“I don’t give a fuck who you’re hiding from.” Joey edged over towards one of the wall lockers where I knew the pistols were located.
I stepped over to him. “You owe me,” I said in a low whisper.
“Fuck if I do. I own this boat.”
“You and the bank. How much did this boat cost you?”
Joey stared at me.
I bent down. I didn’t want to tower over him any more than I would want to corner a rat. “When Dad quit the business he was all torn up. He knew you couldn’t afford the Nonantum—not with all the equipment that came with it. He wanted you to have it and was willing to cut you a break, but that was his inheritance to me. It was me that persuaded him that I didn’t need that inheritance. That I would be okay without it. It was me that persuaded Jerry Collins down at Bank of America that you’d be good for the loan. You figured it was Dad. But it was me, Joey.”
Joey stared at me, eyes wide. “Why would you do that? We never liked each other.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” I said, trying to straighten up in the low galley. “I did it for Dad. Because he wanted to do right by you. Now, I need a favor from you. We need to hide here for a day or two until we figure something out.”
Joey licked his lips. “I can’t go against the cops. I’d lose the boat.”
I shook my head. “If the cops ask you about us, tell them we’re here. But if they don’t, you don’t need to advertise the fact. We just need a place to light.”
Joey nodded. “You can sleep in the bunks in the bow. Like David said.”
Dooley nodded and went forward and I sat back down. Joey sat across from me.
I watched him for a moment. I had never gone out on the sea with my father. I had never helped him pull in a catch. I had never sat with him in the galley in the morning drinking coffee after being up all night through a storm nor stood with him in the pilot house watching Gloucester rise reborn from the sea as they returned home, holds full.
Joey had done all these things.
“Tell me about fishing with my dad,” I said.
Chapter 3.3: Friday, October 29
I woke up in the early morning, hours before dawn. After talking with Joey for a while, I found the adrenaline of chasing and being chased by Katelin had worn me out, too. I staggered forward, found a bunk and collapsed for a few hours.
Dooley was sitting on the bunk when I woke up.
“How long have you been up?” I sat up.
“A while,” he said. “Sleeping on a boat is easier than I expected.”
“Is that so?” I stood up. The bunks were just a little short so I had to stretch in a cramped space. “Maybe in a bigger boat.”
Joey had made breakfast. Nothing fancy. Just fried eggs and ham with some home fries.
The three of us ate in relative silence, knowing we were going to have to talk about serious matters afterwards. At least, that’s how I interpreted what was going on. Joey was a fisherman. Dooley was a cop. I was a pianist. Men’s men, if you know what I mean.
Joey lit up a cigarette after he’d finished. I stared at him for a moment, then looked back to my food. It had been a long time since I was in a place where casual smoking was commonplace.
“Okay,” Joey said slowly. “Here’s the deal. Today is the last weekend of Conclave—the official placement for final heats happens at nine.”
“Salem Common,” I said, for Dooley.
“I know that,” Dooley said in a disgusted voice. “I grew up in Somerville. Not Jersey City.”
Joey chuckled. “I make a little money taking people out in the boat to watch the races today. Later it’s the fireworks and the Night Watch.”
Dooley looked up. “What’s the Night Watch?”
I spoke around a mouthful of egg. “Any qualifying athletes rest or practice for the final heats tomorrow. The athletes that don’t make the cut go out and party—for the flyers that’s a lot of dangerous stunts at night when the FAA is looking the other way. The sound is supposed to be completely clear of traffic or—” I looked at Joey “—boats, so no one gets hurt.”
“There are a few boats allowed on the water with minimal lighting,” Joey said defensively. “I make a fair amount taking people out but a lot gets used up in fees.”
“Fees?” asked Dooley, raising his eyebrows.
Joey stared at him. “Fees.”
“So you can’t put us up on the boat after today.” I drummed my fingers on the table. I looked at Dooley. “Do you think I could put you up at my house?”
Dooley shook his head. “You might be able to pull it off by yourself. They have a suspect—me—and you would be questioned to corroborate. They never really thought you had anything to do with the murders. The evidence was too tenuous. But now they have me.”
Joey took a drag on his cigarette. “You’re wanted for murder? Is there a reward?”
Dooley scowled at him. “You wish. I didn’t do any murders. It’s complicated.”
Joey looked at the two of us, lingered on me. “I’m not surprised.”
“I have a concert Sunday evening,” I said. “Rehearsal is tomorrow.”
“You’ll have to miss it,” Dooley said.
I shook my head. “The show must go on. That sort of thing. I’d like to come out the end of this with my career intact.”
“I’d like to come out the end of this not spending the rest of my life in Cedar Junction,” Dooley said hotly.
Joey tapped the ash of his cigarette into an ashtray held to the table by a magnet. “I wouldn’t mind coming out of this still owning this boat.” He took a drag. “Let’s see if I have this straight.” He pointed at Dooley. “You’re wanted for a murder you didn’t commit.”
Dooley looked at me. “More or less.”
Joey pointed at me. “You’re involved somehow.”
“Yes.” That was the absolute truth.
Joey stubbed out the cigarette. “Knowing David here, I bet his little witch girl is in it, too.”
“How do you figure?” asked Dooley.
“Old Guillermo was always talking about David’s concerts, how he was playing in, say, Philadelphia this week and Charleston the next and how he was living with a Boston cop. Even second hand, I could recognize trouble when I heard about it. When it’s quiet out there on the water you talk about anything or you don’t talk at all. Not much in between.”
“My dad talked about my concerts?” I didn’t know why I was surprised but it came as a shock.
Joey looked pained. “Jesus, David. Get a clue. ‘Son of Portuguese fisherman takes musical world by storm.’ Why the hell wouldn’t he talk about you or your tiny girlfriend? Hell, he had your schedule posted on the galley wall.”
“I never saw it.”
“You were never on the boat!”
Dooley interrupted. “So David can probably bluff his way back to his house, by himself. Just remember you don’t have to answer anything to a policeman. You can’t lie to him but you are not required to help him incriminate you. If they get nasty, call a lawyer.” Dooley grinned at me. “You know how to do that, don’t you? Pucker up and give them a lot of money.”
I stared at him blankly. “I don’t understand.”
“A perfectly good classical movie reference is wasted on you.”
Joey watched us. “The smart thing would be to turn the two of you in.”
The grin disappeared from Dooley’s face. “Yes, it would.”
“Guillermo wouldn’t want me to be that smart.” Joey laughed shortly.
“If I can get to my house, I can also get to Eli,” I said, thinking out loud.
Dooley shook his head. “No way. I need to be there. I have some questions of my own. They’ll have him staked out both at McLean and in Salem.” He thought a moment. “Will he be at your concert?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Would he go if you invited him?”
“Maybe.”
“You invite him.” Dooley looked though
tful. “We can hook up there.”
I shook my head. “Not going to work. Too many people in the concert, back stage.”
“That’ll cover us.”
“There are parties after the concert.”
Dooley fixed me with a glare. “Boo fucking hoo.”
“Plus,” I continued, “that’s two days you need to keep low. I have an alternative. The rehearsal is tomorrow—Saturday. I can invite him to that. Fewer people. No obligations.”
Dooley chewed his lip. “No people to cover you.”
“There’ll be people enough. Lots of people come to the rehearsals. It won’t be a zoo but it will be crowded.”
Dooley thought for a moment. “Okay. You’re taken care of. But I need a place to hide.” He thought for a moment. “Do you have a lot of set-up for these events?” Dooley asked Joey slowly. “Do you feed the guests? Put out wine? Things like that?”
“Sure,” Joey said. “Cater it myself, mostly. Sometimes I hire a cook, but this year I wasn’t planning to.”
“Tell you what. I’m a fair cook and I look good in a suit. You let me stay on this boat until Saturday night and I’ll take care of your guests.”
“Katelin might figure this out,” I pointed out. “She knew Dad had a boat.”
“Does she know it was sold?” Dooley asked.
“I don’t know.”
Dooley chewed his lip. “I bet she does. I’m sure she knows your father died. She kept track of you.”
“Really?” I felt obscurely pleased.
“Don’t get too excited. People track melanomas, too.”
Joey watched us. “This is starting to sound like fun. Okay, Mr. Dooley. I’ll take you on for a couple of days.”
“How will we meet up?” Dooley said. “I can’t meet you at Symphony Hall.”
I looked at Joey. “Where are you picking up clients?”
Joey watched us both. “New England Aquarium.”
I turned back to Dooley. “I’ll get Eli out of Symphony Hall and bring him to the boat.”
“Well, then,” Dooley said, nodding. “What do you know? We have a ridiculously complicated plan foredoomed to failure!”
oOo
Gloucester at three in the morning is a quiet place. Nothing but the far-off sound of Route 128 and the wash of the harbor. My house was up and over the hill from the harbor. Close enough Dad could reach the boat by walking but far enough away to be protected from winter storms.
It was an old cape with a wrap-around veranda. Sure enough, there was a car with two men in it across the street. I managed to make it up the steps to the porch before they reached me.
“David Sabado?” said one.
I turned and faced them. I didn’t recognize them.
“Yes?”
“I’m Officer Raymond and this is Officer Ditko of the Gloucester Police Department. Would you come with us, please?”
I looked at them and decided to trust what Dooley had said. “No.”
“You have to come with us.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No.”
“Then I’m staying here.”
They looked at one another. “Just a moment,” said Raymond.
They convened back at the car. I went on up the steps and let myself in the house, careful to lock the door after me. I called Frieda on my cell.
“Hello?” she said groggily.
“I need you to find me a lawyer.”
“This is about that business in Boston?” She sounded instantly awake.
“What do you know?”
“I know Plante was murdered. He was one of my clients. Now you’re calling out of the blue for a lawyer. Forgive me for putting two and two together.”
“Got it. Yeah. I think it’s about the Plante murder. Find me a lawyer.”
“How quick?”
“It’s three o’clock now. Be nice not to be behind bars by four.”
“Got it. Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“I know somebody in Salem. I’ll make the call. Don’t say anything to anybody.” She hung up.
I made my way to the kitchen and managed to make a cup of coffee and pull out a pastry from the refrigerator before I heard a rap on the door.
I carried the coffee and pastry to the front door. “Yes?” I said as I opened it.
Hoffman and Rush were outside. “Mr. Sabado,” said Rush easily. “Can we come in?”
I stepped through the door and closed it behind me. “Not unless you have a warrant.”
They looked at me for a moment. Hoffman reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded paper. “As a matter of fact, we do.”
I looked at the warrant. From what I could tell it looked fine. How would I know the difference? I checked their badges just to be an asshole. I checked the badges of the—Raymond and Ditko again. Then, I opened the door and let them in.
It was a cool, clear night. I put on a sweater, grabbed a cup of coffee and a Danish from the kitchen and stepped outside. I sat on the veranda’s wicker seat. I could see some flickering lights over Salem. Witches flying around doing some last-minute practices or just flying for the sheer fun of it. I remembered Katelin when we were first together back in Missouri—remembered that walk back from Easely. We’d walked back as much as five or six miles before Katelin decided she had things to do and flew off. I hitchhiked back after that. I used to love to watch Katelin fly. Such single-minded determination to be undistracted by constant joy. I had tried more than once to channel that idea into my playing, sitting and working my way through a Bach or Liszt piece while trying to visualize Katelin’s flying. Sometimes I succeeded. More often I didn’t. But I was always able to take away something I could use, a phrase or a tricky bit of timing. Her joy had faded after we moved to Boston. I probably had something to do with that.
The coffee was warm in my hands. I put it down and nibbled at the pastry. The wind was light and I could hear the rattle and click of the dead leaves still left on the branches. I could see first one window light up, then another, as the policemen worked their way through the house.
Maybe it was stupid of me not to watch everything they did. They could plant evidence. Steal valuables. Break china. Do all the things I’d seen on television. They could do anything. But I couldn’t watch them pawing through my house. Through my parents’ house. I didn’t do drugs. I didn’t have any child pornography. They already knew everything I had watched on Where’s Katelin so there would be no news there. What the hell else were they going to do to me beyond what they were already prepared to do?
Katelin eased down onto the front yard.
I froze, coffee in one hand, pastry next to my mouth, crumbs on my lips.
She gave me a pure Misty smile. “Hey, lover.” She came up the steps and practically danced across the veranda. “You didn’t know what you had with this girl. Such a body. Such a talent.”
“You don’t look so good.” Even in the dim light on the veranda I could tell she was thin even for Katelin.
“I feel great.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, of course. I came as soon as I heard. Did you miss me?”
I knew Katelin’s features; every spot and wrinkle from her tiny nose to the birthmark on her inner thigh. But Misty, in Katelin’s body, didn’t look anything like her. Katelin’s smiles were cautious, tiny. Misty’s were broad and careless. Katelin looked at people directly or she didn’t look at them at all. Misty was always watching slyly out of the corner of her eye.
“No,” I said truthfully.
“But you miss her, don’t you?”
I didn’t have anything to say to that.
“I can bring her back to you. I’m her, after all.” She leaned forward, cupped her breasts and made a pout. “Come on, baby.”
I put down the pastry and the coffee carefully. I stood up, brushing the crumbs off my lap, thinking I’d go inside.
She slipped up against me, grabbed th
e back of my neck and brought my face down into a hard kiss.
I remembered Katelin’s mouth and tongue, the feel of her against me. I held her close for a long minute, feeling her melt against me and savoring it.
Then, it was as if a drain had opened up and some pulsing essential part of me was slipping away. A sort of purple smoke whirled through me, something I could see without my eyes. I remembered flying out to Missouri after her, not seeing her, not allowed to see her, returning and emptying the apartment of my things in a cold fury.
That fury came to me now. I put my hands on her shoulders and lifted her up, pulled her away from me and set her down on the porch.
She stared at me, mouth open, then stumbled away, began to run. She pulled her stick off her shoulder and jumped off the veranda, catching herself on the stick in mid-air and flying off into the night.
Rush came out to the porch. “Mr. Sabado? Are you all right?”
I sat down in the chair, shaking. “I’m fine. I’m fucking fine.”
oOo
Rush went back inside and a moment later he and Hoffman came back out on the porch.
“Find anything?” I felt suddenly bitter and self-destructive. If only I smoked.
“We’re looking for Abraham Dooley,” Rush said soothingly.
“Did you expect to find him here?”
“Actually,” said Hoffman, chuckling, fully embracing his inner grandfather, “we did. But he hasn’t been here. Do you know where he is?”
I looked at him.
“You are required to cooperate with the police,” suggested Rush gently.
I waved towards the front door. “You’re crawling through my house. I think that’s being cooperative enough.”
“We’d like to question you further.”
“Are you arresting me?”
Hoffman and Rush looked at one another. “We could,” said Rush. “Accessory after the fact. You helped Dooley escape.”
“Do you have a warrant for him?”
They looked at one another again.
“They don’t have to tell you that,” came a voice from the sidewalk.
A dark man came up the walk. He was so short he would have to stare up to see five feet. Spanish? Portuguese? He was wearing thick glasses. He put one hand in his pocket and pulled his glasses off with the other, gesturing with them. “But if they have a warrant for you, they need to show it.” He walked up the stairs with a pronounced limp. “Roger Pujol,” he said, holding out his hand to Hoffman and Rush. “I’m, ah, advising Mr. Sabado.”
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