Sand City Murders

by MK Alexander

  I grabbed a notepad to copy down her telephone and address: 45 Cove Road, Garysville. I dialed the number but hit a message machine: “Hi, this is Lorraine, leave a message…” I was out the door and driving down Route 16 in less time than I can remember passing. I exited at Garysville and found Cove Road. Hmm, there seemed to be more than one... oh wait, that’s Cove Lane, and that’s Cove Avenue. That’s when I realized I’d left my notepad back in the office. I pulled over to the side of the road. My old Saab didn’t have GPS so I dove into the backseat for a Hagstrom map. For some reason Cove Road was on the other side of town, near the ocean.

  Along the way, it seemed to me Garysville was a lot more colorful than Sand City and maybe greener. Azaleas of every color were in full bloom, red, purple and blue, and I could even smell jasmine or honeysuckle, way better than fish sticks. A few minutes later I pulled into a sandy driveway surrounded by one room beach shacks. I guess they were cottages, but I wouldn’t want to spend a winter in any of them. At the back was forty-five. It seemed a little bigger than the rest and had an attached garage, or maybe a studio of some sort. I pulled up to the door which was open and peered inside. It was dark but I could see sparks flying. Was someone using a torch? I approached carefully and saw a slender figure in coveralls, their face obscured by a huge welding mask.

  “Hello?” I called loudly, stepping out of the car. It was a bright, brilliant day with a blue sky dotted with puffy clouds and a strong cold breeze coming off the ocean.

  The sparks stopped, the mask went up and a woman stepped into the light wearing a khaki coverall. She was about sixty or so and still quite attractive, though her face had been hardened by the salt air. She put down her torch and walked closer. “Can I help you, mister? We’re not open till Memorial Day…” she said. “And we’re pretty much booked up for the season already.”

  “Lorraine Luis?” I asked.

  Her expression changed drastically. I thought maybe fear and anxiety crossed her face.

  “Yes…” she said hesitantly. “You’re not the police, are you?”

  “No, no, of course not. I’m Jardel, Patrick, from the Chronicle.”

  “The Chronicle? Sand City?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well how can I help you, Mr Patrick?”

  “It’s the other way around, sorry.”

  “What?”

  “My name... it’s not Jardel. I mean, that’s not my first name.”

  “Good.” She laughed easily. “That would be a funny first name… unless you’re superman’s dad or something.”

  I immediately liked this woman. She had a wicked sense of humor, not that I really got her joke. “No. It’s really just Patrick.”

  “Well that’s a fine name. What can I do ya for, Patrick?” She took off a heavy glove and shook my hand.

  “I’m writing a story about public sculpture in the Village… and um, your name came up. Somebody told me the Egg at Spooky Park was yours.”

  “The Egg?”

  “That’s what people call it.”

  She laughed. “Wow, that was like forty years ago….” she said almost wistfully. “The Egg,” she repeated. “Kind of a ridiculous name but I guess it fits. So… what’s this all about?”

  “I was hoping you could give me a little background on it, the sculpture. What it means? When you made it? That kind of thing.”

  “What it means?”

  “Sure.”

  “I think you’re the first person who’s ever asked that… officially, anyway.”

  “And?”

  “Hmm… Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked. “I could use a little break.” She led me into her tiny cottage and sat me down at the kitchen table. She poured two cups from an ancient percolator. “What does it mean, what does it all mean?” she asked aloud and laughed to herself, while walking around the cramped kitchen in search of sugar and milk. She laid some out on the plastic tablecloth covered in red squares. I helped myself. “Well, it’s the juxtaposition of opposing geological forces... immutable stone and malleable metal…”

  “Really?”

  “No. I just made that up.” She laughed again and sat at the small table just opposite to me.

  “How long did it take to… um, make?”

  “A long freaking time… two years maybe.” She smiled.

  “And that was in nineteen seventy-five?”

  “Yeah. I was just out of high school. Incredible really…. I got a grant. Paid for the whole thing.”

  “Where did you get the stone?”

  “Pardon?”

  “That great big hunk of granite.”

  “Can’t remember really.”

  “Well, it still stands to this day.”

  “It would, wouldn’t it? I mean, it is a rock.”

  “Right. Have you seen it recently?”

  “Recently? No. Why? Has it all gone rusty?”

  “Patina, I think they call it. The brass is all green now... looks nice.”

  “I should check it out… Don’t think I’ve been over to Sand City in years. I better hurry I guess, before it turns into an island.” She smiled at me. “I saw that piece a couple of weeks ago. Yours, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I still read the Chronicle every week.”

  “You’re from Sand City originally?”

  “Of course. Grew up on Market Street in the Village. My dad was a boat builder.”

  “And your sister?

  “My sister?” She eyed me with a bit of suspicion. “What do you know about her?”

  “Nothing much… Elaine, right?”

  “Yeah,” she replied and then fell silent.

  “She disappeared?”

  “No. I don’t want to talk about it.” Her tone was quite fierce.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s not that… I mean, I just haven’t thought about it in a really long time.”

  “I’m sorry…” I said, trying to make eye contact. Her gaze flitted around the room.

  “She didn’t just disappear. She was kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped? Did you tell the police?”

  “Of course I told them. They didn’t believe me. Thought I was on drugs or something.”

  “Were you?”

  She gave me such an odd look but then burst out laughing. “Yeah, I probably was pretty strung out.” She got up from the kitchen table abruptly. “Hey listen, nice meeting you and all, Mr Patrick… but I’ve got to be getting back.”

  “Okay. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.” I tried to smile. “What are you working on today?”

  “Ha, today? Well, I’ve gone all metal, I guess.”

  “Metal? Like Heavy Metal?”

  Lorraine chuckled. “Yeah, I gave up on rock years ago.” She added a smile. I appreciated her humor.

  “Have you ever seen this photo?” I asked and handed her the polaroid Fynn had lent me.

  She studied it for quite a while. “I’ll be damned. It looks just like me, but I don’t remember posing for it. Where did you get this?”

  “From a friend.”

  “A friend of yours, or a friend of mine?”

  “A mutual friend,” I offered. “One last question, please… Do you know a guy named Tractus Fynn?”

  “Now there’s a name… no, I’d think I’d remember that.” She smiled pleasantly. “Is he in a band or something?”

  “Not that I know of… Well, thanks for talking to me, Ms Luis.” I started to get up.

  “Wait a second, Patrick.” Lorraine put her hand on my arm. “I do know Tractus Fynn.”

  “You do?” I could hardly mask my surprise.

  “Well, I did... But I have a question for you: What the heck is going on? Why are you asking me about stuff from like forty years ago?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Does it have to do with my sister?”

  “In a way… it’s a cold case that’s never been solved.�
��

  “And?”

  “And, well, Fynn is involved.”

  “Involved in what way?”

  “Actually, he’s a policeman now.”

  “Really? Where is he?”

  “Here, I mean, in Sand City.”

  “Oh my god…” She put her hand to her mouth. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  “I haven’t known him that long, but I like him. He’s quite a character.”

  “I’ll say…”

  “Would you like to see him again?” I asked.

  Lorraine thought about it for a moment. “Yes... I would like that. How is he?”

  “He’s fine… and I’ll bet he’d love to see you too.”

  Lorraine blushed a little and seemed to slip out of the present. A look of concern crossed her face. I thought tears came to her eyes as well.

  “I’m sorry, Ms Luis. I didn’t mean to drag all this up.”

  “It’s okay… really.” She sat up and wiped her eyes, then tried to put on a cheerful smile. “So, when do I get to see this Tractus Fynn?”

  “Not sure… he’s hard to find sometimes.”

  “Well, anytime you want.”

  “You’re on. Should I call first?”

  “No… surprise me,” she said but there was an edge to her voice.

  “Are you positive?”

  “Yeah, just show up. I’m always here.”

  “Still, I should get your cell, just in case.”

  “Okay.” She read it off and I entered it into my phone.

  ***

  I drove straight back to Chambers Street and barged into the chief’s office.

  “We’re going for a ride.”

  “Are we?” Fynn asked, somewhat flustered. “Map Quest for our Friday?”

  “No.”

  “Where to then?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I do not like surprises.”

  “You’ll like this one.”

  The inspector said nothing, but slumped into the passenger seat rather wearily. I drove towards Oldham in silence. Traffic started to build and I was forced to slow down on Long Neck Road.

  “Where are we going?” the inspector asked again when I pulled onto Route 16. I’d never seen him nervous before. I’m not sure he was now, but clearly agitated.

  “To meet someone, someone special.”

  “Yes. But whom?”

  “Did you know Lorraine had a sister?”

  “A sister?” the inspector repeated thoughtfully. “Yes… of course, her name is Elaine, if I recall. Back then, they did not get along well, or so I gathered. I believe she was away at university.”

  “So you never met her?”

  “No.”

  “Well, she’s the person who died at Sunset Park.”

  “What?” The inspector swiveled to face me. He was completely surprised, then the implications of this revelation started to sink in. His expression changed drastically and his thoughts turned dark, it seemed to me. “It was Elaine who was killed?”

  I looked over at him and nodded, then reached into my jacket pocket and handed him a copy of the missing persons report. Fynn went into deep thought for a few moments and then turned with a solemn expression. “I’ve been such a fool… it’s no wonder I could not prevent this.” The inspector spent some attention to the file. “All these years…”

  “Would you like to meet her?”

  “Who?”

  “Lorraine.”

  “What? This is impossible.”

  I just smiled.

  “You have found her… in the present?”

  “Yup, living in Garysville.”

  “Impossible.”

  “It’s not.”

  “You’ve seen her?

  “I have.”

  “Patrick, you are a miracle worker.”

  “She wants to see you again.”

  “Why of course...” Fynn was positively beaming.

  “That’s what I thought too.”

  “So, you’ve spoken with her at some length?”

  “Yes, and she’s quite charming.”

  “And beautiful, no?”

  “She is at that.” I turned and smiled. “Have you guessed your surprise?”

  I took the Garysville exit and headed towards the ocean, 45 Cove Road to be exact; pulled into the sandy driveway slowly, my tires crunched against shells and pebbles. I eased the old Saab up to the cluster of one room shacks. The double cottage in the back was open, the garage door too. I guess Lorraine heard us coming because she was already standing outside, and still in her tattered coveralls, but her welding mask was no where to be seen. I can’t say she wore the most welcoming look on her face as I got out of the car.

  “You again? I hoped you wouldn’t come back…” she said and there was some anger there. “What do you want with me anyway?”

  “There’s someone I’d like you to meet…”

  She followed me to the car just as the inspector was hoisting himself out onto the sandy driveway.

  “Fynn?” she asked. “Is that you?” They embraced. “After all these years… it’s really you. I can’t believe it.” Fynn studied her face quite carefully and then kissed her hand, an odd gesture, I thought. “I didn’t think you’d show up so soon… I would have changed into a nice dress or something, you know, put on lipstick…” she seemed embarrassed and flustered. “Oh my god, Tractus Fynn…”

  “How are you, Lorraine? Well?”

  “I guess… but what about you? Where did you go? Why haven’t I heard from you?”

  “A very long story… we must thank my friend Patrick here for reuniting us.” He paused. “And we must, I’m sorry to say, talk about your sister.”

  I didn’t expect Fynn to get right down to business.

  “Why?”

  “It’s important. Did Patrick not mention that I am a policeman now?”

  “A policeman, you?”

  “Yes, funny where life takes one.”

  “What’s this all about?” she asked with a more serious tone. “Why all this stuff about Elaine... and now, after all these years?”

  “You might be in danger, my dear,” Fynn said in all seriousness.

  “Danger? Why?”

  “There maybe a killer at large.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Perhaps it’s nothing, but we should talk…” Fynn paused again rather awkwardly. “Yet, first I must say, you are not Lorraine, my dear. You are Elaine, her sister.”

  Whoever she was, she was completely taken aback. Her face screwed up into an expression of loathing. “How can you say that, Fynn, after all these years?” she almost shrieked and pushed the inspector away with a shove.

  “Lorraine has a small scar on her hand, just below the pinky. She got it as a child while digging in the sand. Cut by a seashell, if I recall… You do not have such a scar.” Fynn also made a face, perhaps one of disappointment. “There is no reason to pretend any longer,” the inspector said with a good deal of sympathy.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elaine or Lorraine gave a seething reply. She paused and slowly regained her composure.

  There was a long awkward silence. Finally Fynn spoke again: “Yes, perhaps I am mistaken… please forgive me… so very many years have passed.” He gave her a kindly smile and she seemed satisfied by that. She looked over at me, and I was smiling too. Eventually, she led us inside to the cottage and served coffee from her ancient percolator. It took a while before she started to feel comfortable again, and that was mostly Fynn’s doing. He had found a jug of Irish Mist on the shelf and started adding it to the coffee. “Remember how we used to drink this? Coffee and whiskey?” he asked innocently enough. Lorraine whole-heartedly recalled as well, and he poured her a liberal portion. After her second cup, she seemed more willing to talk.

  “What happened back then,” Fynn began gently, “on that terrible night?”

  “Oh, it’s not something I want to
talk about.”

  “Please, my dear.”

  “Well… you know, my sister and I really never got along that well— which is weird since we were almost like twins and all. But we had a huge fight over some stupid boyfriend…” She took a long sip of coffee and her memory went back in time. “What was his name? Leo… somebody… Anyhow, one night, we were smack in the middle of a big argument. Real knock down, drag ’em out… She was screaming at me and I was screaming back.”

  “Where was this?”

  “On the horse trail, near the bluffs. Next thing we know there was this guy up at the top of the hill. Creepy, really creepy. He was just watching us… not on a horse, but sitting on a bike. We made up real fast— instant best friends again— and we started running.”

  “From this man?”

  “Yeah. But he caught up to us at the top of the hill and just grabbed her. Just scooped her right up off her feet… threw her on the handle bars and went tearing down the hill.” She put her face in her hands and was sobbing.

  “That’s dreadful,” Fynn said quietly.

  She looked up with a small sob. “I’ve never been so scared in my life, and I’ll never forget that face… when he turned and yelled at me: “You’re next!”

  “What happened then?”

  “I ran down the hill after them. I could hear my sister screaming at the top of her lungs, and then nothing… silence, they were... just gone…”

  Fynn took her hand.

  “I was terrified and I decided to hide.”

  “Hide? You mean, all this time?”

  “No… Not really,” she said defensively, but her tone then softened. “Yeah, I guess… in a way. Sometimes, I still think he’s going to show up for me.” A shiver went up her back and she grabbed Fynn’s hand. “It was absolutely terrifying.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “It was dark. I couldn’t see much. But he was big, tall… I think he was wearing a cape or something, or a hood. My god, he looked like death himself. And that face… it was like a mask, filled with so much hate.”

  “Had you ever seen him before?”