Sand City Murders (43 page)

“Perhaps not there, this is true… but then again, given the nature of the terrain...”

“Okay, so what are you saying?”

“Find the owner of the shoes and you find the killer,” Fynn said simply. “The cane is another matter. It is missing at only one crime scene.”

“One crime scene?” Durbin asked.

“Yes, at Sunset Park. There was no trace of it, no mark.”

“Also, no high heels.” Durbin commented.

“As you say…”

“What about at Doc Samuels’?” Durbin asked.

“Also, no high heels.”

“Funny, inspector. I meant the cane.”

“Ah, but I believe the cane was there… there was a hamper full of walking sticks behind the basement door.”

“Are you saying it’s gone now?”

“Yes, Patrick and I searched for it yesterday to no avail.”

“Holy shit, so we’re talking one killer here… for all these murders.”

Fynn said nothing, but his expression seemed to agree with Durbin’s conclusion.

“Patrick, I’m going to need your help on this.” The detective turned to me. “Can you search your archives and give me everything you’ve got on Lorraine Luis?”

“Sure.”

“Um, listen, don’t be offended. I have to ask you… I have to ask everyone: where were you last night, or in the early hours of this morning?”

“Just routine, right?”

“Yeah.” Durbin looked at both of us again.

“I was home, asleep.”

“Inspector?”

“Ah yes, in my room at the hotel, also asleep…”

***

“He has unfixed everything!” Fynn whispered sharply in my ear once Durbin was distracted.

“Who?”

“Mortimer.”

“Have we gone back to the very first timeline?” I asked.

“I am not completely sure,” Fynn gave a cautious reply. “Yet, you should be extremely vigilant. See if you can determine what has changed exactly.”

“Like, back to the first two murdered girls…”

“I’m counting eight now with poor Lucinda, and it seems as if Arantez has returned. I have reverted back to a consulting detective.”

“Why would he kill them again? I mean, Clara and Deb… what’s the point?”

“Most curious, I agree, and I cannot fathom his motives.” Fynn raised an eyebrow. “It is high time we made a list of suspects.”

“Suspects?”

“Of course. Who is posing as Mortimer and who is helping him at present. They are like our two jetties without names.”

“Um… I’m sorry for doubting you before, I mean everything...”

“Not at all… a natural reaction, though you can doubt me no longer, eh?”

“I guess not.”

“Did you notice her earrings?”

“Whose?”

“Our victim on the sculpture. She was wearing seashells, not dolphins. It’s not Lorraine. I’m sure it is Elaine.”

“Her sister? How much of this timeline has changed then?” I asked.

“This has nothing to do with a timeline…”

“What do you mean?”

“As I’ve said repeatedly, the person we met in Garysville was not Lorraine at all. It was Elaine.”

“What?”

“It seems obvious now. The question still remains why did she masquerade as her sister all these years?”

I had to think about this, but something else came to mind. “I led him straight to her. This is my fault.”

“No. You could not have prevented this.”

Durbin caught up with us on the way down the hill. “We’re gonna have to refund a lot of tickets… Can you talk to Melissa about that?”

“What, you think the Policeman’s Ball is a bad idea now?”

“Funny, Patrick.” Durbin didn’t laugh. “Good PR, Arantez said.”

“You mean a PR nightmare.”

“Tell me about it. But I’m not the guy to argue with the chief.”

“Yeah, how is the chief? Did he send you a post card?”

“From Fairhaven?” Durbin laughed. “He’s riding my ass big time. This makes eight freaking murders…”

“Arantez? He’s back?”

“Back? I didn’t know he’d left.” Durbin laughed. “I wonder about you sometimes, Jardel.”

“Where is he?”

“Still in the hospital. He should be out tomorrow or the next day.”

“The hospital?”

“Don’t you even remember what you wrote?”

“I think Joey must have covered that and put my byline on it.”

“Really...” Durbin said disbelievingly. “Why, who wrote the story, Gary Sevens?”

“Remind me.”

“Hit by a foul ball, broke his clavicle… threw out the first pitch at little league opening day… and the kid whacked it.” Durbin stared at me. “How can you not remember writing this story?”

“I do a lot of stories. Maybe Frank did that one.”

“It’s about the funniest thing you ever wrote, Jardel.” Durbin smiled despite himself. “Not sure you meant it to be funny though.”

“So… that makes you acting deputy chief, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean you can call me Deputy Durbin.”

“Right.” I paused. “When can I report this? My deadline is tomorrow.”

“Don’t say anything for now. I’ll give you a call— okay?” Durbin walked to his car and reached in. He pulled out a black plastic bag and handed it to me. “You visited some weird sites, Patrick,” he said.

I opened the bag and found my laptop. I probably turned bright red. I could feel myself blushing.

“Still, you seem to be in the clear,” he said and added a squinty grin.

***

“I have to head back to the office. Should I drop you off somewhere?”

“Not at present.” Fynn gave me a weary look.

“You want to get some coffee or something?”

“Yes. I would like to sit and discuss our strategy.”

“Strategy?”

“We have some work ahead of us, I think. Suspects, clues, evidence…”

“Okay, well, we do a have a couple of clues to go on.”

“Such as?”

“Seems to me, that all the messing around with the records is important.”

“Indeed.”

“Like, who got to our morgue? Who hacked into the
Times
archives?”

“Very well, we should tackle these one by one, though it may be an entirely futile effort.”

“I’m thinking the only records we can really trust are from Wilma in Fairhaven. She doesn’t let anyone near them without the right paperwork— and they are not computerized.”

“As you say… This may be our salvation.”

“Okay, I’ll go back there and see what’s up.”

“And at your newspaper?”

“Who trashed our morgue, you mean? I think that was in the last timeline. I already asked Miriam— she said nobody.”

“And the
Times
?”

“I’ll talk to Jack Leaning.”

“Who could interfere with their computers? Who has such expertise that you know?”

“That I know? Only Jason… or maybe Leaning himself…”

“Hmm.”

“Didn’t you meet Jack Leaning already? He did that profile on you a while back.”

“No, that was only by telephone. Though he has been pestering me as of late. Perhaps, I’ll grant him another interview.”

“Well, that’s about it… wait a second, what Annabel said…”

“Annabel?”

“Mrs Lovely, from the library. She described someone interested in the microfiche machine. What did she say? I’m trying to remember… He was tall, ‘a great hulking man with white hair and a beard…’ And she seemed to think he was familiar in some way.” I paused to smile. “Bingo. The same guy who was Samuels’ best friend.”

“Yes. This is most interesting. Detective Durbin also mentions this man, Doctor Hackney the coroner. You’ve met him?”

“No.”

“He fits the general description as well.”

“We should talk to her.”

“Her?” he asked and looked at me. “Oh, you mean Mrs Lovely. I don’t suppose she’d even remember him at this juncture… though it is worth a conversation.”

“Absolutely, especially since she called the police this morning.”

“Then she will be our first interview.”

chapter 28

confirmations

I left Fynn at the Cove Cafe and drove back to the office. It was probably less than a mile but it took me a good twenty minutes to get up Captain’s Way. Traffic was jammed already. It was another beach day for sure. Our parking lot was full too, but I didn’t recognize a single car. That was a bit alarming at first until I realized it was all just spillover from the Candle Factory and McMoo’s ice cream shop. Seemed a little too early for either. The office was abandoned, that is, no one was there yet. Oddly though, there was a fresh pot of coffee already made, creamer and sugar too. I could learn to like this timeline. I spent the rest of the morning in the morgue and regretted it for the most part. The day was gorgeous and I should be out there enjoying it— maybe not. I guess that could wait for now. All the archives seemed to be back in order. The distant past also seemed very familiar:

1975, Clara Hobbs, missing, no mention of Roxy though.

1976, Debra Helling, missing, nothing about her Pontiac.

1977, Elaine Luis, missing, and from the Sand City Police Blotter: a missing bike. Patrolman Arantez responded. Hector Diaz reported a stolen bicycle, a Schwinn 5-speed given to him on his fourteenth birthday by his mom and dad. Officer Arantez reminds all residents to lock their bikes whenever possible… Hector went on to say, “If you see anybody riding it, please let me know. It has big chrome fenders and it’s brand new.”

I couldn’t exactly say nothing had changed. But despite Fynn’s distaste for the word
timeline
, it sure seemed as if we had reverted back to the original one, or picked up where it left off. In the present, though not identified: Clara Hobbs, dead at North Hollow. Debra Helling, dead on Boxtop Beach. Elaine Luis, dead at Sunset Park… Old Doc Samuels and the brutal killing of the two kennel girls, Alyson and Emma, the same. Lucinda, dumped in a swamp. And now, at least according to Durbin, Lorraine Luis, age 57, dead at Spooky Park. Surely the murders would end there.

I also went through the last couple of months of
Chronicle
issues. The headlines were of some interest; it almost seemed like the timelines had combined or merged in some strange way, and rather selectively it might be said:

3/15:
Barefoot Killer Claims Third Victim

3/22:
Blue Dunes Hotel Seeks Third Floor

3/29:
Baxter Estates Expansion Plan Clears Hurdle

4/5:
Dutch Inspector to Help Fight Crime

4/12:
The Last Milkman

4/19:
Doctor Henry Samuels Found Dead

The office was still empty when I came back downstairs, a good time to check my messages. The slew of voicemails also served to confirm my current view of reality:

“Hi Mr Jardel, this is Anthony Williams, assistant editor for the
Boulder Broadsheet
. Could you get back to me ASAP? I’ve been reading your op eds… We sure could use a guy like you in these parts. I like your sensibility on progress versus preservation. That’s really what we’re all about here…”

A voicemail from Leaning:

“Hey Patrick, hope you’re good. Um, I figured out what happened to the archives… turned out to be a programming glitch… Gotta say, Jardel, nice work on the Lorraine Luis thing. You were way ahead of the curve. Hey listen, can you tell Durbin to give me a ring—” 

Mrs Lovely also called:

“Ah, hello, Mr Jardel, the microfiche machine is positively glowing. Thanks for your generous help on this. However, I am obliged to remind you Mr Dickens is still at large.”

***

I had a photo montage to finish and headed over to the Marina. The light was perfect. I should be able to get some good shots today. I photographed every boat I came across, commercial or private. Some were still under blue shrink wrap and still on land, but many more were berthed in the water, gently rocking in their slips, ready to set sail. I was driving back from the docks and ran into Eddie from Fish City. We were passing each other on Long Neck Road. I was heading north, he was heading south. He slammed on his brakes and his pick-up shimmied across the sandy blacktop. I saw his rear-views light up and he came whining back to me at the stop sign.

“Hey Jardel, what’s up, my man? I need to talk to you.”

A funny choice of words. Eddie was definitely up rather than me, sitting in his monster truck. Our vehicles blocked both sides of the narrow road. He was totally comfortable with that, but it made me realize I wasn’t a complete townie. I had reservations about clogging the main thoroughfare into Sand City. It wasn’t the dead of winter any more when that never even mattered. A single car pulled up behind Eddie’s truck and waited patiently.

“Hey Eddie… gotta fly. How ’bout you call me?” I said and glanced up at him.

One... two cars… were stuck behind us, for now still patient.

“No man, I gotta tell you now. Bossman said to talk to you.”

“What about?”

“A news story.”

A third car joined the queue on my side of the road.

“A story, huh?” What’s it about?” I could feel anxiety creeping in.

“Your idea…”

Another car, and it was on my side...

“My idea?”

“What are you talking about Eddie, my idea?”

“Yeah. Bossman is installing solar panels for the freezer. Like you said, a back-up.”

“Well, that’s great, good luck with it.”

Someone started honking. More cars were lining up.

“No man, it’s a great story… you know, Fish City going all green and stuff.”

“Okay, that has a lot of potential… I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“Great. Thanks, Patrick... Talk to the bossman.”

I desperately wanted to drive on, but had to ask, “Who is the boss?” I seemed to recall a short balding guy who ran the place. “Is that Mark, Mark Cargill?”

“Nah, Marky-Mark is just a manager… Chamblis bought out the place a couple of years ago.”

“Okay…”
Wait, he wants me to call Chamblis?

“Hey listen, Patrick,” I got something else to say too. Something bad, something hard core. Maybe a story for the paper...”

“Another one?”

“I’m serious.”

I could tell he was from his expression.

“Dude, it’s heavy-duty… please…”

“Okay, call me later.”