by GC Smith
“Obviously the bullet was meant for me, A.J.. Victoria had her hair pinned up and in a shower cap and she was wearing my terry cloth robe. I figure that Capers could only catch a vague outline through the curtain. The rain picked up sometime after midnight. It was coming down in buckets by the time he shot her.”
“You figure his motive is revenge because you thwarted him in North Carolina and Texas?”
“Maybe, but it's not his only reason. I'm convinced murdering Trent and trying for me is part of a terror campaign. Capers is getting ready to finish what he started in the mountains. He needs to use the razor --on Claudia-- his half-sister. But first he wants to convince her that she has no protection.”
Claudia stirred and stretched, asking, “Where are we?”
She stretched again pulling her dark hair back and looking out the car window.
“On 278 in Bluffton; we should be to Hilton Head in minutes,” Mike said. They drove on, leaving dense pine forest behind. Before them opened the broad expanse of Savannah marshland that marks coastal Carolina. The Savannah, miles of gently swaying spartina grass, changed from silver to purple to black and back again to silver as the low morning sun skimmed its surface.
Mike guided the car onto the causeway that spanned the Intracoastal waterway as it carved its way through the spartina marsh.
It was fully light by the time Mike pulled the car into the driveway of the rented house. Inside he quickly surveyed the layout. To the rear, beyond the wall of windows, was a large deck. A free-form pool sparkled crystal clear. An in-ground whirlpool was located next to the pool's shallow end. Mike noted with satisfaction the privacy wall enclosing the entire pool yard.
Mike went back into the house and called the office to leave the message that he and Claudia had arrived safely. Donal's secretary told him about Victoria, assuring him that she was not seriously injured. Mike cross questioned her, extracting details, not relenting until he was satisfied that Victoria would be all right.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Hilton Head, SC
October 21
On Saturday night Claudia told Mike that she wanted to lease a boat. “Boats are so peaceful. I think it will help me to get out on the water,” she had said.
Mike thought her request dippy but agreed figuring they couldn't force her to stay in the house all day, every day. Any distraction to help Claudia keep her mind off Trent's death and the fact that Capers was stalking her might be a plus. Mike decided that security dictated having the lease made to the Donal Associates account.
Mike called three Hilton Head marinas only to be told that none of them leased boats. Finally, he called the last marina listed on the island. Ralph Hutchkins, the owner/operator said that although he did not rent boats he could make arrangements through a yard in Thunderbolt, Georgia, about forty miles by car from the island. Mike agreed to drive down to Thunderbolt with Hutchkins the following morning.
October 22
Thunderbolt, GA
Mike and Hutchkins left the Hilton Head marina office and crossed the parking lot to a rusty, salt-encrusted Jeep. Hutchkins nosed the dilapidated vehicle onto the two lane road that led from the marina to route 278, the main highway bisecting the island. They drove for a just under an hour, arriving at Hezekiah Skully's marina and boat yard in Thunderbolt shortly before nine.
The disarray in the office matched the man who sat behind a scarred oak desk littered with papers and grease coated engine parts. The walls showed years-old watermarks against dull green paint and were papered with out of date calendars. Mike particularly liked the one with the nude redhead advertising Michelson's tight fitting pistons.
Hutchkins looked at the cover page of the tabloid on Hezzie Skully's desk. “Chatrian broad is getting a hell of a lot of press these days,” he said.
Mike's attention was caught.
“She’s surely is a name outta the past,” Skully said. “I remember the fire that that kilt her Pa and his pretty wife. Cain't remember the wife’s name.” Skully wrinkled his forehead and said, “May Ellen. Yeah, that's was it, May Ellen. One sure 'nough gorgeous hunk a woman. Used to give me a boner just to look. 'Peared like she was made for it. The daughter inherited her momma's looks, low slung an' racy. Saw her picture yesterday's Moultrie Bay Gazette. Her lawyer was blowed away up to Moultrie Bay. Paper says it was the same fucker what kidnapped her,” Scully rambled. “Never did catch him, did they?”
“Seems to me some private dick caught him in Texas and then he busted jail.” Hutchkins said.
Mike, leaning against the frame of the door to Scully's
office, wondered if it had been such a great idea to move Claudia to Hilton Head.
Mike looked at the wall clock that advertised Dr. Pepper. They had been in Scully's office for fifteen minutes. Would they to get around to doing business? Now Hutchkins and Scully were trading infantile stories they considered humorous.
Mike's thoughts were interrupted by a bellow of laughter from Hutchkins as Scully's story came to an end.
Scully arose from behind the battered desk and addressing Mike for the first time, said, “We best get you on down and to take a look at that Hatteras. Time's a wastin'.”
Surprisingly, for a man of his bulk, Scully moved swiftly and light footed down the wooden pier, leading Mike and Hutchkins. They climbed aboard a gleaming white cruiser; 'Royalty' emblazoned in gilt lettering across her stern.
“Funny name,” Hutchkins commented. Wonder what it means?”
“Dunno. She came in from Kiawah. That island usta be owned by a buncha oil rich a-raybs. I axted the guy what brought her in did she belong to some camel ridin’ King? He said nope, she was owned by a writer.” Scully scratched his head. “Royalty? Name don't make no sense to me.”
Scully showed Mike over the Hatteras and Mike agreed that the yacht was what he had in mind.
Scully said, “You all run her on up to Hilton Head, I got a boy can tow your Jeep back to Hilton Head later.”
Hutchkins chatted with Scully for a few minutes more and then he and Mike boarded the 'Royalty'.
“You pilot her,” Hutchkins said. “Get her feel.”
The Hatteras had a lot of power; big twin Gray Marine diesels pushed her along effortlessly. At three quarters throttle the indicators settled at twenty-two knots.
Two hours after leaving Thunderbolt Mike eased the Hatteras into a slip at Hutchkins' marina, In the marina office he signed the lease papers.
“She's a class boat. Bristol.” Hutchkins said. “I'm sure ya'll will enjoy the Hat.”
“I'm sure we will,” Mike agreed.
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
Moultrie Bay, SC
October 22
The Moultrie County Sheriff's Department homicide division was in high gear during the three days that followed Trent's murder. The Sheriff believed that he and his men were on the scent like a lion on raw meat. But, Capers had again eluded them. In fact he had walked right into the lion's den and all but stuck his head in the creature's jaws. He accomplished this with the aid of a black wig, a fake pistolero mustache, dark brown contact lens, and a forged press pass identifying him as Martin P. Zaffedahl, reporter with ‘Nation's Secrets’. He sat in on press briefings and generally made a nuisance of himself, asking flippant and abrasive questions; demanding to know the whereabouts of Claudia Chatrian. All he learned was that she was, to quote the Sheriff's Public Affairs Officer, “safe,” in that she had “left the city” and that “her location would not be disclosed”.
He did learn that the bullet that he had meant for Donal had instead wounded the detective's woman. That knowledge annoyed him. An impersonal slug from a rifle was not proper for a woman. A woman needed his personal attention. Needed the caress of carbon steel.
Momentarily, Capers considered a late night visit to Victoria Summerville's hospital room. Smiling, he touched the razor's handle. He sobered. No, he decided, the risk isn't worth the pleasure, not now. Not at the moment when Claudia Chatrian and
the P.I. were priority business.
No, he thought, now isn't the time. Later, when I'm finished with 'baby sister' and her hired gun.
Later.
Mike put in a call to the Moultrie Bay home office and Donal filled him in on Victoria's condition including the circumstances surrounding the shooting. Donal asked, “How are things down there?”
Mike told his boss about leasing the Hatteras.
Donal agreed that the diversion was an okay move. The woman's morale was an important factor in their need to keep her under wraps.
“I'm not too sure of the wisdom of keeping Claudia here, Johnny. A lot of people in this area know her. Guy named Hutchkins who runs the marina here and the redneck Georgia boy I leased the Hatteras from both knew her parents. They followed the kidnapping story in the tabloids. If Hutchkins sees her he'll blab it all over the damned island.”
Donal was silent for a few seconds on the other end of the line, then said. “I see what you mean, Mike, but she's a celebrity and her face is well known everywhere. Your job is to make sure she takes precautions when she leaves the house. Insist she wear a hat and dark glasses. Otherwise, how you doing with the lady?”
“She can be hard to take. Alternates between depression and hyperactivity. Acts dippy sometimes. But, I'm coping.” Mike paused. “About Victoria, Johnny, I'm sorry. She's a very special lady.”
“Very special.” There was a pause, then Donal continued, “Capers is a dead man.”
The phone connection was severed before Mike could react to Donal's statement.
“Yessir, that's right. Zaffedahl, Z-A-F-F-E-D-A-H-L,” Capers spelled into the phone.
“And you're a r-reporter,” the Admiralty House bookkeeper asked?
“Righto, my man, the ‘Nation's Secrets’.”
“Why should I want to talk to you? I don't know anything and besides m-my employers, not to mention the c-c-cops, are uptight.”
“I can understand that. Yes-sir, I know how it is with employers. They're always uptight and the cops are worse. But they can't be allowed to interfere with the public's right to know. Now can they?”
“I don't know.” The bookkeeper hesitated and then stammered, “M-m-maybe we could meet?”
“How about an hour from now?”
“But not here at the restaurant. That w-wouldn't be a good idea. I don't want any t-t-trouble with my boss.”
“Sure, I understand. I have to work for a living, same as you. How about we meet at Wings Lounge? It's far enough away from your employer’s place to be safe from prying eyes.”
“H-how much,” the bookkeeper asked, his voice conspiratorial?
“We'll talk money later. For now, just be assured that I'll make it be worth your while.”
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
Moultrie Bay, SC
October 22
Victoria was sitting up in bed her bandage reduced to a small neat patch. She looked up from her book, “Hey, lover.” Before Donal could reach the bed, she was out of it and in his arms. “The doctor says I can go home soon.”
Donal pulled her against him, holding her. “Thank God. Saturday night, I thought ...
She pressed a finger against his lips, “It's okay. I'm perfectly all right. With minor cosmetic surgery I won't even have a scar.
“Look at this,” Victoria continued, indicating the vases of flowers and potted plants that cluttered the room. “That one is from Nikko,” she pointed to a garish display of yellow and red rose buds, interspersed with blue carnations. “Aren't they're marvelous? They look like the bouquet for the winner of the Derby.”
“Nikko knows a thoroughbred when he sees one.”
“Sent me moussaka, baklava, and a bottle of Restina.”
“Ugh, turpentine.”
“He's a darling.”
On the bedside table was a single rose with a card attached. Donal picked it up, read it, and furrowed his brow quizzically. “I thought I knew all your admirers. Who's Mikey Gale?”
“My mechanic. He keeps the M.G. on the road.”
“Oh boy. Considering that you've kept his kids in shoes and his wife in mink he should have sent a dozen roses in a crystal vase. Donal placed the rose with the attached card back onto the table. “Victoria, I've done a lot of thinking since Saturday night,” he began.
Hearing the serious note in his voice, she looked up, “What is it, Johnny?”
“Love, baby. Marry me.”
She looked away from him, silent, and then said in a near whisper, “I love you. More than I ever thought I could love anyone. But what happened Saturday night frightened me. Badly. I never gave much thought to your work, what it actually entails. The risks.”
“Victoria, this Capers mess is an exception. Most of my work involves white collar crime; insurance fraud, embezzlement, resort security. Generally, the people I chase are more likely to carry bogus American Express Cards than guns. Murder and attempted murder are not usual…
She looked at him, eyes troubled, “I don't have to be a detective to figure out that Capers was after you not me. I'm
terrified that something will happen to you.”.
“Nothing's going to happen to me. And I won't let anything happen to you ever again.”
“It’s not me that I'm worried about. It's you. It's your work.” She hesitated then said, “The last five months with you have been wonderful. But we need time. To be sure. I don't want to make a mistake.”
“You think it would be a mistake to marry me?”
“I can't answer now. Give me time. Please understand.”
Victoria stopped speaking as a grossly overweight nurse, attired in the late twentieth century version of hospital whites, red polyester slacks, plaid blouse, traditional cap and pin, poked her head in the door, “Visiting hours are over, time to break it up, folks.
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
Moultrie Bay, SC
October 22
Capers coming into Wings Lounge needed a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim room. He checked the place out. Large scale model airplanes, replicas of Marine Corps fighters, both historic and current, hung from the tin ceiling. Several electronic golf games with stools lined one wall. The crowded bar was across the room from the golf machines.
Booths and tables in the room were empty, except for one table occupied by four greasy haired, zitty females. They watched Capers with predatory interest. One particularly nauseating specimen, ass and thigh flab stuffed into tight, black jeans, left the group and approached Capers. “Want company,” she asked?
“Get lost.”
“Come on now, honey. You don't want to be that way.”
Capers fingered the handle of the straight razor in his pocket. His eyes narrowed to slits as he spoke, “Bother someone else.”
“Up yours, buster.” The hooker moved on down toward the bar looking for more pleasant pickings.
Capers looked up and down the bar. The man behind the stick who was eyeing him wore his hair marine style. As Capers moved closer to the bar he noted the Corps logo with the Semper Fi motto tattooed on the bartenders right forearm. A thin man, dressed in shiny blue serge and wearing a polka dot bow tie and rimless glasses, sat sipping a beer. Capers walked to where the man sat.
The man looked up from his beer mug, “Z-Zaffedahl,” he asked?
Capers nodded affirmation, placed a two tens on the bar top and said, “Let’s get a booth. I need to know where she is before another reporter beats me to her.”
“Twenty b-b-bucks isn't much.”
“There's more if I get what I need.”
The bookkeeper got of his barstool and followed Capers. “All I know is that the L-l-lady was hustled out of the Admiralty House Saturday night,” he said.
“You've no idea where she went?”
“N-n-no. After I talked to you, I got c-c-curious and tried to check. She has a home here in Moultrie Bay and I checked for a phone n-n-number but it was unlisted.”
“So you have nothing for me?”<
br />
“I w-wouldn't quite say that Mr. Zafferderg, er’ ...Zaffedahl.”
“What would you say?”
“D-d-d-depends.”
“I said there would be more if you come through with her whereabouts.”
“I-I 'm not s-stupid. You p-p-pay me or I don't tell you another thing.”
Three more tens were counted into the bookkeeper's clammy palm.
“There's a clothes designer staying at the Front Street Inn. He did the wardrobe for her film. He's tight with her. He told me he knows where she went. I asked where but he
wouldn't say, he just smiled.”
“What's the guys name?”
“F-Feathers, Christopher Feathers.”
“That's not much for the money”
“T-that's all I have.”
“Nothing else?”
“Only thing else I can tell you is if you make like you're sympatico with Feathers you might learn a lot m-m-more.”
As soon as Capers got rid of the bookkeeper he called Feathers, identifying himself as a news reporter seeking background on Claudia Chatrian for a story he was preparing. He suggested that they get together later that night in Feather's suite, implying that they were like minded. He encouraged Feathers to talk about himself, complementing the designer, congratulating him on the success he enjoyed.
Feathers reveled in the flattery and it got Capers what he needed. In the course of their conversation Capers dropped a comment that Claudia Chatrian had left Moultrie Bay for Hilton Head.
“She's with a bodyguard,’ Feathers said. “A minion of that perfectly awful detective, John Donal. I was with her after those ghastly murders and that creature, Donal, had the nerve to order me out of the room.