Bimini Twist Page 5

  “Just one. He fishes solo,” Pete said as he nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  I jumped up onto the wash rail for a better vantage point. There was a long, slow swell running, but otherwise calm. As Ragged But Right mounted a swell, something caught my peripheral vision. My eyes darted to the right. “Right there!” I yelled, and pointed. “Two o’clock!”

  Pete thrust the throttle lever ahead so hard I thought it would snap. He hadn’t seen what I did, but responded to my direction. Coming around forty-five degrees, he straightened her out and kept her steady on a southeasterly course. “Can you still see him?” Pete yelled over the noise of the engine.

  I kept my eyes riveted on the area where I had seen something. A swell ahead of our bow pushed what looked like a man clinging to a submerged object into my field of vision. “Dead ahead! It’s him,” I bellowed, never releasing my eyes from what appeared as a tiny pin and quickly grew as we approached. The other boat raced to the scene from the opposite direction. I started to feel relieved as I knew we would pluck Ron from the ocean just as his boat went out from under him and into the briny deep. “I’ll swing by and back down to him. Throw him the life ring when I get close enough. I don’t want to foul the wheel if there’s floating line around. Keep an eye out for me.” Pete barked orders which I followed.

  The other boat was still coming fast and furious. As Pete swung hard to port, then backed down toward Ron, who was now waving an arm, I stood with my thighs braced against the transom, waiting to throw the ring. The approaching boat was now dangerously close and bearing down on us at full speed. We weren’t close enough to get the life ring to Ron. I threw it as far as I could. It landed short of him. “He can’t swim. I’ll get closer,” yelled Pete as he lined the stern up with his friend and backed down hard again. I pulled in the slackline, retrieved the ring, and got ready to heave it out. The bow of the oncoming boat now appeared as if it would split us in half if we didn’t take evasive action. I read “INSIGHT” on the boat’s bow. Pete yelled, “Hold on!” He went ahead at full throttle. All I saw was a blur of white as the boat just missed our stern quarter.

  The wake of Insight nearly put me on my butt as it crested up and over the wash rail, filling the cockpit with water. I held on for dear life as the water that was up to my waist slowly drained through stern scuppers. The wake had also brushed Ron from whatever he had been hanging on to. He now thrashed wildly. I knew he wouldn’t stay on the surface for long. “Jesus Christ!” I screamed. “That guy never saw us!” I thought that the boat’s name had been misspelled—“INCITE” was more like it.

  Pete went full steam ahead again to help drain the water we had shipped aboard. Unfortunately that meant getting farther away from Ron, who was flailing and bobbing up and down. When it was safe to do so, Pete swung around and put the bow right on his friend, who was now underwater more than he was on top. “We are running out of time. I’ll run right up to him and grab him here on the starboard side. Be ready with the gaff in case he’s under the surface.” I glanced to port to see the menacing boat do a 180 and head right back at us. I realized that the captain had intended to hit us and was coming back for another try.

  “You get Ron, I’ll take care of this idiot,” I said as I laid the gaff on the wash rail and felt my gun in its holster. I stood at the port rail bracing myself for impact. I drew my gun and put a bead on the ball cap–covered head that I could see at the helm behind the windshield. I fired a round into the hull as a warning that I was not afraid to use my weapon. The next round would be deadly. At the last possible second, the boat swerved hard to starboard, missing us again by inches. Through my sights, I noticed dark green streaks and deep gouges along the boot stripe, just above the waterline of Insight. I assumed that Ron’s boat was dark green and that it had been rammed.

  Pete now had the engine in reverse. I watched Insight fade in the distance, holstered my gun, and hustled forward to help Pete. There was no time for conversation. Orange foul-weather gear was slowly sinking out of sight. I peeled off my jacket and gun belt, ready to dive in if I had to. Pete reached down and thrust the gaff hook toward the color. He snagged something solid and pulled with both hands until Ron’s head broke the surface, the gaff hook at the end of the pole fortunately twisted in Ron’s hood.

  Adrenaline peaked as Pete reached down and grasped Ron by the shoulders of his jacket and hauled him over the rail with one mighty yank. Ron landed on the deck with a thud. He was lifeless. Pete sat on the rail and put his head in his hands. I rolled Ron onto his side, knelt beside him and noted that he was not breathing. I checked for a pulse, and found nothing. I rolled Ron onto his back, preparing to perform CPR. Just as I placed my hands on his chest, he sputtered and spat. I quickly rolled him back onto his side. A jagged cough spewed salt water and bile onto the deck. When Ron settled down a bit, Pete patted him on the back and said, “I draw the line at mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I thought you were a goner.”

  “Me too. I may as well be. My boat is,” Ron said sadly. Pete helped his friend onto his feet and steadied him as he stood bent at the waist with his hands on his knees. After a minute, Ron straightened up and staggered forward and into the wheelhouse where he took a seat on a built-in bench.

  “Let’s take a look around for Elizabeth. She may be here, just under the surface. Jane, would you mind climbing onto the roof to take a look around?” Pete asked.

  “Not at all,” I said as made my way around the house to the bow where I found a foothold to crawl up over the windshield and onto the top. I had a notion that Pete wanted to speak with Ron privately. I looked below the surface for any sign of color as Pete did slow, lazy turns until he had scoured the area. Finally, Pete motioned for me to come down.

  I joined Ron at the starboard console where he stared blankly. Pete once again took the wheel and swung the bow toward land. “I guess I had better get you both ashore,” he said without looking at us. “You want to call the Coast Guard and cancel the Mayday?” Pete asked Ron and held a cell phone out to him.

  “Sure. Thanks.” With that, Ron took the phone and went back to the transom to make the call. I wished I could hear, but knew I might learn more by staying with Pete.

  Before I could ask what the hell had happened, Pete spoke up. “Well, Detective Jane Bunker, that was a little more excitement than I expected today. Thanks for your help.”

  “All in a day’s work, right?” I said lightly. “Is the hull color of Elizabeth dark green?”

  “Uh huh,” Pete said in the affirmative.

  “What do you know about Insight? Why would her captain try to kill Ron?”

  “Just territorial fishing stuff,” Pete answered nonchalantly. “Some guys play rough.”

  “Play? I call it attempted murder.”

  “Best if you just let it go. That’s what Ron wants, and he’s the victim here,” Pete reminded me. “Besides, you’ve got yourself a missing girl to find.”

  “Somehow the missing girl pales in comparison. A man’s boat was rammed and sunk. He almost died. We could have been killed. How are you able to shrug that off?”

  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “Actually, I am,” I said proudly. “I live in Green Haven. And I come from Acadia Island.” I was more surprised at this admission than Pete was.

  “Well then, you should understand that Ron will not press charges. Things could get worse if the law gets involved.” Pete looked me square in the eye, opening my mind and allowing his words to penetrate.

  “Worse than almost dead? Yeah, I get it. Dead would be worse, wouldn’t it? But how can he be okay with letting that jerk get away scot-free?”

  Pete broke his concentrated stare and gazed over the bow. “Oh, nobody said anything about letting that asshole go unpunished. He’ll get what’s coming to him, believe me.”

  I did believe him. And that belief did nothing to assuage my anxiety.

  THREE

  Pete landed on the commercial fish
ing floats a little faster than was necessary. He backed the engine down hard, slamming the starboard side of his boat against pilings, nearly toppling a young man from his seat on a cooler where he sat with a fishing rod. This was the first and only sign that he had been shaken by the near miss of collision and nigh death of his fishing buddy, Ron. As Ragged But Right rode up and down in her own wake, Pete tied her off and let out a loud sigh. He sat on the rail and relaxed. I could see stress dissolve from his shoulders as he seemed to collect his thoughts. The guy who had been fishing, annoyed about the wake, reeled the jig from the water to the tip of his rod and approached. “What the fuck, man?” His eyes widened in surprise, I assumed a combination of my presence and Ron’s, who was still dripping.

  “Mind your business, Rat,” Pete advised.

  “This is my business. You are on my waterfront,” the man snapped back as he flipped a cigarette butt into the water. He then turned and walked slowly up the ramp and sat on a park bench where he stared in defiance at us.

  “That’s The Wharf Rat,” Pete explained to me. “No need to introduce you. He’s just a bum who lurks around the docks. Sells a little weed.” Pete did not wait for any reply from me, and started shutting down the boat’s electronics.

  Ron looked stronger as he stepped over the rail and onto the float. “Thank you both,” he said sadly. “My wife will be up in the parking lot soon. She insists on getting me checked out at the ER.”

  “Listen to your wife,” Pete admonished. “And give me a call tonight.”

  “Yup. I’m sure the insurance company will need to get your statement,” Ron reminded Pete. I considered interjecting with the fact that I was the only insurance investigator in the area. But I thought better of it. I would follow the advice of Pete and let this go. For now. Besides, there was no boat to inspect for cause of sinking. And Ron had clearly not scuttled his boat for the insurance payout. I certainly didn’t want or need to get involved in the ongoing gear wars waged in Down East Maine. From what I had heard since arriving in Green Haven, there was no beginning and no end to the tit for tat among a large percentage of the local lobster fishermen. And even guys who kept their noses clean eventually got sucked into retaliating for losses suffered at the hands of competitors. Traps cut off or stolen were simply replaced—a line item on annual ledgers that kept the trap builders employed. But a lost boat? I wondered what had transpired between the two men to have escalated to attempted murder. I had certainly been aware of boats that had been burned, sabotaged, or sunk while on moorings, with neither witnesses nor risk of personal injury or death. And I knew of rage-induced drive-by shootings. This was different. This was aimed not only at putting a man out of business, but out of life.

  Ron made his way up the ramp and disappeared among the fleet of pickup trucks waiting in the parking lot. Pete walked over to the helm. He shut the boat’s engine down with the push of a button. Stepping over the rail and onto the float, he offered me his hand and said, “Can I walk you to your car?” This was obviously my invitation to leave. I accepted his arm as a steadying piece as I joined him on the float. “I know it’s asking a lot. But it really is best if you forget about what you saw out there. This is just another page in the bullshit book.”

  “Is that a long book? Or a short story?” I asked.

  “Endless, unfortunately.”

  “Well, this isn’t the first time I have been asked to ignore my duties today. So I guess I will go about my business of searching for missing kids. But if I get dragged into this by my boss at the insurance company, I won’t lie.”

  “I would never ask you to lie. The truth is, we responded to a Mayday and pulled a guy out of the water when his boat sunk from underneath him, right?”

  “True enough,” I said as we walked side by side through the park and toward the Duster, acutely aware of The Rat’s watchful gaze. “And there isn’t a boat to inspect for evidence of foul play, is there? I didn’t happen to notice the depth of water where we pulled Ron out. Any chance of recovering Elizabeth?”

  “Zero chance.” Pete shook his head. “Right in the middle of a deep hole—she’s sitting in about fifty fathoms of water. If she could be brought up, there’d be nothing left to save. Probably cheaper to start over rather than paying for salvage and repairs. The insurance companies are all about the path of least expense.”

  “There is the complication of explaining shots fired,” I said. “Anytime I discharge my gun, for any reason, I need to file a report.”

  “Target practice?” Pete suggested with a smile.

  “One round?”

  “Maybe you’ll empty your gun before the end of the day.”

  “God, I hope not,” I said. I knew that I was exaggerating a bit. I could easily explain away the single shot fired. But I wanted Pete to know that I was on the up-and-up, and not 100 percent on board with his request that I suffer short-term memory loss. Yes, I understood that sometimes it is in the best interest of victims to not pursue assailants. But I needed to know more before I determined that this was one of those cases.

  We arrived at the side of the Duster. I dug out my key and said, “This is my ride.” Pete took the key from my hand, unlocked the driver’s door, and held it open for me. “Well, thank you,” I said as I held my hand open for the key before I climbed in. I had grown accustomed to being alone, and really appreciated this small act of chivalry.

  “My pleasure,” he said. “This may be awkward, but what the hell. Can I see you again? I mean under different circumstances, of course.”

  “I would like that,” I said, surprising myself again.

  “How about Friday night? I need a date for a party at my aunt and uncle’s. It’s a celebration of the spring solstice.”

  “You’re kidding,” I chuckled. “You’re related to the Alfonds? I sent my RSVP in this morning.”

  “Well, do you have a date?”

  “Nope.”

  “You do now. Can I pick you up? Where do you live?” I hesitated. There was no way I wanted to be picked up at my apartment. Too weird, I thought, to have the Vickersons and Wally all present and in my business. Before I could make an excuse, Pete said, “I don’t mean to be forward. How about we meet there?”

  “Sounds good. Now I am off to Dirigo to see what’s up with another missing person. See you Friday.” And I jumped into the Duster and started the engine before I could say something stupid. I glanced in my rearview mirror as I pulled away and was happy to see Pete watching me go. Not even The Wharf Rat’s silhouette in the background hindered the rush of excitement that flooded in with the attention of a desirable man. It had been so long, I thought, since I’d felt that little flutter of emotion brought on by reciprocated interest. I assumed that Pete was 100 percent available. Otherwise he would not have asked me to join him at a party where he no doubt was known by most attendees. At his age, he must certainly have a past carried in assorted baggage, I thought as I stopped to allow pedestrians to access a crosswalk. But who doesn’t? Starting a new life in Green Haven was not limited to work. A tragic personal life was what had propelled me to leave Miami. Comparing relationship notes with Pete was something that would come way down the road, when and if we got that far.

  As soon as I cleared the congestion of Bar Harbor, I pulled off into a spot designated for enjoying the scenic view. I dialed Deloris. “Hello. Hancock County Sheriff’s Department. How may I help you?”

  “Hi Deloris. Jane here. Checking in from Bar Harbor. Has our missing girl surfaced?” I asked.

  “Hi Jane. Nothing on Bianca yet. I did find a copy of her J-1 visa, though. Everything appears to be in order. Nothing unusual. The Bar Harbor Inn and Resort sponsors lots of foreign college kids. Looks like most of their seasonal help comes from that pool.”

  “How about Facebook and cell phone records for Bianca? Can you do your magic and let me know if there’s anything I should know about? Recent activity? People that age usually post or text their every move.”

  “Can do. T
hat’s easy.”

  “Okay, thanks. I have chased down the only leads I had, and have come up with nothing. Everyone assumes that Bianca partied too hard and will reappear. I do have some other, possibly unrelated things for you to check out, though.”

  “Bring ’em on,” Deloris said. “I am absolutely bored!”

  “I need you to research a missing persons report that we may have received last year at this time. It supposedly came from an employee of the inn, and I understand that it was never responded to.”

  “Okay. And?”

  “And I need employee and passenger lists for a cruise ship called The Princess of the Seas. And the same for Radiance. And an itinerary might be helpful. And I need any information you can get on some commercial lobster boats based in Bar Harbor. Elizabeth, Ragged But Right, and Insight. I am really interested in knowing what you can find on the owners of these boats.”

  “You mean, rap sheets?”

  “Anything.”

  “Is this related to Bianca? Or is this other business?” Deloris sounded more interested than skeptical. She wanted to be in the know. “It would be helpful to know what I am digging for and why.”

  “I’m not sure yet if there is a connection. There is so little to go on. Can I call you after I get the scoop at Dirigo?” I knew that asking for information on Pete was strictly out of curiosity and for my personal interest. But hell, cops do this sort of thing all the time, I thought, trying to assuage my guilty conscience. And if push came to shove, I could easily justify wanting to know more about Pete. But that would require reporting all of the details of my boat ride with him. And that might be a can of worms best left sealed.

  “Aye aye,” Deloris quipped sarcastically. I thanked her, hung up, and pulled back onto the road.