Harsens Island (13 page)

When they reached the front door, Redsky held it open for her. The men on the couch glanced at them but said nothing. A wave of heat swept in.

“At the risk of appearing rude, I’ll let you brave Death Valley.”

“Okay, Chief.”

She took one step forward, stopped, and turned back to Redsky.

“You know, I meant to give this back to you.”

She reached into her pocket, withdrew the quarter-shaped audio bug, and gave it to her.

“What is this?” Redsky asked.

“I thought about it and realized you did a slight of hand last night,” Sam said. “I thought I’d let you know I got the joke. Thanks again for the water, Chief. I’ll be seeing you.”

Redsky’s eyes narrowed a fraction, and nodding, examining the device, said nothing.

She got in the Bronco, started it, and turned around. At the end of Redsky’s driveway, she turned left. She drove a half-mile before she pulled into a driveway posted with a “No Trespassing” sign. She pulled up to the backyard of a dilapidated house.

She angled the truck left and saw a nude woman sunbathing on a plastic lawn chair. The woman lolled her head to Sam; her eyes blinked lazily. A bottle of Tequila rested on the ground next to her; a whirl of smoke lifted between the fingers of her closest hand and she exhaled a similar cloud. She gave the woman a brief wave and casually put the Bronco in reverse. The woman waved back.

Sam rolled to the front of the house, stopped shy of the road, and waited until a gray Chevrolet El Camino sped by in the direction she had been traveling.

She counted to ten. Then she pulled far enough into the road to see the Camino’s brake lights as it stopped before turning right toward the ferry.

Sam followed and quickly caught the El Camino, two cars ahead of her, waiting to board the ferry to Algonac.

All of the cars inched forward, restless feet tapping brakes, and eventually they all boarded. The operator directed cars to both sides, ensuring the weight was balanced and that as many cars as possible were boarded. There was no foot traffic.

She killed the engine and paid the fare.

Sam followed the El Camino drove through Algonac at a safe distance. They arrived at Mule’s Ferry. Flora waved the cars onto the ferry. The El Camino parked kitty-corner from her; she confirmed its occupants were the two men she’d seen on Redsky’s porch. They were at the midway point of the vessel, almost dead center.

After collecting the fares, Flora returned to Sam, and apologized for the self-invite to Sam’s house.

“It was rude of me,” she added.

“No need for the apology, Flora. We’re good.”

“Thanks,” Flora said. “Whew!” She motioned as if wiping sweat off her brow.

Sam tilted her chin forward.

“Do you know those two in the El Camino? I think they’re from Walpole.”

“Yeah, I know them. I mean, I’ve seen them before, but I don’t know them, know them. They’re a couple of mean-looking dogs, aren’t they? Maybe that’s their greeting party up ahead.”

Sam slid her sunglasses to the tip of her nose.

There were four cruisers at the ferry dock.

“Looks like a regular rodeo,” Sam said. “How long have they been there?”

“Heck, not long. They pulled in as we left. They weren’t lit up, no sirens or lights, so we knew they weren’t trying to stop us.”

“What do you think they’re after?”

“Oh, they probably got a hot tip on a smuggler, or maybe it’s to let the tourists know we’ve got real police. Last year this bozo tried to walk away from a car accident, thinking Emily Dowicki was a rent-a-cop. Drunks, you know? Plus, being a woman, she doesn’t get as much respect.”

“Huh,” Sam said. “They ever do this before? A show of force like this?”

“Not that I know of, but, like I say, there was Em.”

The engines reversed as they drifted to the dock. The land gate swung up, the orange-painted, steel ramp attached to the boat, and the ferry gate rose. The cars began to roll off.

Rowland rested against his black and white. Haberski leaned against his black cruiser: he held a radio mike in his hand and his lips moved; he leaned in, hung the mike, closed his door and approached Rowland. She saw Emily exit her cruiser. She pressed down on the Bronco’s brake when the vehicle ahead of her hesitated, and for one false second she wondered if that car was the subject of interest – but it moved forward without interference from Rowland or Haberski.

The driver of the El Camino tapped its brakes until he was even with her. Sam looked at him and smiled. The driver made a subtle kissing motion, winked, and pulled off the ferry. She followed him.

Rowland held a palm up. She stopped.

“Afternoon, sheriff,” she said.

“Afternoon. Sam. I need you to do me a favor and pull over between the detective’s car and the cruiser behind him. Park, stop the engine, and keep your hands on top of the wheel. Please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam did exactly as he instructed her to do.

A female trooper emerged from a blue trooper car parked behind Haberski. She put on a wide-brim hat; she spent a moment ensuring it rested on an even angle. She had black hair tied in a ponytail; ponderous hips offset a small bosom. She positioned herself between the cruiser and the Bronco, folded her arms across her chest, her palms under her armpits, and adjusted her feet until they were at shoulder width. Silver-mirrored glasses hid her eyes and the hat shadowed her face; her thick, unadorned lips drew a flat black line over a meaty chin; her gold nameplate read “V. Shorts”.

Haberski and Rowland huddled behind the Bronco; she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She saw Emily coming toward the truck; within a few seconds she was at the passenger door.

“Hey, Sam.”

“Emily.”

Sam kept her eyes on the trooper.

“Got ourselves a situation and we need you to stay put while we get organized.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sorry ‘bout this.”

“No worries,” Sam said, and shifted her gaze from the trooper to Emily. She silenced the radio and leaned back, keeping her hands visible.

“Hey, Em? Got a second?”

Emily smiled and removed her sunglasses, revealing bright green discs. She was not wearing her hat; the top of her uniform was missing a button.

Sam tilted her head to the trooper.

“Who’s she?”

“Oh, that’s Vicky. She’s helping us over the weekend. Crowd control.”

“Huh. Takes all types,” Sam said.

“We take what we can get.”

Rowland and Haberski appeared on Sam’s left.

“What’s up, sheriff?”

Rowland exhaled and said, “Okay, Sam, this is the deal. Bill Catanzaro staggered into his house with a bullet wound and collapsed at Adele’s feet. We had to airlift him to U of M, Ann Arbor. He’d lost a fair amount of blood.”

“Jesus. Will he be okay?”

“Touch and go, the last I heard. He was torn up pretty bad. He’s got bad habits beyond smoking pot and cigarettes, so he wasn’t in the best of shape to begin with.”

“So you think that was his blood on my door?”

“We’re checking on it, but it seems a sure bet.”

Haberski rumbled, “Get on with it.”

“Did he say who shot him?”

“Adele thinks you might have.”

Her surprise was genuine.

“She said that?”

“She claims Bill said your name a half-dozen times or more before he passed out.”

“Everybody knows about you,” Haberski snarled. “You should install a turnstile.”

Sam scowled at Haberski but addressed Rowland.

“Is this ignorant old man the best you can do?”

Rowland ignored them both.

“I thought it best if we got together and sorted a few things out.”

“Then why the hunting party? Wouldn’t a phone call have been simpler?”

Haberski, his face a bright red, stepped toward her and said,
“Why’d you shoot him? That’s the question!”

“Steve,
relax
,” Rowland said.

“Annie Oakley’s getting nervous, too,” Sam interjected, motioning with her head.

The trooper’s arms had fallen to her sides. Her hand had come to rest on her holstered gun.

“Shorts,” Rowland said without emphasis.

The trooper twisted her head up, shoulders back, and placed her hands on her hips.

“Why’d you shoot him?”
Haberski barked.
“Where’s the gun?”

“Jesus, Steve,” Rowland said. “Give it a rest. Back up, stand back, c’mon,” and he gingerly touched the old man’s chest.

Haberski, muttering expletives, retreated a few feet from the truck.

“What’s eating him?” Sam asked.

Rowland ignored her again.

“We didn’t need to call. We knew you were coming from Walpole.”

“How about that?”

He leaned in, placing his hands high on the top of the door. His voice dropped.

“Lauren called me directly. She said you were agitated. Said you gave her the impression you’d done something to Snake and maybe Bill.”

“Okay,” Sam said. 

“And then there’s Hannibal and Houle. They’re waiting for us at the station. Hannibal wants you arrested for trespassing and assault. He claims you were irrational and abusive to him and his guests. He claims when they asked you to leave you attempted to strike him, but his man Friday intervened. He’s also considering assault charges stemming from Saturday night.”

“He said all that?”

“This isn’t a joke, Sam.”

“I didn’t say it was. What’s Houle’s take?”

“I don’t know that he has one.”

“Okay,” she said. “What next?”

“Follow me, and Steve will slide in behind you.” He looked to Emily, who had remained by the passenger door. “Em? You and Shorts get back on patrol. You decide the circuits.”

Rowland rapped on her door.

“Let’s saddle up.”

“Sheriff,” Sam said, starting the Bronco.

“Yeah?”

“Is she going to stand aside or do I run her over?”

The trooper V. Shorts maintained her hands-on-hips stance and deadeye stare.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

He whistled his two-note refrain.

“Shorts! Saddle up!”

The trooper repeated her neck, head, and shoulder motion. She stared at Sam as Emily spoke and gestured; the trooper wordlessly broke from Emily.

Emily, deliberately crossing her eyes, glanced to Rowland.

“I swear to God,” Rowland said. “The younger they are, the older I get.”

The sheriff’s office glowed with fluorescent light. The ceiling tiles around the lights were of varying shades of white; some were water stained and others gray with age. The aroma of fresh coffee mixed with the odor of faux perfume plug-ins.

The cool breath of a laboring window air conditioner traveled a few feet before succumbing to humidity and heat. Sam supposed this was why Haberski stood next to it. The odor of the old man embraced the heat and spread through the room like road-kill skunk from a mile away.

Houle sat to Hannibal’s right, and the majordomo stood at attention behind him. Like Haberski, Sam remained standing, arms crossed, leaning against the wall opposite him.

Rowland was at his desk, creaking an office chair that had seen its best days twenty years earlier. He made his opening remarks, sat back, and listened.

Hannibal gave his testimony, exaggerating what she had said, claiming she had accused him of murdering Hunter. The majordomo agreed with everything Hannibal said, and, as an aside, commented that Sam had attacked him “in a most personal way”.

“How exactly?” Rowland asked.

“She said my mother was a whore.”

Sam widened her eyes and extended her lower lip just enough to convey the audacity of the lie.

“Sam?” Rowland asked. “Is that accurate?”

“I’ve just met the man. How would I know if his mother was a whore?”

“You’re the whore!”
the majordomo shouted.

Haberski, sweating, his face glowing red, shouted,
“Answer the goddamn question!”

“Steve,” Rowland said firmly. “Shut up.”

“Jesus, listen to her!”
Haberski said.

“You’re not controlling this, sheriff,” Houle said. He’d been silent until this moment.

“What’s up, Fred?” Sam said. “I thought you’d gone deaf and dumb.”

Hannibal addressed Houle.

“Is she always like that?”

“Hell if I know,” Houle said. “Samantha, don’t say ‘deaf and dumb’ in court. It can be construed as prejudice against the physically and mentally challenged.”

“Are you billing me for that insight?”

“Absolutely,” Houle said.

“You’re fired,” she said.

Houle laughed once and said, “Yeah, right!”

Sam, smiling, said, “Fred, you’re an ass.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t mention it.”

Rowland rocked in his chair and said nothing. He swiveled his head from Haberski to Hannibal, to the majordomo, to Houle, and finally to Sam. The room fell silent save for a small fan clacking and whirring, mats of dust impeding its breath.

“Are each of you done?” Rowland asked.

The room remained silent.

“Alright,” Sam said. “I’ll be on my way.”

Houle laughed, Haberski swore, and Hannibal shook his head as if in sadness.

“One would at least hope for remorse,” Hannibal said to Houle.

“For what?” Sam demanded.

Hannibal, again shaking his head, spoke to Houle.

“I think we should go ahead with the charges.”

“Works for me,” Sam interjected. “I’ll sue you for slander. Fred, you’re re-hired.”

Houle motioned with a wave of acceptance, and said, “I’m glad to be back on the team.”

“
Jesus
,” Haberski said. “Don’t let this woman push us around. Book her and keep her in the cooler until we get our ducks in a row.” He glared at Sam. “Maybe she’ll learn some manners.”

“Sam?” Rowland said. “I need your side.”

“I left my house around eleven,” she said. “It’s a short walk to Four’s. The parking lot and front desk security cameras will show the exact time I arrived.” She pointed to the servant. “The majordomo tackled me maybe thirty seconds after I entered. He was disturbed by my clothing, or some nonsense, and whined until Four had me escorted to his office. Then Four and I had an honest conversation regarding this summer’s fashions. I also asked if he had any thoughts on the lawyer Hunter. I admit that I might have been impolite, but I can’t say I know all the island’s etiquette laws, either.”

Hannibal smiled wickedly.

“Afterward, I walked home, and there I found you and Shakespeare’s apprentice working your magic.”

Haberski cursed softly, shaking his head.

“Why did you go to him in the first place?” Rowland said.

“Oh,” Sam said, snapping her fingers. “That slipped my mind. I went to apologize for stepping on his toes when we first met. Despite his size, I didn’t see him. It was rude of me not to have apologized to begin with.”

Hannibal laughed loudly.

“What a crock,” Haberski said. “Everything you’ve said is a crock. Why did you shoot Bill?”

Rowland said, “Goddamn it, Steve, put a sock in it.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed on Haberski.

“
Who
did you say was shot?”

Haberski fell quiet; he cast his eyes to the floor.

“Ah,” Rowland said. “Bill Catanzaro caught one earlier. We can’t tell if it was self-inflicted or if he was popped.”

“Really,” Hannibal said. “How did that happen? Under what circumstances?”

“We’re investigating,” Rowland said. “I don’t think we need to waste any more of your time, Clayton. You’ve had your say, she’s had hers, and I didn’t hear anything that warrants prosecution.”

Hannibal’s eyes clouded over as his thoughts turned inward; it was obvious he had ceased observing the room. After several seconds, he spoke again.

“On consideration of the young lady’s current demeanor I’m inclined to agree with you, sheriff,” Hannibal said. “Fred? Your thoughts?”

“A judge would dismiss it in a heartbeat.”

Hannibal stood.

“Serhad will call later to inquire after Mr. Catanzaro. Is he in Algonac?”

“No, we sent him to Ann Arbor.”

“That’s surprising,” Hannibal said. “It’s quite a distance.” His eyes drifted over Rowland. “No matter,” he said brightly. “Serhad?” His servant opened the door and the two men exited.

“You’re better than him,” Sam said to Rowland.

“Let’s crack this nut,” Haberski said.
“Sit!”

“Thanks, but I’d rather stand.”

“I said, sit!”

“Steve,” Rowland said.

“What?”

“You look like you’re about to hemorrhage. Take your own advice and sit. Please. Have a glass of water. Sam? Would you mind?”

The man looked bewildered. He opened his mouth as if to speak, closed it, put his hand on the back of a chair, and sat.

A water cooler rested next to the clacking fan. She removed a Styrofoam cup from its dispenser and filled it. She placed the cup on the desk in front of Haberski. 

“Bottoms up,” she said.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” he said, taking the cup in tremulous hands. He sipped cautiously.

She filled a second cup, and placed it in front of the old man.

“You shouldn’t have mentioned the shooting,” Rowland said, mildly chastising the detective.

“Fuck you,” Haberski said. He took a longer gulp. “Clayton needs to know what’s what on his island.”

“He’d have heard soon enough,” Rowland said, continuing in the same deferential tone.

The old man swilled the remainder of the cup. Sweat poured from his forehead. He quickly emptied half of the second cup.

“Used to be,” he said, the power in his voice rising, “women
knew
their place. Men gave the orders. That’s the whole problem. Women giving orders.”

Sam drew Rowland’s attention with a short gesture, two fingers making a rolling motion.

Rowland’s face expressed understanding.

“Who’s giving orders, Steve?”

“Ha!”
Haberski said. “Good one.”

“I think he means me,” Sam said, looking at Rowland, shaking her head in the negative.

“Are you still here, missy? Shouldn’t you be home making that fireman his dinner?”

“Take the rest of the day off, Steve.” Rowland said. “Go home, turn the air on, and quaff a cold one. The Tigers are on at seven.”

“No, Clayton needs me. It’s the big day,” Haberski said. “Everything’s happening.”

He inhaled sharply.

“Tonight. Tonight’s the night.”

He exhaled slowly.

“Lots of fireworks.”

Rowland rose from his chair and took a position next to Haberski. He grasped the old man’s wrist, checking his pulse.

Sam reached under Haberski’s sagging, wrinkled chin; she loosened his tie and opened his collar.

Haberski’s eyes were lazy and unfocused, his skin felt alternately cool and hot, and his voice croaked a serene defiance.

“You’ll see. Fireworks!”

“He’s crashing,” Rowland said.

“The chair,” Sam said, and they lifted the old man, pushed the chair aside, and eased him to the floor.

“I’ve got him.” Sam said.

Rowland opened his office door and yelled out to the officer at the main desk, telling her to call for an ambulance, saying Haberski was having a heart attack.

Sam removed his coat, spilling his keys and wallet, unhooked his shoulder holster and gun, and ripped his shirt open. She applied compressions to his chest, palm over palm.

His eyelids fluttered, shut briefly, opened and finally exposed still, immobile eyes.

Sam continued applying compressions until the EMT’s arrived, even though she knew he was dead.