SAVANNAH GONE (22 page)

We jumped out of the Trooper and surveyed the former plantation. Like Bourbon Field, Chocolate was predominantly a large clearing where plantation slaves once picked Sea Island cotton. The field was surrounded by live oaks and thick stands of saw palmetto. On Chocolate’s western border, the green grass of the marsh was bisected by the Mud River.

Overlooking the river, about a hundred yards north of us, was a large tabby barn. It looked like it had been restored at some point in the not-too-distant past. Near the barn stood several tabby ruins.

There was also a small house near the northwest section of the clearing. The house was a modest bungalow from the 1920’s or 30’s. This surprised me; I didn’t expect to see anything this modern way out here.

Next to one of the tabby ruins a group of people gathered near a trench. They were sifting dirt through some large screens. I scanned the folks out in the field, but didn’t see Hutchins. His boat was tied up at the dock, so he had to be around here somewhere. I wondered if he’d gotten away while we detoured on our little jaunt to Bourbon Field. If that prick slipped through my fingers...

Just then, Hutchins walked out from behind one of the ruins, wearing a pair of faded jeans, a wife beater, the straw hat and the wraparound sunglasses. He spotted us and stood motionless, staring.

“That’s our boy in the hat and mirrored glasses,” I said.

“Don’t forget what I said about following procedure and doing this by the book, Fontaine.”
Fuck the book. This guy’s our killer.

I glanced at Caroline. “Hundred bucks says he makes a run for it.”

We marched across the clearing. Hutchins frozen in time and space. Then he snapped out of it. He bent down and muttered something to a young woman crouched near the trench. Her back was to us. Still crouching, she looked over her shoulder and craned her neck. I saw her face. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old, and I wondered if she was one of Hutchins’ conquests.

Hutchins said something else to her. Then he swaggered in our direction, cool as shaved ice.

Caroline said, “Looks like you owe me a hundred bucks.” Moments later she added, “You also owe me dinner for slipping that missing person’s report to you.”

With my eyes locked on Hutchins, I said, “Carpe Culus.”

She gave me a quick sideways glance. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Seize the asshole.”

When we were about fifteen feet from him, the cocky bastard said, “What can I do for you Mr. Fontaine?”

I didn’t utter a word till I was on him. “Your wife called. She wanted me to tell you to put your wedding ring on.” Recalling the name of his boat, I smiled and said, “Can you dig it?” I love twisting the knife.

Caroline flashed her badge. “Mr. Hutchins, I’m Detective Ross with the Savannah PD. We’d like to ask you some questions about Claire Robertson.”

He nodded. “Alright. Would you mind if we talk somewhere not so close to my students?”

“We can talk down at the station if you’d like,” Caroline replied.

He thought about that, then said, “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be happy to answer your questions.”

The hot sun ricocheted off the mirrored sunglasses, and he reminded me of the prison guard in Cool Hand Luke. The man with no eyes.

I said, “Why don’t we start with the lie you told me in Cavanaugh’s office.” I paused and stared at him hard. “The one where you said you hardly knew Claire.”

His jaw muscles tightened. “I told you that because I didn’t want—.”

“Because you didn’t want me to find out you killed Claire. Is that it?”

“I didn’t kill her. But I’m married, and I didn’t want my wife to find out I was—.”

“You didn’t want her to find out what? That you were fucking another woman? From what I’ve heard, you’ve been fucking a lot of women. How many of these female students out here have you bedded?”

“Look,” he said, “I’m a shitty husband. I admit that, but that doesn’t make me a killer. I didn’t kill Claire. I swear I didn’t.”

I said, “You killed her for that poem you little grub worm. How long have you been searching for the gold out here,
Hutchins? I’m guessing you’ve been hunting for it for years. And you thought you hit pay-dirt. Claire stumbled on that poem inside the Reynolds Mansion when she was in there taking pictures. And you know what? She probably would’ve given it to you. Except she discovered you’re a fraud. You’ve got a wife in Florida. You’re up to your ass in debt. The bank’s about to foreclose on your house. And Claire’s got the secret to your salvation, the poem that tells where the gold is buried. You knew she had it because she told you about it. And right before you got your filthy hands on it, Claire finds out you’re a fucking liar. You poor dumb bastard.” I held my thumb and index finger about an inch apart. “You were this close.”

“No. I didn’t kill her. I swear to God I didn’t.”

“One of the things that bothered me,” I said, “was why did Claire bother to mail the poem from Darien when there’s a Post Office right here on the island? But you were threatening her, and she was afraid for her life. Claire didn’t want to risk you seeing her at the Long Tabby Post Office. So she waited until she was off the island.”

“Where were you Friday night Mr. Hutchins?” Caroline asked.

He stayed quiet for some time, then said, “I’d like to speak with my attorney.”

Caroline nodded. “That’s certainly your right, but if you want to talk to your attorney, we’ll continue this interview downtown at police headquarters.”

He stood there weighing his options, then looked at us and said, “No. I’ll answer your questions. But can we please do it someplace away from my students?”

I wanted to gut him right here in plain view of everyone, but Caroline relented. “That’s fair,” she said, nodding toward the Trooper. “We can talk over there near our vehicle.”

~ ~ ~

So off we went across the clearing, not a word spoken between us. We stopped walking when we reached the shade of the ancient live oak. The wind off the Sound rattled the palmetto fronds and stirred the Spanish moss. A little rivulet of sweat trickled down the side of Hutchins’ face. If I had my way, we’d tie him down out in the mud and let the crabs do their thing.

I said, “How do you feel about hospital food through a tube because I’m about to bash your teeth in. Oh, that’s right, they’re not your teeth.” I was really getting worked up. You’re not supposed to get emotionally involved in a case, but I was long past that point. “You killed Claire for that poem you piece of shit, and it was you who sicked those two assholes in the Camaro on me. No one else knew what kind of car I drive. If my daughter had been in the back seat, her head would’ve been blown off.” I grabbed a fist full of his shirt and backhanded him across the face. His head snapped back. The hat and sunglasses went flying. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and ran down his chin. I held tight to his shirt and cocked my fist.

“That’s enough Fontaine!” Caroline yelled. “I want you to stand over by the Trooper.”

“No fucking way Caroline.” There’s a savage place inside all of us, dark and primal. If pushed far enough, we all have the capacity to kill. Like a broken piece of flickering film, my mind’s eye kept seeing the back window of the GTO shot out. My pulse was hammering. I shook him like a rag doll, ready to bury my fist in his face.

“Please Ray,” Caroline pleaded. “We can’t jeopardize a conviction by trampling his rights. There’s too much at stake.” If Caroline weren’t here, he’d be face down in the mud already. “Do what I say, Ray, please.”

Hearing her call me Ray pierced my rage. I released him, then backed slowly away.

Caroline stood between us. She trained her eyes on him and stared. “Where were you Friday night Mr. Hutchins?”

The little prick let a few seconds pass. “Having dinner at Huey’s,” he replied.

“Is there anyone that can confirm that?”

“I ate alone at the bar,” he said, sounding sullen. “I was there from eight o’clock till just after midnight. The bartender was a young girl with blonde hair. If you need proof, there’s a restaurant receipt in my wallet.” Hutchins slid his right hand behind his back.

“Put your hands in front of you,” I yelled, my fingers curling around the butt of my piece. “I swear to God, they’ll be looking for chunks of you till the end of time.”

He put his hands where I could see them. Caroline stepped behind him. With one hand on Hutchins’ shoulder, she slid a black leather wallet from his back pocket. She came back around and stood in front of him again, then flipped the wallet open and peered inside.

Hutchins sprang forward like a cornered feral cat, whirling Caroline around. In an instant he had her in a choke hold, his arm wrapped tight around her neck. He jerked her head back, and almost lifted her off the ground. Her eyes locked onto mine, fearful.

I had my gun drawn, but Caroline was tangled in Hutchins’ arms. Too close for me to risk a shot. Hutchins clamped harder on Caroline’s windpipe, then began dragging her away from me. “Drop your gun Fontaine, or I’ll break her fucking neck.”

I held tight to my gun, looking for any chance to blast holes in him. “You’re crab food Hutchins. You’re not getting off this island alive.”

He tightened his hold on her neck. She bucked and kicked, trying to wrench herself free. With his free hand, Hutchins grabbed for her gun.

They grappled, and I charged. I heard the lethal crack of gunfire. Caroline crumpled to the ground.

I caught a flash of black metal as Hutchins swung the Glock toward me.

I dove to my left and shoulder rolled. He got off three quick shots, missing wildly.

I scrambled to my feet. Hutchins fired again, the bullet smashing into the Trooper behind me.

Then, with both hands on the heater, I punched his ticket. I squeezed off two rounds, putting both slugs in the middle of his chest. Hutchins twisted in the air and flew backward into the marsh, the thunderous report reverberating across the water.

The journey is the reward

Chinese Proverb

I woke Sunday morning to the sound of rain slapping against my bedroom window, the first rain in weeks. I had a five-star hangover. My head was pounding. My tongue felt three times its normal size. Even my eyeballs ached. Blah. I chugged about a quart of water, swallowed four aspirin, then jumped in the shower. Fifteen minutes later, I thought I might survive.

Yesterday, after leaving the island, I spent about six hours down at police headquarters getting grilled by the brass. When they finished putting me through the wringer, a young cop named Buddy Blaylock gave me a lift back to my place. When we pulled up, I was surrounded by a herd of news reporters camped out on my front lawn. I no-commented my way inside, then slipped out the back and headed over to St. Joe’s to check on Caroline.

Caroline was lucky. The bullet struck her in the thigh and passed through without severing an artery or shattering bone. She was out of surgery and sleeping when I got there, doped up on pain medicine and snoring, so we didn’t get a chance to talk.

The surgeon informed me she should be up and around in a couple of weeks. He also told me the guys who airlifted her off the island saved her life. Caroline’s currently on paid leave while internal affairs looks into what happened out on Sapelo. But after all the publicity this damn thing’s gotten, they don’t have the balls to do anything but reinstate her at the conclusion of their investigation. I’m hoping she gets that promotion.

There was no gold on Hutchins’ boat, nor was any found inside his rental house in Shellman Bluff. Who knows? Maybe there wasn’t any gold buried on Sapelo to begin with. Or maybe it’s still out there…waiting. On a side note, the cops recovered Claire’s purse, and a .38 caliber revolver they believe is the murder weapon. Both were hidden inside a storage shed behind the house.

And me? Why I’m a hero, of course, even if it’s in my own mind.

I’ve got about a couple hundred messages parked on my phone from people who know me, all wanting to know more about what happened. I even got one from Angie, but she just wanted to make sure my child support payment wouldn’t be late. When Aggie finished, Megan got on the line. “I saw you on TV Daddy,” she said. “Mommy said you looked like you’ve put on a little weight and need a haircut, but I thought you looked handsome. Bye Daddy, I love you.”

There were a few messages from major media outlets, CNN, Fox, The New York Times, all requesting an interview. And one from an old colleague of mine at the Atlanta paper. He said Harry, my former editor, wanted to do a front page piece on me, but the corporate hacks were afraid of the publicity. Fuck them.

I also had a message from Cavanaugh offering me a well-paid position at Coastal Capital. Basically, I’d be an in-house investigator assisting his roster of rich clients. So I guess Caroline had it right all along when she said Cavanaugh wanted something from me.

Other than Megan, I haven’t called anyone back yet. Maybe when I return home, after a few, well-needed days off.

I threw on some shorts and a faded t- shirt. I slid my feet into a pair of flips flops and headed out the door. I wanted to see what that Bed and Breakfast down in Darien looked like.

Nine Months Later

It’s dog eat dog, rat eat rat

Mark Knopfler Boom, Like That

I motored from Savannah to Charleston on a gray blustery day. The distance between these two southern cities is approximately one hundred miles, and normally I enjoy the solitude of the car. The hypnotic passing of time and miles brings me a measure of comfort. But the weather was foul. There was a vicious storm brewing somewhere out in the Atlantic. Strong winds buffeted the coast and keeping the GTO on terra firma was no easy task.

When I got close to Chucktown, the sky darkened beneath thunderheads that loomed just offshore. The wind began to howl, whipping up a battalion of whitecaps as I crossed over the Ashley River.

I headed downtown and found a hitching post for my steed, then slipped silently inside Fast and French, the happy ending front and center in my mind. Before you think less of me, Fast and French isn’t a sleazy skin parlor. And I wasn’t there for an incognito rub and tug, or any other type of lewd sexual act for that matter. Instead, F&F is a popular Charleston cafe.