“What’s going on?” Amara asked. She winced as Jake braked and swerved to avoid a large depression.
“I’m not sure,” Jake said, veering back. “Something else has happened at the marina. We’ll find out in a second.”
The picturesque hamlet known as Paradise Cove emerged from the morning mist. Jake glanced at his watch. It was nearly eight 8 a.m. and the town’s palm-lined, cobblestoned streets were fairly deserted. They jumped off the dirt road and landed on a paved side street. He maneuvered his truck around the outskirts of the municipality, ending up by the water. A few seconds later, he pulled the dust-caked vehicle into a reserved spot and threw it into park.
He spotted the ambulance. Its flashing red lights were visible even through the grime-obscured windows of the big Chevy. Jake turned on his wipers. The emergency response vehicle was encircled by onlookers. A pair of emergency medical technicians were struggling to load an oversized patient into the rear.
Make that a corpse.
Whoever it was, their face was covered.
His face grim, Jake headed toward the ambulance. He noticed his deputy, standing awkwardly off to one side with a few local business owners. He called out to Chris as he and Amara drew closer.
“Hey, kid. What’s going on?”
“Hey, chief,” Chris said. His expression changed markedly, and he made an effort to tuck in his uniform shirt. “Um, hi Doctor Takagi.”
“Hello, Chris.” Amara smiled, extending her hand.
“C’mon, kid.” Jake strode toward the ambulance with both of them scurrying to keep up. He nodded a greeting to the EMS personnel, then took a chart off the ambulance door and peeked inside. “That’s Ben Stillman, isn’t it?”
“Was,” the nearest medic said.
“What happened?”
“Heart attack. He must’ve been lying there all night, poor bastard.” The medic pointed to a nearby section of dock, a few vessels away from the lobsterman’s boat slip.
Jake scanned the chart, “Who found him?”
“Some teenagers. Said he was still alive, though barely. Kept babbling hysterically and pointing at the water.”
“Did he say anything to you?” Jake asked as he put the clipboard back.
The EMT shook his head. “He was cold before we got here. We’re taking the body to Harcourt Memorial. If you know his wife, you might want to notify her. Here’s my card.”
Jake accepted it with a nod and helped close the ambulance doors. They swung shut with a thud, sealing Ben inside. “I’ll take care of it,” he said.
The driver climbed in and closed his door. “Thanks, sheriff. I appreciate it. I hate giving bad news.”
“I hear you.”
Jake stepped back, guiding Chris out of the ambulance’s path as the EMT turned on his sirens and made his way out of the parking lot. The breeze changed direction and Jake blinked rapidly as a refreshing fragrance invited its way into his nostrils. Amara stood next to him.
“That’s terrible about that poor man,” she said. “I feel sorry for his wife.”
Jake’s brows rose and he shook his head. “I don’t. It’s the best thing that could have happened to her.”
Amara gasped. “Where did that come from?”
“Doc, this is my town,” Jake stated, “and I know my people. That swaggering bully was a former heavyweight prospect. Yet the only thing he ever hit was his wife. I’ve seen plenty of that in my day. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve got no tolerance for bullshit like that.” He sucked in a deep breath and snorted it out. “Believe me. Stillman’s wife getting his life insurance policy, as well as the chance to sell off that rat-infested tub of his, is small compensation for what she’s put up with, but at least it’s a start.” He shook his head and began stomping toward the docks.
Stunned, Amara turned to follow him with Chris tactfully bringing up the rear. “Well, in that case, I guess his death does seem a little less tragic.”
“Yes, it does.” Jake stopped so suddenly she plowed into him.
Amara inhaled sharply. “Sorry. So, uh, are we heading to the Harbinger now?”
“In a minute.” Still aggravated, Jake looked around the docks, seeking out Stillman’s boat. “I want to check something first . . .”
He walked along the maze of planking, making his way to Above the Claw and the spot where Ben had been discovered. He stopped short, blinking at the dilapidated vessel.
She was heavily damaged. Her gunnels were crushed, in some places almost to her decking, and chunks of debris were scattered all over the ship. Still held to the docks by strong ropes, the forty-foot vessel was taking on water through a series of cracks in her hull. She was already listing to port, and Jake knew it was a matter of hours before the well-known lobster boat sank straight to the bottom.
“Wow, exactly like the Sayonara,” Amara said, peering over his shoulder.
“Pretty much, except this time the damaged area is only to the port side. Which makes sense, if what landed on her came up out of the water . . .”
“You mean it’s in the marina?” She took a step back and stared apprehensively at the oil-stained surface of the harbor.
“Could be,” he said as he moved closer to the boat. He loosened his Beretta in its holster and rested one hand on the intact starboard gunwales. “Probably snuck in last night under cover of darkness. That would certainly explain what frightened Ben.”
“Hey, chief, look at this!” Chris called out excitedly. Partially concealed by one of the dock’s hose stations, was the butt stock of a pump action shotgun.
“That’s Ben’s, don’t touch it,” Jake said. He walked over and picked up the gun, carefully checking its magazine and chamber. “Empty,” he announced. He gestured for Amara to join him. “It’s been fired.”
“How can you tell?”
“The smell . . . and those.” Jake nodded toward a half-dozen discarded shell casings that littered the dock.
Carefully replacing the weapon exactly where he found it, he clambered to his feet and began to follow the trail of spent rounds, sprinkled like lethal breadcrumbs between Above the Claw and a large sailboat. Tracing and retracing his steps back and forth between the big sloop and the damaged lobster boat, he mouthed a curse.
“What’s wrong, chief?” Chris said.
“This doesn’t make sense.” Jake dropped down and examined the trail of shotgun shells from ground level. “Assuming he was the shooter, from the position of these rounds it appears Ben started firing his weapon from over there.” He pointed to the prow of the sailboat, some thirty feet away. “Then he must have retreated back toward his own boat.” He turned back toward Above the Claw. “He dropped his gun once he realized it was empty and tried to run, at which point his heart gave out, causing him to collapse over here . . .”
He stopped at the spot where the fallen fisherman was found and picked out a spent shell wedged tightly between two deck boards.
“I don’t understand the conundrum,” Amara said. “That makes perfect sense to me.”
Jake looked back and forth between the two points. “Ben Stillman was an idiot, but he wasn’t a big enough idiot to go running around the marina firing a twelve gauge for no reason.”
“Okay.” Amara folded her arms across her chest. “You’d know better than me. So, in police terms, what does that mean?”
“It means that Ben must have seen something that scared him enough to run for his gun. He got his weapon, went back over by that boat and started firing . . .”
An unpleasant possibility dawned on Jake. His eyes narrowing, he rose and moved in the direction of the sailboat, a forty-five foot sloop with the name Aquaholic emblazoned on bow and stern.
His expression changed to one of wariness as he drew closer. He held up a hand that stopped Amara and his deputy in their tracks. “You guys stay where you are.” A cool breeze began to blow, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up.
At first glance, the Aquaholic appeared no
rmal and undamaged. As he moved past her bow he got the feeling something about the sailboat wasn’t quite right. He caught a hint of movement by the stern and moved in to investigate.
There was a bird standing on the aft deck – a large brown and white seabird that reminded Jake of an albatross. Unfazed by the human’s proximity, it remained where it was, shifting its weight from foot to foot, extending its wings as a warning to other gulls. As he approached the bird, his vision was obscured by the sloop’s captain’s wheel. He moved a few steps to his left to get a better view of what it was standing on.
“Oh shit!”
“What is it? What did you find?” Amara called out, charging forward with Chris Meyers hot on her heels.
“Stay back! Don’t come over here!” Jake yelled. His right hand was extended palm out, the other cupping his nose and mouth.
Amara hesitated. “What’s going on?”
“Chris, take her back to the landing,” Jake said. He turned away and sucked in a couple of deep breaths before straightening up. Behind him, he could hear Amara’s fierce protestations as his youthful deputy attempted to carry out his order. He cleared his mind and turned toward the scene that awaited him.
He stepped over the sailboat’s thin rope railing, waving his arms and yelling to frighten off the infuriated gull. Reluctantly, it took wing, scolding him as it gave up its prize.
It was a body. Or rather, half of one.
The mutilated remains of a man lay draped across the rear deck of the sloop, his hands locked onto the bottom of the captain’s wheel in a death grip. His pallid face was fused into a nightmarish death mask that personified agony and horror.
He’d been bitten in half at the waistline.
Grimacing, Jake shrugged off the chill tiptoeing up and down his spine and forced himself to remain focused. He examined the death scene for clues. A moment later, he yelled for Chris to join him. Amara remained where she was, her arms folded tightly across her chest in protest.
“Hey, chief, what do you . . . holy shit!” Chris stammered as he came running up. “Jesus, who the heck is that?”
“Angelo Melito, a wealthy real estate developer from New York.” He knelt down and examined the wounds on the body. “Nice guy, too. He was vacationing here with that gorgeous new Filipino wife of his, poor bastard.”
“My God, he’s got no legs! What happened to him?”
“Well, he’s wearing no wristwatch and no shirt. And everything from the waist down is gone. I’d have to say he was probably out for a late night swim.”
“Yeah, but what happened to him?”
“Something ate him, or rather half of him, kid. From the look of things, he was in the water trying to climb back aboard when he was attacked. The spot where he’s been bitten lines up with the edge of the hull, where those gouge marks have been made in the fiberglass.”
Chris looked at the indicated area. As he did, he caught sight of the corpse’s exposed spinal column and abdominal cavity, emptied of its entire intestinal tract.
“Ugh, I think I’m gonna be sick . . .” He blanched, gagging as he held onto a nearby rope for support.
“Okay kid, you can go back to the landing.” Jake sprang back onto the dock and started to offer the shaken adolescent a hand. He paused thoughtfully, his lips a rigid line. “Actually, hold on. I hate to do this, but I’m going to need you to stay here and stand guard.”
“What for?” Chris whined.
“Because Doctor Takagi and I have to take the Infidel out to her ship to find out what did this. I need you to mark off the crime scene and call back the forensics team. Most importantly, I need you to help keep a lid on this.”
“A lid on what?” Chris stared back at the bloodless corpse. “For God’s sake, what did this? What the hell’s going on?”
“I can’t talk about it now. I’m sorry, kid,” Jake said. “I’ll be back in a few hours, hopefully with some answers. In the meantime, if anyone asks what happened, just tell them you don’t know. They’ll think it was a shark attack, which is fine.”
“It’s fine?” Eyes wide, Chris shook his head. “Since when is a shark attack fine?”
“For now,” Jake said. “Get some warning tape and a barricade from my truck. Then call Molly and see if anyone’s seen Angelo’s wife. I’ve got a bad feeling she was with him. If so, I doubt we’ll be seeing her again, but we’ve got to check.”
“All right, chief. I’ll get to work.”
“Thanks, kid.”
Jake glanced toward a pacing Amara. “I’ll fill the doc in on the way. Just take care of business.”
“Will do, chief,” Chris replied with a confidence he didn’t feel.
“Hey, kid?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m counting on you. Because I know I can.”
“Thanks, chief,” Chris responded with a forced smile. “I’ll do my best.”
Jake watched him gallop off. A flurry of movement caught his eye and he clocked a small crowd of curious onlookers making their way down the landing. He took a deep breath and prepared himself.
They were in for one hell of a surprise.
SIXTEEN
The hearty smell of sea air mixed with oxidized iron filled Jake’s nostrils as he worked his way up along the Harbinger’s riveted flanks. Overhead, a quartet of arguing seabirds circled, their streamlined wings flapping hard to compensate for the updraft. He could see the ship’s sturdy decks, dotted with hardworking crewmen, mopping and performing maintenance. He followed Amara Takagi in relative silence, surreptitiously admiring her silhouette as she made her way up the rust-marred stairs. Below, the Infidel was tied off directly behind the Sycophant, the two vessels swaying in unison with the current generated by the Harbinger.
“So, this old tub really used to be a whaler, eh?” Jake opened, trying to change the mood after the morning’s awful events.
Amara nodded. “Yes, it was.” She paused at the top of the stairs and turned to him. “Jake, thanks for trying to spare me from seeing that mess back at the marina. I was upset because I felt you were treating me like a child, but after catching a glimpse of that poor man’s body, I realized you were trying to protect me.”
“You’re welcome.”
She nodded and gestured for him to follow her up onto the main deck, then headed toward the ship’s starboard crane. Dangling from its boom like some gigantic fish, the mini-sub William hung suspended.
“C’mon,” Amara glanced back with mock enthusiasm. “I want to see what horrors have been inflicted upon my expensive toy before we go below.”
Before he could respond, a now-familiar voice called out from the stern.
“Amara, tank God ya come back, ya crazy woman!” Willie smiled as he rushed over and bear-hugged the cetaceanist so hard he made her wince. “I been goin nuts tryin ta run tings here all by ma-self.”
“I missed you too,” she said as he put her down. She grinned and rubbed her ribs. “I brought Jake with me. There’s been a lot of unbelievable stuff going on and he’s here to help.”
“Welcome, mon.”
Willie took Jake’s hand in both of his own, vigorously pumping it up and down.
“Thanks, Willie,” he replied.
“Okay,” Amara said. “So, what exactly did you guys do to my mini-sub?”
“Not us,” Willie emphasized as they walked to the swaying craft. “It was da whales. Dey all went bananas – some sort of defensive response. Dey was bouncing da William around like a big beach ball. I taught for sure we was goin to lose both da crew and da sub!”
Amara gasped. She stopped dead in her tracks as she took in the submersible’s damaged portions.
“Wow, it’s . . . a lot worse than I thought.”
Jake moved beside her. “How bad?”
“Oh, it’s pretty bad.” She shook her head. The tree trunk-sized pontoons that formed the core of the William’s ballast system were dented in a dozen places. In some spots it looked like a battering ram had been used, and
the entire rudder assembly was crushed beyond recognition. “We can fix her, but it’s going to take weeks and cost a bundle.”
Willie cleared his throat. “We can’t do it here. We gonna have ta bring her in. I spoke ta Joe. He said we need ta do some serious cuttin and weldin we can’t do on da ship.”
“He’s right,” Amara nodded. “Well, it could have been worse. At least the observation bubble was spared.”
Jake followed Amara to the submarine’s prow. “Is it that expensive to repair?”
“Not repair . . . replace. But that’s not the main worry. Yes, the acrylic hemisphere would cost a fortune to change, but the real danger would be if it had ruptured. If the observation bubble is compromised during a deep dive, the entire vessel will implode from the pressure. If that happens, you can kiss the sub and everyone aboard goodbye.”
“Sounds comforting.” Jake shrugged off the unpleasant image. “Remind me to stay on the ship.”
“Yeah,” Amara nodded. “Anyway, let’s get down to business. Willie, I need you to find Joe and get him to Jake’s boat. There’s a case of dynamite, complete with blasting caps, on board. I need him to rig up enough to send Elvis’ remains to the bottom.”
Willie made a show of pumping his fist in the air. “Tank God. When da wind shifts back dis way ya’ll know exactly what I mean!”
“Whatever you say.” Amara grinned as her first mate loped off. “C’mon, Jake. Let me give you the fifty cent tour.”
“Lead the way, doc.”
As he peered over the Harbinger’s railing, Jake scrutinized the bloated body of the dead sperm whale. A victim of scavengers and decay, the once mighty cetacean was now unrecognizable. Even so, its ravaged carcass was a sobering reminder of the dire reason for their trip. If Amara was right about the hull recorders, in a few minutes they’d have proof of the creature that killed not only the giant cachalot, but also a growing collection of human beings.
He followed his host around the gently rolling ship. As they disappeared into a darkened doorway, he could hear Willie’s voice behind them, along with a gruffer one, discussing the unenviable task Amara assigned.
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