Off Season (14 page)

Corporal Dominic Agganis, not my favorite policeman, headed up the state police contingent on the Vineyard. I had about as much chance of getting information out of him as the Red Sox had of winning a World Series.

“You've been a big help,” I said. “A couple more things. When did Chug die?”

“About 9
P.M.
the night before we found the body. What else can I do for you?”

“Who called in the tip? A man or a woman?”

“A woman, we think. Whoever it was talked through a muffler or a kerchief or something. Just said there was a body at Lovell's house and hung up. That was about eight the next morning. Car went out and by God she was right.”

“Did the bow on the floor belong to Chug?”

“Hmmm,” he hummed. Then he looked thoughtful. “I don't know. You can ask the state police that one, too.”

“Just in case nobody knows,” I said, “you might ask Doug Wooten. He says he sold Chug his bow hunting gear and taught him all he knew about how to use it.”

“He says that, does he?” The chief brightened. “I'll check into it.”

“Tit for tat,” I said. “We small-town folk must act in the common good.”

Outside, I admired Zee. “I'll make the same deal with you. Tit for tat. What do you say?”

“I say let me have a look at your tat first, and then I'll decide.”

What could be fairer? We got into the Land Cruiser and drove right to my place.

The island contingent of the state police is headquartered in Oak Bluffs, just up the road from the Martha's Vineyard hospital. The building was painted an odd blue. I had never been there before. Corporal Dominic Agganis was actually in, and seemed surprised that I had come for a visit.

“Uh oh,” he said. “What brings you here?”

“I just came by to see my tax dollars at work. I see you're using your share of them for coffee and doughnuts. I'm hoping they'll also buy me some information about the Lovell killing.”

“You can read all about it in the newspapers,” said the corporal, putting down his coffee cup.

“The island papers won't be out again till the end of the week. I'd like to know some things before that.”

“That's tough,” said the corporal.

“When's the medical examiner's report going to be ready?”

“Ask the medical examiner.”

“It should be ready by now. You mind if I have one of your doughnuts?”

He snatched the bag and hauled it out of my reach. “You're damned right I do. Buy your own doughnuts.”

“Do you have any theories about who done it?”

“None of your business.”

“Did that bow belong to Chug Lovell?”

“We're finding out.”

“You might ask the chief down in Edgartown. He may know a guy who sold Chug archery equipment.”

Agganis frowned. “He never told me that.”

“Maybe he didn't know about the guy when you two talked. You know, you have a terrific frown. Do you practice in front of a mirror?”

Agganis put his coffee cup gently on the table and stood up. His eyes and mine were on the same level. “I've got nothing to say to you about this case. Goodbye.”

“I know how you must feel,” I said. “You're out of sorts because you don't know much yet.”

“You don't know what I know and you aren't going to find out.”

“Gosh, I thought we might trade information.”

“What information?”

“I just gave you some. The chief in Edgartown knows about a guy who sold Chug Lovell his bow and arrows.”

“I'll soon find out what that's all about.”

“What it's about is that I told the chief about the guy, and now I'm telling you. I'm doing your work for you, Dom, and look at the thanks I get. You won't even share your doughnuts with a fellow sleuth.”

“You gotta have a license to be a sleuth. You got a license?”

“Hey, you're the professional cop. I'm just one of the folks who pays your wages. I hear you found some interesting stuff in Chug's house. I'd love to know what it was.”

“I'll bet you would. Who's the guy who sold the bow and arrow stuff to Lovell? You might try to keep in mind that it's a crime to withhold evidence in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.”

“Who's withholding evidence? I already gave that information to the chief in Edgartown.”

“Now I want you to give it to me.”

“Can I have a doughnut or not?”

“No! Oh, all right!”

He pushed the sack toward me, and I selected a honey dip. “Thanks, Dom. Doug Wooten is the guy. How about some coffee, too?”

“No goddamned coffee! Wooten, eh?” He scribbled on a notepad.

“Aside from that tidbit of information, I'm afraid I don't know much of anything that'll help you, Dom.”

“That's no surprise. Goodbye. I've got work to do.”

“So you aren't going to tell me what you found in Chug's house, eh?”

“No, no and no.”

“I mean aside from that freezer full of venison and scallops.”

Agganis narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about that?”

“How about some coffee? I see you've got a couple of extra cups over there.”

He pointed.to a coffeepot. “All right. Get some coffee. What do you know about that freezer?”

“Don't bother with the cream and sugar. I like it black.” I poured a half cup. I didn't really want any coffee, but now I had to drink some. I sipped from my cup. The coffee wasn't bad. “I was in Chug's house once. That's how I know about the freezer.”

“For this I gave you a cup of coffee?”

“Hey, Dom, I know you're a sensitive guy, and I don't want you to think you got the short end of this stick, so I'll toss in another thought for free. Okay?”

“What?”

“Whoever killed Chug, if Chug didn't somehow do it himself, which I guess he might have, didn't plan on it much before it happened and wasn't very good at the work.”

“Chug didn't do it to himself,” said Agganis. “So you can get that idea out of your head. He didn't stab himself with the arrow or fall on it on purpose or by accident or any crap like that. Somebody put it into him. What makes you think it wasn't planned in advance?”

“Probably the same thing that makes you think it wasn't. Most killings happen when people have a falling-out that they never expected, and are committed with some weapon that just happens to be there. A kitchen knife or a fireplace poker or a baseball bat or some such thing. In this case, it was Chug's bow and arrow. If whoever killed Chug had planned it in
advance, he, or to be fair to the ladies, she, would have brought a more dependable weapon. A gun, for instance. This killing looks like your spur-of-the-moment thing.”

“That's not anything we didn't think of ourselves,” said Agganis. But he nodded toward a chair. “Sit down. What's this about the killer not being good at his work?”

“Or her work, as the case may be. Because the arrow was still in the body, as I heard the story.”

“So?”

“So if somebody who actually knew much about these compound bows had decided to shoot Chug with a hunting arrow with a broadhead point from close range, using Chug's sixty-five-pound-pull bow, the arrow would probably have gone right through the body. But the arrow was in the body, right?”

He nodded. “Right.”

“But maybe it wasn't fired into Chug. Maybe the killer grabbed the arrow and used it like a sword and ran him through, as they used to say in the old swashbuckler movies. All I'm sure of is that it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. There wasn't any sign of forced entry, was there?”

“No. And don't think you're getting any inside information, because that'll all be in the mainland papers tomorrow. Any ideas about who did it?” Dom didn't actually think that I knew, but it didn't hurt to ask.

Heather was the only person I could think of. I shook my head. “No. I hear you found some stuff up in Chug's house. I mean besides the freezer and the hunting equipment. I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what it was.”

“No, I wouldn't. Why are you prowling around this case?”

“Come on, Dom. It's a free country. I can prowl anywhere I want.”

“You get between me and my work and we'll see how free you are. Somebody put you up to this, didn't they? Who is it?”

“ ‘They' is a plural pronoun, Dom.”

“They is? Well, I'll be damned. Who are you working for?”

“You might ask Percy Goodman.”

Dom leaned back. “Ah. I know Goodman. Public defender, among other things. So he's hired you, eh? Does he know you don't have a license?”

“I didn't say he hired me, I just said you might ask him who did. Well, if you don't want to talk to me, Dom, I guess I'll mosey on my way. If you learn anything, let me know, will you?”

“One more thing,” said Agganis. “That guy Joey Percell, the one who slugged what's his name, Cortez. You know much about him?”

“I know he was a Boston cop and that they say he works for the Providence mob.”

“You got any idea what he was doing down here?”

“The last I heard, he was telling Nash Cortez it was all a mistake.”

“Yeah, that's what he told the judge. Cortez didn't show up to press charges, so they let Percell walk. Did you know about that?”

“No, I didn't.” But I wasn't surprised. People have a lot of reasons for not pressing charges. They're paid off or they're afraid or they don't trust the courts enough to make the effort. Or they might want to take care of things themselves. For example, the last time I'd seen Nash, he'd had a shotgun solution to his problem in mind.

“Do you think it was all a mistake?” asked Agganis.

“I don't know. What do you think?”

Agganis rubbed his big square chin. “There's talk about some sort of gang hookup between Providence and Hartford. Joey Percell has made a few trips to Connecticut. That ring any bells?”

“None at all. I don't pay much attention to crime in America. I came down here to get away from all that.”

“Well, maybe some of it followed you down. Anyway, you might be a little careful about your health. I don't know if Joey Percell is a certified psychopath, but I do know he's dangerous as hell.”

We looked at each other across the table. Dom was not kidding.

“I'll be careful,” I said. “Thanks for the coffee and doughnut.”

I went out and got into the Land Cruiser and drove away, thinking. I wasn't too surprised that Dom might not know more than he did, since the chances were that some off-island state guys had come down to do the actual investigation, and they might not have kept him as informed as he would wish. Similarly, the corpse had probably been taken off island for the autopsy since the local medical examiner normally only would handle pretty obvious cases—heart attack, automobile accidents and the like—and mainland medical examiners would handle possible murders and other unusual deaths. Still, Dom had told me a couple of things and obviously knew more that he had not told me. In his place, I wouldn't have told me either.

The only information I had that he didn't have consisted of the names of some of the people who knew Chug. Since we usually get killed by someone we know, and since whoever had killed Chug had not forced an entry into his house, it seemed logical that he had let the killer into the house himself. Ergo, as
the chief might say, Chug knew the person and didn't expect to get killed by him. Or her.

It seemed reasonable to start talking with some of Chug's acquaintances. The police, of course, were probably making up their own list of names and already asking people questions, but there was no reason why I couldn't do it too. Mimi Bettencourt was Chug's nearest neighbor, so I drove to her house.

There was a car in her front yard, a gray four-door Caddie that I recognized as belonging to Phyllis Manwaring. It was impossible for me to imagine living on Martha's Vineyard as much as Phyllis did without a four-wheel-drive vehicle. But Phyllis was not the four-wheel-drive sort. A Caddie was just her style. Besides, her husband would probably be embarrassed to have her drive anything less expensive. Mike Dukakis used to ride the subway to work, and look what happened to him when he ran for President. Vincent Manwaring was not interested in appearing financially modest. His election road would be paved with dollar bills, the symbol of success in America.

I parked and knocked on Mimi's door.

It opened and Mimi smiled at me. “Come in! Merry Christmas!” Then she instantly sobered. “Of course it's not as merry as it should be. Poor Chug Lovell. What a terrible thing.” She lowered her voice. “And poor Phyllis. She isn't very brave, and she's very upset. She came down to spend the holidays on the island, and this killing had to happen. Vincent won't be down until next weekend, and she was alone in that big house with a murderer on the loose! So I'm having her stay here with me for the week. We'll both have each other. She's in the living room.”

I walked into the living room and saw Phyllis Manwaring.
She looked pale, and her makeup had run a bit around the eyes. She did not look as polished and proper as usual. And no wonder. Her house was only a half mile from Chug's, and the winter winds made wild sounds at night. A tough place to be alone when a killer is wandering around.

Phyllis smiled weakly, and waved a hand clutching crumpled Kleenex. The other hand balanced a cup and saucer upon her knee.

“We're having tea,” said Mimi. “I'll get you a cup.” She pushed a plate of cookies at me.

When I had my teacup in hand, I said, “I'm nosing around this Chug Lovell business. You both knew him, so I'd like to talk with you about him.”

Phyllis's cup jerked in her hand, and tea spilled on her dress.

“Terrific!” said Mimi, giving me a hard look as she rolled to her feet and headed for the kitchen. “I told you that Phyllis was upset! You're as bad as Ignacio Cortez, I swear!”