A Shooting at Auke Bay Page 9

  “Yeah, I been havin’ just a real good time,” was the acid-toned reply.

  Booth was glad to breathe in the cool, night air of the Pacific as he left the stink of the bar. Disher had something to tell him but was afraid to talk in front of Sharon.

  The big cop wasn’t sure where Disher was. He also wasn’t sure he could trust the old man. He suspected Disher was looking to score a few bucks and could be helpful. But he had been a cop for a long time. He was cautious. The Glock on his hip was ready if it was needed.

  Halfway down the block to his left he saw the shape of a man emerge from the shadows of an alley. A self-service laundry, closed, and a store selling marine supplies, also closed, stood between the Caduceous and the alley. Booth strolled leisurely in that direction.

  Disher had stepped back into the shelter of the dark by the time Booth reached the alley. His bony hand reached out to grab Booth’s sleeve and pull him deeper into the darkness.

  “You want to know something about Warren Perkins?” Disher said, sounding considerably less drunk than he had appeared when he left the bar.

  “Do you know him?”

  “I know him. But a man has to eat, ya’ know,” Disher said.

  Booth was expecting the request. He reached into his pocket and peeled two twenty-dollar bills from the roll he brought with him.

  Disher looked a little disappointed but grabbed the bills quickly.

  “I ain’t seen Warren in a couple of weeks,” Disher said. “He has a job as deck hand on one of the luxury yachts that charter out of here. But any night he’s in port he’ll be at the bar we just left.”

  Booth reached for his phone. His office had sent him a picture of Pietro Greco, aka Jim Segal, via text. The light from the phone was enough for Disher to see the picture clearly.

  “Did you ever see him with this man?”

  “I think I need to eat more than $40 worth,” Disher countered.

  Booth peeled off three more twenties but held on to them, waving them slightly in front of Disher. He returned the rest of his bankroll to his pocket.

  “Yeah, I seen Warren with that guy. They were in the bar together maybe three or four times a few weeks before Warren’s ship sailed.”

  Booth held the three bills out. Disher grabbed them.

  “You got more of those twenties, don’t ya?” he said.

  “I got all you need, Disher.”

  “If you need any more information, I’ll see what I can find out. I’ll be in the bar every night,” he said. He hobbled off down the street as fast as his old legs would carry him.

  In Southeast Alaska, Captain Place was overseeing the transfer of cargo from a vessel registered in an Asian country. Crates of fake fashions, shoes, and handbags were stowed in the hidden compartments under Dancer’s decks.

  Cameron McGraw stood beside Place watching the activity. He had cruised south in the thirty-five foot Sea Ray Sundance that Segal kept berthed in Juneau. He did a little fishing along the way for show more than anything else. Fishing bored him but it was a necessary distraction.

  When the transfer was complete, both larger vessels raised anchor and slowly left the small cove. McGraw pointed the bow of his smaller vessel toward the entrance to the cove and shoved the throttle forward. He quickly circled to the south of Prince of Wales Island until he was in range of the mobile towers in Ketchikan.

  He made a quick call to Anchorage to report that the mission had been successfully carried out. Then he steered his boat into another small cove, dropped anchor, and, after positioning the fully loaded, cut down Remington 870 shotgun near his berth, went to bed.

  Same Day. Dimension Unknown

  Nothing had changed since the last time Trent became aware.

  And everything had changed.

  He was still unable to open his eyes or speak. He was aware. Only aware.

  But there was more. His damaged brain struggled to describe the sensation.

  Swirling.

  Whirling.

  Spinning.

  No, that wasn’t it.

  Close. Not quite it. But close.

  He felt a presence in the room. He heard a familiar voice.

  “Hey, partner.”

  “Joey?”

  Trent was ten years old when he met Joey Costa. Trent and his mother had moved into a small house. Trent remembered thinking it felt like a huge mansion after the cramped little apartment they first lived in after Trent’s father left.

  The house was in a new neighborhood. It was summer. Trent would be going to a new school in the fall. He didn’t have any friends in this part of town. The new house had a large yard. Trent played alone day after day. There were two boys near his age across the street. He waved to them but they ignored him.

  One day Joey stopped his bicycle on the street by Trent’s house.

  “Hi, I’m Joey,” he said.

  Even then Joey was an outgoing young man, not given to the shyness, the victimology so prevalent among children his age. Trent and Joey were best friends since that day.

  The first phase of their friendship lasted for three years. Joey’s family moved to Alaska. The boys tried to stay in touch but the distance was too great. The short attention spans and insecurities and excitement of teenage years interfered. They lost touch.

  When Trent’s dad began taking him to Alaska for short visits, Trent and Joey reconnected. As adults they maintained their long distance relationship and visited when they could.

  The friendship was again cut short when Joey died unexpectedly of a heart attack while skiing. It was the winter before Trent met Darcey. It added to the burden of guilt Trent already felt from the series of losses he had endured in recent years.

  “Am I dead?” Trent asked.

  “I don’t know,” Joey said. “It’s hard to tell.”

  “But you died.”

  “Yes, I died,” Joey said, with no trace of emotion.

  “I saw my dad,” Trent continued. “Dad was here. And now you. If I’m not dead, how can I see you and Dad?”

  “I don’t know,” Joey said.

  The two old friends were silent for long seconds. Trent broke the silence.

  “I miss the fireworks.”

  Joey laughed.

  As adults both had prospered. Joey was known in Anchorage for the spectacular, and highly illegal, fireworks display he hosted on New Year’s Eve. Each year he spent several thousand dollars attaching the launchers to two sleds, which were linked together and dragged down from his house, which sat atop a steep hill, to the frozen lake below. At midnight, Trent and Joey would make their way through the snow to set off the first of the fireworks.

  They stayed on the lake while Joey’s guests watched from his house at the top of the hill. It was a spectacular show as one burst of color after another lit up the cold, clear sky over the lake.

  “Hey, do you remember that time we were almost arrested?” Joey asked.

  “Yeah, we looked up and saw two cops standing at the top of the hill looking down at us. You asked me what I thought we should do.”

  “And you said we should do nothing,” Joey said. “I was sure the cops were going to come down and arrest us.”

  “Well, we were standing on a frozen lake with fireworks going off all over the place. We couldn’t exactly plead innocent. But I knew they weren’t going to arrest us.”

  “How could you be so sure?” Joey asked.

  “Human nature, Joey,” Trent said. “We hauled those heavy sleds down the hill but there was no way I was going to haul them back up. If the cops were going to arrest us, they had to take the evidence. That means they had to drag the sleds up the hill. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t do that anymore than I would.”

  The two old friends had a laugh.

  Then they were silent.

  After a while, Joey began to fade away.

  “Wait, Joey,” Trent called out. “Don’t go.”

  “It’s not up to me, Trent.”

  “First Dad.
Then you. I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t either. Not really. It isn’t necessary to understand. Whatever it is will be ok. It’ll be ok.”

  Joey faded away.

  The swirling sensation returned.

  Then it faded, too.

  Dimension still unknown.

  July 16th

  Darcey sat on the couch in the large living room staring morosely into her coffee mug. She wasn’t proud of herself. She was despicably failing to care for either her husband or her daughter.

  Robert came out of the kitchen with his own mug. He stood for a moment, watching Darcey.

  “It’s not your fault, Darcey,” he said softly. “You’re doing what you need to do. What you have to do for now.”

  “I should be with my husband and my daughter.

  Her response was in a monotone.

  “I agree with that,” Robert said, calmly. “But for now you can’t be. It wouldn’t be helpful to either of them. It will seem like forever but I promise it won’t be long. What they need for now is for you to stay with our strategy. They need you to be strong. Trent and Kellie are both strong. So are you. It’s who you are.”

  Darcey managed a small smile.

  “Are you still with us?” Robert asked. He knew the answer. He wanted to hear her say it. He wanted her to hear herself saying it.

  Darcey nodded.

  “I’m still with you,” she said, even managing a small smile.

  Segal enjoyed his usual two cups of morning coffee and made two decisions. One decision per cup.

  With the first cup, he decided it was necessary to flush Marshall’s family out of their New Orleans fortress. He wanted them where he could get to them if he needed to use them for leverage.

  Marshall wasn’t his immediate concern. He was either dead or he wasn’t. There were no other options. The bigger concern was the second part of the report he received the night before. His worst nightmare had come true. The Bay area cops Christopher Booth and Nancy Patrick had arrived in Anchorage. They could identify him as Pietro Greco.

  What to do about them was far more troubling. It was one thing to kill Trent Marshall. He was a civilian. Booth and Patrick were cops. Killing cops wasn’t smart.

  There was also Darcey Anderson and Marshall’s friend from Juneau. He might send Jayne to take one or both of them out. Or perhaps assign her to eliminate Booth? Let her be the cop killer?

  There was danger in that if she turned on him to make a deal for herself. He didn’t think she would do that. Murder wasn’t a job for her. She needed to kill the way other people needed food or alcohol or tobacco or drugs. No, he didn’t think she would turn. But it could happen. Should he risk it? The law said whoever hires a killer is a killer.

  These were decisions for another day.

  With the second cup, he decided that he would seduce that girl who worked in his kitchen. What was her name? Fiona. Yes, Fiona. Fiona Robinson.

  But it wouldn’t be smart to do it here. Juneau would be better. Maybe even on the boat. He would get her to go with him to Juneau by offering her a better job at JS Bistro Southeast. He felt himself becoming aroused at the thought.

  He didn’t feel he was facing any apocalyptic moment. There was no rush to implement either decision. He would give instructions to his New Orleans contact when he got the usual evening report. It would take a few days to put a plan in motion down there.

  As to Fiona, no hurry there either. He was due to go back to Juneau in a few days. That would be the time.

  Fiona’s father always told her to pay close attention to the news. It was important, he said, to know what was going on in the world and how events would affect business.

  Fiona had watched Chief Kline’s press conference. Though he wouldn’t know her, she knew who Trent Marshall was. She had seen Christopher Booth and Nancy Patrick when they came to the restaurant. She knew who they were, too. She had no love for any of them. She might turn her attention to them some day. But for now, she was focused on Jim Segal. He was first.

  She recalled that Segal was in Juneau on the day Marshall was shot. Could he have been the shooter? It would make sense if he was. Marshall could have caused him great misery had they run into each other.

  There was a connection between Segal and Marshall from their time in San Francisco. It seemed illogical that there would be a third person in Southeast Alaska with a similar connection. Juneau was not a big town.

  Her suspicion that Segal might have been the shooter was one reason she decided now was the time to let him seduce her. Or more appropriately, let him believe he was seducing her. She had her own plan for Jim Segal. She was ready to begin.

  Robert dialed Captain Hannigan’s number. He had captured the thought that eluded him the day before. Hannigan answered on the third ring though the connection was less than clear.

  “Eric, when we talked last you mentioned that four other luxury yachts suddenly appeared in competition with you. It was like overnight, you said.”

  “Yes, they came out of nowhere,” Hannigan said. “One day we were the only yacht in the market. The next day there were four others.”

  “Can you tell me their names?”

  “Sure. Dancer, Integrity, Bounty, and Justice.”

  “Interesting names,” Monk said. “Do you know who owns them?”

  “They’re all owned individually but as far as I can tell they work together. Maybe a single booking agent for all four or something like that.”

  “Are they also based out of Seattle?” Monk questioned.

  “Out of this area,” was the reply. “But I don’t think they operate from the Seattle waterfront. I don’t know for sure but I think they probably harbor somewhere in the San Juans near Seattle.”

  “Strange that there are four yachts doing business out of the Seattle area and you haven’t seen them at the waterfront.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been puzzled by that,” Hannigan said. “There’s something else I think is funny. We advertise in several publications and various other media for customers. I’ve never seen an ad anywhere for the other four. It’s like they come out of nowhere, find clients out of nowhere, and sail back into nowhere.”

  The conversation gave Monk more puzzle pieces. He didn’t yet know how the pieces fit together. But a puzzle couldn’t be solved until all the pieces were visible. They were starting to appear.

  “So we have a definite ID of Segal meeting with Perkins in a Seattle bar,” he said.

  Nancy had put Christopher on speaker when he called in. He intended to report his findings but wanted to let Nancy know first that he missed her. Now Nancy, Robert, and Darcey were gathered at the dining table, hovering over the phone.

  “How would he know that Trent and Darcey chartered the Nanuq?” Robert questioned.

  “I’ve always had great respect for Greco’s intelligence,” Christopher replied. “He plays life like a chess game. Always thinking several moves ahead. He’s smart enough to take good care of a few well-placed informants in the Bay area.”

  “Cops?” Robert asked.

  “Maybe. Don’t forget that one of our deputy chiefs was on the Rossi payroll and so was a detective in my own squad. There could be cops keeping him informed or others in key positions. Maybe at the docks. He’s good at finding corruptible people. It didn’t take him long to enlist Perkins.”

  “He came cheap,” Monk said. “No doubt Segal always planned to get rid of him. When Perkins stepped out on deck that day in Auke Bay it was a bonus shot.”

  “But Seattle? Why would he have people in Seattle?” Nancy asked. “Does he have business there?”

  “He’s in the restaurant business,” Darcey said, thinking out loud. “Maybe he has suppliers in Seattle.”

  “I think there are several facts we should consider,” Robert said. “First, Segal was in Juneau when Trent was shot. I saw him there that day.”

  “You think Segal is our shooter?” Christopher asked.

  “Maybe,” Robert sai
d. “Segal is opening a second restaurant in Juneau, giving him a reason to be in Southeast often. He keeps a boat in Juneau. When he’s there, he and McGraw, his Southeast manager, take the boat out most weekends. If Segal isn’t in town, McGraw sometimes goes out by himself. But my fisherman friends tell me they never come back with any fish.”

  “Maybe they’re just not very good fishermen,” Nancy offered.

  “It’s Southeast Alaska,” Robert said. “The fish are so thick you can walk on them. In fact, I did step on some once when I was trying to cross a river. Anybody can have an off day, but no, if you consistently don’t bring home fish you’re not trying.”

  “Really?” Nancy asked. “You really stepped on fish?”

  “This is Alaska. There are a lot of fish,” Robert stated. “Hannigan told me that when he first put the Nanuq up for charter he had the market all to himself. Then almost overnight there were four similar vessels working Southeast Alaska.”

  Robert had their full attention.

  “Earlier today Hannigan told me he hasn’t been able to find out where the other four boats charter from. And he’s never seen an ad for any of the four.

  “Finally, Hannigan told me the day I met him that he got the idea for going into the charter business when he noticed all the secluded coves and small bays. Perfect for rich people who want to relax in privacy.”

  “Or crooks who want no one looking,” Nancy interjected.

  “And the FBI is seeing more counterfeit goods coming into the country than ever before. A lot of coincidences,” Christopher said, drawing a look from Robert.

  “Yeah,” Darcey chimed in. “We know. There’s no such thing as coincidence in crime, corruption, or politics.”

  “OK. Where do we go from here?” Christopher asked.

  “I think you should stay in Seattle for a while longer, Christopher,” Robert said. “See if you can find out anything about the four vessels Hannigan named for us. That guy you met in the bar. What was his name? Disher? Was that it? He might be helpful.”

  “Yeah, Disher. I’ll see what else I can get out of him. He’s in no shape to work the docks anymore. He needs cash and he sees most everything going on at the waterfront,” Christopher said.