Welcome to Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 3)

by Reed, Grant T.

  “Uh huh,” said Garrett knowingly. “Now you know why we need to save that prize money.”

  “Whatever,” sulked Merle. “Don’t think I don’t know a good chunk of our savings go to the girls at the Bootlegger’s Bounty.”

  A lengthy silence was followed by the slamming of the main door as it shot inwards. Rushing into the office, Vic looked about blankly.

  “Don’t you ever knock?” mumbled Merle.

  “Mr. Willies?” yelled Vic desperately. “Gary?”

  Garrett appeared in the doorway, a towel around his waist, shaving soap covering a third of his face. “Calm down, Vic, I’m here. And it’s Garrett, not Gary”

  “Oh Garredd,” cried Vic, his voice a high pitched whine and fear evident in his usually vacant eyes. “You bedder come quick. Maury says id’s awful.”

  “What’s awful?” returned Garrett, more sharply then he had intended. Somehow, Vic’s behaviour was unsettling him.

  “Oh,” droned Vic, his eyebrows rising as if he’d forgotten that Garrett didn’t know what he was talking about. “Maury says you need da come quick. Id’s a blood badth!”

  * * * *

  Garrett knelt beside the body of one of the warehouse guards. The man’s throat had been cut, his body laid tight against the wire fence and covered in loose brush.

  “Just like the other’s,” pointed out Merle with a grimace. “Probably never saw it coming in the dark and the rain.” Looking away from the grizzly sight, his little wings hummed with the stress of the find.

  “I think you’re right,” agreed Garrett. “Looks like the work of assassins not an all out assault. These men were ambushed.” Turning to Maury, he looked at the straight-backed ogre for his reaction. Maury’s eyes were hard, and like everyone else who had congregated on the site this morning, he was uneasy to say the least. “There are still three men missing?” inquired Garrett.

  “Yes,” rumbled Maury, clearing his throat. “Maybe they got away?” His look was one of hope. Two other helpers – both of them human – stood behind the ogre, sharing an uncertain glance.

  “Maybe,” said Garrett without conviction. He assessed the ends of the brush that had been cut and laid over the dead man. Stepping backward, he located the severed ends of the bushes still in the ground. Carefully he pulled them back and searched the ground for markings. Finding a muddy print, he lined his foot up beside it noting the assassin’s print was wider and longer than his own. “The men on patrol,” continued Garrett, “they would walk around the warehouse, patrol the yard here, as well as a little ways down the road?”

  “Yes,” agreed Maury.

  “How far down the road would they patrol from the main yard?”

  “If you follow the trail for another four hundred yards or so, you’ll come to a shack. The men take their breaks there and use it for cooking and making tea.” Maury sounded upset as he recalled better times. “We checked the guardhouse this morning. I’ve sent Vic there now to look for the others, but it’s just to keep him from seeing this.”

  Garrett nodded his understanding “I think we should involve the law in our investigation,” he said, not for the first time this morning. Moving to the body, he gently pushed the man onto his side and looked for other injuries. Lifting the dead man’s hands, he assessed them both closely. There were no defensive wounds.

  “No cops,” snapped Maury. “I told you Mr. Kline won’t have it. Besides, we have an understanding with the Chief. We pay him to turn an eye, and that includes overlooking any incidents that occur on our property.”

  Finished with the dead man, Garrett stood and sighed. “Alright,” he agreed. “Merle, I want you to use those wings of yours for something other than brushing away the flies.”

  “Eye in the sky,” said Merle knowingly.

  “Yes,” agreed Garrett. “Stay inside the fence, but circle down another hundred yards past the guard’s shack. Take two of Maury’s men with you and direct them from the air. If you find anything, instruct the men not to touch whatever it is.”

  “Got it,” said the little dragon. Adjusting his new sunglasses, he lifted himself from the ground and went to fetch two helpers from Maury’s pool of agitated workers milling in the hanger.

  Nodding to the men behind the ogre, Garrett motioned for them to gather the corpse as he and Maury headed toward the office. “None of the stored goods are missing?” he asked the ogre.

  “No,” said Maury, falling in behind him.

  “And there was no sign of vandalism?”

  “I had the men search all of the buildings inside and out, and there is no indication of such.”

  “None of the commodities were damaged or opened?”

  “There’s a lot of cargo to be checked, but nothing as of yet.”

  Garrett appeared thoughtful as he approached the office construct. The building had double hanger doors for loading and unloading goods and a smaller door for personnel. Beside the smaller entranceway, Frank and Hector leaned against the building; both minotaurs looked annoyed. “I can’t take the smell of blood much longer,” admitted Hector with a loud snort in Garrett’s direction. Shaking his massive head and horns, he pawed the ground agitatedly.

  “No one’s been inside since he was found?” asked Garrett.

  “No,” snapped Frank. “Can’t he do something else useful? His complaining is getting on my nerves.” He jerked his horns toward Hector.

  “Alright,” agreed Garrett, “but I need you to make sure no one else disturbs the scene. “Hector, why don’t you go over there with Merle and see if you can find anything else to report on.”

  “Me and him don’t get along,” he snorted in Merle’s direction. “And I ain’t taking orders from no dragon.” He waited for Garrett’s response, but when the man didn’t reply, Hector cleared his throat. “Fine, anything’s better than standing here doing nothing.”

  Walking past the minotaurs, Garrett accepted a lantern from Maury and made his way into the gloomy office. “Open the hanger doors, will you? We need all the light we can get. Make sure the others stay back, Frank.” The minotaur grunted his assent and came in behind the ogre to release the catch on the doors.

  “Oh,” whispered Maury in despair. His hand shot up to cover his mouth as he took in the horrible sight before them. “My God, who would do this to Sal? He was one of the nicest guy’s you could meet.”

  “Sal might not have had many enemies,” returned Garrett meaningfully, “but I’ll wager Mr. Kline does.” Maury’s look hardened, but he said nothing as they approached the back desk. Frank finally worked the doors open, and pale light filtered into the room, illuminating the bloody mess behind the writing table and the strung up remains of Sal Rogers. The accountant had been crucified to one of the warehouse support beams. Rope was attached to both of the man’s wrists and secured to a rafter above. Sal’s legs straddled either side of the beam, and a large iron nail was driven through each of his ankles, holding him tight to the support.

  Approaching the body, Garrett avoided the pool of blood before the corpse. Holding up his lantern, he studied the man’s remains. Beside him, Maury ran two steps toward the hanger doors, but couldn’t hold the contents of his stomach any longer.

  “Maybe you should wait outside,” said Garrett.

  “No,” said Maury, wiping his mouth, “Sal was a good man, and I’m staying for him.” He straightened up, a determined look on his face, but came no closer. From the doorway, Frank groaned in displeasure and made his way back into the light of the yard. “Why would they do that to him?” asked Maury. His voice was strained.

  “I don’t know,” admitted Garrett. “I think it’s a message for Mr. Kline.” Garrett circled the body, noting the blood drenched shirt. Looking at the floor, Garrett knelt beside the desk and ran his fingers over the spot where one of the legs of the table had sat until recently. Standing, he looked at the tabletop and a pot of ink that had been spilled. In the center of the runoff, the toe of a shoeprint could be seen where Sal�
�s killer had used the desk to access the upper beam to tie off the ropes.

  Maury stared in shock, but he nodded when Garrett pointed out the spots on the floor where the table had sat. “Why would they torture Sal?”

  “Information,” said Garrett, “but what did Sal know that these men did not?”

  “The combination to the safe,” said Maury instantly.

  Garrett turned and looked at the open safe on the wall. The glint of gold caught his eye and he made his way to the floor where Sal had dropped his bag of coins. Several gons lay within plain sight. Reaching into the safe, he nudged one of a dozen leather sacks and was rewarded with the tinkling of coins. “It’s full of money,” he confided. “What exactly did Sal do for Mr. Kline?”

  “The books,” said Maury. “Old Sal was the best accountant in Deep Cove. Knew all the tax breaks for Mr. Kline. He kept track of the operations Mr. Kline was running, how much each job cost, and how much the men were owed for their part in each of the business transactions. Today is pay day for the men, so Sal would have been here completing the books for the last period.”

  Garrett reached into the safe and removed the dark ledger sitting atop the coins. “These are the accounts?” he asked.

  “One set,” acknowledged Maury.

  “Fixing the books, were we?” returned Garrett knowingly.

  “A little,” admitted Maury. Seeing Garrett’s look of consternation, he continued quickly. “It’s only for tax purposes. The men are paid fairly. Mr. Kline has a tendency to think that businessmen like himself are overtaxed.”

  “So he and Sal took it upon themselves to remedy the situation.” Garrett set the lantern down and untied the leather straps of the ledger. Slowly he leafed through the pages. “Maybe the King’s Revenue Agency caught wind of Kline’s deceitful ways.”

  “Frank’s right,” snapped Maury. “You’re too funny for your own good.”

  “Sorry,” said Garrett, looking up as the light from the hanger doors was blocked.

  Mr. Kline stood in the entrance, a fine fur coat covering his ample frame. Beside him, B.S. stood guardedly. Without speaking, Kline continued into the office, his steely gaze locked onto the body. “I want to know who did this,” he said at last and his voice was as hard as the look in his eye. Approaching the body, he nodded toward it. “Cut him down,” he ordered.

  “We can’t bury him with the other men.” said Maury hurriedly.

  “No,” agreed Kline, a sad look on his face. “Sal always spoke of his son and the land they have out east. We’ll send him home for a proper burial.” Maury nodded and stepped over to the body of the accountant. He stood staring at the man for several minutes. Garrett went over to help, knowing there was no easy way to proceed. “The nails will be difficult to remove,” he said. “Why don’t you wait outside and I’ll see what I can do to get him down.”

  “I’ll help,” said Maury, stubbornly. “I know Sal is in a better place. “He won’t feel it.”

  Kline waited outside while Garrett, Maury and B.S. worked to remove the man from the post. Once they had freed him, Maury laid his friend on a clean section of floor.

  Garrett stepped back respectfully and scooped up the ledger from where he had set it on the desk. Looking to Kline, he was about to ask him if he knew of anyone who wanted to hurt Sal, when he noticed B.S’s scratched cheek. Walking over to the young man, he assessed the shallow cut on the boy’s face and the bruises on the back of his knuckles. B.S. returned Garrett’s stare with a hint of indignation. “Hit the town last night did we?” asked Garrett.

  “B.S. had some dealings to collect on,” returned Kline in a tone that said ‘Mind your own business.’

  Garrett nodded and opened the book once more. Then he stopped and glanced at Maury. “You said there were two sets of books.”

  “Yes,” agreed Maury, and Kline’s face hardened as if the ogre had divulged too much.

  “If Sal was completing the entries last night,” continued Garrett, “where is the second book?” Maury seemed at a loss and shrugged. Garrett swore as he arrived at the last page of the ledger and the most recent entry.

  “What?” snapped Kline and even B.S. looked alarmed.

  “It’s just that whoever took the second ledger has all of the intimate details of your dealings.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Kline breathing a sigh of relief. “Those accounts are listed as legitimate business dealings for tax purposes. All anyone can extract from that book is that I make my money shipping food goods, playing the stock market, and at legitimate business.”

  “That may be so,” agreed Garrett, staring at the last entry of the journal, “but whoever took the book now has a complete list of everyone working for you.” Reading to himself, Garrett swallowed as his eyes traced the bottom line of the last page. ‘Garrett Willigins’ he read. ‘2 Gons, (Dock Duty).’

  10

  Eliminating Suspects

  Weak sunlight washed over the backyard of the apartments Merle and Garrett rented. Within the confines of the fenced yard, Garrett had removed his shirt and continued his morning exercises on a wooden dummy strung from the enclosure’s only birch tree. “Let’s work with the book,” said Garrett. He was sweating as he delivered a back kick to the dummy’s stomach area. He grunted as his foot connected with one of the planks.

  “It’s all we have,” agreed Merle. The little dragon was stretched out on a lawn chair, his usual cup of java within arm’s reach. Swatting at a fly, he retrieved the dark ledger and opened it. “You think the murderer is listed in here?”

  “It’s a good possibility,” decided Garrett, delivering a flurry of punches to the dummy’s head and shoulders. “What are the reasons someone would want to steal that ledger?”

  “Let’s see,” said Merle, taking a sip of his coffee. “Could be that my name is listed in here and I don’t want anyone to know I work for a gangster.”

  “Could be,” said Garrett, delivering two sharp elbows to the dummy’s neck. “Would you be willing to kill a dozen men for it? Men you no doubt work with. And if you are willing to murder people to meet your own ends, would being associated with a gangster bother you that much? Besides, the second ledger with the exact same names was left behind.”

  “If Sal was in the middle of completing the ledgers, maybe he only had time to move one of them to the safe. When the culprit came in, he assumed the ledger on the desk was the only one.”

  Garrett considered this for a moment. “Maybe,” he conceded. “It seems more likely though, that the person who took the ledger was more interested in Kline’s business or the people working for him.”

  “What about the police?” asked Merle suddenly.

  “What about them?” returned Garrett. “We know they have an agreement with Kline.”

  “Maybe the Chief has decided it’s time to clean up this town. Could be the mayor is pressuring him? Everybody knows Kline is dirty.”

  “Come on Merle, quit being so naïve. The mayor is just as dirty as Kline and so is the Chief of Police.” Garrett kneed the dummy in the groin.

  Merle winced as he watched his partner working through his exercises. “Well, if not the mayor, then maybe some rogue cop who takes his job seriously. No!” he said excitedly, “A gang of rogue cops. Vigilante Justice!” Merle slammed a clawed fist into the palm of his other hand.

  “It’s food for thought I guess,” accepted Garrett.

  Merle was quiet for a minute and then he shrugged. “If it’s not the police, then maybe it’s someone who wants to sell the ledger to one of Kline’s rivals who could use the information. You may not be able to tell what products Kline is moving, but you can plainly see the channels he operates through.”

  “Now that’s closer to what I’m thinking,” said Garrett. Giving the dummy one final cuff, he walked to a small table beside the dragon and picked up a folded towel. He mopped the sweat from his back. “Let’s explore that avenue further. If we pretend I’m a rival gangster and I want to get
the information on Kline’s business ventures, how do I find out about his accountant and the ledger?”

  “You could hire us.”

  “I think we can eliminate that possibility,” returned Garrett with a mock scowl. “Unless you’ve been doing a little side work I haven’t been informed of.”

  “Only with the ladies,” cackled Merle. Collecting himself, he straightened in the chair. “I suppose the easiest thing to do would be to pay off one of Kline’s jaded workers. I mean, they know the routine. Offer enough gold and someone will start jawing.”

  “Exactly,” said Garrett, pointing a finger in Merle’s direction. “And how about the fact that one of Mr. Kline’s men hasn’t shown up for dock duty for a few days right before the old man’s warehouse is hit?”

  “Rudy Wilson?” asked Merle. “That could be a coincidence. Maybe he’s sick.”

  “You know what I think about coincidence, Merle.”

  “Yes I know,” groaned the little dragon, “no such thing.”

  “That’s right. Besides, who’s stupid enough to stay home sick when Mr. Kline has a shipment of rotting goods on the dock? If you don’t get the job done, you risk more than being fired with Kline.”

  “True enough,” agreed Merle.

  “And,” continued Garrett, “where was he yesterday? I think we saw almost everyone in Kline’s arsenal of helpers at some point during the day. If you were innocent and your co-workers were murdered, wouldn’t you show up to find out what happened?”

  “And I have so many co-workers,” returned Merle, downing the contents of his cup. “Alright,” he agreed, “if you were murdered, I’d be a little curious as to what happened.”

  “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” decided Garrett. Pacing back and forth, he see-sawed the towel across his shoulders. “Master Yarl always said morning exercises could get your brain humming.”

  “Nothing like a good hummer,” acknowledged Merle.

  Garrett ignored the comment. Throwing the towel down, he marched over to the birch tree and latched onto one of the lower branches. Hauling himself up, he began a set of chin-ups. “I want you to hook up with Maury later today,” he grunted. “He should be at the warehouse again. We need to go through the book with him. Make sure you look at each individual name and take notes on them.”