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| ISBN-13: | 9780743218191 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Scribner |
| Publication date: | 07/26/2001 |
| Series: | Martha's Vineyard Mystery Series , #12 |
| Sold by: | SIMON & SCHUSTER |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 256 |
| Sales rank: | 163,249 |
| File size: | 4 MB |
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Chapter One
I got the details by talking with the survivors, since I wasn't at the house when it happened. Instead, I was on the clam-flats in Katama with my son Joshua. When we came home, there was a cop at the head of our driveway and an ambulance was pulling out and heading toward the hospital in Oak Bluffs. I turned into something made of ice.
The cop recognized my old Land Cruiser and waved us in. I drove fast down our long, sandy driveway. The yard was full of police cars and uniforms. Sergeant Tony D'Agostine met me as I stepped out of the truck.
I was full of fear. "Stay here," I said to Joshua, and shut the truck's door behind me.
"There's been some trouble," said Tony.
"Where's Zee? Where's Diana?!"
"Take it easy," said Tony, "it's all over."
"Where are they?!" I pushed him aside, and went toward the house. He followed me, saying something I wasn't hearing. I saw what looked like blood on the grass. Jesus! Cops stood aside as I came through them.
That was the beginning of it for me.
The day had started earlier, of course, and had seemed like any other day. School was out, so the pale June people were already on the island, trying to brown up on the beaches before going back to their mainland jobs. Parking places were getting hard to find on the main streets of the Vineyard's towns, and the harbors were beginning to fill with boats. Another summer season was under way.
That morning, after breakfast, Zee had had a date with Manny Fonseca down at the Rod and Gun Club, where she would practice her pistol shooting under his sharp eye in preparation for an upcoming competition.
"I'm taking Diana," Zee had said. "She's been on my case for weeks. She wants to watch, and I guess this is as good a time as any."
Competitive pistol shooting was an odd recreation for Nurse Zee, because she was a healer who basically disapproved of firearms; but, as she had discovered to her surprise and sometimes consternation, she was what Manny called a "natural" with a pistol. Worse yet, she had found that she enjoyed competitive shooting. These facts notwithstanding, she scorned Manny's NRA clichés about the benefits of gun possession and was ever ill at ease about having a couple firearms of her own, including the custom .45 that she used in competition.
"Just remember what Shane told Marian," I told her when she got into one of her antifirearms moods. "'A gun is just a tool. It's as good or bad as the person using it.'"
"It may be a tool for Shane," said Zee, "but for me it's a toy. That makes it even more stupid and immoral."
"Target shooting isn't stupid or immoral," I said. "It gives you pleasure. Pleasure is good. Ask any hedonist."
"Guns are dangerous. We'd be better off if no one had any!"
There were times when I thought that myself, of course. But although I almost never used them, I still kept my father's 30.06 and shotguns in the gun cabinet, along with the old .38 I'd carried when I was a Boston cop.
"Maybe," I said, "but people do have them. I have them. You have them. They're not going to go away. It's better to know how to use them safely and to enjoy them than to wish there weren't any."
"I know. But I don't always like it."
That morning I'd just said, "Well, make sure the girl child has her earplugs and glasses. I don't need a deaf daughter."
"What's deaf mean, Pa?" Diana the Huntress, who spent a great deal of time looking for food, had asked.
"It means you can't hear. Like when you put your fingers in your ears. Shooting is very noisy, and the noise can hurt your ears, so you always wear earplugs when you shoot. And you wear shooting glasses in case something hits you in the eye."
"Oh." Diana had put her fingers in her ears, and smiled up at me. Then she had pointed and said, "Can I have that piece of toast you didn't eat?"
"Sure."
I had gone to the tide chart that was taped to the refrigerator. "Well, since you ladies are going shooting, I guess I will go clamming. If I leave right now, the tide will be just right down-harbor." I had looked at my growing son. "You want to come, Josh?"
"Yes, Pa."
Joshua liked to do what his folks did. Such a manly little chap. Just like his dad.
So he and I had collected our gloves and clam baskets and driven to Katama, full of innocence, not knowing how our lives were about to be changed.
Back at home, Zee packed her shooting gear into the flight bag she used to tote her stuff, washed and stacked the breakfast dishes, and, just before ten, headed out the door with Diana.
As she reached her little Jeep, she heard a car coming down the driveway. She put the flight bag on the hood of the Jeep and turned, thinking it was me, coming back early for some reason.
But it wasn't me. It was a black car with tinted windows. Zee didn't recognize it. The car stopped and for a while nothing else happened. Then doors opened and two men got out. They wore slacks and loose summer shirts that hung down over their belts. Dark glasses covered their eyes. One was a normal-sized man. The other one was the size of a large refrigerator.
Zee stepped forward to meet them. Diana came, too, and took Zee's hand.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?"
"I'll bet you can," said the refrigerator. A little wind caught his shirttail and lifted it slightly, giving Zee a brief glimpse of a pistol holstered on his belt. His black glasses seemed to eat her up.
"We want to see Tom Rimini," said the other man.
"I'm afraid you've come to the wrong house," said Zee. "I don't know any Tom Rimini."
"You Mrs. Jackson?"
She nodded, feeling uneasy.
"Then we're at the right house. We don't want no trouble, so you better just have him step out." Somehow both of them had gotten very close to her.
She pulled Diana nearer to her. "I just told you. I don't know anyone named Tom Rimini."
"That's not what we hear," said the refrigerator. He put out a huge hand and took hold of the collar of her shirt. "Don't get yourself hurt for him. It won't do no good."
She jerked herself away from him and felt the shirt tear. She was both angry and frightened. "I don't know who you are, but you'd better get back in that car and get out of here right now!"
"Oh, a feisty one," said the refrigerator. "I like feisty ones, Howie. Nice tits, too." He laughed.
"This your little girl?" asked Howie. "Come here, dearie."
He swept Diana up into his arms before Zee knew what he was doing.
"Ma! Ma!" cried Diana.
Zee reached for her, but the refrigerator stepped between her and Howie.
"Ma! Ma!" he said, grinning and spreading his arms. Zee ducked, but he was expecting her move and caught her. "Hold it, Ma."
But Zee didn't hold it. She stamped her foot on his shin and brought her knee up hard. It was as though he could read her mind. He turned slightly and the knee glanced off his thigh. Then he slapped her across the face and her ears rang. He slapped her again and she felt sickness rise up in her. She twisted in his arms and this time he let her go. She almost fell.
"Give me my daughter!"
"Take it easy," said Howie. "And you take it easy, too, Pat. We don't want any trouble, Mrs. Jackson. We just want Tom Rimini. We get him, we go away. Just like that."
She felt so light-headed that she could hardly stand. "I tell you he isn't here. I've never heard of him."
"Go look in the house, Pat," said Howie.
"Keep an eye on Ma," said Pat. "She may jump you when I'm gone."
"I don't think so," said Howie. He held Diana against his chest with his left hand and dipped his right hand under his shirt. The hand came out, and there was a click, and the hand was holding a knife with a long, thin blade. He laid it on Diana's cheek. "You won't jump me, will you, Mrs. Jackson?"
She stepped back. "No. Please take the knife away. I'll do whatever you want, but don't hurt her."
"That's good," said Howie. "Pat, go search the house."
"She don't act so tough now," said Pat. He went into the house.
"I hope Rimini ain't in there," said Howie. "If he is, Pat is going to be pretty pissed off at you."
"He's not! You've come to the wrong house, I tell you. Please, let Diana go. Let her come to me. We won't run or fight. We'll do what you want."
"You'll do what we want, anyway," said Howie.
Pat came out of the house. "Nobody home." He looked at Zee. "When'll the rat be back?"
"How many times do I have to tell you that he's not here? I never heard of him. You must have gotten bad information."
Pat came toward her with long strides. She backed away, but he caught her arm with a huge hand. "They had a talk with his wife like I'm talking with you," said Pat. "Like this." He hit her in the belly and she fell, doubled over, unable to breathe, feeling her mouth sucking air like a fish out of water. She didn't hurt; she just couldn't move.
"You don't think she'd lie, do you?" asked Pat.
"You're a pretty woman," said Howie conversationally. "Pat's got an eye for a pretty woman. Now you stop lying and maybe I can talk him into looking for Rimini someplace else."
She tried to speak, but could not. They watched her with detachment. Finally she could breathe. There was grass and dirt in her mouth. She was filled with fear for Diana.
"I'm not lying, I swear. If I knew him, I'd tell you."
Pat picked her up and tore her shirt half off her body. "Oh, I don't know," he said. "You're a tough chicken. You probably need more persuading than most."
He hit her and knocked her backward against the Jeep. She struck the flight bag with one flailing arm and knocked it to the ground. She tried to stand, but the world turned gray, then black, and she fell.
Far away she hear Diana cry, "Ma! Ma! Don't hit my ma! Don't hit my ma!"
"Don't hit her too hard, Pat," said Howie's voice. "She can't talk if she's dead, and sometimes you don't know your own strength."
The world swam back out of blackness. The flight bag was underneath her.
"You and me are going to have some fun first," Pat said to her. "Then if you be polite and tell us what we want to know, you can stay pretty for your husband. Get up now."
She nodded and, using her body to shield her hands, slid them into the bag. "All right," she said. "Please don't hit me again. I'll get up." She touched the familiar grip of the .45. "I'm dizzy. I just need a minute." She got the pistol in one hand and a full clip in the other. She knew she had to be very fast and very sure, because she'd only get one chance.
"All right," she said. "I'm getting up now."
She straightened up on her knees and turned the gun toward Pat, slapping the clip into the magazine as she did.
Pat, caught off guard, was still almost too quick. As she jacked a round into the firing chamber, he leaped back and with remarkable speed whipped a hand to his belt and came up with his own pistol.
She shot him three times, one, two, three. The first round took him in the belly and knocked him back as his own weapon went off. She was aware of a blow to her left ribs but paid it no heed as her second round hit him in the chest and sent his pistol flying. Her third round split his dark glasses in two and left him spread-eagled on the lawn like some profane crucified Christ.
She was on her feet before he hit the ground and was walking toward huge-eyed Howie, her pistol now held in both hands.
"Let go of my daughter!"
But Howie had seen what had happened to Pat. He clutched Diana to his chest and put the knife to her throat as he backed toward the black car.
"You try to shoot me, and the kid gets it! I ain't kidding! You put down that gun, or else!"
He touched the knife tip to Diana's throat and a trickle of blood ran down from the wound.
Zee shot him in the right elbow and his knife arced away. He screamed and she shot him in the knee, below Diana's thrashing legs. He screamed again and went down. Diana, agile as a monkey, rolled away and ran to her mother.
"Ma! Ma!"
Zee knelt and tipped up her daughter's chin. The knife wound was shallow, superficial.
"Go inside and get the telephone and the first aid kit and bring them out to me."
"Yes, Ma. Ma, I'm scared."
Her mother put a smile on her face, and gave her a hug. "Everything is all right, now. No need to be scared anymore. Now, go bring me those things."
"Yes, Ma."
Diana went into the house and Zee walked over to sobbing Howie and put the muzzle of the .45 under his chin.
"Don't kill me!" cried Howie. "Please don't kill me! Get me a doctor!"
She took a pistol from his belt and another from an ankle, then stood up and went to Pat's body. He lay on his back with his arms outstretched and his fly unzipped. He had no backup pistol, probably because he was so big he hadn't thought he needed more than one. She collected his pistol from where it had fallen on the lawn and went to meet Diana.
She dialed 911, reported shots fired and at least one man dead, then sat down on the porch steps and cleaned and dressed the cut in Diana's throat.
"You're hurt, too, Ma," said Diana, pointing.
There was blood on the left side of what remained of Zee's shirt and, seeing it, Zee was aware of a pain in her side. Lifting the shirt away from her body, she saw the furrow of Pat's bullet over her ribs. She pushed and probed her ribs enough to be fairly certain that none were broken, then cleaned and dressed that wound, too.
Across the yard, Howie was moaning and crying. She watched him, feeling nothing for a while, but then crossed over to him as the first of the sirens came down her driveway, and began to care for him.
"This was all for nothing," she told him. "I never heard of Tom Rimini."
"Jesus," groaned Howie, and fainted.
A half an hour later I came home.
Copyright © 2001 by Phillip R. Craig
Chapter Two
Zee and Diana were sitting in lawn chairs, surrounded by medics and cops. I felt my life come back to me. I ran to them and took them in my arms.
"My God, what happened? Are you all right?"
Zee winced, but smiled. There was an odd look in her eyes. "Easy on the rib cage, Jeff! Yes, we're both fine. I'm so glad you're here."
"Me, too, Pa," said Diana, hanging on to my neck.
"Me, too," said a medic. "Your wife and your daughter should both be up at the hospital, to make sure they're as good as they think they are. But Zee here wouldn't go until you came home. Now you're home, so tell both of them to get into the ambulance!"
He sounded testy.
I loosened my hold on Zee. "What's wrong? You're not all right." I saw now that her lip was split and her face was bruised. I touched her cheek and felt a cold fury grow inside me, driving away my fear and gratitude. "Who did this?"
"I'm just a little tender," said Zee, taking hold of my hands and kissing them. "This medic is right, though; Diana and I should go up to the hospital and have somebody look us over. It's just a precaution. We're really okay."
"Which is more than I can say for the other guys," said Tony D'Agostine, with a note of satisfaction in his voice.
"I'll go with you in the ambulance," I said to Zee.
"Not a good idea," said the medic. "The docs don't need you cluttering up the examining room. You can drive up in your own car."
"He's right," said Zee, and I knew he was, so I shut my mouth and let them take her and Diana away.
I looked around then and saw that Dom Agganis and Olive Otero of the State Police were there, along with Edgartown's cops and Manny Fonseca. I was the only one who didn't know what had happened.
Dom Agganis and Tony D'Agostine told me.
I didn't know what to say or think.
Manny Fonseca stepped closer. "I heard the shots from the club, and when Zee didn't show up for her lesson, I got worried and came here. Jesus, J.W., I couldn't believe my eyes. One guy dead, and the other all shot up. Couple of Boston hoods and she got 'em both. Five shots, five hits. Christ almighty!"
I began to come back to earth. "Who were they?" I asked Dom Agganis. "What were they doing here?"
"A couple of enforcers from Charlestown," said Agganis. "The dead one was Pat Logan. They call him -- called him, I guess you'd better make that -- 'The Pilot.' Pat 'The Pilot' Logan. Not because he was a pilot, you understand, but because he had the same name as the airport up in Boston. The other guy is Howie Trucker. I just ran a check on them. They both started young, then got into the business of robbing armored cars. It's traditional employment for the hoods in Charlestown, as you may know. Every up-and-coming wanna-be mobster does it or wants to. On the side, these two were muscle for hire. You ever hear of either of them?"
"No."
"I thought maybe you had dealings with them when you were on the Boston PD."
I thought back, then shook my head. "No. I've never known anybody from Charlestown."
"Just thought I'd ask. Anyway, they told your wife they were looking for a guy. I'm guessing that the guy crossed somebody and they were supposed to find him. Pat and Howie thought he was here at your house. He wasn't. They made a mistake."
"A big one for them," said Tony. He looked at Manny. "Jesus, Manny, you sure as hell taught Zee how to shoot!"
Manny said nothing.
"If they'd just taken her word for it that the guy wasn't here, none of this would have happened," said Olive Otero. "But they had to get tough." She shrugged. "Too bad for them."
Olive didn't look like she was about to shed any tears for Pat "The Pilot" or Howie Trucker.
My eyes found Zee's flight bag, which was back on the hood of her Jeep. Olive Otero noticed my look.
"We've taken your wife's pistol, since there's been a homicide. She may get it back later."
I nodded. It was standard procedure. "Sure. But why would two Charlestown hoods come here to our house? What made them think the guy was here?"
The cops exchanged glances. "Zee said she asked them that," said Tony. "They told her the guy's wife had told them he was here." Tony cocked his head to one side.
It made no sense to me. "The guy's wife? Like I told you, I don't know anybody in Charlestown. How could anybody in Charlestown even know where we live?"
"Maybe the guy and his wife don't live in Charlestown," said Agganis sensibly.
I obviously wasn't thinking very well. Being stupid wasn't going to help me a bit. I took a breath and pulled myself together. "What's the guy's name? Who were they looking for?"
"They were after a fella named Tom Rimini," said Agganis, studying me as he spoke. "Ever heard of him?"
Time stopped, then started again.
"What's the matter, J.W.? You okay?" Tony D'Agostine's voice sounded far away.
"Tom Rimini?" asked my voice.
"Yeah," said Dom Agganis. "You know the guy?"
I shook my head, more confused than before. "I never met him but I know of a man with that name. But I don't see how it could be him."
"If he's one of the slimeballs, I never heard of him," said Olive Otero. "But then I never heard of most of the scum in this state."
Officer Olive Otero was not my favorite cop. We had never hit it off. But I couldn't argue with her this time.
"The guy I'm thinking of isn't in the mob," I said. "He's a schoolteacher in Boston." I looked down into Olive's eyes. "My ex-wife married him after she left me."
Olive let that sink in. She had hard eyes. She said: "Left you, did she? And took up with this other guy?"
"You know how it is," I said. "I was a cop and she got tired of being scared all the time, wondering every night if I was going to come home, so she married a guy who didn't have to carry a pistol to work: another teacher she met at school. Tom Rimini. I think he teaches social studies."
Carla had been unhappy even before I'd gotten shot, but the shot was the last straw; she'd seen me through most of my rehab, but as soon as she was sure that I was going to be okay, she had told me she was divorcing me. I didn't argue. She told me she'd met a sweet man named Tom Rimini. She hoped I'd find a woman who could love me. I wished her well. When I got out of the hospital, I took a disability pension, sold the house in Somerville, and moved to the Vineyard. It took a while for me to get over Carla, because I don't love easily or stop loving easily.
And now, years later, Tom Rimini had returned to my life.
"Why do you suppose somebody would send a couple of hoods after a schoolteacher?" asked Olive.
"I don't know."
"And why would his wife tell them he was here?" she went on. "She still mad at you after all this time, Mr. Jackson?"
I shook my head.
"Zee said they talked to Rimini's wife just like they were talking to Zee," Dom Agganis reminded her. "That means they slapped her around some, maybe beat her up good, maybe threatened her kids. Most people would tell them what they wanted to know."
"Well, where's Rimini, then? He's sure not here." Olive looked at me. "You sure you don't know nothing about this? If you do, you'd be smart to speak up now. Whoever sent these two down here may decide to send somebody else to do the job right. Somebody with more brains."
My temper rose, but I pushed it down. "I haven't seen my ex-wife in years, and I never met Rimini. But if some gang boss is after him, it's probably because Rimini owes him money or is under his skin in some other way. Howie Trucker probably knows. I think we should have a talk with him."
"Not we," said Olive. "Not you, for sure. Just the cops. We don't need any civilians underfoot."
Anger moved my tongue. "You couldn't get information out of an encyclopedia, Olive!"
She shoved her face up toward mine. "You interfere with this criminal investigation and I'll have your ass in jail so fast it'll make your head spin!"
Dom Agganis stepped between us. "Now take it easy. Both of you back off. Starting with you, Officer Otero." She glared at him, hesitated, then stepped away. "You, too, J.W.," said Agganis. "We're all on the same side, here, remember."
I turned away. As I did, I heard Joshua's voice: "Pa! Pa! Can I get out now?"
Good grief, I'd forgotten all about him! I went to the Land Cruiser and opened the door.
"You forgot the clams, Pa. We need to put them in some salt water so they can spit out their sand."
"You're right," I said. More evidence that when violence and tragedy occur, the world keeps right on turning as if nothing unusual had happened. Probably, it hadn't.
"Where'd they take Ma and Diana?"
"She and your sister are up at the hospital. We'll go up and get them after we take care of the clams."
I went back to where Dom, Tony, and the others were still talking, and told them my plans.
"We're about done here," said Dom. "I'll have a wrecker come down and get the guys' car. If you think of anything that can help us, let me know."
"About this Rimini guy, for instance," said Olive.
I gave her a sour look and turned back to the truck.
Joshua and I got a pail of salt water down at the Sengekontacket landing, took it back to the house, and dumped our bucket of clams into it. Manny Fonseca was already gone, and most of the cops were drifting away.
"We'll be talking with your wife again later," said Agganis. "Get an official statement from her, maybe get some details she forgot."
"That new D.A. going to charge her with something?"
He shrugged. "Who knows. I doubt it, though. From what I've heard and seen here, I'd say it's a pretty open-and-shut case of self-defense. I know one thing: any lawyer would love to defend her -- beautiful housewife attacked by professional thugs and leaving them spread on the lawn. That's movie stuff!"
Joshua and I got back into the old Toyota and drove to the hospital in Oak Bluffs. Zee worked in the emergency room, so when we came through the doors we were met by her colleagues and friends, including a doctor who looked like he belonged in high school.
"She's just fine," said a nurse. "They're both fine. That cut on your little girl's neck is just a scratch, really. Didn't even need stitches. And Zee's mostly got bruises. She'll be sore for a few days, but then she'll be good as new."
"She got shot. What about that?"
"She was very lucky. It just dug a sort of groove along her ribs. A couple of inches to the right and it would have been a different story, but that didn't happen. You want to see her?"
"Yes. Isn't she right here?"
The boy doctor came over and put out a small hand. "I'm Dr. Stone. Your wife is down the hall. I want to keep an eye on her until tomorrow. Just a precaution in case she experiences delayed shock. She also took a pretty good hit to the stomach, and I'd like to monitor the results of that for a while. Your daughter can go home with you, though. Come on. I'll take you to them."
We followed him down the hall, and he led me to a room. Inside, Zee was propped up on the bed, reading Dr. Seuss to Diana, who was sitting beside her, looking at the pictures and making sure her mother got every word just right. Zee looked battered but beautiful. Her long, black hair was an ebony halo on the pillow.
"Hi," I said.
"Mom's reading The Cat," said Diana with a big smile.
Zee smiled, too. "I guess I'm here for the duration," she said.
"Just until tomorrow. It's just a precaution."
"I'd rather go home with you, but it's okay. Did the police tell you what happened?"
"Yes. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry it happened. But you did the right thing."
She gave Diana a little push. "Get down, sweetie."
Diana and The Cat got off the bed and Zee put out her arms. I went over and got into them and she finally let herself cry and cry, cleaning the windows of her soul.
Copyright © 2001 by Phillip R. Craig
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