Off Season (16 page)

I have far to go before I am a good lock picker, but the ancient lock on Chug's back door didn't offer much of a challenge. When I felt the bolt slide, I eased inside.

Homicide detectives hate having other people coming around crime scenes, messing up evidence. Onlookers, relatives, souvenir collectors and just plain thieves cause enough trouble, but other cops and officials of various kinds trying to help are an even bigger problem. Fortunate is the detective who is able to secure
the scene from such people. Here, the cops had had a week to look things over, so I didn't feel a bit guilty about breaking in.

I was pretty sure that any movable evidence had probably been taken away, but not all interesting stuff can be moved, and there was always a possibility that something had been overlooked. Actually, I didn't hope to find much, but the chief's hint that something interesting had been found in the house, and Dom Agganis's refusal to tell me what it was, if indeed he knew, had stirred my curiosity. I don't trust people who think they can be trusted with information that I can't be trusted with. I normally don't want to know personal secrets, like the details of your sex life or your choice of wallpaper, but I'm different about public ones. Them, I want to know. And what is a more public matter than murder?

There was a brownish bloodstain on the floor surrounded by an outline indicating the configuration of Chug's body when they'd found it. I wondered how long the blood and chalk would stay there. Forever? Who would remove it?

I moved around carefully, so as not to disturb anything unnecessarily. I went through the rooms of the house, checking windows as I went, just to make sure that none of them had been forced. None had. In the pantry off the kitchen, Chug's freezer was still full of venison and scallops. In what had probably been intended as a bedroom, but had been roughly converted into a workroom with a bench and the sort of tools you find on such household workbenches, I also found bow hunting equipment. Aluminum arrows, points and other paraphernalia, some of which I recognized from my visit to Doug Wooten's shop. Chug had not been the complete bow hunter that Doug was,
but he'd had enough gear to keep himself happy. Until last week, at least.

In Chug's bedroom I found what the cops had found. I couldn't have missed it. A mirror on the ceiling over the double bed. Other mirrors on the walls. Also on the walls, between mirrors, were painted scenes depicting imaginative sexual activities which I found rather educational, once I got over my surprise, since I had never even thought of some of them. Stodgy me. Against a wall were two dishes such as are used to feed and water pets. I had not seen any dog or cat when I'd visited Chug and gotten my venison. There was a bit of liquid in one of the bowls. I sniffed it. White wine. On a hook behind the door was a silk bathrobe. Under it was a dog collar with a chain attached. There was a single long, blond hair tangled in it. I coiled up the hair and put it in my shirt pocket. The collar looked like it would just about fit a woman's neck.

Bondage? Voyeurism? Masochism? Sadism? What sort of paraphilia appealed to Chug? I would have to ask Heather if she knew. And if his partner consented, what complaint did anyone have?

I wondered if Chug's sexual preferences and his death were connected. Had his lover, man or woman, killed him as part of some ritual activity gone wrong? Or killed him in a quarrel bred of passion? Had Chug said it was over between them and his partner had made sure that it was?

In a hallway I found one of those attic ladders that comes down when you pull on it, then folds back up into the ceiling. I went up into the attic and found a light switch. The attic wasn't much more than a crawl space stuffed with dusty boxes and abandoned gear. I worked my way toward Chug's bedroom and found,
sure enough, that I could see through the ceiling mirror over the bed. There was a fitting that looked like it might once have held a camera, but there was no camera. The cops or someone else had been there before me.

I went through the rest of the house, then returned to the workroom, and looked around. Maybe Chug made some of his own sexual apparatus. I didn't find any. Then I looked some more, and had better luck. Like a lot of us, Chug had cans of stuff pushed against the back wall of his workbench: nails, stray bolts, keys without locks, and other odds and ends you might find a use for someday. I dumped the cans and refilled them one by one, and found, mixed in with two rusty outboard motor spark plugs and some roofing nails, a key to handcuffs. Having once been a cop with handcuffs of my own, I had no trouble recognizing it. I put it back into its tin can and left the house through the back door, locking it behind me.

I went back to the Land Cruiser, thinking about Chug. He had liked to laugh, he had liked wilderness, he had liked unconventional sex (if there still is such a thing), he had liked to jack deer and he had trusted somebody enough, or had been careless enough, to let that person into his house that night. Jesse James, and a lot of other people, had made the same mistake.

• • •

I drove downtown and went into the town hall, which was newly refurbished and looking good. As I went upstairs I could not but muse once again on the fact that Edgartown had a new police station and a practically new town hall, but it still couldn't manage to build public toilets for the thousands of visitors who poured into town each summer. Since before I was
born, there had been great debate in Edgartown about when and where and whether to build public toilets. People had been born and had died in those thirty years, wars had been fought, political and financial dynasties had risen and fallen, but there still were no public toilets in Edgartown. Why, even Gay Head had public toilets, although, Gay Head being the way it is, they were the kind you have to pay to use. I hold that pay toilets are an abomination in the eyes of God, but the Wampanoags and other Gay Headers, with pockets open for tourist dollars, disagree. As a citizen of toiletless Edgartown, I had trouble holding high moral ground in the great toilet debate.

Upstairs I smiled my best smile and asked Norma Quintana if Chug Lovell had gotten his shellfish license that year.

“I don't think Chug Lovell ever had a permit,” said Norma. “I don't think he did any shellfishing. I don't think I ever saw him in here for any permit of any kind.”

“How about a hunting license for deer?”

“Nope.” Norma was old enough to be my mother. She raised an eyebrow. “What's got your nose sniffing, J.W.? Tell Norma.” The murder was the current topic of island gossip. And why not? We didn't get many murders on Martha's Vineyard.

I lowered my voice. “My spies tell me he got shot with his own bow and arrow. It was a broadhead hunting arrow, they say. They say there's a freezer full of venison and scallops up at his place. I just wondered if he had a license for the venison and shellfish.”

“Maybe somebody gave him the meat. Hey, this is good stuff, J.W. You got any more inside dope?”

“Nope. You have any for me?”

“Not a bit. Nobody tells me anything.” She grinned.
“But now I've got some stuff to tell everybody else!”

I went down Main Street, past the Christmas trees, past Tashtego, which has the island's most interesting Christmas decorations, to the Wharf pub, where, in the summer, they once served draft Commonwealth Brewery beer, the best beer in America. The Wharf claimed to be the only place outside the Commonwealth Brewery itself where you could get Commonwealth Brewery beer. Unfortunately, the pub ran out of this beer, so I settled for a bottle of Beck's dark while I thought things over.

I wasn't surprised to learn that Chug had no licenses. He was the kind of guy who apparently liked being outside the law. I wondered if he had stepped too far outside once too often, and if that had gotten him killed. The only other guy I knew offhand who consistently operated outside the law was Joey Percell. I wondered if they were hooked up somehow. Had Joey killed Chug?

Thinking of Joey, I thought of Ignacio Cortez. Now, if I'd been told that somebody on the island was going to get murdered, my money would have been on Nash Cortez as either victim or killer. Passions ran high around Nash. He had made a lot of enemies and seemed to enjoy making them. There were several people who probably wouldn't have shed a tear at the news of Nash's death. But Nash had not died; chubby, grubby Chug Lovell had.

I wondered if Nash might have killed him. The only problem there was that I'd never heard Nash say one thing, good or bad, about Chug. Nash's venom was all focused on the animal rights people, seemingly on Mimi Bettencourt in particular. What was the tie between Nash and Joey Percell? I didn't believe for a minute that Joey had slugged Nash by mistake, even if Nash didn't know why he'd done it. Joey Percell was a
guy who did not get paid for hitting or shooting people by mistake. One thing was clear: if Joey had hoped to get Nash to lay off the animal rights faction, he'd failed to do the job. Of course, that might be because I'd interrupted him before he could work Nash over some more.

I ordered another Beck's, and as I was testing it to see if it was as good as the first one, who should come in, looking very seasonal with a pin in the form of green holly leaves and bright red berries on the lapel of her gray wool blazer, but Angie Bettencourt.

“Well, hello,” she said, smiling. She flickered an eye around the place and pulled out a chair. “Just Ted said he'd meet me here for a bit of Christmas cheer, but he's late, so I'll sit with you.”

“Just Ted will have to learn to show up on time if he doesn't want you to cozy up to the first other man you see. You want a little something while you wait?”

“Is the Pope Polish? I'll have white wine.” She waved at a waitress and gave her order.

I was glad to see her. “You and Helene Norton are pretty close, aren't you?”

“What do you want with Helene? You've already got more women than you can handle. Jeez, you're almost a married man, and here you are interested in another woman who isn't even me.”

“I don't want to handle Helene. I want to know if it's true that Chug Lovell was seeing her.”

“ ‘Was' is the word. Poor Chug. Helene was pretty shaken when she got the news.” Her wine arrived and she sipped it. “Why do you want to know about Chug and Helene?”

“Who's the guy Helene was seeing before Chug got into her act? Some real estate guy, I hear. You know him?”

“You have more questions than answers. No, I don't know him. I guess he's been on the island a couple of times, but all I know about him is what Helene tells me.”

“What does she tell you?”

“That he likes money and is willing to do a lot to get it, like maybe marry her. She was pretty hot for him for a while, but things were cooling when Chug started going over to see her. The guy's name is Mike Yancy. Office over on the Cape.”

“Is he comforting poor Helene in her hour of sorrow?”

She looked at me over her glass. “How'd you know that?”

“If he really likes her, that's what he'd do. And if he really likes her daddy's land, that's what he'd do. Strong shoulder and pats on the back and all that.”

She smiled. “What a cynic. I thought you were too sentimental to harbor such realistic thoughts. But you're right. Good old Mike is back at her door, being comforting.”

“Do you know anything about Helene's sexual preferences?”

“Goodness, what kind of a conversation are we having? Isn't it enough that you know Zee's preferences? To say nothing of mine! Are you becoming some kind of kinky old man, Jefferson?”

“Is Helene's hair still long and brown?”

“Curiouser and curiouser questions! This is becoming interesting. What
are
you trying to find out? Yes, her hair is still long and brown. Tell me what's going on! Wait. I need another glass.” She waved her glass at the waitress. “I do hope that Just Ted doesn't come too soon, because I want you to tell me everything!”

“it's simple enough. Word has it that Chug had some offbeat sexual practices. Nothing unheard of, mind you. Maybe handcuffs and stuff like that. Helene ever mention anything like that?”

“No! But then I don't think that she and Chug ever got that far. He was still in the roses and candy stage, I think. Gosh, you mean that Chug was into domination? I never would have guessed. Ah, that's why you asked about her hair. Somebody must have seen him with a woman with long brown hair!”

“Something like that. Chug was quite a ladies' man, according to your mom. He ever date you?”

“None of your business, but no, he didn't. Which did he like, do you know? Was he dominant or submissive? I might be willing to try dominant, but I don't think I'd be very good at submissive.” She batted her eyelashes. “Except with you, of course.”

“Oh, of course. Women come from miles around and beg me to dominate them. It's exhausting. Aside from liking money, what kind of a guy is this Mike Yancy?”

“She showed me a picture of him once. About thirty-five, plump, not bad-looking. Why?”

“I'd like to know where he was the night Chug got killed.”

Angie's wine arrived, and she took a quick sip. “You mean you think he might be the killer?”

“I doubt it, but Chug was moving in on his woman and her money.”

“Well, you're wrong. Helene and Mike were together that night. They went to the movies in Hyannis. She told me that when she heard about Chug. It made her feel twice as bad when she thought that while Chug was getting killed, she was at the movies with Mike and having a good time even though she
thought they were breaking up.” She raised a forefinger adorned by a Christmas-red nail. “Ah, but maybe he hired a hit man to do the job! The perfect alibi. At the movies with a reliable witness. Perfect! What do you think?”

I knew that no hit man had killed Chug. It was an amateur job, like most killings. I pointed over her shoulder. “I think that Just Ted just came in.”