Gray Ghost (21 page)

“Yes. Franklin Dunbar.”

Maxner lifted an index finger. “There was one thing,” he said.

“Now that I’m thinking about it. An interesting thing, actually. I noticed it at the time, but I didn’t make too much of it. But now that I think of it…”

“What is it?” said Calhoun.

“Normally,” said Maxner, “the people who come to watch a trial fall into three categories. One, friends and relatives. Of the victim and of the accused. Two, a few regulars, folks who think trials are high drama and show up every day. Retired folks, mostly. People with time on their hands. Three, reporters. Local papers covering the court.” Otis Maxner lifted his hand, then let it fall back on his desk. “So I noticed him. Dunbar. The father of Watson’s victim who made that—what would you call it? a threat?—during his testimony at Watson’s trial.”

“You noticed him ?”

“He was there, Mr. Calhoun. At Boselli’s and LaBranche’s trials. He was there every day. He sat in the back of the courtroom. Just sat there watching. I remember glancing his way occasionally and seeing his eyes on my clients. Every time I looked at him, he was just staring at my clients.”

“You didn’t think this was strange?”

“Sure,” said Maxner. “At the time, that’s exactly what I thought. It was strange, bordering on downright bizarre. But anybody can sit in a courtroom, and I just figured, the poor bastard, he developed some fascination with sex crimes and sex criminals. That’s not hard to understand. Anyway’” Maxner stopped suddenly. He blinked a couple of times, then said, “My God.”

“What?” said Calhoun.

“Somebody’s going around killing convicted sex offenders? Is that what seems to be happening?”

“Seems to be,” said Calhoun.

“Franklin Dunbar,” said Maxner.

“He was at those trials, huh?”

“Every day. Didn’t miss a minute of testimony.”

“You think Dunbar’s doing this?”

“Oh, I couldn’t say that,” said Maxner. “I couldn’t go that far. What do I know? But it’s an interesting coincidence, at least, isn’t it?”

“It surely is that,” said Calhoun. “Can you think of any other commonalities?”

Maxner shook his head. “This other case you mentioned … Miller? Was that the name?”

“Leslie Miller. Yes.”

“Isn’t that kind of messing up your theory?”

“I don’t have a theory.”

“I mean, the other three, all my clients, all convicted by Judge Roper, Franklin Dunbar witnessing all three cases?”

“That ain’t a theory,” said Calhoun. “That’s just some commonalities.”

“Well,” said Maxner, “if it was just those three, you’d have yourself a neat theory that poor Mr. Dunbar killed all of them, wouldn’t you ?”

“It would be a start,” said Calhoun.

Maxner shook his head. “Well, anyway. I can’t think of any other commonalities. My clients, Judge Roper’s courtroom, and Franklin Dunbar. That’s leaving Miller out of the equation.”

“Okay,” said Calhoun. “Appreciate it. You’ll dig out those files for me ?”

Maxner stood up. “Sure. I’ll call you Monday.” He came around from behind his desk. “So …” He held out his hand.

Calhoun stood up and shook Otis Maxner’s hand. “You’ve been a big help. Thanks.”

They went over to the door, and Maxner started to open it.

“Oh, wait,” said Calhoun. “One more thing.”

Maxner smiled. “I’ve got two very important clients out there, Mr. Calhoun. You usurped their two o—clock appointment, you know.”

“Usurped.” Calhoun smiled. “Right. Sorry. The names Paul Vecchio and Albert Wolinski mean anything to you?”

Maxner looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then shrugged. “No, I don’t think so. Might they have been clients of mine? Are they sex offenders? Relatives of victims?”

Calhoun shrugged. “Oh, well. Just a wild shot in the dark.” He waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

Maxner was frowning. “I’m trying to think.”

“Forget it,” said Calhoun. “Thanks for your help.”

Maxner nodded, then opened his office door and held it for Calhoun, who went out into he reception area.

Maxner stepped out and said, “Charles? Frederick? Sorry to keep you waiting. Come on in.”

The two men in business suits stood up and walked past Maxner into his office. Maxner patted each man on the shoulder, nodded at Calhoun, then went in and shut the door behind him.

Calhoun stood there for a minute.

The secretary said, “Mr. Calhoun? Is there anything I can do for you ?”

He turned to look at her. “Something I forgot to ask Mr. Maxner about. Local man name of Albert Wolinski. He sold his house down in Stroudwater a couple years ago. He wasn’t Mr. Maxner’s client, was he?”

She looked at him. “I can’t talk about our clients, you know. Attorney-client privilege.”

“We’re just talking about selling a damn house,” said Calhoun.

She shook her head.

“I was wondering if he was a client. That’s all. This ain’t about state secrets.”

She shrugged. “Sorry.”

Calhoun grinned. “Okay. Thanks anyway.”

Back outside, the misty fog seemed to be thickening. Calhoun thought about his fishing trip with Dr. Sam Surry. He hoped she’d remember to bring some foul-weather gear.

Well, she might decide to cancel. It wasn’t going to be much of an afternoon for a boat ride.

The fishing might be pretty good, though. He decided if she called, he’d encourage her to give it a try. Put a fly rod in her hand, hook her up with a blue or a striper, even a small one, and he guessed she’d have a pretty good time.

He let Ralph out of the truck. The dog went sniffing among the damp shrubbery alongside the sidewalk.

Calhoun took his cell phone from his pocket, pressed the button

on the side, and said, “Dickman.” It rang a few times, and then the sheriff’s voice mail invited him to leave a message.

“It’s your faithful deputy,” said Calhoun. “Just talked with Otis Maxner. Couple things to think about. One, he mentioned that Franklin Dunbar was in the courtroom for the trials of both Anthony Boselli and Howard LaBranche. They were both in Judge Roper’s court, so you might want to ask the judge if he remembers it the same way. The second thing I’m wondering is if Maxner handled Albie Wolinski’s closing when he sold his house. Albie’s name didn’t ring any bells with Maxner. His secretary wouldn’t say one way or the other. Just a thought. Okay. That’s all. I’m going fishing.”

He put the phone back into his pocket and whistled up Ralph. “Want to go for a boat ride?”

Ralph jumped into the truck and sat on the passenger seat with his ears perked up. He was ready to go.

Calhoun drove back to the shop in Portland through the fog. The closer he got to the coast, the thicker it became. Even though it wasn’t yet four in the afternoon—still nearly three hours before sunset—the traffic was moving under the speed limit, and all the vehicles had their headlights on.

He wondered if Dr. Sam Surry would be spooked by the fog. On Casco Bay, visibility would be under a hundred feet.

He guessed it was about ten of four when he pulled into the parking lot beside the shop. Kate’s pickup was parked next to his trailered boat. A little black Honda SUV was pulled up near the door.

Calhoun parked beside Kate’s truck, and he and Ralph got out. Ralph messed around in the bushes for a few minutes. Calhoun waited for him to finish, then snapped his fingers. Ralph came over and looked up at him. “Heel,” said Calhoun.

When he opened the shop door, he heard that Kate had put on the Portland oldies station. Calhoun sometimes liked listening to that old time rock ‘n’ roll. He found that he could sing along with songs that he’d swear he’d never heard in his life. Of course, there was that whole life that he couldn’t remember. He supposed songs just got stuck in your head somewhere.

Now he stood inside the doorway mouthing “Yackity-yack, don’t talk back,” the tune running in his head and his mind popping up the silly lyrics as the music came along from the radio.

Kate was sitting at the fly-tying bench, and Dr. Sam Surry had pulled up a chair close beside her. They hadn’t seen him come in, apparently, because they didn’t even look up. Kate had a half-tied fly in the vise—it looked to Calhoun like a featherwing streamer of some kind, maybe even a Gray Ghost, the fly he’d been tying when Dr. Surry was here the other day—and she was concentrating on it, winding the thread with her right hand and holding the materials back with her left, but talking to Dr. Surry all the time.

Dr. Surry had her head tilted toward Kate, and she was leaning forward a little, watching Kate’s fingers move on the half-tied fly.

Dr. Surry said something, and Kate lifted her head and looked at her and smiled, and then Dr. Surry laughed.

That’s when they seemed to notice Calhoun for the first time. Kate looked up and her mouth made a surprised O, and then Calhoun had the feeling that it wasn’t fly-tying they’d been talking about.

He said, “Okay,” to Ralph, who was sitting on the floor behind him, and Ralph went over to Kate with his whole hind end wagging so she could pat him.

The song on the radio ended, and the familiar raspy voice of the obnoxious guy who owned the Ford agency in South Portland started yelling about great deals on new and used Ford trucks.

Calhoun went over to the radio on the shelf and turned it off. Then he looked at Kate and Sam Surry. “I can’t stand that guy,” he said.

They were both smiling at him, as if they were privy to some secret that they weren’t going to share with him.

He figured they’d been talking about him, and he was surprised that it didn’t make him uncomfortable. Actually, he kind of liked the idea.

He looked at Dr. Sam Surry and said, “Ready to go fishing?”

Kate said, “In this fog?”

He shrugged. “I ain’t likely to get lost, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Kate turned to Dr. Surry. “He’s right. He always knows where he is. It’s spooky.” She looked up at him. “I’ll still worry, you know. I don’t like fog like this. You could ram a rock. You could get run down by a tanker or some drunk teenager in a cigarette boat. What if your motor quits?”

He smiled at Kate, then shifted his gaze to Dr. Surry and arched his eyebrows. “Up to you, ma’am.”

She nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Kate said, “I hope you got that cell phone with you.” To Dr. Surry she said, “He refuses to use GPS, and he claims his boat radio’s broke. He hates having electronics aboard when he goes fishing.”

Calhoun patted his pocket. “I got the damn phone.”

“Please don’t leave it in your truck,” Kate said.

“Right,” he said. “So if I get lost, I can call and say, ‘Help, I’m lost.’ And whoever I talk to will say, ‘Where are you?’ And I’ll say, ‘How the hell should I know? If I knew, I wouldn’t be lost, would I?’“

Kate smiled. “Please bring the phone.”

“Phones are against the rules of my boat.”

“This one time,” she said, “break your damn rule. Just to make me feel better.”

Dr. Surry turned to Kate. “I’ve got a phone,” she said in a fake whisper. “I’ll smuggle it aboard.”

Now the two of them were conspiring. He wondered what Kate had been saying about him.

There were no other vehicles parked in the lot at the East End boat landing. The fog lay in a gray wet blanket over Casco Bay. From the landing you could make out a few dark shapes out there, islands that normally were fully visible in all their colorful details.

Calhoun stopped at the top of the ramp, and he and Dr. Surry transferred all the gear from the back of the truck to the boat, while Ralph padded along the edge of the water, sniffing the seaweed and driftwood and peeing frequently.

After they got the boat loaded up, Calhoun climbed back into the truck. He backed the trailered boat into the water, pulled the emergency brake, and got out. He went around to the back, undid the safety hook, and disconnected the trailer lights. Then he un-cranked the chain, unhooked the boat, grabbed the bow line, and gave the boat a shove. He held onto the line as the boat floated off the trailer.

He handed the line to Dr. Surry. “Hang on to this while I park the truck.”

She took the line. She was wearing a new-looking Simms rain outfit. It was pale blue, and it fit her nicely. She looked good in it. The blue, he noticed, made her eyes seem bigger. He wondered if Kate had sold it to her.

He thought maybe he’d have the opportunity to ask her if they’d been talking about him. Maybe she could give him some in- sight into Kate’s frame of mind. He believed that women understood each other the way a man never could.

Or maybe Kate had just been showing her how to tie flies.

“Be right back,” he said to Sam Surry, and she smiled and showed him that she had a good grip on the line.

He got into the truck, and Ralph hopped in with him. He drove up the ramp and parked in the lot. When he got out and looked back, his boat and Sam Surry were just blurry black-and-white shapes in the fog.

He thought about leaving his cell phone in the truck, but Kate wanted him to bring it, and he decided that no harm would come from it. Maybe he’d even give her a call when they were out there, tell her about all the stripers they were catching, ease her mind.

A rule didn’t make much sense if there weren’t circumstances when you should break it.

Ralph trotted along beside him as he headed back to his boat. They had just started down the sloping ramp when Ralph stopped and growled deep in his chest.

“It’s just Dr. Surry,” Calhoun said. “What’s your—”

Then he stopped. Somebody, another human shape, was with her.

Ralph was standing there stiff-legged, his growl a low menacing rumble.

“Sit,” Calhoun said to him. “Wait here.”

Ralph sat. He continued to growl.

Calhoun went down the ramp. Dr. Surry was holding the bow line in both of her hands. The way her neck and shoulders were kind of hunched over, he thought she might be crying.

The other figure was a man. He was wearing a camouflage rain jacket with the hood pulled over his head.

When Calhoun got closer, he saw that it was Otis Maxner, the real estate lawyer, and he was pointing a semiautomatic handgun at Dr. Surry. It had the distinctive shape of a classic old Colt Woodsman .22 like the one Calhoun kept in his kitchen drawer.

About then, everything made sense.

Calhoun walked up to them. “Mr. Maxner,” he said. “What’s up?

“I’m going with you,” said Maxner.

“Didn’t know you were an angler.”

“I’m not.”

“Just a killer, huh?”

“You’re too smart for your own good, Mr. Calhoun. I just hope you aren’t thinking about doing something stupid, because I’d hate to have to shoot this pretty lady.”

“You’re the man with the gun,” said Calhoun. “What do you want?”

“Get into the boat. In the back.”

“That’s called the stern,” said Calhoun.

“Do it.”

Calhoun got in.

Maxner spoke to Dr. Surry. “You, drop that rope and get into the middle seat.”

She climbed in and sat there facing the stern with her arms folded. She looked hard at Calhoun, and he saw in her eyes that he’d been wrong. She had not been crying. She wasn’t frightened. She was pissed.

Maxner got in and sat on the bow seat, facing the stern. He kept his Woodsman pointing at Dr. Surry’s back as he pulled a roll of duct tape from inside his slicker and tossed it to Calhoun. “Wrap her wrists.”

“You’re pretty dumb, even for a lawyer,” Calhoun said. He slid his hand into his pants pocket and depressed the little button on the side of his cell phone. “Sheriff Dickman has already got you figured out.” He spoke the word “Dickman” extra loud. “Be careful where you point that pistol, will you?”

“Wrap that tape on her,” said Maxner.

“You want me to take you on a boat ride?” said Calhoun. “Revisit the scenes of all your crimes?”

“Oh,” said Sam Surry. “I get it. Him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Calhoun.

“You talk way too much,” said Maxner. “Just do what I’m telling you.”

Calhoun knelt in front of Sam Surry. “It’s going to be okay,” he said.

She gave him a tight smile. “I know.”

As he wrapped the tape around her wrists, Calhoun looked up at Maxner and said, “So, what’s all this killing about? You feeling guilty or frustrated or morally conflicted or something, being forced to defend those evil sex offenders in court? Is that it? Figured you’d single-handedly rid the world of them? Otis Maxner,” he said, pronouncing the name loudly and clearly for the benefit of the cell phone in his pocket, “by day a mild-mannered real estate attorney, by night some kind of avenging Spider-Man?” He was saying all this for the sheriff’s benefit, hoping he’d picked up. Even if he hadn’t, his voice mail would be catching it.

“You shouldn’t make fun of me,” said Maxner.

“Yep,” said Calhoun. “It’s serious business, all right. Worth torturing poor old Albie Wolinski and then plugging Mr. Vecchio. What happened? Albie betray you? Sell your secret to the writer? That what happened ?”

“I paid him a lot of money,” said Maxner.

“Helping you load those men on his boat, huh? Driving you out to the islands so you could set ‘em afire?” He finished binding Sam Surry’s wrists and tore the tape off the roll. “How’s that?” he said to Maxner. “All set?”

“Tell the dog to get into the boat,” said Maxner.

“Leave the dog out of it,” said Calhoun.

Maxner shook his head. “Can’t have him wandering around.” He poked at the back of Dr. Surry’s neck with his handgun. He was sitting close behind her. “Do what I say or I’ll shoot her.”

“Ralph,” said Calhoun. “Git in the boat.”

Ralph had been sitting there waiting for his instructions. Now he stood up, sauntered over to the boat, and hopped in. He sat in front of Calhoun and stared at Otis Maxner.

“He makes one false move,” said Maxner, “I’ll shoot him.”

“Ralph never made a false move in his life,” said Calhoun. “He

makes nothing but true moves. He don’t like you, you know. Did you take a shot at him that night you killed Mr. Vecchio?”

“Push us off,” said Maxner. “Start up the motor. Let’s get going.”

“Where to?”

“Head for Quarantine Island.”

“Quarantine Island?” Calhoun said, practically shouting for the sheriff’s benefit. “Not sure I’ll be able to find Quarantine in this fog.”

Maxner smiled. “Oh, you’ll find it. I know about you. You’ve got quite a reputation. Stoney Calhoun, best guide on Casco Bay, I keep hearing. Knows it like the palm of his hand. So let’s go. And don’t try something tricky. Mess around with me, I start shooting. First the dog. Then the lady.”

“Gotcha,” said Calhoun. “Quarantine it is. No need to shoot anybody.”

He pushed them off with an oar, got the motor started, put it in gear, and began to chug out through the harbor. The motor thrummed softly in low gear, and even with only one functional ear, Calhoun could hear some gulls squawking and the water lapping against the sides of the aluminum boat.

“Tell him to stop looking at me like that,” Maxner said.

Calhoun looked at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your dog. He’s staring at me. I swear I’ll shoot him.”

“He won’t do anything unless I tell him to,” said Calhoun, “but I can’t control where he decides to look.”

Maxner shook his head and kind of hunched his shoulders inside of his bulky camouflage rain jacket, as if he was cold.

Calhoun supposed the sheriff’s voice mail had clicked off a while ago, but just in case, he wanted to keep Maxner talking. If things didn’t work out, he wanted the sheriff to know as much as possible. “So tell me,” he said to Maxner, “what was it made you decide to come after me? You kind of gave yourself away, you know.”

“Albie Wolinski,” said Maxner. “When you asked about him, it caught me off guard. Otherwise I wouldn’t have lied. I handled his closing. That’s how I got to know him. But when you asked, I lied. Regretted it instantly. I assumed you’d check. Public records show that he was a client.” He shrugged. “So then you’d come after me, and you’d probably bring the sheriff with you, and then it would be too late. Now it’s not too late.”

Calhoun smiled. “Of course it’s too late. You’re cooked.”

“We’ll see about that.” He looked around. “In case you were thinking of trying to confuse me, I know the bay pretty well myself. I know where we are. I know where Quarantine is.”

Calhoun had noticed that as they moved farther from the shoreline the fog seemed to become thinner. There was a brightness overhead that suggested the afternoon sun might burn through it, and the distant islands appeared more clearly.

“I ain’t going to try to confuse you,” said Calhoun. “You’re already pretty thoroughly confused, I’d say. Going around killing people.”

Maxner shrugged. “You better stop talking now. You’re starting to make me mad. Let’s get up to speed.”

Calhoun throttled up the motor, and then they were skimming across the bay. He glanced at Dr. Sam Surry. She was sitting there with her duct-taped wrists in her lap watching him. A little smile played on her face, as if she thought that Calhoun was in control of the situation. He didn’t quite feel that way, but he gave her a quick smile and a wink anyway.

Pretty soon the low outline of Quarantine Island appeared on the horizon. Calhoun figured that Maxner intended to shoot all three of them and leave them there. He’d take Calhoun’s boat back to the mainland, get off somewhere where he wouldn’t be spotted, and let the tide take the boat away. Maxner knew that local people thought the island was haunted. Autumn was here and winter was fast approaching, and there wouldn’t be much boat traffic in the bay. It could be months before anybody beached a boat on Quarantine Island. Their bodies might not be found until April.

As he approached Quarantine, Calhoun cut back the motor. The cove where he had landed with Paul Vecchio was studded with sharp-edged boulders, some of them just under the surface.

Maxner glanced quickly over his shoulder. His gun never stopped pointing at Dr. Surry’s back. “Okay, good,” he said. “We’re here. Find a place to land.”

Calhoun stood up, steering with the side of his leg.

“What’re you doing?” said Maxner. “Sit down.”

“I’ve got to see where the rocks are. You wouldn’t want us to sink.” Calhoun memorized the little cove, then sat back down.

He caught Sam Surry’s eye and gave his head a tiny nod. Then he suddenly goosed the motor.

The boat shot forward, and both Dr. Surry and Otis Maxner were jerked in their seats by the little burst of speed.

Then it all seemed to happen at once.

Calhoun grabbed Dr. Surry’s leg and pulled her to the bottom of the boat.

The bow rammed the underwater rock Calhoun had been aiming at and slammed to a stop.

Otis Maxner pitched backward in his seat.

Calhoun leaped over Dr. Surry and landed on top of Maxner.

So did Ralph.

Maxner’s gun exploded.

Calhoun felt a searing heat on his left side, as if someone had shoved a red-hot branding iron against his ribs.

He grabbed Maxner’s right wrist, the one holding the gun, in his left hand and got a grip on his upper arm with his other hand. He pushed the wrist in one direction and levered the arm in a different direction.

The crack in Maxner’s shoulder sounded as loud as the gunshot.

Maxner screamed.

Ralph was growling deep in his chest. He was shaking his head back and forth, and Calhoun saw that his jaws had clamped down on Otis Maxner’s crotch.

Maxner screamed again.

Calhoun gave his arm another twist, and the Colt Woodsman dropped into the bottom of the boat.

Calhoun tried to reach for the gun, but his left arm had suddenly gone numb, and it refused to move. It was hanging motionless at his side. He turned his body, got the gun in his right hand, then sat back on the middle seat.

Ralph was still worrying Maxner’s crotch.

“Okay, bud,” said Calhoun. “Let it go.”

Ralph let go. He sat down right there, glaring at Maxner.

Maxner was lying on his back holding his right arm against his body and groaning. Calhoun figured he’d wrenched the man’s shoulder out of its socket, ripped the tendons and ligaments beyond repair, cracked some bones, shredded some muscles.

He wondered where he learned to do that.

He slumped there on the seat, trying to keep the .22 pointed at Otis Maxner. He took several deep breaths. He was feeling lightheaded and nauseated. He swallowed against the urge to vomit.

Dr. Surry sat beside him. “Are you all right?” she said.

Calhoun tried to shrug, but it hurt. “He shot me in the side. It’s starting to hurt. My arm’s gone numb.”

“Can you cut this tape off me?”

He glanced at Maxner and figured he wasn’t any threat. Anyway, Ralph was sitting there, waiting for the word to resume chewing on the man’s testicles.

Calhoun put the gun on the seat and fished in his pocket for his fishing knife. Going into his left pocket with his right hand was awkward, plus twisting his body hurt like hell, but he got it out, opened it with his teeth, and sliced through the tape on Dr. Surry’s wrists.

She peeled the pieces off, then said, “Let me take a look at you.”

She opened Calhoun’s jacket and shirt, baring his torso.

Calhoun closed his eyes and took some deep breaths against the pain.