Vineyard Stalker (18 page)

I suddenly remembered the walkie-talkie and it gave me an idea. I got up and found it where I'd put it on the living room bookcase. I turned it on, pushed the send button and whispered, “Hello! Hello! Are you there?”

A whispered voice replied. “Yes, I'm here. Where the hell are you? I've been calling you. What the hell happened back there?”

“I don't know where I am,” I whispered, “but I'm hurt. Somebody got me with a shotgun. Feels like small shot, but it hurts like hell. Where are you?”

“I'm in the car driving toward Edgartown. I got hit, too. He was waiting for us, damn him. Jesus Christ! A cop just turned into that Felix Neck place. Don't let him see you. You got your compass?”

“Yeah.”

“Work your way west toward the highway. Watch for me. I'll drive back and forth until you hail me.”

“Okay. Damn, I hurt. Over and out.”

I was no longer sleepy. I got dressed, put the .38 in my belt, and went out to the Land Cruiser. I drove to the end of my driveway where I parked, turned off my headlights, and watched the midnight traffic go by. After a while a white Mercedes went slowly past, headed for Edgartown. Several minutes later it passed going the other way. Tony d'Agostine drove past, headed back to town. The Mercedes came by again, then returned again. I imagined that the driver was wondering where his partner was. I pulled out onto the highway and followed him.

Neither of us was hurrying. I wondered where Intruder Two really was and whether he knew enough to come toward the highway in hopes of spotting the Mercedes and getting out of harm's way. I hoped so, because I wanted the two of them together. When I got close to the entrance to Felix Neck, I backed into a driveway across the road and used my night glasses to sweep the far roadside and watch the Mercedes creep back and forth along the highway looking for Mr. Two.

By and by I saw someone limp out of the woods across the road and look furtively this way and that. Mr. Two, certainly. He ducked back when the occasional car went whizzing by, but when the Mercedes crept into view once again he lurched out as it passed and shouted. The car skidded to a halt and backed up, and Mr. Two joined Mr. One.

I could imagine their car seats turning red as the blood oozed out of their wounds, and how their conversation might go:

“Where the hell were you? I told you when we talked to meet me at the highway.”

“Talked? We never talked!”

“Are you crazy? We talked after the plan went wrong. I told you to meet me here. Where the hell have you been?”

“You're the crazy one. How could we have talked? I dropped my radio when I got shot!”

“Then who…?” I could see the light dawn in Mr. One's mind, as he realized who must have been speaking to him.

The Mercedes went toward Vineyard Haven. I gave it a head start and drove after it. It turned right onto County Road and I wondered if it would go to the ER at the hospital to have the birdshot dug out of the driver and his passenger, or to the Noepe Hotel where the two men could lick their wounds and decide what to do next.

I hoped they'd go to the ER because it was only a block from the state police barracks and I could have Dom Agganis and Olive Otero or whoever was on the late shift there to talk to them almost before they got the first shot removed. Instead, they turned right onto Wing Road and headed for the hotel. Their pain probably helped take their minds off possible tails, because they gave no indication that they knew I was behind them.

As we entered the village they failed to take the short route to the hotel, thus revealing their unfamiliarity with the warren of one-way streets that characterize Oak Bluffs. I, being more knowledgeable than they, took a more direct route and got to the hotel first. I parked on a nearby street where I could see the parking lot, turned off my lights and engine, and waited for them to arrive.

They pulled into the lot a few minutes later, parked, and limped toward the fire stairs on the back of the building, no doubt eager to avoid shocking the night clerk by bleeding all over the lobby. Most of their facial camouflage had been scrubbed off, I noticed. I went after them, crossing the brightly lit lot on silent feet and shucking my pistol from my belt as I went. We arrived at the stairs more or less in a clump. They knew I was there when I said, “Hi, guys. Mind if I join you?”

They spun around and the older man's hand jumped toward his waist then stopped as its owner saw my .38 looking at him.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I'm a man with a gun, Fred. Turn around and put your hands on the wall. Kick your feet back. I think you know the routine.”

“I don't know what you're talking about!” He squinted at me. “I know you; you're Jackson.”

I cocked the revolver. “You Charlestown thugs can't possibly be as stupid as you're acting. Turn around. If you don't, I'll probably get a medal for shooting you.”

They turned around, put their hands on the wall, and spread their bleeding legs. I put the pistol against the older man's head and frisked him the way they taught me to do it long before at the Boston Police Academy.

Principal among my findings were his wallet, his walkie-talkie, a stun gun, a 9mm Glock pistol, and a pocketknife. I patted down his arms and then put the pistol against his spine and patted down his legs, getting a muffled groan from him when I did that. I then frisked the younger man and found a pistol, his wallet, and a Zippo cigarette lighter. He might be a no good son of a bitch, but he had good taste in lighters. He also moaned when I patted down his bloody legs.

I tossed everything but their wallets into the shadow beneath the stairs, then stepped away from them into the bright light of the lot and flipped through the wallets. Sure enough, their driver's licenses identified the pair as Fred McMahan and Angelo Vinci. I also found a couple of those cards that serve as room keys these days.

“I'm dying here,” whined Angie. “I need a doctor.”

“You need a brain,” I said. “Up to your room, both of you. I'll be right behind, close enough to shoot you but too far away for you to try any funny stuff. Go.”

“You won't get away with this,” said Fred, but he started up the stairs with Angie, almost crying with each step, at his heels.

The fire door wasn't locked, but I hadn't expected it to be, since Fred and Angie hadn't hesitated when they'd headed for the rear stairs. I figured they'd probably taped the lock open so they could get in without being noticed and would thus have an alibi if they needed one; the night clerk, unless he was more diligent than most, would never have gone upstairs to check the door and, if the cops came around, could verify that Fred and Angie had been in their room all night.

We went through the fire door and I waved Fred and Angie down the hall while I opened the door to their room.

“Come in, gentlemen,” I said, waving my pistol in an inviting way. When they did, I sat them on their beds and took a chair across from them. Their faces revealed the pain they were feeling. Angie had tears in his eyes, but Fred was made of sterner stuff.

“What we have here,” I said, “is a problem. You two wiseguys are in trouble. You vandalized Roland Nunes's place, you tried to poison his cat, you shot me with a stun gun, you tried to burn down my house, and you killed Melissa Carson.”

“You can't prove any of that,” said Fred, through gritted teeth.

“I don't have to prove it,” I said. “I just have to believe it. That's all the police have to do, too. I have photos of both of you doing your dirty work at Nunes's place and mine. I think there'll be enough evidence to put you away.”

“We never killed nobody!” cried Angie. “Jesus, I need a doctor!”

“Shut up,” said Fred. “You keep your mouth shut.” He glared at me. “You're the one in trouble, Jackson. You kill us, you'll be up for murder. You don't kill us, even if we do some time we know where you live and you'll never know when we'll be back to get you.”

I smiled and shook my head. “You've already got birdshot in your silly ass. You try coming back to the island, you'll get a heavier dose. Stick to Charlestown where you know your way around.”

Fred looked worried but thoughtful. “If you were going to finish us, you'd have used buckshot in the first place, or you'd have done it just now down there in the parking lot. What do you want?”

“I want to know who hired you to hassle Roland Nunes and why you killed Melissa Carson.”

“We didn't kill nobody!” repeated Angie. “Christ, I'm bleeding. I'm gonna die if I don't get to a doctor!”

“You're not gonna die,” snapped Fred. “You're hurting, but you're not going to die. Now shut up!”

“You shut up for a while,” I said to Fred. “Angie, speak to me and maybe you can go see a doctor. Who hired you to vandalize Nunes's property?”

“I don't know, I don't know! I don't know his name! Tell him, Fred! Jesus, I'm bleeding all over the place!”

“Why did you kill the woman?”

“Oh, my God! I told you we didn't kill nobody!”

“You tried to kill the cat. Man who'll kill a cat will kill a woman.”

“Oh, Christ, the cat! The damned cat! I don't know what was in that can. I just put it there for him to eat. Fred gave it to me. I thought it might make the cat sick. I didn't try to kill him! I swear! I gotta get to a doctor.” He pushed himself partly up from the bed then saw my cocked pistol turn toward him and sat down again. “Please, mister!”

“You're some badman,” I said. I looked back at Fred. “Who hired you?”

He spoke in a tight voice. “I don't know. It was a phone call. I got it up in Charlestown. He wanted Nunes driven out. He didn't care how we did it. The money came through the mail.”

“Sure it did.”

“I swear.”

I thought he was lying, but couldn't be sure. People sometimes withhold information for no good reason at all. I should know.

“How do you get in touch with your boss?” I asked, in my nastiest voice.

“He gets in touch with me.”

“How?”

“He phones me here.”

“Where'd you get the poison for the cat?”

“I found it on the hood of my car. The guy on the phone told me it'd be there.”

“Why did you kill the woman?”

“We didn't kill anybody! I don't know anything about the woman. I don't even know who the hell she was.”

“You sure as hell vandalized Nunes's place and shot me. You denying that, too?”

“No. We did that. That's why I know you're Jackson and where you live. I saw you and your ID that night.”

I couldn't resist. “My name is Legion,” I said.

He'd been long out of Bible class. “What the hell does that mean?”

“No matter.” I put on a frown. “The question I'm asking myself is what to do with you two boobs. I'd probably be smart to just shoot you both here and now, but killings can go wrong so I don't like to do any if I don't have to. On the other hand, you two jerks are a real nuisance. I don't care for that. Maybe I'll just give you to the cops.”

Fred didn't like that idea, and talked tough. “You hand us in, you're the one in trouble. You tried to murder us. We got the lead in us to prove it. They may get us for vandalism, but they'll get you for attempted murder!”

Fred had a point. In Massachusetts, the law says you're always supposed to run away from trouble if you can. I didn't think the DA would consider my shots from the tree house to be flight. “You're full of crap,” I said. “They'll get you for attempted arson, too. You'll do more time than I will.”

Fred's jaw worked. “How about we get out and don't come back?”

“Your boss won't like it.”

“Fuck him. He didn't pay us enough to get arrested or killed!”

“I need a doctor!” wept Angie.

“Shut up,” said Fred. He leaned forward. “Listen. We can't go to the hospital here because they'll call the cops, but I know places at home where we can get fixed up no questions asked. You let us go and I swear we won't be back.”

I pretended to think about it, then nodded toward Angie. “You think you can keep your buddy from crying himself to death on the way?”

Fred became hopeful for the first time. “There's booze over there in the mini-bar. I'll pour that down him until he stops whining.”

“You ever try to get off this island in the summertime?” I asked. “You'd better be in the standby line about 5
A
.
M
. tomorrow and be ready to pay out a lot of money to the check-in guys. Maybe you'll be lucky and get off by noon.”

“We got money and we'll be there. I swear.”

I pretended to think some more, then smiled a thin smile. “I never want to see you again,” I said. “And if I catch some pal of yours down here trying to finish what you started, I'll come up to Charlestown and see you at home. You won't see me, but I'll see you. You got that?”

“I got it.”

“One of the guys you'll be paying off is a friend who works on the ferry dock in Vineyard Haven,” I said. “He'll let me know when you leave, so make sure you do.” I got up and tossed their wallets and one of the key cards onto the floor. The other I slid into my pocket. “I'll keep this one in case I change my mind and decide to come back,” I said. “Sit right where you are for the next five minutes. I'll be watching.”

I went out into the hall, then out the fire door and down the stairs. Looking back at their window I didn't see anyone peering out. I collected the equipment I'd tossed under the stairs and walked to my truck. As I drove away, I glanced at the window again but saw nothing. Then I was out of sight.

I wished that I really did have an agent working on the ferry dock, but it's an imperfect world and you can't have everything.

As I drove home, I wondered if Legion and I were the same thing.

I thought that Fred and Angie probably really were hurting enough to stay out of my hair, and I even believed them when they denied killing Melissa Carson. But if not them, then who? And why?

With Fred and Angie gone, would their boss find someone to take their place? If so, it would probably take a little time, so I had what the current pundits called a window of opportunity when no one would be trying to kill me. I used the first hours of my window to go home and get some sleep in my giant, empty double bed.