SAVANNAH GONE

by DOUG KEELER

  She cut her eyes in my direction. “We’re not taking the ferry. I’ve got a DNR patrol boat taking us over to the island.” The DNR is the Department of Natural Resources, the government bureau that manages Sapelo for the state of Georgia. Their function is basically resource management, wildlife control, and making sure nothing illegal transpires on the island. “We’ll pick it up at the ferry dock, and return the same way. Also, I’ve lined up a vehicle for us to use while we’re out on the island.” Caroline looked at me. “Who the hell is Kemosabe… one of those stupid Star Wars characters?”

  “You’re thinking of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Sir Alec Guinness. Kemosabe is Tonto’s name for the Lone Ranger.”

  She pressed her lips into a tight seam. “I should’ve left you at home.”

  I smiled at her. “Wrong. You’d be bored to tears without me.”

  “That’s true,” she replied. “You keep it interesting Fontaine. Aggravating, frustrating, challenging, but interesting.”

  I asked, “How’d it go with that squirrel Bill Taylor?”

  I hate to pop your bubble, but despite the nonsense you see on television, a murder case is rarely solved by a bunch of gel-haired techs in lab coats pointing fancy lasers at trace evidence. It’s not an exact science. You string the facts together to the best of your ability, try and get the pieces to fit, and go for a conviction. Sometimes you win, sometimes the murderer walks. That’s it. End of story.

  Caroline said, “We hauled him in for a talk. Like you predicted, he refused to answer any questions without his attorney present. He reiterated what you told me about having dinner at Leoci's and leaving the restaurant at approximately 10:00 pm. His dinner companions confirmed the time.” She was silent for a moment, then added, “The ME estimates time of death at anywhere between 9:00 pm and 3:00 am. That’s a wide window, but we’re fairly certain Claire went in the water close to 11:14 pm because of the watch. We’ve sent a subpoena to AT&T to track his whereabouts via his cell. Until we get the records, we can’t touch him.” She paused and looked at me. “He denied ever hitting Claire by the way.”

  “So what?” I replied. “You didn’t think he’d cop to that did you? I know I wouldn’t if I was in his shoes. We know he’s got motive and opportunity Caroline. She dumped him weeks before they walked down the aisle, and he was five minutes from where she lives...lived. How long till you get the cell phone records?”

  “Couple days. The judge just signed the warrant. Until then, we’ll sit on him.” She paused for a moment, then added, “We should have Claire’s phone records sometime Monday.”

  I nodded but didn’t respond.

  “One other thing,” she said, “Congressman Thigpen has a solid alibi. After his fundraiser Friday night, he went out for a nightcap with his wife and his campaign manager. The three of them were together until approximately 12:30 AM, at which point Thigpen and his wife drove home and went to bed.” She glanced in my direction. “What about you, anything new?”

  I measured my response. “I paid a visit to Liberty Island and had a friendly, but brief chat with real estate developer Frank Chambers. He claims he was on his yacht Friday night. We need to confirm it with his boat captain. I’ve got his contact info but haven’t spoken with him yet.” A moment later I added, “A welcome wagon, driven by a couple of clowns I’ve never laid eyes on before, said hello and put a round of buckshot into the back of my car. They were motoring in a newer model Chevy Camaro. I’m assuming it was stolen.”

  She swiveled her head in my direction. “Are you serious? Where and when, and did you report the shooting?”

  “Yesterday around three thirty. I was cruising west on Victory when they started riding my bumper. And no, I didn’t call it in. I prefer to settle my own scores.”

  Caroline looked pissed. “Listen to me cowboy,” she said, reading me the riot act. “You will not, repeat, not operate outside of the law. I can’t have you compromising this case under any circumstances. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” She shot me a steely look. “The only reason you’re here is because of Cavanaugh and his connections. He rattled the governor's cage, and the governor leaned on the mayor.” Good old Cavanaugh brought me off the bench and had me back in the game. Caroline continued, “But I don’t give a damn how well connected he is. If you fuck around, I’m having you tossed.” Her features softened. “Jesus Christ Fontaine, you should’ve at least called me. You could’ve been killed.”

  “It was a warning shot. Nothing more Caroline. If they wanted to kill me, all they had to do was turn the Camaro around and put another round in me.”

  “A warning shot by who?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but I think it might have been Frank Chambers. I’d been at the Bull River Marina looking for his yacht captain. On my way back to town, the Camaro fell in behind me and blew out my back window.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You fooling around with someone’s wife Fontaine?”

  I thought Caroline might say something about the two coffee cups on the kitchen counter, but she didn’t say anything else. We rode in silence for a couple of miles, the Interceptor barreling down the highway past a blur of pine trees. I slid my window down. Caroline’s hair flickered in the wind.

  Without mentioning Natalie, I said, “I think I found out who Claire was seeing after she dumped Bill Taylor. His name is Jack Hutchins. He’s an archeologist excavating out on Sapelo. I’m hoping we can track him down while we’re out there.” I held off on mentioning R.J. Reynolds and the buried bags of gold. In the cold light of day, I was back to thinking it far-fetched. I also kept the fact that Hutchins was married to myself for the time being.

  “Nice work Fontaine.”

  “Thanks, Kemosabe.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We exited the interstate and were heading east when my cell phone rang. I checked the number: Randy Pope. I hit the speaker button so Caroline could listen in. “What have you got for me Rainman?”

  “I just finished digging,” he said, “and I’m about to email you my report.”

  “That’s great,” I replied, “but I’ll be jumping on a boat soon. What did you turn up?” I looked at Caroline, but she had her eyes glued to the road.

  “Hang on a second.” In the background, I could hear him typing. I glanced out my window and waited for him to continue. “OK. Here we go...Hutchins has never been arrested and doesn’t have a record. He appears to be clean.” He paused, and I heard him typing again, fingers flying across the keyboard. “But you might find this interesting: He owns a home just outside Jacksonville in Orange Park that’s mortgaged up to his nuts. He’s two months behind on making payments, and the bank’s been sending him letters threatening to foreclose.”

  That brought me up short. I recalled the fleeting look of desperation in his eyes. Little synapses lit up inside my brain like a power grid with the juice turned on. It had been sixteen years since I was an Army criminal investigator, but instinct dies hard, and mine was whispering that this was significant.

  I asked, “What else have you got?”

  “Mostly standard stuff. His parents are deceased. He’s got one sister that lives in Galveston Texas. She’s married to an oil worker. Hutchins is a tenured professor at North Florida University. He’s been there for just over eleven years. This is interesting though. I hacked into the University’s server and found Hutchins’ resignation letter. He submitted it a week ago Monday and gave them a one hundred and twenty-day notice.”

  Four days before Claire was murdered, Hutchins turns in his resignation. Since I don’t believe in coincidence, this had to mean something. But what?

  “Thanks Rainman. I’ll read through it tonight, and touch base tomorrow if I have any questions.”

  “Wait a minute Ray. Remember we talked about Bill Taylor and Frank Chambers?”

  I took him off speaker and pressed the phone to my ear. “I remember.”

  “I did what you asked. I superimposed both their he
ads onto the bodies of a couple buff naked men. Then I uploaded the images to one of those hardcore, neo-Nazi websites. You’ll love this: the skinheads hold their underground rallies at different locations to keep the cops from zeroing in on ‘em. Their website has a restricted link that tells the punks where to meet. I fiddled around with their site. Guess where next week’s rally is being held? Liberty Island! The jack-booted thugs won’t have any trouble getting inside either. I included the Liberty Island security code, so they’ll be able to open the gates. I also put Taylor’s altered image on his bank’s server like you wanted. Monday morning when his employees log on to their computers, his new look will be the first thing they see.”

  I laughed. “You’re the best.”

  “Hasta la vista,” he said, before disconnecting.

  Caroline drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Do I even want to know who Rainman is?”

  “He’s in the information biz. I had him lift a corner of Hutchins’ curtains and peer beneath it.”

  “You run with an interesting crowd.” She glanced at me. “I assume you weren't looking to see if he had any overdue books at the library.”

  “I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I’m suspicious because Hutchins lied to me and said he barely knew Claire.” Time to come clean. “He’s also married.” I turned in my seat and looked at Caroline. “One other thing: Before his death, R.J. Reynolds may have buried gold on Sapelo. I know this sounds crazy Caroline, but what if Jack Hutchins isn’t just searching for plantation artifacts.”

  She seemed to be processing that information, then said, “That’s an interesting theory, but why don’t we stick to the facts at hand and not turn this investigation into some kind of hair-brained treasure hunt. I agree with you, we need to speak with Hutchins. And being behind on his house payments may or may not have anything to do with this case. But we’re not gonna waste a bunch of valuable time on crackpot ideas of hidden gold and buried treasure.” She paused, then asked, “And what was that about Bill Taylor and Frank Chambers?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” I replied.

  She clucked her tongue to show me she wasn’t buying it. “Everything you do is out of the ordinary Fontaine.”

  We swung into the Sapelo visitor center parking lot. Caroline nosed the Interceptor into an empty parking spot and we got out of the car. Down at the ferry landing, I could see the Department of Natural Resources boat waiting on us.

  ~ ~ ~

  The DNR enforcement ranger was a rawboned guy named Joe McCoy. He had dark hair cut short, lean ropey muscles and a deep mahogany tan. Vertical creases were etched into his face. He met us at the dock. Caroline flashed her badge, and McCoy invited us on board. “You folks must be investigating the murder.”

  “That’s right. I’m Detective Ross. This is Ray Fontaine. He’s assisting me with the investigation.”

  I asked him, “Were you acquainted with Claire Robertson?”

  He nodded. “Sure was. Not many people work out on the island. I imagine I’ve met most of ‘em. Damn shame is what it is. I hope you catch whoever did it.”

  Caroline said, “We appreciate the lift. How long will it take to get out to the island?”

  “Fifteen, twenty minutes max.” He looked at Caroline’s holstered Glock. “Detective I see you’re armed. Except during the controlled hunts we hold in the fall, firearms are strictly prohibited on the island. Mr. Fontaine, are you carrying as well?”

  I raised my shirt and showed him the heater strapped to my hip. “Cut the crap,” I said. “This isn’t a fucking duck hunt. We’re here to investigate a murder. Detective Ross is an officer of the law, and I’m licensed to carry concealed anywhere in this state.” Give the game warden a badge, and he thinks he’s Eliot Ness.

  McCoy eyeballed me for several long seconds. “If you want to grab a seat, we can get underway.”

  I said, “Before we shove off, I’d like to know if you’ve noticed anything out of the ordinary that might assist us in the investigation?”

  “Afraid not,” he said. “Though Claire and I’d met, I can’t say I knew her very well.”

  “I’m not asking how well you knew her. I want to know if you noticed anything that can shed some light on her murder. You mentioned how few people work on Sapelo. Theoretically, anything out of the ordinary would stand out. Am I right?”

  “Makes sense,” he said. “But you have to understand, it’s a big island...eleven miles long, three miles wide, and over sixteen thousand acres. Most of it wild. The majority of the work the DNR does is on the northern end of Sapelo, in what’s known as the Richard J. Reynolds Wildlife Management area. The Marine Institute’s lab facilities, as well as their housing, are located on the south end of Sapelo.” He paused for a beat, then said, “None of us are out there to socialize Mr. Fontaine. We all have a job to do. Regarding Claire, our paths just didn’t cross very often.”

  I have a hypersensitivity to bullshit, and that sounded like a crock of it to me. With so few people on the island, who else are you going to hang out with after work? I wanted to ask him about Jack Hutchins, but Caroline’s brow was furrowed and she was tapping her foot, growing impatient by the minute. Tough. I played a hunch and said to McCoy, “You mentioned the DNR does most of its work on the northern end of Sapelo. Isn’t that where the archeological excavation is under way?”

  “That’s right,” he replied. “Most of the digging on the island has taken place at Chocolate, one of the old antebellum plantations.”

  Then I lobbed him a leading question, which isn’t exactly kosher. You’re not supposed to lead a witness. “What are they digging for, some of R.J. Reynold’s buried gold?”

  He gave me a thin-lipped smile. “Everyone’s heard that rumor. Personally, I think it’s ridiculous. What they’re doing out at Chocolate is trying to reconstruct what plantation life was like for the slaves that worked the fields.”

  “Can you say with certainty that Reynolds didn’t bury gold on Sapelo?”

  “I think you misunderstood,” he replied. “What I’m saying is, if R.J. Reynolds buried gold on Sapelo, none of it is still out there.” He looked from Caroline to me. “Think about it. The Hog Hammock residents are having trouble paying their property taxes. Supposedly their relatives were the ones that helped Mr. Reynolds bury the gold. If some of it was still hidden on the island, don’t you think they would’ve dug it up by now?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. I asked, “What have they managed to turn up at Chocolate?”

  “I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask Jack Hutchins. He’s the archeologist leading the dig.”

  “Count on it.”

  “I think we’re ready to head out,” Caroline said. She took a seat toward the back of the boat.

  McCoy nodded, fired the outboard motor, then let it idle for a several minutes. He turned to me and said, “Can I get you to cast us off Mr. Fontaine?”

  I untied us from the dock, made my way to the back of the boat, and grabbed a seat across from Caroline. Morning sunlight fell on her face. Despite the obvious stress weighing on her, she looked good sitting there. I winked at her. She narrowed her eyes and mouthed, “No fucking around.”

  Do I deserve this? Here I am, pitching in and helping out, trying my damnedest to help her solve the case. And she’s busting my balls and acting like a hard-ass. I know she’s under a lot of pressure to wrap this up, but some days it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed.

  McCoy glanced at us over his shoulder. Caroline nodded. He pushed the throttle forward, and the boat’s propeller churned the dark briny water.

  We started off at a languid pace as the boat pulled away from the dock. Caroline turned and looked out over the water. I followed her gaze and watched a squadron of brown pelicans flying in formation. When we reached the middle of the river, McCoy opened it up. The boat’s hull rose out of the water. Soon we were up to plane, skimming across the water like a skipping stone.

 
~ ~ ~

  Here’s a little-known fact: Georgia, with only one hundred miles of coastline, has almost as much salt marsh as the rest of the east coast combined. Since most of our islands can’t be reached by bridge, the ecosystem is healthy and intact. During the springtime, the tidal rivers of the lowcountry warm, and the brackish waters become an essential breeding ground for crabs, shrimp, and fish. Dolphins work the estuaries, feeding on the abundant aquatic life.

  The river twisted to the east, and McCoy had us moving at a good clip. Thick marsh laced with tidal creeks were on both sides of us.

  As you might have guessed, I’m not exactly a new-age kind of guy. I don’t believe in power spots, vortexes, or any of that ridiculous nonsense. But something undeniable happens to me when I’m out here on the water. The effect on me is visceral, deeply felt and profound. I guess you could say I feel plugged into some unseen force of nature. The swaying marsh grass, the serpentine rivers, the sky, the clouds, and the unspoiled Sea Islands make me come alive like no other place on the planet. It’s one of the reasons why I love living here.

  As I sat in the back of the ranger’s boat, my senses were on full alert. I wanted to carry that heightened sense of acuity with me, bringing justice to whoever killed Claire Robertson. I don’t want to get all metaphysical, but I felt locked in like a heat-seeking missile searching for its target.

  The truth was out there somewhere. And goddamn it, I was determined to find it.

  Off our starboard side, a sailboat glided out to sea, the bright sun reflecting off its sails. I turned my eyes to the east. Thick cumulus clouds hung like Chinese lanterns from an endless sky. We rounded a bend in the river and the candy-cane striped Sapelo lighthouse came into view.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As we approached the island, I noticed the state-run ferry moored at the Marsh Landing dock. McCoy eased up on the throttle, and the DNR boat slowed. I stood and made my way to the bow. We pulled up behind the ferry, McCoy reversed the motor and halted our forward momentum. I hopped out, he tossed me a rope, and I tied us to a wooden pylon. I gave Caroline my hand and helped her climb out of the boat.