Chapter Three
Twenty four million dollars less death taxes – that was how much her father had been worth, and how much she had given to children’s charities. Sometimes, she felt as though she was crazy giving it all away, but she also knew that if she’d kept his dirty money she would never have been able to sleep at night.
Now, she was her own woman. Her father – Senator Deacon Raeburn – was dead. She would make her own way through life – with a little help from Tom Gabriel, of course.
She wished Tom Gabriel had been her father all along. Maybe if he had, she’d be a very different person now. She liked Tom Gabriel a lot. In fact, she would even go so far as to say that she loved him. Oh, not in any dirty way – he was a million years old, but as the father she’d never really had. Tom Gabriel was just the way a father should be – teaching her right from wrong, protecting her, comforting her – and in the short time she’d known him, he’d done all the things that her real father had never done.
‘Hello,’ she said, approaching an old couple and showing them her press identity card.
‘Yes?’
She was on Porpoise Point with a notebook and pencil asking questions like a real investigative journalist.
‘I work for the St Augustine Record, and I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about the body that was found here last Friday morning, if that’s all right with you?’
‘Ask away,’ the wrinkled old man said.
‘Did you see the man at all?’
‘Not on Friday morning, but on Thursday evening about seven o’clock. Yeah, he was sitting over there, below the street lamp.’
‘Really?’
‘Betty and I take a stroll down here late evening every day. Yes, we saw him, thought he was asleep or drunk, didn’t we Betty?’
‘You did Harry, but then you always think the worst of folks.’
Rae gave an amused smile. ‘Are you saying he didn’t move?’
‘Uh huh,’ the man said, lifting up a tanned and bony arm. ‘All he did was pick up his arm like this, and pointed out towards the sea. Then, he dropped it again – that was all we saw.’
Betty added, ‘We carried on along the Point as we always do, and then turned round and came on back . . .’
The man interrupted. ‘. . . And he was still there in the same position.’
‘Did you see him do anything else?’
‘Nope. As Betty said, I thought he was either asleep or drunk, that’s why we didn’t call 911.’
Betty made a squelching sound with her mouth.
Harry looked at her. ‘Well, he was sitting with his back up against the sea wall and had all his clothes on. Only a crazy person or a drunk would do something like that. Hey! . . . he didn’t escape from Baywood, did he?’
Betty hit him on the arm. ‘You’re the crazy old fool,’ she said. ’That’s an animal hospital.’
‘No?’
‘Yes.’
He looked at Rae.
She nodded in agreement with Betty.
‘Well, I never. I could have sworn . . .’
Rae moved the conversation back to the man on the beach. ‘Did you see anybody talk to him, or approach him at all?’
They both shook their heads.
‘Thanks for your help,’ she said.
‘No problem,’ Harry mumbled, and the two of them shuffled off on their daily walk arguing about whether Baywood was an animal hospital or not.
She approached people as they strolled along the Point, but it was another half an hour before she found a mother with a toddler who had seen the man on the beach on Thursday evening.
‘Yes, I saw him . . .’ She turned to the toddler who was running round her making a noise like a fire engine. ‘This is what he’s like all day long – he drives me demented. Go on the beach Damien,’ she said to him. ‘And stay where I can see you.’
She leaned her elbows on the wooden railing, so that she could keep her son in sight, and once Damien was running people ragged on the beach she continued. ‘On Thursday we were walking along the water’s edge. I was carrying my sandals. The water was lovely and warm . . . it always is at this time of year, and I love the feel of the wet sand between my toes. Damien was running all over the beach annoying people like he is now . . . I shouldn’t say this, but sometimes I think he’s the Devil’s child. Anyway, all of a sudden I couldn’t hear him anymore, and I wondered if maybe the bogeyman had snatched him away, but no such luck unfortunately . . .’
Rae gave a laugh. ‘Surely he’s not that bad?’
‘Think of your worst nightmare and treble it. Anyway, he was standing at the man’s feet staring at him.’
‘Why?’
‘I suppose because he had all his clothes on and an overcoat as well. Everyone else was in shorts and t-shirts, and this man was dressed for the end of the world.’
‘Then what?’
‘Damien was kicking the bottom of the man’s shoes and saying, ‘Hey, Mister . . .’
‘Did the man open his eyes or move at all?’
‘No, and that’s the weird thing. When I heard on the local news that he’d been found dead on Friday morning, I wondered if he was already dead when Damien was kicking his shoes.’ The woman shivered. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘Did you notice anything else about the man?’
‘He had a cigarette behind his right ear, and . . . well, I read people’s palms. It’s only a hobby, you understand, but I notice people’s hands. Take yours for instance – you’ve got lovely elegant hands. I’d say you were in the right job. You’d be useless doing anything like farming or fixing cars with those hands.’
Rae looked at her hands and laughed. ‘I don’t plan on doing either of those things.’
‘A good job as well, I’d say,’ the woman confirmed. ‘Anyway, the man’s hands were much the same – well cared for, manicured nails, no scars or rough patches. In fact, a woman could do a lot worse than be touched by those hands, if you know what I mean.’
‘I think I have a good idea. Was there anything else you recall about the man?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Well, thanks for your help, and good luck with Damien.’
‘Luck doesn’t come into it. What I need is some Holy Water and a priest who performs exorcisms.’
They both laughed.
School was out.
It was time to go and see the paper delivery boy.
***
He cleared his throat at the rear door that led onto the sun deck and waited.
Barbara Harrison shrugged back into the top of her dress and swiveled her legs off the sun lounger.
‘Can I get you a drink, Mr Gabriel?’
He nodded. ‘A lemonade would be good.’
She smelled of oranges as she wafted past him and went into the house.
Sitting down at the table next to the lounger, he stretched his legs out and closed his eyes. What was the double-bit key for? What did the numbers represent? Why was it stuck under the bottom drawer of a bedside chest? Who was at the other end of the telephone number? Maybe the key and the telephone number were red herrings. Maybe all he had was a pocketful of metal and paper.
A shadow blotted out the sun.
His eyes opened to slits. Barbara Harrison stretched out an arm towards him. In her hand she held a glass of cloudy lemonade, and he hoped it was going to taste as good as it looked. His eyes drifted past the lemonade, up her slim tanned arm with its fine blonde hairs, and fixed on a breast that had escaped from its limited confinement. He wasn’t a connoisseur of breasts by any stretch of the imagination, but they seemed good enough to eat – not too big and not too small. He’d spent some time obsessing over Cassie’s breasts, of course, and he’d seen a lot of other women’s breasts during his time in law enforcement. Most of those breasts had belonged to the victims at crime scenes, cadavers in the morgue and the long queue of call girls at the station. So no, he wasn’t a connoisseur of breasts, but – like most men – he knew what he liked, and Barbara Harrison had the type of breasts he liked.
‘I thought you’d dropped off,’ she said with a laugh.
He wrapped his fingers around the glass. Half a dozen ice cubes chinked at the top. ‘I’m sure there’ll come a time when afternoon naps will be the high point of my days, but I’m not quite there yet.’
She sat back down on the lounger. The top of her dress fell from her shoulders. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Why should I mind? You have lovely breasts.’
‘Thank you. Well, did you find anything in Roger’s bedroom?’
He took a long swallow of the lemonade and decided that he wasn’t going to tell her about the key or the telephone number until he had some idea what they were. ‘No, but I have a question.’
‘Okay.’
‘Where’s your husband’s briefcase? If he came home on Thursday evening, and we now know that he didn’t go to work on Friday morning – where’s his briefcase?’
She was quiet for a while. ‘I have no idea. I’m just wondering why I didn’t think of that before. The police didn’t ask about it either.’
‘Do you remember whether he came home with his briefcase on Thursday evening?’
‘Yes. He always carries his briefcase with him, and he keeps it locked as well. I can only imagine that he has it with him.’
‘What about his cell?’
‘He keeps that in his briefcase as well.’
‘I presume you’ve tried calling him?’
‘Of course. Each time I’m diverted to voicemail.’
‘You say his car is in the garage?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a key?’
‘Of course, his keys are missing as well.’
She stood up again, but didn’t bother covering up her breasts. ‘I think there’s a spare key in a drawer in the utility room that we keep odds and ends in.’ She wandered off into the house again, and came back minutes later with a key that incorporated the inner workings to unlock the car’s central locking mechanism. ‘You can access the garage through the kitchen,’ she said, handing him the key.
He finished the lemonade off and stood up. ‘Thanks. I’ll go and take a look, and then I’ll wander round the grounds.’
‘You know where I am if you need me,’ she said, lying back down on the lounger in an attempt to harvest the last rays from a sinking sun.
He walked back into the house, through the kitchen and into the enormous garage. The car was a new 7-series white BMW. Next to it was a bright red Dodge Viper SRT, but it was last year’s model. It crossed his mind that the Viper might be Roger’s little folly, but from what he now knew about the bank manager – and his wife Barbara – it was more likely to be her car than his. A fast car for a fast lady.
After a quick look inside the BMW he opened up the trunk – nothing. He pulled all the carpeting away, examined around and under the spare wheel, checked inside the light moldings – nothing. If he was being honest, that’s what he expected to find. He moved back to the inside of the car, but it was spotless. It was as if Roger Harrison had called in to have his car valeted on the way home on Thursday evening. He checked the glove compartment – nothing. He pulled the rear seat out – nothing. The last thing he did was switch the engine on.
Contrary to what Rae thought, he wasn’t a complete technological dinosaur. He followed her instructions and pressed all the buttons on the satnav until he found a list of addresses and zip codes. In an ideal world, he expected Rae would have connected her tablet to the satnav and simply captured the data. Instead, he had to write down the twenty-three addresses in his notebook that Harrison had felt necessary to store in the machine.
He switched the engine off and locked the BMW again. As an afterthought, he looked through the window at the inside of the Viper, tried the door – it was open.
It wouldn’t hurt to sit behind the wheel – just for a moment to see what it felt like. He’d never really had a hankering for a sports car. His two tours in Vietnam had swallowed up his crazy years, and then he’d had no money for a sports car. After that, came Cassie and the two girls. By the time he could afford a sports car it was too damned late, but he could understand how a grown man might desire something as beautiful as the Viper. He made himself comfortable in the red leather seat and gripped the steering wheel.
Involuntarily, his mouth began making a sound like a sports car with twin exhausts easing through the six gears. When he realised what he was doing, he smiled and climbed out of the car.
‘You crazy old fool,’ he muttered to himself.
Just before leaving the garage, he tried the Viper’s trunk – it was locked. He couldn’t imagine that Barbara Harrison would be stupid enough to stuff her husband’s rotting corpse, or his briefcase for that matter, into the trunk of her car. And even if she had, it was now Tuesday. She’d had over four days to dispose of any evidence. Not only that, although her morals seemed a bit lax, he didn’t think she was the type of woman who would kill anybody – never mind her husband.
He strolled round the grounds until he reached the jetty where the two boats were moored up. One was a small boat with a sail and an outboard motor. The other was a motor boat called “BABS”, which must have cost the Harrison’s in excess of a million bucks.
He climbed on board and searched the boat from bow to stern and starboard to port. There were four beds as well as the master suite, two heads and crew quarters. How the other half live, he thought. But were Roger and Barbara Harrison members of the “other half” club? Maybe the boat was a gift from Barbara’s parents as well.
He made his way back to the sun deck.
Barbara Harrison was still lying there half-naked.
Her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, and he couldn’t see whether she was watching him approach or not.
‘You don’t look like a man who’s found the answer to Roger’s disappearance,’ she said.
‘No.’
‘Another lemonade?’
‘No, I’ll make tracks, but I’ll be going to the bank sometime tomorrow.’
‘I’ll ring Fred Byrne the assistant manager, and tell him to give you full access to our accounts.’
‘Thank you. I’ll call or drive by tomorrow afternoon to let you know how things are going.’
‘I’ll wait to hear from you. Of course, if Roger walks through the door, I’ll be sure to let you know.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem to be taking your husband’s disappearance very seriously.’
She pulled a face. ‘He booked a two-week vacation without telling me. What am I supposed to think?’
‘He might have done that under duress, so that nobody would miss him.’
‘What do you mean?’
He sat in the chair he’d been sitting in before. ‘Look, it seems to me that Roger is a steady type of guy. He’s cautious, he plans for the future, he’s dependable. Is he a spur of the moment type of guy?’
‘Never.’
‘There we go then. What’s happened here hasn’t been planned – at least not by him.’
‘You think somebody’s kidnapped him?’
‘It’s a possibility. Is he the type of guy who would take a bullet for you?’
She nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I think he is. I’ve never thought of him in that way before, but I think if it came to it – he would.’
‘That’s what I think as well. I don’t think he’s with another woman. Nor do I think he’s gone away on vacation. He’s being coerced into doing something against his will, but I don’t know what, or by whom yet.’
‘Oh!’
He stood up to go. ‘Let’s see where we are tomorrow, shall we?’
‘All right, and thank you, Mr Gabriel. I was beginning to think . . . well, you probably don’t want to know what I’ve been thinking.’
He made his way through the house to the front door. ‘Nice car, by the way.’
‘You mean the Viper?’
‘Yes.’
‘Daddy bought it for my twenty-first birthday in February.’
‘Twenty one! I didn’t think you were a day over eighteen.’
She laughed. ‘You can have a drive of it, if you want?’
‘Thanks for the offer, but I’m far too old to be driving a sports car.’
‘You’re never too old to feel young again.’
He smiled like a lost cause.
Barbara opened the door and said, ‘I’ll get the gates for you.’
He nodded and made his way out to the bright yellow Nitro, which had paled slightly when compared to a red snake that had a maximum speed of 220 miles per hour.
***
Rae walked up the drive.
A blond-haired boy of about thirteen or fourteen was dribbling himself and shooting baskets.
‘You need an opponent,’ she said.
‘Yeah! Got any?’
‘I might.’
‘Hey! Nice tats.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Do they go all the way down?’
‘Do your parents know you have a dirty mind?’
He laughed. ‘My dad says it’s healthy.’ He started bouncing the ball around her.
‘Is that right?’ She stepped in, stole the ball off him and scored a basket.
‘Not bad for a girl.’
It was her turn at offence. She side-stepped him, turned and shot the basket. ‘Typical boy – all talk and no action.’
He grinned. ‘Is that right?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ she said fainting left, spinning right, pirouetting like a ballerina and shooting the basket. ‘You have played this game before, haven’t you?’ she taunted him.
He stopped and put his hands on his hips. ‘Where’d you learn to shoot baskets like that, lady?’
‘Same place as you, only I was good at it.’
She came to a standstill, tossed the ball between her left and right hand, and her lip curled up. ‘You given up, boy?’
‘Yeah. You got a boyfriend?’
‘Are you offering?’
‘I might.’
A tall thin woman came out of the front door. ‘Can I help you?’
Rae threw the ball at the boy, took her press card out of her pocket and moved towards the woman. ‘Butterfly Raeburn from the Record. I’m looking for Ronnie Paterson.’
‘Why?’
‘I’d like to speak to him about the body he found on Porpoise Point on Friday morning.’
‘Butterfly! Is that a real name?’
‘People call me Rae.’
‘Yeah, I can understand why. So, it looks like you already found my Ronnie?’
‘We were just shooting baskets, mom,’ Ronnie chipped in.
Rae laughed. ‘You mean I was shooting baskets. You were standing there like a spectator.’
He grinned. ‘Yeah.’
‘Ronnie has already told the police everything he knows.’
‘I know. I’d just like to ask him a couple of questions – that’s all.’
She crossed her arms. ‘Go on then?’
‘Hi, Ronnie.’
‘Is Butterfly your real name?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I like it.’
‘Thanks. So, you found the body?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you want to describe what happened?’
‘I’d just finished my paper deliveries and was riding my bike along the Point coming home. I spotted the man’s legs just below the sea wall and was curious.’
‘Which he shouldn’t have been,’ Mrs Paterson interrupted.
‘I stuck my head over the sea wall and shouted to him, but he didn’t move.’
‘So, you went down there?’
‘Which he shouldn’t have done,’ his mom chipped in again.
‘Which I won’t do again, mom.’
‘You’d better not, my lad.’
‘How many times do I have to promise, mom?’
‘How many promises have you got?’
‘So yeah, I went down to see who it was mainly. I mean, the sun was up already. It was gonna be another hot one, but this guy had a suit and an overcoat on. Anyway, I seen plenty of dead people on the television . . .’
‘Not on my television you haven’t, Ronald Paterson.’
‘. . . And this guy was dead.’
‘Did you notice anything unusual about him?’
‘He had a cigarette behind his ear.’
‘Which one?’
Ronnie half-turned to work out left from right. ‘Yeah – his right one, but there was also a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his mouth with the ash still on it. I reckon it went out, but it burnt his shirt collar before it did. And the more I think about it, the more I think he must have died while he was smoking that cigarette.’
John Doe must have still been alive when the old couple saw him. Was that his last cigarette?
‘You seem to know a lot about cigarettes, Ronnie Paterson,’ his mom challenged him.
‘I don’t know anything about them, mom.’
‘And make sure you keep it that way. Only stupid people destroy their health with cigarettes.’
Ronnie rolled his eyes. ‘Like dad, you mean?’
‘Exactly like your father,’ Mrs Paterson said, shaking her head. ‘Smoking and drinking himself to death. He’s on the slippery highway to Hell that’s for sure, and you’ll be joining him if you don’t stay away from cigarettes, drink and women.’
As much as Rae was enjoying the lessons in motherhood from Mrs Paterson, she really wanted Ronnie to stay focused on the dead body. ‘Did you call the police then, Ronnie?’
‘Yes. Well . . . no.’
‘No?’
‘There was something else.’
‘Oh?’
‘Wait here.’
Ronnie ran into the house.
Rae looked at Ronnie’s mom who shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me. Just like his father, he is. Joe and I divorced three years ago, but he still has contact with Ronnie – when he remembers, that is. Have you got kids?’
‘No, thank you,’ Rae said.
‘Good choice. The trouble with children is that they’re non-returnable.’
‘Not like husbands.’
‘Exactly. But even they seem to hang around like unwanted gifts once you have no further use for them.’
Ronnie burst through the front door as if he was being chased by a swarm of bees. ‘Here,’ he said, thrusting his balled fist towards Rae.
She opened up the palm of her hand like a Venus flytrap.
He dropped something heavy into it. ‘I know I shouldn’t have taken it, but I couldn’t resist the gold penknife. I feel terrible.’
‘Oh, Ronnie!’ his mom said.
‘Sorry, mom.’
‘I’m so embarrassed. Didn’t your father and I teach you right from wrong?’
He hung his head and shuffled his feet. ‘Yes you did, mom.’
Rae looked down at what Ronnie had put in the palm of her hand. There was a gold chain with a golden eagle feather knife attached to it by a gold ring. The handle of the knife was designed like a golden feather, the blade was black and the head of a beautiful golden eagle had been engraved in a circle above where the blade rotated outwards. Rae could understand how a thirteen year-old boy might be attracted to such an object.
Pick me up.
Wrap your hand around my handle.
Open up my blade.
Am I not beautiful?
Just think about how I would impress your friends.
I’m yours.
Take me home.
Keep me.
Yes, it was certainly a knife a boy would want to take home and keep, but she wasn’t interested in the knife. On the ring was also a key, which had Palatka Railway Station and the number 33 etched into it.
Her heart began to jitterbug. She guessed the key opened a left luggage locker. What was in the locker? Should she tell the police? She’d have to talk to Tom – he’d know what she should do. It was evidence in a – what? Was the man’s death a suicide as Laura Jordan seemed to think, or was there another story inside that left luggage locker?
She put the gold chain with the knife and left luggage key into her rucksack.
‘Are you going to tell the police?’ Ronnie asked.
‘I don’t know, but if I did you know you’d be in serious trouble?’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘I’m working with an ex-policeman – he’ll know what to do.’
‘Can I have the knife back when you’ve finished with it?’
‘Ronnie Paterson!’ his mom said, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him towards the house. ‘You’re grounded for the rest of your life – get inside.’
‘And my offer still stands,’ Ronnie called over his shoulder.
‘Oh, what offer is that?’ she asked.
‘If you’re looking for a boyfriend – I’m your man.’
She gave him an affectionate smile. ‘I’ll bear it in mind, and thanks for talking to me.’