Chapter XVI
Thursday came and although it had it’s moments, I was getting the message. My place just wasn’t equipped for two people to spend very many days with nothing productive to do. Even no-brainer TV might be an improvement. Sherry pointed this lack of modern conveniences out several times.
Somehow it passed, and it became Friday, and Charley woke us up with the happy news that it had been a whole week since I had managed to furnish him with anything. He knew this was hurtful, but he didn’t stop there. “A good reporter would be able to dig up enough to keep his story alive. Especially a story where his own town mayor was murdered right in front of his eyes.”
“You don’t know how much this hurts. I had it figured that this story was going to pay my rent through the rest of the winter.” I then went
on to explain how we were still digging, deep enough to get another nasty call on Sherry’s answering machine, so they were still out there. Then
I told him that we weren’t sure if it was our talking to the widow or the questions we asked at the Astoria restaurant about her peccadilloes that brought it about.
Charley left me, still muttering about the injustices of it all. I
fixed a pot of coffee and we sat and enjoyed it until my stomach reminded me I had put nothing in it recently. I briefly considered cooking some breakfast, then suggested we hit the bakery for a roll and the possibility of some news.
Sherry grumbled a bit about this being the reason we bought groceries, but didn’t take long in getting dressed. We walked out into the drizzle that had been going on for three days without pause. God’s best effort sometimes leaves a bit to be desired in February.
The bakery was a bust also. We were a little late to catch most of the locals and the tourists were enjoying the weather someplace else. We dawdled over coffee but finally gave up and headed to my place where we sat and looked at each other. Sherry made a few more
obnoxious comments about there being no TV, then got up, turned my old radio on and dialed through it’s truncated list of stations.
From across the river we were offered one western station and one playing moldy
oldies. Locally we had one who played contemporary, heavy on the rap. None had enough staff to furnish any news other than that achieved by flipping a switch to a network feed, meaning no local coverage.
The oldies won out when Sherry gave up in disgust, and we sat and watched the rivulets of water run down the mildew rimmed window. I started an attempt at lightening the mood by asking if she thought there might be a market for green water, but gave up at the expression on her face. Sherry finally got up and went over to the kitchen area and started rattling pots. I didn’t ask, but soon it began to smell good.
Eventually she brought two bowls of something with macaroni poking out of it. At my question she said,” It would have been goulash if you had a few spices and it would have had a couple hours to simmer.” Tasted good to me, and the aroma gave the whole place a homey feel. I went back to the stove for seconds and offered but Sherry passed.
I tried to revive the earlier conversation about Riley’s whereabouts, but we were both too well fed and comfortable and we had already asked and answered any possible questions several times. We were sitting in silence except for the low-playing radio when I became aware of sirens in the distance. Sherry perked up also and I said, “Probably an ambulance. Usually someone with another heart attack.”
Sherry sagged back on the edge of the bed where she had been reclining. The sirens got closer. Then the flashing lights went by our window. I noticed for the first time that the day had slipped away and it was dark, as I went over and looked down the street toward the docks where he was headed. “Police… Must be a fight at the Safehaven Tavern."
“Bernie said they never call the cops there,” she said. Now I was hearing more sirens in the distance and soon it was apparent there was more than one. Two more cars passed with sirens wailing and red and blue lights flashing. Reflecting off the dark store windows across the street, they bounced around like a rock band’s light display.
“Best I can tell, they are passing the tavern. Only other thing down there is the fish cannery. Maybe some workers got into a beef.” I stepped out to try to see better and became aware of another police car parked in the middle of the street up the block from us, effectively blocking it, with his lights flashing lazily. Then an ambulance passed, followed by a fire truck, both with lights flashing but with no sirens.
I threw Sherry her jacket and shrugged into mine. Stuffing a camera into one pocket and a flash into the other I said, “Gotta be a lot more than a bar fight down there. Want to go see?”
The question was moot as she beat me out the door. She headed for her car, but I said, “May not be a good idea. They obviously don’t want a lot of traffic or they wouldn’t have closed off the street. You might not be able to get back out. Besides it’s only a couple blocks.” Two blocks in good weather maybe, but in the dark and rain it stretched out considerably. We arrived at the cannery and found most of the cop cars parked on the edge of the docks with their lights pointing toward a small hoist mounted where it could swing out over the boats docked alongside. We were early enough to find the cops just stringing their yellow tape around the area, and managed to maneuver ourselves inside.
I worked my way around past the action as a Coast Guard forty-two footer purred up alongside the older wooden boat next to the dock that had several people swarming around it’s rear deck hatch as it pitched up and down in the swells from the waves sweeping in from the storm tossed ocean a couple miles away. The Coast Guard hit their lights, a pair of high intensity
floods mounted high in the boat’s superstructure. The whole area suddenly became like day. I checked my film and started shooting. I figured if I didn’t have to use
the flash I might not be noticed, and if they shut me down at least I would have something.
The ambulance began backing out onto the dock beside the hoist so I moved back into the shadows. From here the scene looked surreal. A patch of vivid white light with the rain slicing down through it in the midst of the darkness. The light reflecting off the various-colored raincoats identified the players. The dock workers were in bright yellow heavy duty rain gear, designed to hold up under their working for hours in it. About half of them had their hands bound up with the duct tape they use to keep the crabs from biting them so hard. Most of the police were in lighter weight green that they slip on when they get out of their warm cars. The Coast Guard were wearing white with their distinctive orange stripe. The ambulance guys, volunteers no doubt, had just their varicolored short jackets, and huddled in the lee of their vehicle trying to get no wetter than necessary while missing none of the action.
There were a couple of yellow coats and a green coat on the small boat’s deck by the hatch and an unidentified head protruding from the hatch, but I couldn’t see what they were doing. After everyone stood around for another half hour, doing nothing as far as we could tell except an occasional person entering or leaving the hatch, the hoist began to grind and this thing dangling from the end of the cable moved out of the fish hold and up toward the dock. I moved forward where I shot a close up photo I figured would never be used. Too graphic even for Charley. Something fell off and back down into the dark hold. It dawned on me what it was when I saw several more lumps clinging to what had become a body, hanging limply at the end of the cable as it moved up into the bright light. Lumps that moved as they tried to reach newly exposed flesh. Crabs… This boat was rigged as a crabber. That was a crab block mounted on the starboard rail just opposite of the hold. Those lumps were crabs attached to various places on the body, anywhere they could penetrate the clothes. The body had been down in the ice filled hold with the night's catch of crabs who had probably been feeding on it, and didn’t want to stop.
I moved around to the front of the boat and caught the name on the bow and grabbed a quick shot. “Ava Marie.” I could remember seeing it around the area, but couldn’t remember the name of the owner. I was startled by, “Ankus… What you doing in here? Thought they had the area taped off.”
I turned to Bernie’s bulky form, outlined by the lights, “They were too slow. We were already on the inside. Sherry is around here somewhere. Is that Riley on the end of the cable?”
“We think so. Been down there with the crabs working on him so we probably won’t know for sure till they get him on the table.”
Sherry sidled up and said, “Damn it’s nasty out here. Do they have a cause of death?”
she asked Bernie.
“Same answer. Crabs have been snipping bits and pieces out of him wherever they can get inside his clothes or on any part of him that was exposed.”
I could feel her shudder and she squeezed my arm tighter. “Any idea how long he has been down there?”
“Guess there was a waiting line and they didn‘t have much of a catch, so the boat owner left his deck hand with the boat and took off. The hand is pretty shook. Young kid. Down there in the half dark fishing crabs out of the ice water they carry to keep the crabs alive until they get to the cannery, and finding that. We are trying to find the owner. See if he can answer a few questions. Maybe figure out how and when Riley got dumped in there.”
“What’s the owner's name?” as I made sure my recorder was on.
“I shouldn’t… Oh hell… What’s the difference?"
as he flipped his little notebook open. "His name is John Grammling. I already had a man check his home address and his wife hasn’t seen him yet.” Pointing at a dilapidated building across the moorage,
he said, "We also checked over there at the Safehaven Tavern in case he stopped there. Probably has a girl friend somewhere.”
Sherry pulled at my arm and said, “You’ve seen about all there is to see and it’s damn cold and wet out here. Why don’t we go home and get out of it? They won’t do an autopsy before tomorrow.”
“Counselor, I think that’s a damn good idea. Why don’t both of you go home and stay out of this until we sort it out? I’m sure that’s your client on the end of that cable so you don‘t have an excuse anymore. I have a feeling he has been there since the day he got out of jail. These people are playing for keeps. There are a lot of cables around with nothing hanging on them as
of yet and I‘d hate find one of you decorating one of them. You don’t have a client anymore so why don’t you just stay out of sight for a couple days?”
Never one to give up easily, she said, “I still have to represent his interests.” Turning my way she added, “I think we should go by his house and inform his wife that he’s been found.” I thought Bernie was going to object, but he apparently thought better of it - probably occurred that he would undoubtedly get the detail if she didn’t
- and turned away shaking his head. I wished I could do the same. Notifying the wife would not have been my first choice of how to spend the evening.
We walked back to my place but instead of heading to the door she went over to her car. My idea would be to go in and find some dry clothes first. But I knew if I ever got inside I would be less in favor of going back out into the miserable weather, so I slid into the other seat. It was only half a dozen blocks so the heater didn’t even start to put out and because of our wet clothes the windows were so steamed we could hardly see the street ahead.
When we pulled up in front of the small house there were several cars along the curb, so we had to park almost a block away. I bravely allowed Sherry to lead the way up onto the little porch. She knocked and the door was opened fairly
quickly by a man I didn’t know. He smilingly said, “Good evening. Come in and join us.” The door swung open enough for me to see that apparently most of those who arrived in the cars at the curb were inside the little house.
At Sherry’s indecision the tall skinny man introduced himself as Reverend Josephson. It became apparent that Sherry wasn’t much keener on the present mission than I. She took the preacher’s sleeve,
pulled him out on to the porch and explained why we were there. Josephson said, “Most of us felt this was coming but she always maintained he would be home shortly.” He then offered to carry the message inside. This raised him a few points in my estimation. Damn sight more guts than I
got. We followed slowly behind him and watched from the entry as he crossed to the now widow, and taking her hand bent over
to talk quietly to her.
I got the feeling her faith had slipped a bit since we last talked to her or she was receiving a lot of help from her religion. She didn’t act totally surprised. As he talked she sagged in her chair and tears pooled in her eyes but there was a lot less reaction than I would have expected.
Mrs. Riley noted that we were there and the reverend probably told her we were the bringers of the news. She showed no real interest in us so I quietly pulled Sherry toward the door. “Okay…
she’s notified. Let’s go get out of these wet clothes before we catch our death of damn
foolishness,” I said. She took one last long look inside and shrugged and followed me out to the car.
Chapter XVII
Back at my place I suggested a shower to get warmed up. Sherry agreed. She grabbed her dry clothes and headed into the bath. I had in mind a coed shower but knew she had other ideas when I heard the lock click. I figured it would be a while and was still cold, so I turned the heat up on my way to the kitchen end of the place to put on a pot, then paused and flipped my computer on as I passed it.
While the coffee pot gurgled I sat down and started to enter what we had just learned into the
"what we know" file. It still didn’t point the finger at any culprit, or at least didn‘t hang a name on anyone. Sherry finally came out dressed in about half a normal compliment of clothes. About twice what she needed in my estimation. She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone and started dialing. She said “God, that felt good. I was freezing.”
“Did you leave any hot water?” I asked as I headed for the shower. She was right. It felt great. Maybe the heat thawed my brain out. I knew Grammling slightly from having seen him around the boat yard. It would sure make my story better if we should find him. An interview would certainly make my story longer and since I was paid by the inch, from my viewpoint that meant better.
I dried off and wrapped the wet towel around me and went out to find Sherry sitting in front of the computer with a mug of coffee. She moaned her displeasure when I suggested, “Why don’t we go out and check a few taverns? Maybe we can find Grammling and talk to him before the cops get to him.”
“Out in that sloppy weather? I’m still not warm. Besides Bernie said he probably has a girl friend somewhere. What makes you think we will find him at a tavern?”
“That’s cop talk. They always think the worst. There are only three or four taverns on this end of the peninsula. If we don’t find him right away we can come back home” She grumbled a lot, but put her clothes on and we went out into the night again. The wind had increased and was driving the rain sidewise hard enough that you only got wet on one side. And it damn sure wasn’t any warmer.
It was only a couple of blocks to the Sunset Tavern. Sherry lucked out and found a spot at the curb right in front, and I told her to wait and I would check. The reason for the empty curb was obvious when I went inside. I made a wide circle past the booths and ended up at the bar where there were four people sitting, half asleep. I asked the bartender if he had seen Grammling and he said, “Not for about a
week,” then informed me the cops had also been asking for him.
I went out and folded myself into the little car and said, “The cops got smart. They are ahead of us. Been here already. Maybe we should just call it a day and get out of this weather.”
The car heater had begun to make the car almost comfortable and
the fact that I was the only one getting wet may have had something to do with it, but Sherry said, “You are the one drug me out here. There are only a couple more so we may as well check them
first.” She put the car in gear, pulled away from the curb and aimed it at Long Beach without a look to the rear.
Next stop was the Broken Oar, a huge barn of a place, designed for the crowds of tourists who for some reason find the beer tastes better after they drive a couple hundred miles and spend a few hundred dollars for motel rental than it does in their home town taverns. Half of them never see the ocean that is supposed to be the attraction. During the off season only an area near the front of the tavern is lighted, with the dance floor, bandstand, and rear
booths only lighted enough for the few customers to be able to find their way to the restrooms. I didn’t waste a lot of time. I glanced around the half dozen lighted tables and headed for the bar where the bartender gave me the same answer as the last one.
When I crawled back into the car the combination of the warm heater and my wet clothes immediately fogged up the windshield. “Okay… if we gotta do it. Guess the Long Beach is next, but the cops got lots more men than we do and they started first.”
“Up to you. Why don’t you check one more. If they’ve been there we can call it a night. I’m getting hungry.” At the next one, The Long Beach Tavern, Sherry had to park half a block past the place and on the other side of the street so I got wet as hell getting there. I saw the reason for all the parked cars when I went inside. It was pool tournament night and the place was full, so I didn’t even try to look around, I went straight for the bartender. I had to wait for one to get un-busy, but the answer was the same. “Cops were here asking the same thing almost an hour ago.”
Sherry had taken pity on me and turned around and parked in the no parking spot at the corner. When I came out she pulled up and double-parked and I crawled in. I shrugged and she interpreted it as no luck and said “I guess we may as well give up. I’m still hungry though. I noticed the pizza place is open as we came by. There is never anything to eat at your place so why don’t we stop?”
“Not my first choice, but okay I guess. I must be getting old, they don’t agree with my stomach anymore.”
She said, “Not the only place I’ve noticed you’re getting a bit over the hill,” as she tooled into the parking lot where there were only four other cars. I figured a couple had to be employees, and this is another place made big enough to accommodate the summer crowds, so we wouldn’t have trouble finding a seat.
The place is rustic. A large area of picnic type tables and a small area of booths. After we went through the line and placed our order and they had my money firmly in hand, we took our coffees and found a booth while we waited. We had been sitting there for several minutes before my eyes became accustomed to the dim light and I became aware of the occupants of the opposite booth. It was Grammling. Sitting there with a large pitcher of beer, still half full, in front of him and a very well-put-together blonde beside him. Well,
"beside" was probably an exaggeration. She was obviously very friendly and any closer would have been in his lap. When I asked “John Grammling? You’re a hard man to find,” he didn’t appear too happy that I had found him and was interrupting what he was indulging in as he moved his hands back up onto the table top.
He appeared less pleased when I slipped across and took part of the vacant seat across from him. Before he could get too mad I asked if he knew the cops were looking for him. The good looking, heavy set, guy of about forty years asked, “Cops? Why would the cops be looking for me? I just came in from being out in that mess all day.”
I related all that had happened and he lost all interest in the blonde sitting to his right. Especially when I said the cops had gone by his home looking for him. “Shit…
my wife is going to be looking for me next. I told her I would be tied up half the night down at the docks. What the cops want from me? I don’t have any idea how a stiff got in my fish hold. Who did you say it was anyhow?”
I saw my opening and jumped right in. “Look, you need to get your story straight before you talk to the cops.” Hoping he would do so aloud. I checked my recorder in my pocket and asked, “You must have heard about the murder of the Mayor?” At his nod I said “The guy who shot him disappeared about a week ago and they are sure his is the body in your hold. They are going to want to know where your boat has been for every minute of that week.”
“It has been sitting at the dock for almost all of the past week. We had pots out that needed checking, but the weather has been so bad we couldn’t get out for three days. We thought we were going out one day and re-iced but we didn’t go anyplace afterwards because of the rough weather.”
“Anybody staying on board while you were in?” I asked.
“No… nobody on ninety percent of the boats while they are in. Their accommodations aren’t like the Best Western Motel. No…
nobody with any other place to sleep would be on her.”
Sherry, who had moved over and pushed in beside me said, “I don’t understand. How could anyone dump a dead body into the boat like that?”
“I don’t know. Guess it would be easy though. The tide holds the boats on one side or the other of the float up tight against it. The boats have about two and a half feet of hull above the walkway level. It would be easy to shove a body over that, then the hatch is about the same height. My boat was evidently unlucky enough to be handy and on the side that was pushed up against the dock.”
The waitress picked that time to deliver the pizza he had ordered. He told her to order him a cab and started munching on a slab. Around the food he said, “Guess I better get back down there before the cops go back and talk to my wife again. Their going there once I can explain, but again a couple hours later would be hard.” He then turned to the blonde, handed her a bill, and said “You better call yourself a cab. Second thought, since there is only one in town, I’ll take it down to the docks and send him back for you.”
Hoping the cab was busy so it would be a long wait, I began trying to get a couple good quotes. I had enough information so that with what I knew about boats I could write the story but a few direct quotes are always nice and tend to take up more space. He explained he hadn’t had anything to eat since morning and continued to stuff pizza into his mouth so talking was limited. And this was the time the cab chose to be prompt, so I got to watch Grammling’s back as he headed out the door stuffing food in his mouth on the way. I did get him to agree to me talking to him again the next day down on his boat.
We retained our seats and Sherry began trying for a conversation with the blonde. I hadn’t even asked her name as I figured she probably had little to add. Sherry asked. The girl said,
“Millie,” and when pressed repeated, “Just Millie - that’s enough.” I figured she was pissed about our finding Grammling and messing up her plans.
The place was beginning to fill up and the waitress moved our stuff over from the other booth and then delivered our pizza. I suddenly remembered that it had been several hours since we had eaten and started emulating Grammling.
Sherry had other thoughts. She said, “I have been on boats. Anybody who grew up down here has. But not down inside of any fishing boats. I’m not sure in my mind how they are laid out down below. He said they re-iced, what does that mean?”
Between bites I explained. “Most of these old wooden boats - like mine - were built pretty much the same. They were built as trawlers, but when fish got scarce most
installed crab blocks, hydraulic lifts, to pull the crab pots out of the water. The pots are steel and weigh as much as two hundred pounds or so to keep them from washing away when they are set and left on the ocean bottom for a week
at a time. The boat’s topsides has a small cabin towards the front and a square box about four feet square over the fish hold on the aft deck.
Below the front third and under the cabin is the engine room and the crew quarters. There is a watertight bulkhead between it and the fish hold behind. You’ve been down there in my boat.”
She commented by wrinkling her nose and “Stinks like diesel fuel.”
“Most are fairly deep - mine is almost twelve feet - so they have a lot of ballast on the bottom. I have a two-by-eight inch iron shoe that runs the full length under the keel of the boat and concrete poured about a foot deep inside the bottom to keep it right side up. They are still pretty tender - roll a lot in any weather- so they usually load a ton or two of ice into the fish hold before they go out. The ice was also the answer for refrigeration in the old days. He had been sitting for about a week so most of his ice would have been melted.
That means he would pump out the water and put in new ice.”
“More than I wanted to know. Still don‘t understand why it was so easy to put Riley down there without being seen.”
“Not many people out and about down there at night. Especially in the winter when it’s stormy. Actually it’s sort of spooky walking down the floats. They bob up and down and the wind blows you around. As to getting into the hold, that would be easy, as Grammling said. The hatch has an opening that is about four feet square and the cover is heavy, but it also has a second hole that is about two feet square in one corner of the big cover. That would be big enough to chuck a body in head first and it’s light and easy to remove.”
“Ugh. Down into the ice water in the hold. They will never be able to figure out when he died.”
“Actually colder than ice water. They carry bags of rock salt that they spread over the ice so it dissolves faster and makes the water colder.”
Millie got up suddenly and fled towards the front door saying, “Jesus. How can you eat and talk about that kind of stuff? Can’t you guys find anything else to talk about? I‘ll wait for my cab up front.”
With her departure I noted we had inherited almost half a large pizza to go with the one we had ordered. Ours alone was a lot more than we would eat. I never could figure out why we always ordered a large when a medium would be more than we would eat. We shortly bundled up the remains of ours and headed back toward my place. Not sure why we bundled as in my opinion a cold, stiff pizza is the least appetizing thing I can think of.
At least I figured I was about to make Charley happy, which in turn would help assure my financial well being for another few days.
Copyright ©2005, Nolan Lewis All Rights Reserved