Dead in the Water (27 page)

“Grab my hand,” yelled the driver.

The man reached down, seized my wrist and pulled me onto the sled. I managed to grasp the thick handles spaced along the sled’s edges.

“You ready?” he asked with a look back in my direction. Then we roared toward shore.

Two police cars, their lights swirling, and an ambulance were waiting when the rescue watercraft pulled up on the beach. I turned over and looked at all the concerned faces staring down at me.

“Lena? Is my sister okay?” My tongue felt too big for my mouth and the words came out slurred. I don’t think anyone understood me.

The area in front of the Maritime Museum was lit up like a stage set. Glaring lights and deep dark shadows were everywhere. Tourists were cordoned off to one side but watched the goings on with curiosity. Another car drove up onto the sidewalk and stopped close to the ambulance. It was a NPS security car. Driving it was my friend, Jon. Sitting next to him in the front seat was Lena, no longer singing about anything to do with a boat. She jumped out of the car and trotted over to the circle of emergency technicians surrounding me. Jon followed her.

I sat up.

“How you doing?” said one of the paramedics as he squatted down beside me.

“Cold…colder now, than in the water,” I managed to say.

My arms were shaking badly.

“Night swimming is frowned upon, you know,” said Jon, “especially in your clothes.”

“Not funny,” I said through chattering teeth. My lips and jaw were numb. Even my tongue was thick, like I just had a shot of Novocain at the dentist’s. My hands looked like witches’ claws. I couldn’t make a fist. And if I wasn’t looking directly at them, I’d swear my feet were in the Bay with my shoes.

One of the EMTs gave Lena a dry pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt and she helped me change in the back of the ambulance. I began to warm up quickly once the wet clothes were off. Then, she climbed out of the ambulance and the medical professionals climbed in. They checked my vital signs, blood pressure and heart rate. And they looked into my eyes.

“You’re going to be fine,” said one of the EMTs.

I sat on the back bumper of the ambulance and someone stuck a cup of hot tea in my hand. Lena threw her arms around me and almost knocked me over.

“You’re okay?”

“I guess.”

“I thought I lost you.”

She looked closely at my face. Then she smiled.

“Cold, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I know. I swim in Aquatic Park sometimes. It must be about 59 – 60° now. Not too bad. Your body gets used to it over time.”

“Thanks. I’ll pass.”

“I didn’t know you could swim.”

I looked at my sister in disbelief.

“Of course I can swim. Who do you think taught you?”

“You?”

“Yes, me. I came before the swim coaches.”

She looked a little surprised. I glanced over at Jon.

“When did you show up?”

“I saw your car pull into Fort Mason with a flat tire. Before I had a chance to see if you needed help, I saw this guy stop. Then the two of you got into his car. I couldn’t tell exactly what was happening. I thought I’d better keep my eyes on all of you, so I followed the car. When he started leading you toward the Municipal Pier, I called for the SF Police.”

“I called 911, too,” said Lena.

“And how did you do that?” I asked. “You could barely talk. Where did you get a phone?”

“The phone was yours. When you dropped it in the car and you and Spencer were walking to the passenger side, I reached over and put it in my pocket.”

“So you weren’t really drugged?”

“Yes, but it was wearing off. I have to thank Spencer for bringing me completely back. When he slapped me, it was like a wake up call. But I could tell from the conversation that it might be better for me to appear semi-conscious.”

I looked at her in amazement. “Smart move,” I said.

“Normally that gate on the pier is locked; when you didn’t turn around…well. It was hard to hear the gunshot because of the drumming going on at the steps of the Maritime Museum. But I could make it out. I radioed the police again and reported gunshots. It wasn’t looking good. You’re both lucky to be alive,” Jon said.

“You weren’t shot were you?” asked Lena.

“No. When you tackled Spencer, he pushed me, still holding the gun. I was afraid he’d pull the trigger, so I jumped.”

“You jumped at the same time his gun went off. It went flying. I was running down the pier and was able to kick it out of his reach. The police were right behind me,” said Jon.

“They arrested him, cuffed him and read him his rights. He’s on his way to jail, as we speak,” said Lena. “The guy is a complete psycho.”

Jonathan and I nodded.

“He’s a murderer. He had Justin killed. You heard him say that, right? And he’s a drug dealer.”

I stood up. A dark fuzzy curtain dropped over my eyes. Flashing lights erupted inside my head. The paramedics were watching me closely. When I began to sway, they moved in.

“We’re going to take you to the hospital, just to make sure everything’s okay.”

.

34

It was a quiet
night at the Emergency Room at San Francisco Memorial.

“Incoming,” called out the nurse to anyone who was listening.

“What’s up?” said Dr. T.

“Someone went swimming in Aquatic Park at night, sounds like hypothermia,” answered the nurse.

With that the double doors swung open and I was rolled in on a gurney.

Terrel looked at me.

“You have got to be kidding.”

I smiled weakly. The paramedics handed off the paperwork to Terrel while I was pushed into a room. I could hear him.

“Say again, she did what?”

I was perched on the edge of the bed when he walked in.

“Here’s the problem,” he said sitting down on a stool by my bedside. “I have to treat you because I’m a doctor and you’re a patient. But I don’t want to. You understand? I am angry, very angry. You were supposed to call the police, remember?”

He stuck a thermometer into my mouth before I could answer. Then he put a blood pressure cup on my arm and inflated it. He was watching the numbers on the screen by my bedside when Lena walked in.

“Why am I not surprised?” he said looking at Lena.

“Everything okay here?” she asked.

Terrel did not look happy.

“Let me clarify this for you. This is important, so pay attention.”

Lena and I looked at each other and then at Dr. T.

“Drug dealers…bad. They hurt people. They kill people. You listening?”

We both nodded and waited.

“That’s it?” I asked.

“That’s enough,” he said.

He took the cuff off my arm and pulled the thermometer out of my mouth.

“What’s this?” he said, looking at my arm.

There was four inch gash.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?” he asked me.

I tried to remember. “Years ago. I stepped on a nail when I was about 13. I think it was then.”

“Well, you’ve got a deep cut on your arm. Maybe you scraped your arm on a nail from the wharf’s piling. We’re going to clean it up and give you a tetanus shot. Then you’re ready to go home.”

“T, it’s over now,” I said. “Spencer is in police custody. I did call Inspector Burrell right after I talked to you. I gave the police the address of his warehouse and they are probably there now. It really is finished.”

Terrel didn’t say a word to me, but walked out of the room. When he came back he had a syringe in his hand.

“I hope this hurts,” he said.

.

35

Lena and I spent
most of the morning the next day talking to Inspector Carolina Burrell. Although officers had gone out immediately to the South San Francisco warehouse, it was vacant when they got there. The gate was unlocked. The only things on the loading dock were some empty water bottles. Inside, the conveyor belts were still in place, but there was nobody around to use them.

Spencer’s office on the second floor had been stripped bare. His computer was gone; and his two small file cabinets were empty.

I had asked about the person named ‘Tip’, but Inspector Burrell avoided the topic. Since the evidence had disappeared, she wasn’t sure that drug charges would hold. The list of clients and what looked like dealers, and the two sets of books, one legit, one not which Lena had downloaded from the JL & Associates’ computer could be important. Time would tell about that.

But the death of his associate and friend, Justin Rosencastle, was another matter. She wouldn’t say much to us but, so far, Spencer was being held without bail.

That afternoon, Lena and I were back in San Rafael. It was a lovely warm afternoon. We decided to walk down to the Sun Valley Market for a soda. It gave me a chance to tell Lena everything I had learned about Justin.

As we strolled down the tree-shaded street, Lena looked over at me.

“If Dick had accepted Justin as a brother, maybe they’d both be alive now,” said Lena.

“Hard to say. They were on their own self-destructive paths.”

“You saw the paper this morning, didn’t you?” Lena asked.

“Yeah. The headline was something like, ‘East Bay Sports Nutrition Entrepreneur Accused of Killing Partner.’”

“It didn’t mention us by name, just something about unsuspecting bystanders involved. It didn’t mention anything to do with drugs. We helped bring this guy down. Don’t you think we should get some recognition? At least our name in the paper?”

“Probably not such a good idea. Since it looks like Spencer is part of a drug ring in the Bay area, he may have friends. I wouldn’t want those friends to know any more about us than they already do.”

“Good point.” We walked into the neighborhood market, picked up some drinks and headed for the small tables outside on the brick patio.

“Do you think Spencer could be charged with the death of Dick Waddell and for Jackie’s accident?” Lena asked, taking a sip of her iced tea.

“I don’t know. It was Justin who provided the actual drugs. Terrel said that the autopsy results finally came back. Waddell’s heart muscle wall was slightly thickened and enlarged, which isn’t unusual for someone his age. But if you add street drugs to that… well.

“We know he swallowed a capsule full of cocaine, although he probably didn’t know what he was taking—or didn’t want to know. It was just something called HT2 that made him alert and fast. Terrel said that the cocaine increased his heart rate and blood pressure and constricted the arteries that supply blood to the heart. He had a fatal heart attack in the water. If that wasn’t enough, the final toxicological results showed he was taking synthetic testosterone.”

“Why couldn’t he compete on his own merits? We all slow down as we age,” said Lena.

“His unreachable standards got in the way. Really sad. This whole drug ring…maybe the task force will learn something when they look at the ‘real’ set of books that you hacked into. How did you do that anyway?”

“My newest talent. I’m on an internet group that is extremely helpful. Really, it wasn’t that hard. You know, the drinks, the RazzleD line of fluid replacement drinks aren’t bad. I tasted a few when I went for my interview. I don’t know if they were any better for an athlete than a glass of water, but they tasted okay. Do you think there are other athletes out there who were Justin’s clients, so to speak?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. But I’m not looking for them. I have to find another job.”

“So it’s over?” asked Lena, as we gathered up our half full bottles and started the short walk home.

“Well, almost. I do have one more thing to do. It involves another ride to the East Bay.”

.

36

When I pulled into
the Matthew’s circular driveway at Opal Valley, a gardener was working in the front yard. He nodded, smiled, and gestured to the garage. I parked there and walked over to the front door. Out here in the Livermore Valley, it was steaming hot, over 90°. The white glare of the sun seared my skin as I stood at the front door. Glancing around, I couldn’t see or hear another person on the street. Occasionally a car passed by, but that was it. Looks like money buys you solitude, whether you want it or not.

I rang the bell and a middle-aged Latina, short, full-figured with an apron tied around her waist, answered the door. She looked at me suspiciously.

“Yes?” she said.

“I’d like to see Pamela.”

“She is busy. Who are you?”

“I’m Trisha Carson. I was working on a memorial presentation, a tribute for her brother. I have some things I wanted to give back to her. You’re Renata, right?”

“Si.” Her expression changed and she looked at me quizzically. “Then you know Senora Matthews?”

“I do. I understand how difficult things have been for her.”

“Okay, come in. She is outside in the back of the house. She is not doing well right now.”

I thanked her and walked past the huge living room with the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the golf course. I glanced up the staircase, half expecting Spencer to step out of his home office with a phone to his ear. I continued by the palatial kitchen, the family room and the paneled study where I had looked through old photos of Dick Waddell.

“The door is this way,” Renata said and she pointed to the double doors in the family room.

Outside, a tall deep green hedge between the golf course and the house gave privacy to the backyard. The difference between the two landscapes was striking. On one side were wide open fairways, sand traps and greens baking in the sun. But on the house side, there was a cool, peaceful English garden.

Pamela sat on a simple white Adirondack wooden chair on the patio. On the wide armrest was a glass of ice water. She looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her face pale and puffy.

“Haven’t you done enough?” She spoke in a weary whispery voice. I almost couldn’t hear her.

“Pamela, this is not my fault.” I walked over and sat down beside her.

“My brother is dead. My husband is in jail. Even Justin is dead.”

She stared at me out of sunken eyes in a face overcome with sadness.

“I don’t know what to do. I really don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not much more than a bystander in all this,” I said.

“Oh, come on. You know that’s not true. The police think Spencer killed Justin. But that was really your doing, wasn’t it? That’s what Spencer told me.”

“I didn’t kill him. Your husband did that. You know, you must know that he was a …he is…”

I didn’t know how to tell her that her husband was a drug dealer.

“He develops nutritional supplements. He wants to help people. That’s all he ever has wanted to do–help them achieve their top performance.”

“Pamela, you’re kidding yourself. He’s been involved with drugs, illegal drugs, street drugs, call it what you will, since before he came to the Bay Area. His drugs killed your brother.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true.”

“You’re lying. Spencer would never hurt Dick. Never.”

I sat back and looked out at the garden. She would have to figure this out in her own time. And it really wasn’t the reason I was here anyway.

“Do you remember Holly Worthington?”

“How do you know about Holly?”

“I met her the other day. She’s homeless and living on the streets in San Francisco.”

I told her what I knew about her sister-in-law. She listened quietly, not sure whether to believe me or not.

“I think that through your husband, Dick found out that Holly was in the area and that she had a child. That’s why he came here to live. Yes, he wanted to be close to you, but he wanted to see Holly and maybe try and find his son.”

“So you’re saying that Spencer has known about Holly and this child?”

“Yes, for at least 15 years, if not more.”

“And I have a nephew?”

“He was given up for adoption years ago. But yes, you have a nephew. I think his name is Jeremy Reid.”

I gave Pamela Richard’s address book and camera.

“It’s all in here. If you want to contact her, call this number and ask for Dr. Tariq Kapoor. He can help you.”

I gave her Dr. Kapoor’s card. I laid the photos I had planned on using for Dick’s tribute on the table next to the camera.

“I came here to give these back to you.” On top were the two smiling teenagers, Dick and Holly, holding their blue ribbons.

“Good bye, Pamela,” I said.

She didn’t look at me. Instead, she picked up the photo and stared at it.