Shades of Deception

by Charlie Hudson

  “We’ll analyze Matt’s equipment as soon as we finish here, although I don’t expect to find a problem. Embolism, aneurism, some kind of cardiac issue will be the likely cause of him losing consciousness,” Tyler said. “I worked with Matt enough to know he was in good shape, but I wouldn’t say we were friends.” He shrugged. “He was no lightweight when it came to partying, although I think it was strictly booze. It was never an issue for work, as far as I know.”

  Maury’s voice was deep baritone. “I’ll give the girl — Crystal right? — credit. She was struggling a bit, as you can imagine, being faced with a real situation. She was taking the correct measures and even though we interceded, it wasn’t as if she was panicky.”

  Bev probed the way his statement was drawn out. “And yet?”

  “We’ve been talking about it, not that we’re trying to contradict her. It’s hard to know for sure how long it was when she was out of sight or how long it took her to get him out in the open. Even from the beginning, we didn’t see the slightest sign of response. Her timeline might have been different than what she remembers. It easy to lose track and what she thought was less than a minute before she reconnected with him could have been more. If she was further back than she realized, he could have easily been unconscious and she wouldn’t have noticed the problem.”

  “We’re not saying there would have been another outcome if he’d had someone else with him,” Stan added immediately. “We don’t want to imply she did anything wrong. You dive?”

  “Yes, that’s why the Chief likes for me to take these if I’m available.” She closed her notebook and handed cards to each with her standard closing. “Tyler, I’ll be in with Roger for a while if you think of anything else.”

  Bev re-entered the fenced area and Beau left the older couple he was speaking with when he saw her. The others were scattered around, no one’s voice loud enough to tell what was being said.

  “I’m almost done,” Beau said, glancing at the boat. “What next?”

  “I need to talk with Mr. Lariby. You okay with going back and starting the report? I told Gary and Crystal to come in the morning at 9:00 for official statements.”

  “I’m not hearing anything suspicious. The kid’s got to be rattled, so yeah, let her get home to a hot shower. If we change our minds, we can call them in.”

  Roger Lariby motioned to Bev when she entered the shop and followed him to his office. He pulled a pint bottle of Gentleman Jack from a desk drawer and poured a slug into a coffee mug on his desk. “I assume you’ll go for Diet Coke or water,” he said and swiveled to the small refrigerator behind him, “although in your dad’s day, he would have shared a shot with me.”

  A lot had changed since those days. “Diet Coke is fine.”

  “Hell of a goddamn thing,” he said and handed the chilled can to her. “I’ve never personally seen this in someone Matt’s age, but I can pull you some stats from DAN if you want me to.”

  Bev knew Diver’s Alert Network — DAN — maintained the most extensive dive accident database in the world. They’d been gathering and analyzing information for decades and they issued periodic reports about dive fatalities among other services they provided.

  “Probably don’t need that at this point,” she said after a long swallow. “Matt came up clean on the drug screen after the Belton incident?”

  “Yeah, and he was a party animal for sure, but I’m not expecting Doc to find anything else. If I had to lay money down, I’d say aneurism. Not knowing anything specific about his medical history, there could have been one of those genetic heart issues lurking. I prefer the simplest explanation in most cases.” He paused, a look across his face as if he was trying to mentally place something.

  Bev didn’t press him and he snapped his fingers.

  “It may be nothing. His parents are divorced and it seems when his mom was getting ready to come down from New York several months ago, he did make a comment about his dad dying unexpectedly a few years back. Heart attack, maybe? I don’t remember exactly.”

  “Damn, maybe there was something genetic,” Bev said. “Unless Doc Cook has a backlog, he can knock this out and get us an answer without much delay. How do you think the rest of the staff will take it?”

  Roger raised his eyebrows. “There’ll be a lot of talk, but not too much mourning, quite frankly. Not to speak ill of the dead — just being realistic. Crystal will be the one most affected You let her go home?”

  “We did. I asked if she wanted us to call her parents and she declined. She did ask for Gary to stay during the interview — I didn’t see any reason not to.”

  Roger looked at his coffee mug and shrugged. “Like I mentioned, Leslie makes it a point to get to know all the employees, which considering the turnover you have in this business, is admirable of her. I do hear things and word is — Crystal’s home life isn’t what you’d call ideal. Not abusive type, just a single mom who might be pretty fond of booze and works two jobs. I gather there’s talk she also had a thing for Matt, if that’s important.”

  “He was the one she buddied with usually?”

  “That would be my guess — it’s easy to check if you want.”

  Bev shook her head and stood. “Not really. I’ll keep you posted.”

  He rose and walked with her to the front door. “Thanks for handling this and you know where I am if you need anything else.”

  Bev saw the shop and parking area were nearly empty and wondered briefly if Roger’s assessment of little genuine sorrow at Matt’s passing was correct. There hadn’t been many people with much good to say about him before this and Bev’s own response to him hadn’t contradicted those opinions. Still, it was a hell of a way to be remembered.

  Crystal slumped against the trailer door the moment she was inside. She’d killed Matt less than twenty-four hours before and she had to admit she hadn’t completely thought through how to handle what came after. It was totally different from Deena and she should have realized it would be. In a way, the situation with someone else trying to rescue Matt had worked in her favor. The thought he might recover had frightened her, although she’d been able to hold to her story that became easier with each telling. Just as she anticipated, they took Matt’s equipment to analyze it for improper gas mix or any other possible failure and never looked at hers. She’d kept a towel draped around her own equipment obscuring her pony bottle as much as she could and no one seemed to have noticed she had one. She’d detached it and stuffed it into her dive bag and had carried that, allowing Gary to take her BCD when he insisted on helping. It had been difficult to pretend the bag wasn’t heavier than usual, but she’d managed. The pony bottle was hidden in the back of her closet and she intended to get rid of it as soon as she could. The trailer park dumpster wouldn’t do because someone was likely to see it and it was unusual enough to become a subject of conversation. She’d find a way to borrow her mother’s car soon and carry it off somewhere.

  She’d hardly gotten out of the shower the afternoon before, when her mother came home unexpectedly having heard the news already. She’d found someone to take her shift at the bar so she could “be there” for Crystal — as if she needed her fucking fluttering around. So much for having time to relish her victory in solitude. She’d had to carry on her façade of, “Yes, I’m okay. It was terrible and I feel awful I couldn’t do more. Yes, I know it wasn’t my fault and no, I wasn’t in any danger. No, you don’t have to worry about me. These things can happen and no one really knows why.”

  Her mother had even stayed sober and made Crystal lasagna, which she couldn’t enjoy as much as she wanted to because she assumed she wasn’t supposed to have an appetite. She did wheedle her mother into letting her have one glass of wine and, after answering the same questions for the millionth time, she pled exhaustion and closed herself in her room. Surprisingly, she’d fallen asleep quickly and hadn’t stirred the next morning unti
l she heard her mother getting ready for work. At least she’d been able to convince her mother not to take the day off, assuring her Gary was going with her to the police station to make their official statements and she would be fine. She had to promise to call if there was any kind of a problem. She hadn’t responded to her mother’s faint knock on her door that morning and after she’d waited a full fifteen minutes after hearing her leave, she’d come out to find a note on the counter. Honey, I can take tonight off, too if you need me to be here for you. Call me after you get up.

  That was a fucking joke and then, when she was looking forward to a couple of hours alone before Gary would pick her up, she made the mistake of going outside to get the paper. Nosey old Mrs. Plummer was coming back from walking her stupid Yorkie and she insisted on bringing over some fresh lemon-poppy muffins. That annoying woman was good with baking, but, of course, what she wanted was the inside scoop which she could then spread to anyone in the trailer park who would listen to her. Crystal had to humor her though because, played correctly, Mrs. Plummer would bolster her story. Her version of, “that poor little Crystal, what an ordeal she went through,” would be solemnly presented. Two muffins and way too many fucking consoling hand pats later, she ushered the old crow out.

  She’d been careful how she’d dressed for the police station in the loosest pair of jeans she owned, a slightly over-sized long-sleeve tee shirt, no makeup, and sneakers. Young and vulnerable with no hint of sexy was what she needed to look like. She didn’t know if she would be with that female detective. The detective had been sympathetic, but there had been something about her eyes and manner Crystal hadn’t trusted. Maybe it was nothing more than knowing how bitchy women could be. She’d lucked out though and the police officer, Beau, was who they met with. He’d been kind of cute for an older guy and she’d choked up a tiny bit at the right point. No actual tears falling though because she didn’t want Gary hanging around after with the idea she needed his support. They were done within the hour and she was finally by herself. She’d thanked Gary for driving and once again claimed to need a nap, which of course was understandable. No, no, she couldn’t say when she might be ready to return to work. He understood, right? She truly didn’t have the answer to that. If she returned right away, would they look at her differently? Probably. She sure as hell wasn’t going to try to get any extra sympathy because the quicker everyone went on about their business, the better. A few days ought to be enough to take off. She knew good and well Julio was the only one who gave a shit about Matt and shock was what the staff would be dealing with.

  She crossed the room and poured a cup of coffee to reheat in the microwave. She texted her mother to forestall the potential of an interrupting phone call and expelled a long breath. The microwave beeped her coffee was ready and there were two muffins left. Not exactly what she’d planned in celebration, but one more would do for now. She carried everything to the dining nook and sat at the square wooden table. There was a school assignment she needed to finish and Leslie had already left a voice mail to tell her someone else would substitute for her at the store that afternoon. If she felt up to it, she could call the next day and talk about her schedule.

  The real problem was she didn’t know when she would genuinely be able to relax. It couldn’t take that long to do an autopsy, could it? She was positive Matt didn’t do drugs and there shouldn’t be any reason they would test for anything other than normal stuff. If his death was signed off as drowning, the file ought to be closed, shouldn’t it? How would she find out? There would probably be some little piece put in the paper, right? Someone would tell Mr. Lariby and Leslie, right? They might not want to tell her though, thinking she wouldn’t want to be reminded. Well, it was a small town and word would get around. Even with gossip always distorting the original version, some variation of freak accident ought to be what was said.

  She pinched off a chunk of muffin, popped it into her mouth, and looked down at the plastic-coated placemat. It was tropical themed with a hammock hung between two palm trees on a sandy beach. A sailboat was in the background and a pair of seagulls were against the sky. In thinking of real problems, her anger at Matt had taken her focus away from the print and what she was going do about it. Her limited research made it clear she had to have a no-shit expert appraise the damn thing and that was expensive. With her eighteenth birthday being only a few weeks away she could legally engage a contract with a specialist if she had the money. She’d been practicing her line about getting the print from her deceased grandmother and unfortunately having no paperwork. It was like on those TV shows where people were always finding valuable shit in clearing out attics and garages. She understood not having documentation could affect the ultimate price. If the print was authentic, it would still bring a nice sum.

  Her story wasn’t unusual, and she might as well get some good out of a grandmother she’d never known. The old bitch had died almost three years ago and the only reason she knew was she’d overheard her mother talking to someone on the phone. Back when she was younger and asked why she didn’t have grandparents, her mother said her father had been killed in a terrible accident when she was young, and her mother had a breakdown and been put into a hospital. Crystal asked if they could go visit and she’d been told she wouldn’t know who they were, and it was better to leave her there where the doctors could look after her. She wasn’t much older when she figured out her mother must be talking about a mental hospital. Not that it mattered since her grandmother was probably as idiotic as the daughter she’d raised, so who the hell needed her anyway?

  Having a believable story about the print to pass on wasn’t the only problem though. Aside from the question of money to pay the expert, it wouldn’t be something he could do quickly. She could give only her cell phone number and email as contact information. It wasn’t likely the expert would be local, so she ought to be able to pull it off without her mother being involved. Wait, shit. The odds were she was going to have to ship it and that meant providing a mailing address. Well, she could open a post office box. Except, if she was right and it was authenticated, would the appraiser handle the sale, too, or would someone else have to be involved? Could they do everything remotely and never meet? At least her bank account was different from her mother’s and she did her banking electronically so her statements never came to the house. Oh shit, even if she could hide the sale from her mother, would income tax be involved? Damn it, she’d have to research that, too.

  She moved again to the coffeepot, drained the last into her mug and put it into the microwave. She glanced at a magazine and the unopened electric bill left on the counter and her eyes narrowed as a fuzzy memory took clear form. The bill. She hurried into the third bedroom, absurdly referred to as an office. There was a cheap desk with an old chair barely accessible because boxes and different stuff were crammed around it. Damn, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t remembered this before. It had been more of those snatches of conversations she’d overheard. What had it been — like five or six years ago? Her mother had been at the table, talking quietly on the phone, while she was on the couch watching television. “…no family other than us…guess I should… not a big…can’t afford…my ex…no help ever.” She had moved abruptly into the bedroom to finish the conversation and Crystal hadn’t really thought anything about it.

  She poked through loose envelopes and a few folders until she found the clearly marked life insurance policy. It was from one of the companies that advertised on TV all the time. She read through the papers to verify she was the sole beneficiary, although her mother had put one of her ditsy friends as trustee since Crystal was a minor. She photographed the first two pages and replaced the policy. At only $20,000, it wouldn’t do too much for her, but the trailer was worth something at least and she would have that as well. She was pretty sure her mother had never bothered to have a will made and there weren’t any other relatives. Wasn’t there some kind of legal process to go through to l
egally make everything hers? Like some kind of waiting period? That ought to be easy enough to find out. Even if she did have to wait to sell the trailer, weren’t insurance policies supposed to pay right away? She could use that money to hire the expert she needed to appraise the print. He couldn’t cost more than a few thousand, could he? Since no one knew she had it, she could handle the sale separately from the trailer, right?

  There were doubt and questions left in her mind. It certainly seemed the simple solution to everything was to kill her mother and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been considering it. How was what she hadn’t worked out yet. Well, she’s managed twice now. There must be a creative third way.

  Bev was glad she and Les were both morning people. Finding a woman dead before nine o’clock would be hard to take if you were groggy.

  “With almost two months and no bodies, I thought we were on a roll,” Les said drily on the way from the station. “It sounds like this one has a little déjà vu thrown in.”

  “How so?” Bev was trying to place the name Catherine Sharpe.

  “Remember the Pierce girl? A neighbor finding her? Same kind of thing here. Not sure of the details.”

  “Take the next right,” Bev said. “That is a coincidence. Who’s on the scene?”

  “Kevin and a couple of uniforms. It’s like most trailer parks. People are curious and the ones who hadn’t left for work yet are hanging around.”

  Les slowed to a crawl after they spotted the police cars. This part could be considered as an element of déjà vu as far as the emergency vehicle being parked to the side, no lights, one technician in the driver’s seat, head down as if looking at something, the other one not immediately visible. A patrolman had his back to them, an older couple gesturing as they talked. A tall man, also with white hair, was strolling toward the trio.