Page 14 of Nightshade
“Did you tell them why there was a delay?”
“Uh, no.”
“Good. I gotta go.”
He disconnected, grabbed the front rail of the dive boat as it came to the dock, and gently brought it to a stop.
Saunders came forward with the dive belt Stilwell had borrowed from Abbott and handed it over the rail. “Do me a favor, Gary,” Stilwell said. “Let me get a look at the anchor and chain.”
“You got it,” Saunders said.
He stepped back so that Stilwell could climb onto the boat. They went back to the stern, where the anchor, chain, and ropewere on the deck next to the yellow body bag. Stilwell took out his phone and took separate photos of each item.
“Can we turn it to see if there’s a manufacturer’s mark?” he asked.
With a gloved hand, Saunders turned the anchor on the deck to show the other side. Imprinted on the polished metal was a manufacturer’s brand.
“It’s a Hold Fast,” he said. “They make ’em by the thousands.”
Stilwell was looking at the body bag. Even with bloating, the contents seemed small.
“You want a look?” Saunders asked.
“No, I saw it down below,” Stilwell said. “That was enough.”
“Yeah, she’s ripe.”
“Well, you guys can go. I’m sure Ahearn will be in touch.”
“Then we’re out of here.”
Stilwell retraced his steps to the skiff dock, then used his foot to push the prow of the dive boat away. He himself almost slipped on the new decking. As the boat headed toward the mouth of the harbor, Stilwell’s phone started to buzz. It was Lampley.
“Sarge, you coming back here?” he asked. “Detective Ahearn is getting dressed.”
“Yeah, we’re done here,” Stilwell said. “I’m on my way to the sub.”
6
AHEARN, IN THEoffice at the sub, was clad in a tight-fitting Hawaiian shirt and khakis that were three inches too short and only accentuated by the shower sandals he was wearing. It was the best Lampley could do with clothes usually reserved for detainees arrested with inappropriate or insufficient clothing for an appearance in court. Ahearn held up a phone when he saw Stilwell enter.
“Look at this shit,” he said. “It’s already on Instagram. I’m totally fucked.”
“Does it identify you by name?” Stilwell asked.
“Not yet.”
“Then you’re not fucked. Do you want to talk about the case or about social media?”
Ahearn handed the phone to Lampley. His had obviously gone into the water with him.
“Yeah, I want to talk about the case,” he said. “What’s the status out there?”
“The body’s on the boat and headed to Long Beach,” Stilwell said.
“Good, then I can get the fuck out of here. This place—youlanded in a real dump out here, Stillborn, you know that? I mean, look at it. It’s full of fuckups, old farts, and fiascoes.”
“That’s cool on the alliteration, but I kind of like it here. You sure you don’t want to talk to the hull scraper who found the body or the harbormaster or anybody else before you go?”
