipment. He sat in the car for a few minutes, not wanting to interrupt the final movement of Schubert’s Trout Quintet. As the last note faded, he switched off the engine and emerged into the hot, humid air of the August morning. He crossed the threshold, the front door propped open by an old electric motor.

  The counterman, short and round, looked up from the sports page of the Record Eagle as Ray approached. “Can I help you, Sheriff?”

  “Is Dale in?”

  “He’s back in his office.” He pointed to a hallway that ran along the left side of the building. “It’s the one at the end.”

  Dale Van Beers was on the phone, his head bent to the right holding the phone, his eyes on a computer display, his fingers moving on the keyboard as he talked. He noted Ray’s presence with his eyes and a nod. Ray could tell from the conversation that he was doing his best to bring it to an end. Finally, Dale rang off.

  “Hey, Ray. It’s been awhile,” he said extending his hand.

  “How’s business?” asked Ray, settling onto a gray steel chair.

  “We’re keeping the lights on. That’s an achievement in this economy. What can I do for you?”

  “You service the fire extinguishers and other safety equipment over at the Old Mission Summer Colony?”

  “Yes, have for decades. That was one of my father’s accounts, maybe my grandfather’s, too.”

  “That includes the emergency egress lights, the ones in the Assembly Hall?”

  “Yes? What’s happened?”

  “They lost power Saturday. And….”

  “Half the county was out, on and off. And I was worried about those lights in the Assembly Hall. I was hoping that situation wasn’t going to come back and bite me in the ass. Am I in trouble?”

  “Dale, this is part of a murder investigation.”

  “Yeah, the murder. I read about that. Guy was a big shooter, huh. Big bucks from Chicago with that concrete and glass house. I bid on that house. The job would have covered my retirement.”

  Ray nodded. “Yes, all of the above. And the egress lights not working just seemed way too convenient. I was wondering if….”

  “If you’re thinking about sabotage or something, there’s a possibility. I can even name a suspect, not an actual suspect by name, but I can provide a pretty good description.”

  Ray noted that Dale’s expression had gone from one of concern to one of mirth.

  “That whole egress lighting system is older than the hills, first generation stuff that was installed right after the fire code made those things mandatory. It’s needed replacing for years. We do the whole nine yards out there, routine inspection and recharging of the extinguishers, no problem there. The cost is built into the colony’s maintenance budget. Same is true for the service on the egress lights. They need to be inspected and the batteries and charging units need to be swapped out from time to time. But replacing the whole system, that’s a problem. It’s a capital expense item, and Grubbs never seems to have the funds for it. So we’ve been cobbling the system together the past several years. The original manufacturer has moved all its production to China and is no longer providing parts for these old units. The last few years I’ve been getting parts by cannibalizing units we’ve pulled from churches and schools as they’ve upgraded. The colony is the last of our customers that still has this old stuff. But we had an incident last week that…well…brought everything to a head.

  “What was it, Thursday, Grubbs calls all concerned about an electrical kind of burning smell in the back of the Assembly Hall. I rushed over there personally. As soon as I got into that back hallway, I knew where the problem was. The egress lighting unit over west door was smoldering.”

  “And the cause?”

  “Mice. It was crammed full with acorns. They must have been chewing on some of the wires, too. This has always been a problem with those units, especially in a building like that. It’s easy for the mice to run along the walls and follow the Romex into the unit. Probably a great place to spend the winter, a heat source and a good supply of food.

  “The unit was toast, Ray. Grubbs wanted me to repair or replace it, but I didn’t have anything. So I made a pitch that this was the time to replace the whole shebang. First, pointing out that they had become a fire hazard. Then I gave him my usual sales pitch, and it’s all true. The new units are more reliable, energy efficient, and have come way down in price. They are also rodent proof, according to their manufact
urer. He said he’d find the money, and I put in the order as soon as I got back to the office. The replacement lights came FedEx late yesterday. I’ll have everything back together by quitting time.”

  “Sure it was mice, no chance of sabotage?”

  “Yup. It isn’t the first time it’s happened. There was no sign that anyone not having four paws had tampered with the interior.” He looked at Ray, his tone becoming more serious. “So here’s what I was dealing with. I had to take this unit out of service. I could have wired around it, but I started to wonder about the other units. Grubbs was telling me that he didn’t think the system had ever been activated, not once in his memory. So the easiest thing to do was pull the breaker. I didn’t want anyone noticing it was tripped and flipping it back on. So I deactivated the whole system, all the egress lights. I’m the responsible party. Grubbs told me about the play, and I advised him to make sure that every usher had a flashlight, a new one that worked for sure on the off chance that there was a need for emergency lighting. So am I in trouble with the law?”

  “I think you were being prudent, and you gave Grubbs good counsel. I imagine the fire marshal will be pleased to see the improvements on his next inspection.”

  36

  “Just the lunch you ordered,” said Sue, unpacking a brown paper bag. “One tofu burger with a side of chipotle, brown rice, and a kefir ginger shake. Bon appétit.” She gave him a mocking glance and under her breath said, “I couldn’t live like that.”

  “And what are you having?” asked Ray, noticing a grease spot on the side of the bag.

  “A half-pound burger from free-range buffalo, topped with farmhouse, aged-goat cheese from the new creamery up in Northport, and organic sweet potatoes fries. I just go for the healthy stuff now. It’s your influence, Ray.” She gave him a mocking smile. “I see you revamped our suspect chart.”