Soundkeeper (24 page)

“I don’t want you to run away again,” Hall said.

In the boat Hall found the illegal gill nets the man had used to catch thirty-two spottail bass and eighteen trout. Twenty of the fish were too small to possess, and that meant twenty separate charges in addition to charges of fishing with illegal gear, keeping more than the daily limit of trout and spottails, and fishing without a license. Hall seized the boat, the boat trailer, and the pick-up truck they were attached to. The statute dictated that upon conviction for these offenses the boat and truck would be sold at auction. Hall called for two wreckers to tow them both to the county impound lot.

A deputy arrived and transported the suspect to the Beaufort County jail for Hall. The charges against the suspect were state, not federal, but Hall hoped they were serious enough that no judge in the county would dismiss all of them. He was just a rookie but he had already experienced what could happen in court, regardless of guilt or innocence. When he thought about dismissed charges the image of the dead girl floating in the water came to him, but he quickly blinked it away.

The nets would be locked away until the trial as evidence, but the fish had to be photographed and disposed of. Hall chose to lay the illegal fish on the wooden dock to photograph. He lined up all fifty fish side by side and took pictures from several different angles. Other fishermen were launching and retrieving their boats and several stopped to ask him what was going on. Without exception, each one registered disgust with the acts of the poacher.

When he was finished collecting the evidence, he put the fish back into the coolers. The fish would spoil in the heat before he could take them anywhere, and he knew he would have to cut each one into pieces and dump all of them into the sound. Just as he loaded one of the heavy coolers into his boat someone on the dock behind him asked him a question.

“Whatcha gonna do with the fish?”

“I wanted to take them to the children’s home at the Penn Center, but if they don’t get on ice pretty quick they’ll spoil.”

Hall answered the question with his back to the man and when he turned around he recognized the man who had spoken to him.

“You picked up that boat I confiscated. Mr. Gallers, right?” Hall asked. He was ready for another confrontation.

“Yup. But as I recollect, you found my stolen boat,” the old man said.

Hall had too much work waiting for him to waste time arguing, so he began to load the other cooler onto his boat.

“I hate to see all those fish go to waste,” the old man said.

If the man was waiting for Hall to offer him some fish for the table he was wasting his time. He was convinced that the man was in cahoots with the poacher and would rather feed the fish to the sharks in the sound.

“If you’ll wait a few minutes I’ll git some ice,” the old man said.

Hall wiped the river of sweat from his forehead and put his hands on his hips.

“Those kids would appreciate that,” Hall said, “And so would I.”

Without saying anything further the man walked over to his rickety old truck and came back with a half dozen bags of ice. In silence they each took the bags of ice, slammed them on the dock to break them up and poured the ice on top of the fish. When they were finished Hall collected the empty bags and put them in a trash can.

“Thanks,” Hall said and stuck out his hand.

The man accepted the peace offering and took a foil pouch of chewing tobacco out of the pocket of his overalls. As he put a huge wad in his mouth, Hall thought it looked like he had a ping pong ball in his cheek.

“Well, I ’spect I’d better go see ‘bout getting’ my daughters’ husband out of jail.”

It took Hall a moment to realize who he was talking about.

“I told him he couldn’t use my boat no more, but he didn’t care. Went an’ bought a new motor for his ole boat. Said he could pay for it in a month selling the fish.”

He spat in the water and Hall did his best to look humble and appreciative.

“Boy don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout boat motors anyhow, otherwise he’d found that cut gas line a long time before you came along.”

Hall thanked him again for the ice and for his help. The old man nodded and spat again.

“That was just too many fish. If he kept it up, there wouldn’t be none left for nobody.”

The heavy coolers took a few knots off of his top speed, but Hall made it to the Penn Center in just over forty minutes. He planned to give them the fish and go home as quickly as he could. He had worked through the weekend and the paperwork could wait until tomorrow. Maybe he could sleep in tomorrow, a thought that brought a smile to his face. When he went to Beaufort tomorrow to file a claim against the confiscated property he could eat at the diner next to the marina that Jimmy liked so much. Not a bad day so far, he thought, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Mark Lancaster said he was pleased to come to the sheriff’s headquarters to help with an investigation, but his body language said he was anything but happy to be there. Dark circles of sweat on his linen shirt were spreading from his underarms, and he kept biting his upper lip. Varnum thanked him for coming and sat across from him in an interview room that reeked of stale cigarette smoke even though tobacco use in county owned buildings had been banned years ago. Just as Varnum opened a thick folder, his cell phone rang. He excused himself and stepped out of the room, carrying the file.

On the other side of the two-way mirror Varnum watched his suspect fidget and sweat even more. Several times he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket but he never punched in any numbers. Varnum turned on the video recorder that was mounted behind the glass and confirmed that both video and audio in the room were being captured. When that was finished he went outside the building and smoked a cigarette.

When he came back inside he checked with a fellow detective and went back into the interview room. The real estate developer was startled by his entry and immediately stood up and started talking.

“I really don’t have time for this, Detective. Am I a suspect or something? Should I call my lawyer?”

Varnum looked genuinely hurt and confused by this.

“A lawyer? Why would you think you need a lawyer, Mr. Lancaster? Why would you think you would be some kind of suspect?”

He walked over to Mark Lancaster. When he was in Lancaster’s personal space, he sat on the edge of the table and tossed the heavy file on the table where it landed with a loud thunk.

“I just have a few questions about…”

The door to the interview room opened and Varnum stopped in mid-sentence. When he saw who was there he jumped off the table so quickly the file folder and its contents spilled on the floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” Varnum thundered. The detective Varnum had spoken to earlier was standing in the doorway and started to apologize. The county inspector who was with him saw Mark Lancaster sitting at the table in the interview room and looked liked he had just pissed in his pants.

“Get him out of here!” Varnum roared as he forcibly pushed them out of the room and slammed the door behind them. Then he picked up the scattered papers and left the room. On the other side of the door Mark Lancaster could hear him berating the other detective until their voices faded away. On the floor on the other side of the table Mark Lancaster saw a single sheet of paper that had fallen out of the detective’s folder. From his hiding place behind the mirror Varnum watched his suspect glance at the door and then move out of his chair and pick up the piece of paper.

For a moment Varnum thought Mark Lancaster’s eyes were going to pop out of his head. Then he heard his suspect moan through the speaker next to him. He must have read the handwritten notes Varnum had scribbled in the margin of the copy of the building permit: Twenty years for each charge, no parole and seizure of all personal and business assets under U.S. Federal Statute 53R.47-b. Varnum had made that up himself and scribbled it on the paper at the last minute. He thought it was a nice touch.

Before he went back in the interview to begin the long process of confession and soul cleansing, Varnum called the young game warden to see if he wanted to watch the interview. He left a message telling Hall he had some good news for him.

Chapter Forty

Even though she had been out of her normal routine for over a week, Gale woke at five a.m. just as she had for as long as she could remember. Arnold was snoring heavily and a radio blared in another part of the trailer. Gale lay still and wondered how much longer she had. Her thoughts kept her busy for an hour until the sound of running water caught her attention. She put her ear against the thin wall and realized that Blondie was going to the bathroom. It sounded like he was having trouble hitting the commode, and she wondered if he was still stoned.

She waited to hear the toilet flush, but instead the door to the bedroom opened with a rush.

Blondie was standing in the doorway wearing only a pair of dirty blue jeans. He was barefoot and shirtless. For the first time she realized that even though he was a big man, his chest had no definition and his arms were flabby. He looked like the junkie he was.

Blondie stared at her and she stared right back. She was not going to spend the last precious minutes of life in fear. His eyes were bloodshot and wild and didn’t waver from her. He stared at her for more than a minute, then glanced at Arnold who was still snoring heavily on the bed.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the last time we met,” he said.

He took a step toward her and rubbed his crotch in a way that made her want to vomit. Another step and he began to unbutton his jeans. Gale put her hand to her mouth to stem the flow of bile she felt convulsing in her throat, but she swallowed, stood up and balled her fists. She was ready for the end and was going to face it on her own terms. He stepped closer to her and she swung at him with both arms as hard as she could. Her hands stung from blow after blow and she heard a terrible, growling scream coming from her own mouth.

His laughter hurt her more than the back of his hand that knocked her against the wall. He hit her again in her stomach and she felt like she was suffocating when she couldn’t catch her breath. She slumped to the floor and he grabbed the chain in his hand and started to pull her toward him. Tears streamed down her face and she tried to scream but couldn’t make a sound.

The force of the next punch knocked her on her back and her head bounced off the hard floor. Her face burned where the blood began to trickle from the corner of her mouth. He hit her in the face with his fist again and laughed as he straddled her, forced his knee between her legs, and pinned her to the floor. She closed her eyes and a sudden crushing weight knocked all the air out of her lungs again. She opened her eyes and saw Arnold on top of Blondie, hitting him with both fists so quickly his arms were a blur. She tried to squirm out from underneath them, but the weight was too great and she couldn’t move. Again and again Arnold hit him, and the sound of the blows was sickening even though she knew they meant she had been spared, at least for the moment.

The two men rolled off her, and she managed to scramble onto the nasty mattress as they continued to battle on the dirty, cramped floor. Throughout it all Arnold stayed on top of Blondie, but the smaller man refused to be beaten. Blondie screamed when Arnold’s knee drove into his groin with enough force to move him several inches across the floor. Blondie’s skinny arms flailed again and again against Arnold’s large body, but they had no effect. Then Gale saw the knife.

It was shiny and silver for only an instant, then it was crimson with blood. Blondie thrust and slashed wildly, and blood splattered onto the walls and the ceiling. Blood splashed onto her face, but she couldn’t escape. Both men blocked the tiny door out of the bedroom.

Arnold continued to fight. He knocked the knife from Blondie’s hand, but the damage had been done. He was so bloody from punctures to his chest and cuts on his shoulders that his blows slipped off Blondie’s face with less effect each time he struck. Bright red, aerated blood bubbled from his nose and mouth, and Gale knew his lung had been pierced. He wouldn’t last much longer.

Blondie pulled himself out from underneath the body when Arnold died. Gale could not control herself any longer and vomited when Blondie picked up his knife and plunged it into Arnold’s dead body over and over again. When he was done he looked silently at Gale. His breathing was heavy and erratic and his eyes were wide with rage. He stumbled out of the bedroom. Gale looked up and saw the blonde girl in the doorway staring at Arnold, then at Gale.

It seemed for a moment that she was alright with what happened. She kept nodding her head up and down as if she was agreeing with a question no one had asked.

“Hey,” the girl said to Arnold. “Are you OK?”

“He’s dead,” Gale said. “Run!”

Her head bobbed up and down again but she didn’t move.”Is he OK?” she asked.

Then her head changed direction and began to shake from side to side. Her eyes seemed to open wider and her breathing changed to choking gasps. Gale heard her run through the trailer and then a door slammed.

Gale moved to the edge of the bed to look at Arnold lying on the floor. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth on her knees with her hands clasped together so tightly that her fingers began to throb with pain and she felt every beat of her heart in the wounds on her face.