Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) (20 page)

*****

Jake stared into the sink as he scrubbed a plate. What
they knew and what they didn’t might as well have been this jumble of soapsuds.
Still no further information on Brandon’s truck, and nothing in Ed Pascal’s
background even so much as hinted at illegal activity. He rinsed a dish and set
it in the drying rack.

Lani had chatted with Pascal, who was open with about
where he lived, a rental in the same development as Kevin and Nora. Brandon
rented a mobile home not far from Ava Warren’s. Their meeting could have been
totally innocent. Except for two things. Brandon pulled a gun at the noise Jake
made, and that house was supposed to be unoccupied because the owners were
away. How the hell should he proceed? Follow the guy? Hard to be invisible in a
rural area where people know you and your vehicle.

“Jake, you better come up here. Something’s going on.”

At Lani’s announcement, the commotion topside broke
through Jake’s thoughts. He joined her on deck.

The main dock near the harbormaster’s building was
lined with official boats of the Maine Marine Patrol. More official crafts
surrounded two lobster boats at their moorings. Engine exhaust soured the more
pleasant aromas of roasting beef and baking rolls from the inn’s kitchen.

The dock swarmed with men and women in uniform. Chief
Galt and his sergeant in their khakis and white shirts. Four or five others in
the dark trousers and tan shirts of the Maine Marine Patrol. And two EMTs in
jeans and blue shirts with epaulets. Police cars with their red lights rotating
sat beside the open back doors of an ambulance.

Jake saw no crime-scene tape but the DHPD sergeant and
a couple of men with fire-department volunteer badges kept curious onlookers
back from the action. He’d forgotten how small towns with five-man forces had
to depend on partially trained volunteers. On land, more officious volunteers,
clearly teenaged fire-department wannabes, herded the curious back and uphill
toward the inn.

Two MMP officers hoisted a black body bag from their
patrol boat onto a gurney held by the EMTs, who hustled up the hill with their
burden. Onlookers’ excited voices hushed as the body passed them.

“You think it’s Ava?” Lani’s whispered words conveyed
her horror as the ambulance pulled away.

“A possibility. Could be a boating accident. Could be
anything.” He didn’t want to scare her, but with the cops standing around, his
bet was on the bartender. Her bragging might’ve gotten her killed.

“Over there. David Brandon.” Lani pointed farther down
the docks. She gripped his arm. “In handcuffs.”

Three other men stood, their gazes downcast, with
Brandon. He was the only one manacled. DHPD officers and an MMP officer then
escorted them from a Marine Patrol boat along the docks, and to official cars.

As soon as the vehicles drove away with the culprits,
many people lost interest and wandered away. Others trailed down to the docks,
apparently hoping for news or speculation. At a signal from Chief Galt, the
volunteers ended their control and joined the crowd.

“Brandon is involved in the trap cutting,” Jake said. “Probably
so are the rest. Looks like the MMP has stepped in to stop it.”

“Where’s Ed Pascal? Is he mixed up in this?”

“There, by the harbormaster building,” he said. “With
Galt.”

But not under arrest. Galt pumped Pascal’s hand with
both of his as if cranking a car jack. He beamed a smile for a woman holding up
a mic. Jake recognized her as a classmate. Her byline regularly appeared in the
Bayport paper.

“Let’s get over there.” He swung a leg over the side
and reached for Lani’s hand.

Chapter 22

They raced single file along the narrow finger dock
and reached the press conference as Galt was launching into a speech.

“Thanks to our intrepid harbormaster, Ed Pascal,” Galt
announced, “at least two crimes and maybe three have been solved today.
Disputes about fishing territory are centuries old. Generally we like to let
lobster fishermen solve their own problems. But when trap wars turn nasty and
dangerous, the law has to step in. Pascal here tipped off the Maine Marine
Patrol. Surveillance yielded four arrests today, for allegedly cutting trap
lines and firing shotgun blasts toward other boats.”

Lani nudged Jake. “Didn’t you tell me you had your
contact report the trap cutting?”

He nodded. “No reason Pascal couldn’t have reported it
too.” But Pascal didn’t look happy at the praise and attention. His sun-lined
features crimped deeper as he shrank back into the shadows of the building.

Jake had learned more about Pascal from his
grandfather’s buddies. The harbormaster had applied for the job after the
previous man retired. Had the necessary experience, having worked as deputy to
a harbormaster on Cape Cod. Maine had no specific regulations for
harbormasters, as far as Jake had been able to find out. All municipal hires,
they managed the harbor moorings and dockage, organized search and rescue
operations, and enforced coastal laws. Pascal’s references checked out and no
one else applied, so he was hired.

“Got up to speed fast on town ordinances and state
laws,” one of the old codgers had said. “Picked up where Murphy left off with
managing the moorings and dock space. Don’t interfere too much with workin’
boats neither.”

Except in this case, Jake mused now.

“One of the men may also be charged with drug
possession,” Galt continued. “David Brandon’s pockets contained bags containing
an unidentified powder and some capsules. I’ll have more on that after DHPD
searches his home.”

“What about the body?” the reporter prompted. “Any
identification?”

“Female in her thirties,” Galt clipped out, suddenly
all regs. “Have to notify the family before I can give you a name.”

When she tried to ask more, he held up a hand. “MMP
found the body washed up against the far side one of the smaller islands. Body’d
been in the water a few days. Not clear yet if the death’s an accident or
connected to the trap wars. We’re looking into the matter. If necessary, I’ll
call in Major Crimes.”

“State detectives’ll take over if it’s murder,” Jake
murmured to Lani.

“Thank you, Chief.” The reporter smiled. “I’d like a
picture of you with Mr. Pascal before you go.”

But the harbormaster had vanished. The harbor launch
churned away from shore, its departing rumble floating back toward the docks.
Ed Pascal, a cap pulled low over his forehead stood at the helm.

“Camera shy,” Lani said. “What’s up with that?”

Jake stared after the fleeing man. “I don’t know but I
aim to find out.”

*****

Jake found no pictures of Ed Pascal in the library’s
old newspapers, not even when the town had introduced him as the new
harbormaster. He’d begged off, saying his ugly mug would break the camera.

Strange for such a gregarious man. One who’d placed
himself in the limelight as a hero.

Later, Jake meandered around the docks, ostensibly
gawking at the pleasure boats in town for the weekend’s festivities. His cell
phone captured more than one image of Pascal in conversation with boaters. Then
he detoured around Donovan, who was out of the office with the smuggling task
force, and made a call to a primary source.

*****

On Saturday, Lani sprinkled flour on her hands and on
the makeshift counter behind the fried dough and pie booth. Fruity aromas of
home-baked blueberry and apple pies mingled with the greasy odor of hot oil.
Perspiration dripped down her backbone, and she eased farther beneath the
canvas cover to escape the sun.

The denizens of Dragon Harbor worked hard on the
annual festivities marking the village’s founding. All year long the Dragon
Harbor Day Committee raised funds and organized the parade, fair, and
fireworks. People from around the coastal area and beyond jammed village
streets. On the truck-bed stage here at one end of the middle school grounds,
politicians orated between musical performances but most people ignored them.
They came to dunk the police chief or school principal in a water tank and to
buy crafts and fair food.

“The parade was great,” she said. “Just as I
remembered.”

Nora lifted one shoulder. “Not as good as it used to
be. I miss the neighborhood floats.” She sighed as she slapped a hunk of bread
dough onto the flour-smeared counter. “Most floats represent businesses or
churches. The spirit’s there but folks don’t have the time. I wouldn’t have
pushed myself to do a float either except for Kevin’s campaign.”

Lani grinned, wiping one floury hand on her
cotton-duck apron. “Ours was the best, no matter what the judges say. And I
loved the school bands and the Revolutionary War re-enactors with their
muskets.”

She mashed the dough between her palms and began
stretching it into a flat, round shape. “Ah, there’s a breeze.” She tilted her
face into the salt-laced air.

“Probably bringing in that rain they predicted.”

“You two have enough ready for the fryolator? We have
three orders waiting.” Always in motion, the booth organizer was a tall woman
with short gray hair framing a long, narrow face. She shifted back and forth on
sneaker-clad feet.

“Enough to hold you for a while.” Nora left a dusting
of white as she pushed hair from her forehead. She handed a tray of flattened
dough to the woman, who promptly slapped two into the bubbling oil.

Fried dough, doughboys, or elephant ears, whatever the
name, Lani loved the decadent treat. Sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon
and eaten warm. Yum. Her mouth watered. Next break she’d have one. Maybe a
snack would take the edge off her nerves, jangling from having to quiz Nora.

Her friend dusted off her hands and fanned herself
with the newspaper. “Did you see this morning’s
Chronicle
?” She held up
the front page with three-column-wide pictures of the four men being taken into
custody.

Lani’d read the story while she ate her cereal, but
here was an opening. Her pulse kicked into an anxious two-step. “More
developments?”

“Says they identified the dead woman as Ava Warren
but—get this—’Chief Galt refused to state the cause of death pending an
autopsy.’ Unattended deaths require autopsies but maybe it wasn’t an accident?
Ava was a wild one but I’d hate to think some guy killed her.” Nora looked up,
her shoulders rigid. “Emergency room nurses see gruesome trauma to the human
body. But not much is worse than what happens after several days in the ocean.
I hope her mother didn’t have to look at her dead daughter that way.”

Lani’d thought the same thing. “Maybe they used dental
records. And Ava had lots of ink.” Jake had said as much. “What about the men
who were arrested?”

“Says here there’s no evidence to connect them to the
body. One of the MMP boats found Ava while they were observing the suspects.
More than six hundred traps were cut loose in the fishing dispute. All four men
are charged with criminal mischief, reckless endangerment with firearms, and
vandalism of property. David Brandon faces further charges of trafficking
scheduled drugs—oxycodone and other opiate pills—and cocaine.”

People in shorts and T-shirts chattered with neighbors
in long lines to buy homemade pie or Italian sausage rolls or blooming onions
among other artery-clogging delights. Children darted among the adults and
raced to the game booths. Lani saw Kevin in the middle of the crowd.

Jump in, Coward.

When Nora set down the paper to return to dough
stretching, Lani tilted her head toward Kevin, who was walking toward the
platform. “I see Kevin’s headed to speak.”

Nora glanced her husband’s way. Her brows bunched
together. “Yeah. He looks ready. Confident.”

Something in her friend’s tone and expression had the
hairs on Lani’s neck prickling. She picked up another dough chunk so she had
something to do with her shaky hands. “He isn’t always?”

Nora tilted her head as if deciding how much to say.
She lowered her voice. “Being J.T.’s son isn’t easy. Kev’s had some problems,
some...issues. There’ve been rocky times, but things are better now.”

“And the arrests. Isn’t David Brandon a Meagher
employee?”

Nora sighed. “Disappointing blot on the company. Kevin
prepared a statement but the paper hasn’t run it yet.”

Lani swallowed. “Kevin know anything about Brandon’s
issues
?”

The other woman’s eyes narrowed at her anticipatory
expression. Her fingers stilled on the still shapeless dough. “You’re
interrogating me, aren’t you?”

The accusation burned her stomach, sending acid up her
throat. “Nora, I—”

Nora’s plump face was red now, and not from the sun or
the fryolator. “No! I’ve heard about all the questions you and Jake are asking.
You think Kevin does drugs? Or do you think he set that fire? Killed your
sister?”

Behind the booth, a balloon popped and a child began
to wail. The aroma of frying onions and hamburgers soured the salt breeze.

“No, I don’t. I don’t believe that. I’m just trying to
get the truth.
All
of the truth.” Her words sounded lame but the anguish
of questioning her friend twisted her insides and short-circuited her brain.

Nora stepped close, fury glistening in her eyes. She
jabbed her index finger against Lani’s sternum. “I know Kevin hurt you. It was
a long time ago. He was a boy. He has his faults but he’s a good man. A good
father. I thought you were my friend. I guess I was wrong.” She tore off her
apron and tossed it on the counter. “I’m taking a break,” she said to no one in
particular as she hurried from the booth.

Lani lowered her gaze. The white smear of accusation
on her apron bib shamed her. Dough oozed between her clenched fingers.

*****

Jake met Lani at the church booth when her shift
ended. A man and woman he didn’t know were donning flour-dusted aprons as she
walked out into the afternoon sunlight. Her mouth was pinched.

He didn’t see Nora anywhere around. Maybe she’d
spilled some nugget that would help them. “What happened?”

Lani slipped her arm into his and led him away toward
the harbor. She bit her lip. “I’ll tell you later.”

He squeezed her hand where it lay on his forearm. They
fell silent as they joined others walking back into town.

On the docks, the aroma of salmon sizzling on a grill
drifted from a neighboring boat. Glasses and beer bottles clinked. A cormorant
dived, hunting a meal in the deep. All normal for a holiday weekend.

Peaceful. Innocent. Only on the surface, he mused.
Somewhere a murderer watched and waited.

After they climbed aboard the
Amy Jo
, Lani
dropped into a deck chair. Elbows on her knees and face in her hands. The
picture of dejection. Not much different from how he felt. They had to make
some progress, somehow. But now he needed to know what she found out. “Want to
tell me about it?”

She lifted bleak eyes. “I couldn’t find a way to ask
about Kevin’s drug use without sounding like a cop interrogating a perp. Nora
may never speak to me again.”

“I’m sorry. You two have been close for a long time.
She’ll change her mind and come around. Give her time.” He managed to sound
more confident than he felt. If Nora ever probed Kevin about Gail, she might
find more than she bargained for.

“I hope you’re right.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “What
about you?”

“I didn’t have much luck either. After I helped
barbecue chickens, I hunted down Mike Spear. For all the good it did.”

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure he was one of my sister’s
one-night stands.”

“Agreed. Although he could’ve acted in anger back then
and covered up his crime, I can’t picture him carrying out the attacks on you.
I’ve checked on Steve Quimby’s schedule. He was at work when the guy tried to
asphyxiate you. Even if they have the money, I can’t imagine either of those
men
knowing
how to hire even a cut-rate hit man.”

“So we have nothing. Still.” She shook her head. “Nora
did mention Kevin’s had some problems and they’ve had some rocky times. She
didn’t—wouldn’t—elaborate but I got the feeling they spent some time apart.
Maybe when Kevin was in rehab.”

“He could’ve gotten into drugs after the fire,
especially if he started it,” he said.

“Or his substance abuse could be because of pressure
from his dad, the loss of his mom. He’s not strong like some people.” Her
pointed stare warmed him. “Who knows?”

“Back then he drank too much. We all did. Kevin more
than most. Suppose Gail’s latest wasn’t an older guy. Suppose it was Kevin. And
suppose they had a fight in the barn and he struck her in anger.”

“I remember his temper. He could’ve killed her by
accident, especially if he’d been drinking.”

He nodded, picturing the scenario. “Then he panicked
and splashed gas around and set the fire to cover what he did, like we said
before. Hank was speculating the other night. He doesn’t think Kevin’s clever
enough to have kept the crime covered up by himself.”

She sucked in a breath. “Good old dad. J.T. has both
money and influence. He could pay someone else to take care of loose threads
that might unravel a cover-up.”

“Someone who didn’t mind earning some extra dollars
under the table. Don’t forget Brandon’s truck could’ve been the one I saw after
someone zapped you last week.”

Fear flashed in her eyes. “Murder for hire’s a huge
leap from small-time drug dealing. Unless he’s involved with the Mexican
cartel. Thank God he’s in jail. Could he be Vargas?”