by Glen Ebisch
Since it was the middle of the week and late in the season, only a handful of people were on the beach or walking along the boardwalk. Soon Clarissa was oblivious to her surroundings, hearing only the thrumming of her feet on the boardwalk and feeling only the warmth of the sun on her face. Suddenly she was startled out of her trance by someone calling her name. She stopped, almost losing her balance, and turned to her right to see a police car pulled up next to the boardwalk. Officer Rudinski was standing by the front bumper, his shoulders on the level of the boardwalk.
“Sorry to startle you. Can we speak for a moment, Pastor?”
“It’s Clarissa,” she replied automatically.
He gave one of his shy smiles. “Can we speak for a moment, Clarissa?”
She nodded and pointed a few yards ahead where there was a set of stairs up to the boardwalk and a bench. She ran ahead and reached the top of the stairs just as Rudinski arrived at the last step.
“A beautiful day for a run,” he commented, staring out at the blueness of the ocean. “On a day like today, it’s hard to imagine living anywhere else.”
“Yes. The ocean is like the desert. The lack of things to see makes it mesmerizing because your attention focuses on nothing.”
“I’ve never thought about how similar the presence and absence of water can be. I guess apparent opposites aren’t always so opposite.”
He gave her a careful look, and she felt herself blushing. “You wanted to talk to me, Roger.”
“I had an idea for flushing out our culprit in the Shipwreck Inn, but I wanted to run it by you before suggesting it to the Lieutenant.”
“How can I tell you anything Lieutenant Baker couldn’t?”
“That’s not the reason I wanted to talk to you,” he said, shifting on the bench uncomfortably. “I just thought that if it’s a bad idea I’d rather have you tell me so than embarrass myself before a superior officer.”
“But you don’t mind embarrassing yourself in front of me?” she asked with a smile.
Rudinski grinned. “I’m not too happy about doing that either, but at least it won’t affect my chances for promotion.”
“Okay, give it a shot.”
“Well, first of all, I think we have to be more proactive. Sylvia may delay the attacker from causing more havoc for a day or so by saying she might sell the inn. But if nothing happens, he’s going to start up again. We have to be ready for his next move.”
“Agreed.”
“I think we have to send in someone to stay at the inn who will look to be a likely victim. Then we have our own people at the inn keeping an eye on our potential victim and grab the guy when he attacks.”
“Sort of like staking out a goat as way to attract a man-eating tiger you want to kill,” said Clarissa.
Rudinski smiled. “How does the goat usually do in that scenario?”
“I’m not sure. But hopefully we’ll be better able to protect our bait.”
“It will have to be a woman. You’ll notice that the ghost has never attacked a man. There’s probably too much risk of getting into a fight.”
Clarissa nodded. “Do you have a policewoman you could use?”
“The only policewoman on our force is away for a month’s training.”
“Well, I guess I could do it, but . . .”
“Thanks for volunteering, but it would have to be someone that no one at the inn knows. We’d have to make up a cover story for the person, so no one suspects that she is a plant.”
“Of course,” Clarissa agreed, somewhat disappointed at not being able to be actively involved.
“Before we worry about getting our undercover operative, I need to know if this seems like a good idea.”
“It sounds like a plan to me, but you’re the cop. Do you think the Lieutenant will go along with it?”
“He’ll hate to involve a civilian in an undercover operation, but he might do it if we have another incident at the inn. But we’ll have to make sure that the woman we put in place is at minimal risk.”
“If that’s the case, why don’t you wait to suggest your plan until something more happens?”
Rudinski sighed. “You’re right. I got pretty excited with the idea, but I shouldn’t broach it with Baker until there’s another event.” He stood up and smiled down at Clarissa. “Thanks for the good advice. Would you like a ride home?”
She glanced at her watch. “No, I have time to run back. But I am meeting Andrew Corrigan in a few hours. We’re going over to the Slipped Anchor to interview the employees.”
The officer frowned. “Make sure Corrigan is with you. That’s no place for a woman alone. And I don’t think you’re going to find out much. We’ve already spoken with the guys who work there. Nobody seems to know anything about what happened on the night of the murder.”
“Maybe they’ll tell us something they wouldn’t tell you. Some of those men are probably afraid of the police.”
Rudinski shrugged. “Well, thanks for your help, and I’ll let you know what we decide to do.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Clarissa watched the officer walk down the steps and get back into his police car. That was the longest conversation she’d ever had with him, and he’d seemed more mature, smart, and ambitious than she had ever expected. Just because she’d mostly seen him tagging along with the Lieutenant, she had never considered that he might be so bright and capable. She had to admit she was impressed. He was also, she admitted to herself, rather attractive with his shy smile and hazel eyes. He was the kind of guy it might be worth getting to know better. She shook her head, warning herself that this was not the sort of problem she needed right now. Clarissa got off the bench, did a few stretches to shake off the stiffness from sitting, and began to run back home.
*****
Clarissa sat in her kitchen eating her supper and considering the plan Rudinski had formulated. She agreed with him that the rumors Sylvia had started about possibly selling the inn were not going to put an end to the attacks. Whoever had started this concerted effort to get her to sell was determined and would not stop until Sylvia either sold or they were apprehended. Rudinski’s trap seemed to be a good idea, but he was right; they would need a woman to serve as bait. All the attacks had been on women and that was unlikely to change. Their decoy would have to be someone who would make a convincing guest and not appear too threatening. In other words, it had to be someone who appeared to be a likely victim.
After eating, Clarissa got dressed, taking some time to choose an outfit that would not make her stand out in a sketchy bar. Finally she selected a pair of her least fashionable jeans and a black turtleneck. Over it she wore a worn leather jacket given to her by a biker she had once counseled. When she was done, she looked in the mirror and decided that she looked about as tough as a woman minister could appear. Then she went outside, after carefully locking the door to the parsonage, and waited for Andrew’s arrival. Five minutes later, he pulled into the driveway.
He gave her an appraising glance as she settled into the seat next to him.
“Somehow I feel that I may be deficient in testosterone,” he said.
Clarissa fingered the jacket. “Too much?” she asked.
“Not if we’re on our way to kick down the door and make a bust. But I thought we were just going to ask some questions.”
“You can ask the questions. I’ll stand behind you and be your backup.”
Andrew grinned. “More like my enforcer.”
“Seriously now, I don’t want to look like an idiot or prevent people from talking to us.”
“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Andrew said.
They rode in silence to the Slipped Anchor, although she noticed that Andrew glanced at her several times with a bemused expression. They easily slipped into a parking space across from the bar. Clarissa had imagined that the scene would be more active with the noise of a jukebox and the voices of rowdy men filling the street. Instead the narrow two-story building appear
ed peaceful. It was separated from its neighbor on the left by an alley. The alley where Sam’s body had been found, she thought with a shiver.
“The place doesn’t look like much, does it?” Andrew said.
“Should we go in?”
Andrew checked his watch. “It’s just eight, kind of early. But it’s the employees we want to speak with. If we wait until the place gets busy, it will be harder to question them.”
“Let’s do it, then,” Clarissa said, flinging open the car door and wondering whether her outfit was giving her excessive self-confidence.
Andrew caught up with her as they reached the opposite curb.
“We’ll ask to speak to the manager. That’s a guy named Carl Restover.”
“Is he the one who saw Tyler standing over Sam’s body?”
“Yes. Holding the tire iron.”
They walked into the bar. It took Clarissa’s eyes several seconds to adjust to the dim lighting. They were in a large rectangular room. The front was mostly a bar with double doors at one end that appeared to lead out to the kitchen. There were four men with beers in front of them sitting at the far end nearest the television, watching football. Two couples sat at one of the tables chatting and sharing a large pizza. Clarissa decided that the place didn’t live up to the dangerous picture created by her excited imagination. The scariest looking person in the room was herself.
They went up to the bar. Instead of the bartender being a brawler with a baseball bat, a tall, smiling fellow in his early thirties greeted them.
“Hi. What can I get you?”
“I’m Andrew Corrigan and this is Clarissa Abbot. We have an appointment with Carl Restover.”
“Right.” The man reached across the bar to shake hands. “I’m Dave, the bartender. You’re the lawyer and the minister.” His eyes widened slightly as he took a careful look at Clarissa as if wondering who was who. “I’ll give Carl a ring.” He picked his cell phone up off of the bar and punched in a number. He announced them, then listened for a moment. “Carl will be right out,” he said.
“Did you know Sam Cryer?” Clarissa asked.
“Sure, we have a small staff here. Everybody knows everybody. He seemed like a nice kid. I didn’t see a lot of him. He couldn’t work out here where we serve alcohol because of being a minor, but I’d see him in the kitchen working. From what I could tell he did his job, and didn’t give anyone any trouble. A shame what happened to him.” He glanced over their heads. “Here comes Carl.”
Clarissa and Andrew turned around and saw a short overweight man in his fifties making his way toward them. His hair was improbably black, which made Clarissa wonder whether he dyed it. Given the casual state of the rest of his body that seemed an odd touch of vanity.
“I’m Carl Restover, the manager here,” he said, shaking hands with both of them. “Why don’t we go back to my office where we can talk?”
They went down a short hall right next to the doors to the kitchen. The small room he led them into was filled with old office furniture.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a couple of wooden chairs in front of his desk. Battered and a bit shaky, they seemed to Clarissa to either be uncared for antiques or just old.
“So you want to know what happened the night Sam was murdered?” the man began.
“What we want to know is what you actually experienced,” Andrew said curtly.
Restover paused and frowned, either at Andrew’s tone or in an attempt to remember.
“Okay. Around nine-thirty I went into the kitchen to check on things. Chef Joshua who runs things in there said that he hadn’t seen Sam for quite a while, and he wanted to know where he’d gotten to because he needed some pots washed. I told him I’d check around. So I went out the back door of the kitchen into the alley.”
“Why was that the first place you looked?” Andrew asked.
“Lots of times the guys from the kitchen go out there to have a smoke or get away from the heat.”
“Did Andrew smoke?” Andrew asked.
Restover shrugged. “Don’t know. I can’t remember ever seeing him do it.”
“What did you see out in the alley?”
“Nothing at first. Usually the guys hang around within a few feet of the door. But no one was there. I almost went back inside.”
“What stopped you?”
“I looked down the alley toward the road. There’s a streetlight there, and I thought I could see someone standing down at the end of the alley. I figured it was Sam. When I walked closer I saw it was some guy I didn’t know, just standing there looking down on the ground. When I was next to him I saw that Sam was lying on the ground, and this guy had a tire iron in his hand.”
“Did he threaten you in any way?” asked Clarissa.
Restover shook his head. “And let me tell you, if he had made one move toward me I was ready to run. But he just stood there like he was in some kind of a daze. I could see there was something seriously wrong with Sam, so I pulled out my phone and called 9-1-1.”
“Did the man with the tire iron say or do anything?”
“He just leaned against the building and covered his eyes. I didn’t hang around long. I went back in the kitchen and got two of the guys to keep an eye on him until the police arrived. They were here in five minutes.”
“Who were the two men you sent out?” asked Andrew.
“Chef Joshua and his assistant Ricardo. They’re both big, and the kitchen had just closed so they weren’t needed inside.”
“Can we talk to them?” Clarissa asked.
“Sure. I don’t think they can tell you much more than I did, but go ahead. You’ll have to speak with them in the kitchen though, they’re busy preparing food.”
As they walked back into the dining room, Clarissa looked around. A few more tables had couples at them. But the bar was still mostly empty.
“I was under the impression that this was a pretty rowdy place,” Clarissa said to the manager.
“It used to be quite the spot,” Restover said, smiling for the first time. “But since Ed bought it six months ago, it’s quieted down a lot. His people made it clear to the troublemakers that they weren’t wanted.”
“His people?” Clarissa asked.
“Yeah, he brought in a bunch of off duty cops from Atlantic City to be bouncers for a few months. We still have a couple of them cover on weekends, just in case. But this is pretty much a family place now.”
“Ed? That would be Ed Schyler?” Clarissa asked.
Restover narrowed his eyes. “Right. You know him?”
She shook her head. “But I’ve heard of him.”
“Yeah, he’s quite the civic leader.”
“So did you come in as manager when Ed took over the place?” she asked.
“That’s right. Ed and I go way back, and I was between positions. So he offered me this.”
“I gather he also got Sam the job here,” Andrew said.
“That’s right,” Restover said, leading through the doors into the kitchen. “The boy’s mother works for him at the Lazy Dolphin. One thing about Ed, he does right by his good employees.”
Restover took them to a man wearing a white chef’s jacket with the sleeves cut off. His huge biceps and forearms were covered with so many tattoos that his arms appeared blue. His bald head glistened with sweat as he stirred something in a large pot.
“This is Chef Joshua,” Restover said. “That’s Ricardo,” he added, pointing to a tall, thin man with lots of dark wavy hair who was running from place to place around the kitchen as if anticipating disaster at any moment. “They’ll answer any questions you may have.”
Andrew turned to Joshua, who paid no attention to them, fully focused on whatever was happening in the pot. “What was your opinion of Sam?” Andrew asked.
“I didn’t really have one. He did what I told him to do and didn’t say much. We got along fine,” he said, watching the pot as if it were a nuclear reactor about to go critical.
&n
bsp; “You worked here before Ed Schyler bought the place, didn’t you?” Clarissa asked.
The chef looked up for the first time and studied her. “You mean I don’t seem to fit in with the new management style.”
Clarissa shrugged.
“Yeah, I go back to the previous management.”
“But everyone else was replaced?”
He nodded. “Except for Ricardo and me. Good cooks are hard to find.”
“Did you like the changes?” she asked.
Joshua gave her a thin smile. “Before I was just a cook, now I’m a chef. What’s not to like?”
“Do you know why Sam was out in the alley that night?” Andrew asked.
He shook his head. “Not my job to look after him. Ricardo might know.”
“When you were guarding the man in the alley, did he say anything?” Andrew asked.
“Nah. He just leaned against the wall like he was gonna faint,” he replied, the contempt obvious in his voice. “I told him to drop the tire iron, and he did. When the cops came, I left. It was nothing to do with me.”
Andrew nodded. “Do you have any idea if Sam was in any trouble?”
“If he was, he didn’t tell me about it,” Joshua said. He gave Andrew a hard stare. “But people don’t tend to tell me their problems. Like I said, Ricardo is more likely to know things.”
Clarissa and Andrew walked to the back of the kitchen where Ricardo was moving nervously from station to station like a hummingbird.
“Can we talk to you for a minute?” asked Andrew.
“As long as I can keep working. We’re going to get real busy in about a half hour.”
“Keep working. We just wanted to know what you thought of Sam.”
“Nice kid. He worked hard and learned fast,” Ricardo said, turning to a pile of greens in a gigantic colander and starting to wash them.
“Was he worried about anything in particular lately?” Clarissa asked.
Ricardo paused momentarily, as he lurched toward his next chore. He glanced around to see how far away Joshua was and licked his lips as if uncertain whether to speak.