A Vineyard Killing (11 page)

I drove slowly home so the Range Rover could follow me without difficulty. When I turned into our long, sandy driveway, I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw it go by the driveway entrance with the driver's face turned my way. I'd had half a hope that he'd follow me to my house, but apparently he was not ready to do that.

I went into the house and unlocked the case where we kept our guns. Inside were my father's shotguns and deer rifle, Zee's target pistols, and the old .38 police revolver I'd carried when on the Boston PD long ago. I loaded the .38 and put it under my belt, drove back to the highway, and turned toward Vineyard Haven. In the rearview mirror I saw the Range Rover pull out of a side road and fall in behind me.

Good.

There were abandoned housing developments in several places on posh Martha's Vineyard, victims of economic declines between booms. But we were booming again now, and where many rutted roads once led to unfinished foundations, there were now paved lanes lined with huge new houses.

But not every failure had yet become a success, and there were still dirt roads that wound through trees and oak brush leading nowhere. One of them led off the Edgartown–Vineyard Haven highway. I turned onto the road and followed its windings to its bitter end, where it looped back on itself around a pile of large boulders once intended to grace the entrances to houses that were never built, and big enough to hide the old Land Cruiser from the sight of following vehicles.

I parked on the far side of the boulders, got out, and skulked back to a spot behind an evergreen. I'd barely gotten there when the Range Rover came bouncing into view. It passed me as it started around the loop and came to a sudden stop behind my truck. When it did that I walked up to the driver's door and tapped on the glass.

The driver stared at me, then looked around at the empty forest. The lack of houses and people seemed to encourage him. He said something to the man in the passenger seat and pushed open his door. I stepped back as he came out. His partner came around the front of the Range Rover. Both of them were tall and wide and pulling on leather gloves.

“You two will ruin your health breathing my exhaust all of the time,” I said. “Besides, I feel like I'm sailing with an anchor dragging over the stern. It's time we had a talk. What do you two want, anyway?”

“You've made a mistake,” said the first man, with a grim smile. “There are two of us and you're out here all alone.”

“What do you want?”

“Some straight answers, to start with.” The two of them seemed to lean toward me. I took some comfort in the fact that they both wore buttoned overcoats with no bulges in the pockets.

“Which one are you?” I asked. “Wall or Reston?”

They exchanged quick glances. “I'm Wall,” said the first man. “You know our names, do you? How'd you work that out? Not that it makes any difference. We know who you are, that's what's important. You tried to kill Paul Fox because of that girl!”

They were aware of their size. They stepped forward. I stepped back and said, “I thought the theory was that Donald was the target and the shooter was just bad at his work. A lot of people would be glad to shoot Donald.”

“Don't give us that crap. I don't give a damn about Donald, but you weren't shooting at him, you were shooting at Paul, and if the police don't think they have enough evidence now to arrest you, they'll have it when we're through with you. You're going to be sorry you ever tried such a thing, and you're going to talk. First to us, then to them. Your murdering days are over.”

“You have more confidence in the law than I do,” I said. “On Martha's Vineyard nobody does time. Just look at the court reports in the paper if you don't believe me, or ask a cop. The people they arrest are back on the streets quicker than they can put them in jail.”

“Then you can spend your time in the hospital instead of prison,” said Reston, and they both came toward me.

I faded back and unzipped my coat. Then I stopped. “Slow down, boys,” I said, and displayed the butt of the pistol in my belt. “You're wrong about me being alone. I have Smith and Wesson and six of their little copper-coated friends with me.”

They stopped, hot-eyed and seeming to teeter on their toes.

“Is that the gun you used to shoot Paul, you son of a bitch?” asked Reston. “I should have known you're too much of a coward to go unarmed. What are you going to do, shoot us, too, like you shot him? You'll never get away with it.”

“You're the bright boy who noticed that there's nobody out here but the three of us,” I said, feeling angry now that the two men were hesitating. “Nobody saw us come in here and nobody will see me go out, so if I felt like shooting you this would be an excellent place to do it. Nobody would find your carcasses for days.”

Reston seemed almost ready to jump me, gun or not, but Wall now eyed me carefully. He put out a hand to restrain Reston. “What do you mean,
if
?”

“What do you think I mean, you cluck? If I wanted to shoot you, you'd be shot already. Neither one of you would have made it out of the car.” I shook my head. “The Chief said there were a couple of Saberfox vigilantes hot for scalps, but you're piss-poor at this kind of work, I can tell you that. Paul Fox has a lot higher opinion of you two than I do.”

Reston looked surprised. “You've talked with Paul?”

“I've talked with Donald, too, and everybody else I can think of who might have anything to do with this case. And now I'm even talking with you two tough guys. Incidentally, Donald has put those flunkies of his, Burns and Jacobs, on your case. I think your tails are in a noose.”

“Wait a minute,” said Reston. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

I felt snippy. “I'm the guy you've been following all over this island. Who the hell do you think I am?”

“Black. You're Richard Black.”

I stared at him, then shook my head. “What gave you that wacky idea? If I'm Rick Black, you're the king of Siam and your pal here is Anna.”

The empty forest rang with silence. Then Wall said, “If you're not Black, who the hell are you and why have you been driving around in his car?”

Then I remembered Maria telling me that Rick had just gotten himself a new truck.

“This isn't Rick Black's truck,” I said, waving a hand at the Toyota. “It's mine. And I'm not him, I'mJ. W. Jackson. You've been tailing the wrong man, you meatheads!”

They exchanged looks.

I went on. “I get it. Your plan was to catch Rick somewhere private so you could beat a confession out of him. Wonderful. Why didn't you just go to his house and do it there?”

Wall looked embarrassed. “Because we don't know where he lives. He's not in the phone book.”

“You could have asked somebody.”

Reston blushed. “We didn't want anybody to know we were after him. Besides, who would we ask?”

Such innocence was almost appealing. “You're a fine pair of tough-guy detectives. I think you'd better get out of this line of work before you actually do some damage. Let the police handle this; it's their job and they're a lot better at it than you two. How'd you get on my tail in the first place?”

Wall answered that one. “Paul Fox told us about seeing Black driving off in a huff one night when Paul was picking up that Donawa woman he's dating. He described Black's car. We figured that after Black shot Paul, he'd be back chasing the girl, so we took turns watching the house. When his truck—I mean your truck—showed up two days ago, we followed it.”

“Well, your intelligence is a little out-of-date. Since Paul saw Rick, Rick traded in that old Toyota on a new pickup.”

“We didn't know that. We thought you were him.” Wall paused and looked at the ground. “I know it sounds stupid.”

I had been just as stupid from time to time, no doubt.

“It does indeed,” I said. “Do you two do any drinking at the Fireside in OB?”

They exchanged blank looks.

“What's the Fireside?” asked Wall.

“Never mind,” I said. “I think you'd better go back to work in the Registry of Deeds, stealing property from the lame and the halt for the greater glory of Saberfox. Leave vengeance to God and justice to Caesar. Besides, for what it's worth, I've looked at Rick Black's gun collection and there isn't a pistol in sight. And I know from personal experience that when he's mad he uses his fists instead of weapons. So I don't think he's your shootist. You were going to beat up the wrong guy.” It was a long speech, and it made me tired.

“Well, if Black didn't do it, who did?” demanded Reston.

“There are about fifteen thousand people on this island right now,” I said, “and unless the shooter's sailed to America he's one of the other fourteen thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine. Go back to the office and get a good story ready on your way. You'll need it when Donald Fox catches up with you. He doesn't like to have his people doing things he doesn't know about.” I zipped up my coat, turned, and walked to the old Land Cruiser.

“We work for Paul Fox, not his brother,” said Reston's voice behind me.

“And Paul works for Donald,” I said without glancing back. “You can follow me back to the highway. I don't want you to get lost.”

I climbed into the truck and drove home. The Range Rover trailed me to the pavement, then went the other way.

Reston and Wall might have to consider the other 14,999 people on the Vineyard, but I didn't. I was working on a shorter list. Most people get killed by people they know. I didn't think Kirkland knew too many people on Martha's Vineyard, but apparently he knew at least one who drove a dark-colored Range Rover. That narrowed my list considerably.

I was also interested by the number of fencers who had come to my attention lately: Donald Fox, Paul Fox, Brad Hillborough, and, if the pattern continued, probably somebody I didn't know about yet. Only Donald Fox was a champion, of course, but you don't have to be a champion to know which end of a sword does the damage. Kirkland had been killed with a long knife, and a sword was only a longer knife than most.

I was anxious to learn what Joe Begay could tell me about John Reilley. Before hearing from Joe, though, I got some news that surprised me. It came in the form of a phone call from Zee the next morning, just after she got to the hospital.

“Did you hear?” she asked. “They've arrested Rick Black for attempted murder.”

“Maria just told me,” said Zee. “Apparently the police got an anonymous tip that the pistol fired at Paul Fox could be found in Rick's house. They went up there last night and found it.”

I felt a frown form on my face. “An anonymous tip usually doesn't earn you a search warrant.”

“I don't know if they had a warrant. Maria says that they were waiting when Rick came home from work, and he let them go into the house. They found the pistol and took it away and got somebody to test-fire it and compared the bullet with the one in Paul Fox's bulletproof vest, and this morning they arrested Rick. He's down in the county jail right now. I guess he doesn't know any lawyers, so he called Dodie Donawa for help, and she told Maria.”

And Maria told Zee and now Zee was telling me. The truth usually gets lost in a verbal trail that long.

“I think they've got the wrong man,” I said. “If the police think Rick did it, they may stop looking for the guy who really shot Paul.”

“What makes you think that? Rick has a temper and he's a violent man. He picked a fight with you just the day before yesterday!”

“Fistfights and assassinations aren't the same,” I said. “You're right about Rick's temper, but the cops are wrong about him owning that pistol. I'm going downtown.”

“Wait,” she said. “What do you know about the pistol?”

“I'll tell you later,” I said, “when we're not talking on a phone. See you tonight.”

I hung up, got into my coat, and drove to the County of Dukes County jail. It was my second trip to the jail in a week. I usually didn't go there once in a year.

There were all kinds of police cruisers parked in back. One belonged to the State Police, one to the sheriff's department, one to the Edgartown police, and one to the West Tisbury police. The cops had Rick considerably outnumbered. I parked beside the fuzz mobiles and went inside, where I was greeted mostly with grunts of recognition and expressionless faces. There was one exception.

“Our nice day has ended,” said Officer Olive Otero. “Mr. Jackson has arrived.”

I ignored her. “I hear you've got Rick Black in jail,” I said to the room at large.

“You heard right,” said Dom Agganis.

“I hear it's because you found the pistol that supposedly fired the bullet that damaged Paul Fox.”

“No comment.”

Olive looked pleased at her boss's briskly stated remark.

Edgartown's chief of police was drinking coffee out of a Styrofoam cup. I nodded to him. “Can I talk with you and Dom in private?”

The Chief and Agganis exchanged glances.

“Sure,” said the Chief. “Let's step outside.” He and his coffee led the way and Dom Agganis rode drag with me between them.

Outside, we turned our collars up against the cold.

“This is off the record,” I said.

Their eyes were expressionless.

The Chief sipped his coffee. “You know us both, J.W. We'll play it straight with you. But we won't be giving any carte blanche until we hear what you have to say.”

Agganis nodded.

“Fair enough.” I told them what I'd heard from Zee, then asked, “Is that about what happened?”

“That's about right.”

“Well, someone who shall be nameless for the time being was in that house earlier in the afternoon and there was no pistol there. Was it pretty easy for the West Tisbury cops to find? Right there in the closet with Rick's shotgun, maybe?”

Agganis sighed and looked annoyed. “Dare I guess that the nameless someone is very near the Chief here, even as we speak?”

“You can guess whatever you want to, Dom. But I'm mentioning no names for the moment.”

Agganis rolled his eyes. “All right. What was this nameless someone doing in Rick Black's house?”

“Maybe he got lost in the woods. Maybe he thought it was made of gingerbread. The point is that he was there and had a good look around just a few hours before the cops were there, and there was no pistol in sight.”

Our breaths were little clouds of condensed vapor in the morning air.

“Was the tipster a man or a woman?” I asked, breaking the short silence.

“A man, probably. Voice was muffled. Made the call on a public phone up in Vineyard Haven. We can check on whether Black was at work all afternoon. If he was and if you and your nameless someone aren't just pulling our chains, maybe somebody's setting him up.” Agganis looked at me. “Why was your somebody in his house snooping around? What was he doing there?”

“He was looking for the pistol you guys found. Black is a natural for the short list of suspects: Maria Donawa left him for Paul Fox, he's jealous, and he's got a temper. If he had the pistol that did the shooting, that would just about put him away. My someone would like to have this over and done with. Hell, so would I. I'm tired of being in the middle of it.” I told them about Black's encounter with me two days before.

“Whoever stashed the gun apparently thinks the same way you do about Black being a good suspect,” said the Chief. He sipped more of his coffee. “If Rick goes to trial, will your nameless somebody be willing to testify?”

“My somebody wouldn't like it, but he'd testify to what he knows.”

“Then Rick Black can charge him with unlawful entry or worse, if he feels like it,” said the Chief.

“Maybe he won't feel like it, if the testimony gets him off the hook,” I said.

“Maybe not. We're going to have to tell the DA what you just told us. He'll probably want to talk with your somebody before he decides whether or not to formally charge Rick.”

“I'll convey that message to my somebody.”

“You make me tired sometimes,” said Agganis.

“You know that?”

“If my somebody can be assured by the cops and the DA that he won't get in any trouble for his adventures, I'm sure he'll be glad to come forward. Does Rick have a lawyer?”

The Chief nodded. “Dodie Donawa supposedly is getting one for him. Probably her own. What's his name? Aylward? First he gets her out of the can, and now he'll try to do the same for Dodie's daughter's ex-boyfriend. Maybe your somebody should hire him, too.”

“I just had a thought,” said Agganis. “Maybe you put the pistol in Black's closet to get even with him for punching you in the face. Aw, shucks. I forgot. You were in the E and E Deli when whoever it was plugged Paul Fox. Oh, well. You stick around the island. Don't take any long trips. Same goes for your somebody. We may want to talk with both of you again.”

“We don't plan to go anywhere,” I said.

The Chief gave me a weary look. “You really don't have to go through all this ‘somebody' shit, you know. The somebody is you, and we know it. You can trust us.”

I nodded. “I do trust you. Among other things, I trust you to tell the truth on the witness stand. If we ever have a trial, and some lawyer asks you about this conversation, I know you'll both testify to what I just told you. You might guess who somebody is, but it would just be a guess.”

He nodded. “There is that. But this somebody of yours will testify if he gets immunity?”

“I'm sure he will. He's just a wonderful guy.”

“Good old somebody. People like him make America great. Come on, Dom; let's go back inside where it's warm. Do we have an extra cell for this wonderful somebody, in case we find out who he is?”

“I'll bet we can locate one,” said Agganis, and they went into the building.

I walked around to the back where the Land Cruiser was parked and got there just in time to see Dodie Donawa and Norman Aylward getting out of their cars.

“Your customer is right inside,” I said to Aylward.

“Glad you could make it on short notice.”

“How is he?” asked Dodie. “He must be miserable. I hated being in there!”

I said, “I didn't see him, but I'm sure he's fine. They may not even put up too much of a fight to keep him in. They just got some new information.”

“Like what?” asked Aylward.

“They may tell you if you ask them. Is this your car, Dodie?”

She glanced at the car. “Yes. Norman stopped at my house so I could follow him down. I want to make sure that Rick is all right. Maria may have pushed him away, but I haven't. He's no killer; he's a fine young man. He wouldn't hurt a fly!”

I touched my bruised jaw. “I'm sure you're right. I'm glad you're going to spring him from the clink. I don't think he shot Paul Fox or anybody else.”

“Neither do I! Come on, Norman. Let's get him out of there!”