Dead Reckoning_A Nantasket Novella

by Robert White

  Lauren called at about eight-fifteen. She had heard about my day, offered to come home. I was tempted to take her up on it, cancel Kounadis, but instead I told her about my job for the night. She sounded relieved, told me she loved me and hung up. The Red Sox were trying their best to give Baltimore the lead, but the Orioles couldn’t put it together. I shut it off, made a fresh pot of coffee, filled the thermos and climbed on my bicycle. For some reason, I didn’t want to leave my truck on the pier all night for everyone to see.

  The sun was just down, the tide was getting low and the moon was not yet up. I eased the patrol boat out into the Weir River and headed for the bay. The red and green markers blinked their identifying patterns into a pale and empty twilight as I followed the snaky channel between the mud flats. A couple was holding hands, walking their dog along the shore of World’s End, to my left. Dead ahead, the last shreds of color were being eaten by the shoreline across the bay. I worked the throttle up slowly, letting the engine find its proper rhythm, and then turned on some music, not too loud. Garth Brooks was singing about a cowboy who had died young.

  My mind wandered back to the morning’s scene. A Boston Municipal Police boat had arrived shortly after Kounadis. There was a half-hearted argument about jurisdiction, resolved in favor of the State Police after a quick call to the D.A.’s office. It all had to do with the vague status of the harbor’s islands. They simultaneously belonged to various towns and cities and had a unique park status that was part federal and part state. Most people who used the islands and the surrounding waters were pretty happy with the arrangement, as it seemed to have crashed to a halt many grandiose plans for improvement.

  The Coast Guard was next to arrive, followed shortly by my boss. The young coasties, farm boys from the mid-west by their accents, bagged and removed Eddie’s remains and worked on a plan to get his boat off the rocks. Tom had made his way over to me and I told him about all I had seen, including the bullet hole in Eddie’s forehead, slightly above his left eye. He went to talk to Kounadis, and I waded out to my boat and headed back to town and school, glad to be away from there.

  As I neared the scene tonight, on my way into Boston, I slowed and took a good look around. Rainsford Island was a dark, dead hole, surrounded by water that seemed alive in comparison, dancing with the light that was streaming down from the now rising moon to the east. It was a nice night to be on the water, I just had a lousy reason for it. I got back on the throttle and aimed the boat under the bridge connecting Long Island with the mainland.

  I was surprised to find Spiro Kounadis waiting for me on the dock at the Boston Harbor Hotel, as I was a half-hour early. He climbed aboard, tossed a big duffle bag forward, into the pilot house, and reached over to turn the music off. “I’d a pegged you for classical, not country,” he said. He took a portable police radio off of his belt, turned up the volume and wedged it into an opening in the console.

  “Ever hear of a guy named Jack Nolan?” Kounadis asked, as we moved away from the dock. The moon was up now, about three quarters full, not quite as big as last night, but still pretty bright. I could see him looking at me, watching my face carefully.

  I shook my head, no.

  “How about Charlie Donnelly?”

  “Isn’t he the guy from Southie that’s running for congress? I’ve read about him in the paper. Some kind of city councilor or councilman. Whatever they got there…” I trailed off, shrugging.

  “Yeah, well Jack Nolan worked for Charlie Donnelly, back in the day. Then he went away for a while. When he came back, he kept a respectful distance from his old boss, but some folks say they were still tight.” Kounadis still watched me, reading my face for something.

  “How’s this fit?” I asked.

  “He was found in some bushes on the south side of Moon Island, near those old sewage embayments, sporting a third eye, just like your cousin’s. An alert citizen called it in, anonymously, right around the time I was talking with you this afternoon.”

  “That’s about a mile and a half, two miles up tide of where we found Eddie.” I had passed within a quarter mile of the spot on my way into the city, just a while ago. I hadn’t seen any activity there. “I’ve got a brother-in-law who says there is no such thing as a coincidence. How about you, you believe in coincidence?”

  “Your brother-in-law sounds like a pretty bright guy.”

  We tooled along in silence for a while, Castle Island off to starboard, a pair of tugs to port, headed in. I turned the boat towards the Long Island Bridge. Kounadis nodded agreement and then went aft to look at the fishing gear I had brought along.

  “You fish?” I called back to him.

  “What the hell would I do that for?” He came forward, into the pilothouse. “What were you doing about three-thirty or four o’clock this morning?”

  “Was that what time Eddie was killed?” I asked. Kounadis just stared at me. “I was home, asleep.”

  “Your wife vouch for you?” he asked, but I had the feeling he already knew the answer.

  “She wasn’t there.” I glared back at him. “She’s living somewhere else right now,” I added. “Why, am I a suspect?”

  “Everyone’s a suspect, at least on some level. You’re a relative and didn’t get along.” He seemed to be enjoying this.

  “I told you, I had no problem with Eddie. It was all one way. Why would I want him dead?”

  He shrugged. He began rifling through his duffle bag, pulled out a fleece shirt and put it on. “Gets cold out here, huh?”

  “What are you, good cop and bad cop, all rolled into one?” I asked him. I pulled back on the throttle, put the transmission in neutral and let the boat drift. We were about a mile out from the bridge, off the new pier on Spectacle Island. “Look, just for the record, I didn’t kill Eddie.”

  “I’d like to believe that,” Kounadis said. “I just want to know why you are so involved in it all.”

  “He’s my cousin. I saw his boat and went to check it out. How does that make me so involved in ‘it all’?” I said. “Christ, you make it seem like some kind of conspiracy.”

  “Your name, with a question mark after it, was in a notebook in Jack Nolan’s pocket.” He reached into his own pocket and pulled out a pack of Camels, offered them. I shook my head no while I thought about what he had just said. “Bad habit. Such a cop cliché, but I can’t seem to quit,” he said perfunctorily, void of any sincerity.

  I put the boat back into gear and got us moving again. We were both quiet for a good while as we approached, then slipped under, the bridge connecting Long Island to the mainland, via the causeway that crossed Moon Neck, also known as Moon Island. I couldn’t help but wonder what Eddie had gotten into, and how it involved me.Kounadis and I spent the rest of the night drifting around between Moon, Long and Rainsford Islands. At one point, I set him ashore on Moon, on an old pier on the north side, alone. I watched as the beam from his flashlight bounced along the edge of one of the old sewage embayments, then it dropped from sight. He returned about fifteen minutes later and ignored my questions. We then returned to the other side and, when the tide was right, we mimicked the drift of Eddie’s boat from just off the scene of the second shooting, on the south side of Moon, past Long and right up to the rocks off Rainsford. We didn’t fish. I took him back to Rowe’s Wharf in silence, and then headed back to Hull. I tied up the patrol boat, put all my gear in the trailer we used as an office, and pedaled home.

  Wednesday -8:45 AM

  A couple hours sleep and a quick shower later I was out the door and headed to town. I needed to get to school by nine-thirty for a hopefully quick faculty meeting, then turn in grades and check out for the summer administratively, but first I stopped at the bakery in Kenberma for a bagel and a coffee. A group of older men sitting around a table near the door got quiet when I entered, then one of them spoke up. “Morning John, bit of a day yesterday?”

  “A sad day,” I allowed, as I headed over to the coffee urns
lined up on the far wall. Sandy, behind the counter, held up a plain bagel. I nodded to her and she sliced it and put it in the toaster.

  The Globe had run the story front page, on the right, above the fold. The facts were there for both killings, including their tidal proximity. The D.A.’s office released a statement that it was “investigating possible connections.” Kounadis gave a big “no comment.” I was simply referred to as “an employee of the Hull Harbormaster’s office.” I sat on a stool at the counter and ate my bagel, purposefully ignoring everyone in the place. As I was getting ready to leave, Sandy came over.

  “Sorry to hear about Eddie. It must have been tough finding him like that.”

  “Yeah, not as tough as for Sharon, though. How is she handling it?” Sandy and Sharon went way back. They had been a few years behind Eddie and me in school.

  “She’s strong, then she breaks down, then she gets strong again. I spent most of last night there. She says she and Danielle are gonna leave, head down to Florida, nothing to stay here for. Her Mom flew in late last night. Danny hasn’t quit crying, poor thing.”

  “Do you think it would be okay if I stopped by to see her? With Eddie’s folks gone, I am the only family he had, even if he wouldn’t speak to me.”

  “Yeah, go see her. She might act a bit pissy, but don’t let her.” Sandy grabbed my arm with both hands. “She really would be glad to see you. Really.”

  I got to school just as the faculty meeting was starting. I took a seat in the back of the library and listened to the principal talk about the past year, then about the next year. A school year is such a strange way to mark time, but it is a way that all are familiar and comfortable with to a point, whether we are students, teachers, or parents. I wonder if people who are no longer involved in education in any way still think in terms of school years later in life.

  As soon as the meeting broke up, I slipped out and headed for my classroom. It took about an hour to finish calculating term grades and enter all the necessary information into the computer for report cards. I was now officially done. I just needed to turn in my grade book and some paperwork and I was free until September. I would be back a few times a week to check on the fish tanks and water the plants, but otherwise the big blank canvas called summer awaited. Except it wasn’t so blank this year: first with Lauren moving out, and now with Eddie’s murder. I suddenly felt like there was a big round rock in my stomach.

  Eddie and Sharon’s small ranch sat on a tenth of an acre, smack in the middle of the alphabet streets, on the bayside. Fishing gear and an empty trailer filled the side yard, next to Sharon’s car in the driveway. I pulled my truck in behind it and just sat there for a minute, listening to the engine tick, trying to think of what I could possibly say or do here.

  Sharon’s mother stuck her head out the front door. Onward, I thought, as I got out of my truck and headed for the door.

  “Hi Mrs. Kelly,” I said.

  “Good morning John. It’s been a while, I guess.”

  “Is Sharon in?” I asked, suddenly hoping I would be denied entrance.

  “Come on in and have some coffee. I’ll rustle her up for you.” She opened the door wide and made room for me to pass.

  “If it’s not a good time….” I stopped, feeling pretty lame.

  We crossed through the living room and into the kitchen. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom down the hall. I sat at the small table as directed. Mrs. Kelly poured me some coffee.

  “How do you like it?” she asked.

  “Black’s fine,” I answered, taking the cup. The shower stopped. Mrs. Kelly sat across from me, cradling her own coffee. We both stared at the table top, not sure what to say.

  The silence was broken by the sliding of the shower curtain. A few seconds later, the bathroom door cracked open onto the hallway. “Who’s here, Ma?”

  “John Smith. So come along.” To me she said, “I didn’t think you and Eddie were getting along these days. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here, just surprised.”

  The bathroom door banged shut, then it opened again, and I could hear Sharon scampering down the hall. Mrs. Kelly got up and put some sugar and milk into a cup, filled it with coffee, and headed down the hallway. I sat, wondering just why I had come here. I could hear voices but not words coming from the back of the house. They sounded abrupt and unhappy. After about five minutes Sharon emerged, barefoot, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, her wet hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She held her coffee in both hands and looked down at me with tired eyes. I started to get up.

  “Don’t,” she said, sitting down across from me.

  “Sharon… I’m sorry.”

  “I’m glad it was you that found him, I guess, instead of a stranger.”

  “I just wish we had patched things up. Now…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “Is there anything I can do? Do you and Danielle need anything?”

  “My mom is being great. She lives for crises. She hasn’t felt this useful since we buried Daddy.” She laughed, brushing a few tears from her cheeks with the wrist of her sweatshirt. “Danielle and I are going to move down there. She’s got plenty of room for us, for a while anyway. I think we need a new start.”

  “If I can help… just ask, okay? Don’t be afraid to ask.”

  “We’ll be fine,” she said. “Things always work out, one way or another. They have to.”

  “There was another body, on Moon. Do you have any idea what happened?”

  “Just what I read in the paper. The detective came by yesterday. Of course he just wanted to talk about Eddie’s past.” She pushed her cup to the middle of the table.

  “You told him that I ratted out Eddie. I didn’t. You have to know I wouldn’t have done that.”

  “You’re the only one he told about it.”

  “I didn’t approve of what he was doing, but I didn’t turn on him. I wish you would believe that.”

  “John, listen to me. It’s best that everybody thinks what they think. It hardly matters now. Please?” She looked me in the eye, fear radiating from her face.

  “Sharon… what’s going on?”

  “Please John, just let it lie. Danielle and I are moving away. Everything is over.” She suddenly seemed strong, ready to take charge.

  “Are you telling me Eddie didn’t really think I set him up?”

  Sharon inhaled, and then slowly blew out a big breath.

  “At first he did, then, after he got out of prison, he figured a few things out.” She got up and carried both of our cups to the sink. “He told me you weren’t involved, but we should still act like we thought you were.”

  “You should tell Detective Kounadis that,” I said.

  “No. Look, John, please, just let it all go. I shouldn’t have told you any of this. I just wanted you to know that Eddie didn’t hate you. You really should go now.” She started towards the door.

  I followed. “What about the funeral? Have you made any arrangements?”

  “When they finish the autopsy I’m having him cremated. We’ll have a small memorial service later.” She opened the front door. “Thanks for coming, John. And please, just let things be.”

  “You really should tell the detective what you told me.” I turned on the steps and faced her. “Don’t you want them to catch his murderer?”

  “I want my daughter, and me, to be safe. Isn’t that what you want, too?” She retreated into the house and shut the door.

  I headed across the yard to my truck, wondering what that meant and just what I did want.

  Back at home I did some chores in the house and out in the yard. Tom Evers called at around two to ask about the night before and to make sure I was planning to work the weekend shifts. I told him I was. I told him I had been to see Sharon, and he said he was on his way there himself. As soon as I hung up, the phone started ringing again. I let it go a few times, and then I picked it up.

  “Hello,” I said, trying
to sound even more tired than I was.

  “You don’t own a gun, do you? A .22 caliber?”

  “You don’t believe much in greetings, huh?”

  “I greeted you when I met you. Gun?”

  “I own a shotgun, a Remington 870 12 gauge; I try to get in a bit of duck hunting in the fall,” I answered. “Was it the same gun killed them both?”

  Kounadis paused, his silence transmitting over the phone as much as another person’s words would. I kept quiet, thinking maybe he would give me a bit more information. “Same caliber anyway; we only have one slug.”

  “You should go back and talk to the widow again.”

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “Eddie’s,” I answered. I hadn’t thought much about Nolan, besides the fact that he had my name written in a notebook, and he and my cousin were both dead. Certainly not that he had a wife, maybe a family.

  “When did you talk to her?”

  “This morning.” I debated how much to tell him. “She said some pretty interesting stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “That’s the problem. She told me not to tell you about it.”

  “Yeah, well, I got news for you. You just did.”

  “You better get the rest yourself,” I said.

  “If you know something,” Kounadis’s voice started to rise, “you had better tell me now.”