A Shooting at Auke Bay Read online

  “I have a hunch about what Segal is up to,” Robert continued. “I think I need to go down to Juneau and talk to the Coast Guard commander there.”

  “What about us?” Nancy asked. “What should Darcey and I do while you guys are gone?”

  “Watch each other’s backs,” Robert said.

  Segal had changed into his tux for the evening crowd. He loved the image of the successful restaurateur. He also liked the way he looked in a tux.

  Glancing into the kitchen, he unequivocally knew Fiona thought so, too. She was wearing jeans again. They were skin tight and her top was revealing when she leaned forward, as she did now. His eyes were drawn to the soft, rolling hills and gentle valleys of her body.

  Her eyes brushed across his when she looked up but she quickly lowered them under his dominant gaze. That pleased him. He would speak to her soon.

  The luxury yacht Integrity was leaving a small dock in the San Juan Islands, its bow pointed north. Another group of “wealthy guests” were making an unavoidable show of having the time of their lives. After slowly cruising along the Canadian coast to reenter U.S. waters near Ketchikan, the guests would spend the next few days sunning themselves, weather permitting, and fishing for halibut and salmon.

  The Integrity had a late night appointment for a rendezvous in yet another secluded cove on the 22nd to take on a cargo of sports shoes, sunglasses, and perfumes. All with designer names and logos. All counterfeit.

  This was Segal’s favorite kind of cargo. Small items. Light weight. Easily hidden in each vessel’s secret compartments.

  Robert opened a bottle of Mumm’s Napa Brut Prestige, Trent’s favorite wine. He sat on the deck with Darcey and Nancy, watching the light settle behind the Sleeping Lady.

  Nancy and Christopher lived in an apartment in Richmond, the community just outside of San Francisco where Nancy had been on the police force until she quit to answer Darcey’s call. Neither Nancy nor Christopher was talented in the kitchen. When they were home they often ordered pizza or picked up take out or dined on simple dishes. Scrambled eggs and ham sandwiches were big on their menu.

  After serving as sous chef for both Trent and Darcey many times, this evening Nancy took charge of dinner for the first time. A ground turkey and rice casserole with sautéed onion, roasted red peppers, celery, mushrooms and fennel.

  “I know casseroles aren’t sexy,” Nancy said, “but it’s my first solo run. So be gentle.”

  “I think casseroles are great,” Robert said. The truth was ground turkey, in Robert’s opinion, was on a par with boneless, skinless, tasteless chicken breasts. He didn’t consider either food fit for consumption. But he wanted to encourage Nancy’s effort. “They provide multiple meals. I like that. Cook once. Eat three times.”

  “And they can serve as the basis for other creations when you gain confidence and get more creative,” Darcey said.

  “Well, tonight you guys are my guinea pigs. If you don’t die of food poisoning, maybe I’ll start cooking for Christopher.”

  In Seattle, Booth spent two hours with Disher at the Caduccean. The bartender wasn’t pleased.

  It was again late in Louisiana when Segal got the call from New Orleans. He explained what he wanted to happen. As he expected, he was told it would take a few days to set it up.

  He was fine with that. He knew finding two expendable people was a delicate assignment. As things stood now, he could afford to be patient.

  July 17th

  Robert took a morning flight to Juneau. Living most of his life in Alaska, he had spent many hours in airplanes. He never told anyone he hated flying. He never let anyone know flying was one of the few things he feared.

  Flying into Juneau was especially challenging. When the weather was good the flight pattern was over what was eerily called “the cut.” It was a section of a knoll on which the trees were trimmed to create a clear approach to the airport. That alone was sufficient drama. But after crossing over the cut, the plane banked sharply to the right to line up with the runway. Robert hated to be seated on the starboard side. From there it appeared the wing tip would be dragged through the mud.

  Taking off in good weather wasn’t bad. But under certain weather conditions the airlines had been known to use an FAA approved procedure that Monk considered only slightly shy of insane.

  The aircraft would take an immediate sharp left turn on takeoff, pointing its nose directly at the mountains. Within a few seconds, the pilot would make an equally sharp right turn, simultaneously cutting the engines. The long metal tube full of passengers would float silently as the airplane glided into position. It was only when he heard the engines come back to full throttle that Monk allowed himself to breathe.

  He drove up to his house feeling as though he had once again cheated death thanks to a competent pilot. The mailbox was crammed full, mainly with junk. A few bills that had to be paid. No letters. No one wrote letters anymore. Not since the blessing and the curse of e-mail were foisted onto the world.

  He tossed the bills on the desk in his small office and threw everything else into the trash. He hadn’t bothered to bring a bag. He was going back to Anchorage soon and had done his own laundry there before leaving for Juneau. He had plenty of other clothing here.

  He found the number for the Coast Guard commandant. Captain Jameson Van Patten had recently assumed command. Monk hadn’t met Van Patten but he knew Master Chief Andy Mannix well. He had no problem making an appointment to meet with the new commandant at two o’clock.

  In Anchorage, Nancy was doing her best to help Darcey stay positive. It wasn’t easy. Darcey seemed always to be on the verge of tears.

  When Darcey left to take Robert to the airport, Nancy had gone to her room to shower and get dressed for the day. She heard Darcey return. Then silence.

  Coming out of her bedroom, she found Darcey sitting at the dining table. Staring at nothing.

  She went into the kitchen, returning with two mugs of coffee. Placing one in front of Darcey, she sat down at the table with her own mug.

  “It’s not easy,” she said, softly.

  “You can’t imagine what it feels like,” Darcey said.

  “I don’t have to imagine. I know.”

  Darcey looked at her, surprised.

  “Yeah, Christopher got himself shot a couple of years before we met you guys,” Nancy said. “He took two rounds to the chest. He almost didn’t make it. That was the worst time of my life. I could only sit beside his bed and watch him. Hoping he would keep breathing. Then one day he opened his eyes and smiled at me. I knew it was going to be all right. And that was the best day of my life.”

  “How did you do it?” Darcey asked. “Where did you find the strength to keep going?”

  “I don’t know. You just do. That’s all,” Nancy said. “Robert was right, you know. You’re very strong. And Trent is as tough as they come. It’s why the two of you were attracted to each other.”

  “Some days it seems overwhelming.”

  “Yeah, the load can get pretty heavy,” Nancy agreed. “Christopher and I are both cops. We go to work every day not knowing if we’ll ever see each other again.”

  “I don’t know if I could do that.”

  “Are you kidding?” Nancy sounded incredulous. “Christopher and I deal with the threat every day because that’s what we do for a living. You’re married to Trent Marshall, who does it for fun. And you said yourself the other day that won’t ever change.”

  That got a small laugh from Darcey.

  “You’re right about that,” she said. “I’m married to an adrenaline junky.”

  “And you’re as hooked as he is now,” Nancy laughed. “You’d have a hard time living with anyone else.”

  Monk arrived at the federal building a few minutes early. He wanted to visit with Master Chief Mannix, who he hadn’t seen in quite a while. They spent a few minutes talking fish. It was always the thing to talk about when two Southeast residents got together.

  At promptl
y two o’clock the door to Captain Van Patten’s office opened. The new commandant of Coast Guard Juneau stepped through the door, his hand outstretched.

  “Colonel Monk, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Van Patten said, as Robert rose and took the offered hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you since I have been in Juneau. You’re something of a legend.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Captain,” Robert said. “But don’t believe everything you hear. And I haven’t been called colonel in a long time. Robert will do.”

  “Robert it is then. And I’m Jameson.”

  Van Patten was about Monk’s size but with more of a barrel chest and a booming voice. He ushered Monk into his office and closed the door, motioning Robert to a sitting area across the room from his large desk. They each took a wing back chair.

  “I envy you your name, Robert,” Van Patten said, with a sigh. “So simple. Robert Monk. Try going through life with a handle like Jameson Van Patten. When I was a boy, I thought my parents must have hated me. You wouldn’t believe how many times I came home with skinned knuckles and a black eye or bloody lip after some school yard bully made fun of my name.”

  Van Patten’s self-deprecating laughter rang through the room.

  Monk’s first impression of the captain was positive. He thought Van Patten was multifaceted, highly intelligent and capable. A good man to have on your side.

  “But Chief Mannix tells me you’re here on serious business, Robert. What can I do for you?” Van Patten asked.

  “I think the question is ‘What can we achieve by working together?’” Monk replied.

  For the next hour, Monk briefed the Coast Guard captain on the shooting of Trent Marshall and all they had learned since that day.

  “So you think there’s a major smuggling operation taking advantage of the seclusion of Southeast Alaska.” Van Patten summarized.

  “Seems to make sense,” Monk replied. “We know there’s a former Mafia underboss now doing business under an assumed name in Anchorage. He’s also opening a restaurant in Juneau, which gives him a reason to spend time in Southeast.”

  Van Patten nodded.

  “We know since Eric Hannigan and his wife started their luxury yacht charter business, four similar vessels suddenly showed up to compete with them,” Monk continued. “But they don’t seem to be taking any business from the Hannigans. And we haven’t been able to discover where their home port is or how they attract customers.”

  “It sounds suspicious,” Van Patten agreed. “But we have to have more than suspicion.”

  Monk handed Van Patten a slip of paper with four names written on it.

  “If you can look into these we might be able to get more than suspicion.”

  Van Patten read the words Monk had written. He nodded confidently.

  “I can do that.”

  Segal sent for the young woman with the black and red striped hair. She entered his office dressed in the same form fitting jeans and low-cut top. She was trolling. No doubt about that. Segal thought the hook was baited for him. That pleased him. The question was, “Who would catch whom?” It was the type of game Segal enjoyed. A game he always won.

  Jayne Colombo also knew Fiona was trolling for Segal. The older woman sat at her own desk across the room. Her eyes flashed angry fire at the younger woman’s back. She was chain smoking again. Lighting one cigarette with another.

  “I’ve been watching you, Fiona,” Segal said. “You’re a hard worker. You’ve done a good job for us here as a prep cook.”

  Fiona lowered her eyes submissively. Segal liked that.

  “Thank you, Mr. Segal.”

  “As you know, I’m opening a second restaurant in Juneau,” he continued. “How would like to be promoted to line cook at that restaurant? It would mean a raise in your pay, give you more experience, and let you see another part of Alaska. Does that sound interesting?”

  “Yes, sir,” she responded, careful to keep the tempo of her words at an even beat. “I would be very interested.”

  “Good. I’ll tell you what. I have to fly down there in a few days. How about coming with me? You can look things over, meet the manager, and make a decision. I keep a boat down there so we might even do a little fishing.”

  Across the room Jayne Colombo fumed. Yeah, she thought, there’ll be some fishing. But who was the fisherman and who was the catch?

  “I’d like that, Mr. Segal,” Fiona responded with some hesitation. “The only thing is…”

  “Is there a problem, Fiona?” Segal asked.

  “No, sir, except I really can’t afford to lose any pay and if I’m not working here….”

  Segal laughed.

  “Don’t worry about that, Fiona. You’ll get full pay. After all, it’s a business trip.”

  Jayne Colombo lit another cigarette from the butt of the one she had smoked down only halfway.

  Darcey made her afternoon call to New Orleans before Kelli’s bedtime. It was heartbreaking to be parted from her precious daughter for such a long time. She knew there would be more weeks of separation before the ordeal was over. There was nothing to be done but tough it out.

  At the cocktail hour, Darcey opened a bottle of Prosecco. The Italian answer to Champagne was a favorite of their late afternoon ritual. She poured a flute for herself and for Nancy.

  The two women touched flutes gently.

  “Bon temps,” Darcey said, repeating Trent’s favorite toast. Good times.

  Darcey felt guilty that she wasn’t visiting her husband in the hospital. But Robert had strongly urged her to stay away as part of their strategy to confuse their enemy. She was thankful that Nancy was here to help her keep up appearances.

  Christopher sat on a stool taking an occasional sip from the vodka sitting on the bar at the Caduceous. It was nine o’clock before Disher stumbled in. He sat on a stool beside Christopher. Sharon, the bartender, glared at them with her usual anger. It was a ritual of the past few days in which all three played their roles.

  Christopher bought a drink for Disher. Over the next two hours, he bought the old seaman two more. The big cop continued nursing his first drink for another hour, then reordered for himself.

  Draining the glass of his third drink, Disher said he had to go. Christopher took another twenty minutes to finish his drink before he wished Sharon a friendly good night.

  She grunted and glared at him.

  The old man told Booth he found out that the yachts were using a deserted island purchased decades earlier by a wealthy man who planned to build a resort. He built a dock and warehouse but died before any construction was begun on the resort. His heirs thought it not worth their time. They promptly forgot about it in their zeal to spend the money left to them. It wasn’t much of a port but it was all Segal needed.

  The old man knew one of the crew working the vessel Integrity. He had a dangerous background, including piracy. He was, Disher said, a dangerous man to be around. He also said the “wealthy guests” chartering the yachts often seemed to include some of the same people sailing on different boats. And, he said, it was doubtful that any of them were really wealthy.

  Jayne returned to the restaurant an hour after it had closed. She had left the company’s bank ledger and wanted to do some work on it before coming in the next morning.

  She was surprised to see a strip of light under the door. Segal might be there, she thought. Then the door opened.

  Segal wasn’t there. Jayne stepped quietly back into the shadows. She watched as the girl Fiona came out of the office and eased her way down the stairs. Jayne let her pass, saying nothing as Fiona left the building.

  Upstairs in the office, Jayne looked around. She could see nothing out of place. Except perhaps her own chair. It seemed pushed back. Out of place. Not where she had left it earlier in the evening.

  Had the girl been sitting at her desk? Had she managed to access her computer? Should she speak to Segal about the incident? Or should she try to establish a relationship of her own with the girl?r />
  Same day. Dimension unknown.

  Trent still couldn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t speak.

  He was sitting at a bar, a flute of Prosecco in front of him. How could he be here? How could he order? How could he drink?

  He glanced at the woman sitting to his left. The mystery deepened.

  It was his mother’s aunt. The same aunt who had made him wealthy through her will.

  She didn’t speak.

  She didn’t have to speak.

  He understood.

  “You’ve come for me, haven’t you?”

  She smiled.

  “I’m not ready. I still have things to do. I have to take care of Kelli and Darcey.”

  The aunt smiled.

  And faded away.

  Dimension still unknown.

  July 18th

  The night before Christopher had sent a text to Robert giving him the name of the island used by the four yachts working for Segal. He then fell asleep with the television on. It was a habit predating Nancy. As a single man he always slept with the television on. He still did when one of them was traveling.

  The Seattle morning news brought him awake quickly.

  “Authorities are attempting to learn the identity of the victim. We’re told that he was an elderly man, probably a former dock worker. There was no identification on the body. He was found early this morning by longshoremen on their way to work. One of the men said he knew the victim casually. He said the victim went by the name of Disher. But he didn’t know if that was a first or last name, or perhaps a nickname.

  “While a final determination awaits the conclusion of the medical examiner, Captain Anthony Nettleton theorizes the victim was killed by three shots in the back, at least one of which pierced his heart. They believe the shooting occurred sometime around eleven o’clock last night.”

  Booth realized Disher was killed only minutes after he reported what he had learned about the luxury yachts. He thought it likely the bullets the coroner would dig out of the old man would be nine millimeters fired from a Glock 17. He knew where that Glock could be found. He didn’t think the killer would toss it.