Welcome to Deep Cove

Weak sunlight washed over the backyard of the apartments Merle and Garrett rented. Within the confines of the fenced yard, Garrett had removed his shirt and continued his morning exercises on a wooden dummy strung from the enclosure’s only birch tree. “Let’s work with the book,” said Garrett. He was sweating as he delivered a back kick to the dummy’s stomach area. He grunted as his foot connected with one of the planks.

“It’s all we have,” agreed Merle. The little dragon was stretched out on a lawn chair, his usual cup of java within arm’s reach. Swatting at a fly, he retrieved the dark ledger and opened it. “You think the murderer is listed in here?”

“It’s a good possibility,” decided Garrett, delivering a flurry of punches to the dummy’s head and shoulders. “What are the reasons someone would want to steal that ledger?”

“Let’s see,” said Merle, taking a sip of his coffee. “Could be that my name is listed in here and I don’t want anyone to know I work for a gangster.”

“Could be,” said Garrett, delivering two sharp elbows to the dummy’s neck. “Would you be willing to kill a dozen men for it? Men you no doubt work with. And if you are willing to murder people to meet your own ends, would being associated with a gangster bother you that much? Besides, the second ledger with the exact same names was left behind.”

“If Sal was in the middle of completing the ledgers, maybe he only had time to move one of them to the safe. When the culprit came in, he assumed the ledger on the desk was the only one.”

Garrett considered this for a moment. “Maybe,” he conceded. “It seems more likely though, that the person who took the ledger was more interested in Kline’s business or the people working for him.”

“What about the police?” asked Merle suddenly.

“What about them?” returned Garrett. “We know they have an agreement with Kline.”

“Maybe the Chief has decided it’s time to clean up this town. Could be the mayor is pressuring him? Everybody knows Kline is dirty.”

“Come on Merle, quit being so naïve. The mayor is just as dirty as Kline and so is the Chief of Police.” Garrett kneed the dummy in the groin.

Merle winced as he watched his partner working through his exercises. “Well, if not the mayor, then maybe some rogue cop who takes his job seriously. No!” he said excitedly, “A gang of rogue cops. Vigilante Justice!” Merle slammed a clawed fist into the palm of his other hand.

“It’s food for thought I guess,” accepted Garrett.

Merle was quiet for a minute and then he shrugged. “If it’s not the police, then maybe it’s someone who wants to sell the ledger to one of Kline’s rivals who could use the information. You may not be able to tell what products Kline is moving, but you can plainly see the channels he operates through.”

“Now that’s closer to what I’m thinking,” said Garrett. Giving the dummy one final cuff, he walked to a small table beside the dragon and picked up a folded towel. He mopped the sweat from his back. “Let’s explore that avenue further. If we pretend I’m a rival gangster and I want to get the information on Kline’s business ventures, how do I find out about his accountant and the ledger?”

“You could hire us.”

“I think we can eliminate that possibility,” returned Garrett with a mock scowl. “Unless you’ve been doing a little side work I haven’t been informed of.”

“Only with the ladies,” cackled Merle. Collecting himself, he straightened in the chair. “I suppose the easiest thing to do would be to pay off one of Kline’s jaded workers. I mean, they know the routine. Offer enough gold and someone will start jawing.”

“Exactly,” said Garrett, pointing a finger in Merle’s direction. “And how about the fact that one of Mr. Kline’s men hasn’t shown up for dock duty for a few days right before the old man’s warehouse is hit?”

“Rudy Wilson?” asked Merle. “That could be a coincidence. Maybe he’s sick.”

“You know what I think about coincidence, Merle.”

“Yes I know,” groaned the little dragon, “no such thing.”

“That’s right. Besides, who’s stupid enough to stay home sick when Mr. Kline has a shipment of rotting goods on the dock? If you don’t get the job done, you risk more than being fired with Kline.”

“True enough,” agreed Merle.

“And,” continued Garrett, “where was he yesterday? I think we saw almost everyone in Kline’s arsenal of helpers at some point during the day. If you were innocent and your co-workers were murdered, wouldn’t you show up to find out what happened?”

“And I have so many co-workers,” returned Merle, downing the contents of his cup. “Alright,” he agreed, “if you were murdered, I’d be a little curious as to what happened.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” decided Garrett. Pacing back and forth, he see-sawed the towel across his shoulders. “Master Yarl always said morning exercises could get your brain humming.”

“Nothing like a good hummer,” acknowledged Merle.

Garrett ignored the comment. Throwing the towel down, he marched over to the birch tree and latched onto one of the lower branches. Hauling himself up, he began a set of chin-ups. “I want you to hook up with Maury later today,” he grunted. “He should be at the warehouse again. We need to go through the book with him. Make sure you look at each individual name and take notes on them.”

“What am I looking for?”

“Anyone who had problems working for Maury or Kline. Disciplinary actions taken. Attitude problems. Anything Maury can think of that might single out someone who would sell out Sal Rogers.”

“I love paperwork,” grumbled Merle. “You know my claws weren’t made for note taking.”

“With the absence of any bulls to slay, you’ll have to make do.”

“And what are you going to be up to while I’m doing all the dirty work?”

“I’m off to find our friend Rudy Wilson. I have some questions for him.”

“I’d better be getting that badge you promised me,” huffed Merle.

* * * *

Rudy Wilson lived on the outskirts of town. His forefathers had been amongst the first to settle the region and had established their property a few miles inland from the coast. There were plenty of farmsteads up this way, but most of the land had been parceled out in larger plots and the houses were far apart, sometimes a mile or more. So sure was Garrett that no one would answer the door, he almost went straight to the neighbour’s. In the end, he realised he might have the opportunity to snoop around if they weren’t home and continued to Rudy Wilson’s farm.

He tried to mask his disbelief when Mrs. Wilson answered his knock and he fumbled with his investigator’s badge, nearly dropping it when the round woman glared at him from the half open door. “What do you want?” she snapped. “You with the sheriff’s department? Found that weasel of a husband of mine yet?”

“No mam, my name is Garrett Willigins. I’m not with the sheriff’s department, but I would like to ask you some questions about Mr. Wilson.”

“I don’t have any insurance on him,” snapped Mrs. Wilson, staring at Garrett’s shiny new badge. “I wish I had some, but I don’t.” She was about to close the door when Garrett interrupted her quickly.

“Actually, mam, I’m looking for your husband on behalf of Mr. Kline.”

The woman’s scowl deepened and it looked as if she might say something nasty. She cleared her throat instead and transferred her gaze across the recently ploughed fields. “So, he hasn’t shown up to work either?”

“No mam,” said Garrett carefully. He watched the older woman’s face for signs of emotion, but she retained her hard look. “May I come in and talk with you?”

“I already told the police everything I could when I filed the report three days ago.”

“You filed a missing person’s report with the police?” asked Garrett.

“Didn’t I just say so?” snapped Mrs. Wilson. She stepped closer, assessing Garrett’s face. “Do I know you?” she asked. Her intelligent eyes bored into him and he resisted the urge to step back.

“Um, yes mam. I was here last year to get a cat from your barn.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I remember you now. Why didn’t you say you were from around these parts? I thought you were an outsider, like that other fellow who come calling last week. Can’t trust those city folk you know?” Turning from the doorway, she ambled deeper into the house. “Are you going to stand there, Mr. Willigins or are you coming in for lunch?”

“Yes mam,” said Garrett, following after the older woman. Once inside, he closed the door and removed his footwear before following her into the kitchen. The house was warm inside and the windows were open. It was apparent Mrs. Wilson had been baking all morning. Fresh loaves of bread sat on the counter as well as fresh cookies. In the center of the table, sat a bowl of apples she’d been peeling for a pie.

“My boy’s have healthy appetites,” she said, clearing a spot at the table for Garrett. “Rudy has a bit of a sweet tooth himself.” At the mention of her husband, Mrs. Wilson began to hum agitatedly. Going to the stove, she removed the lid on a pot of soup and stirred it. Collecting herself, she shuffled her ample frame back to the table and cleared away the pie tins and the bowl of apples.

“You said you filed your report on your husband three days ago?” asked Garrett. At her nod, he continued “And how long has it been since he’s been home?”

“Five days now,” she said tersely. “At first I thought he’d gone to that cathouse of his, but he’s never been gone for two days. When he didn’t show up on the second morning and there was no sign of him at the brothel, I had one of my boys go down to the police station and bring back a deputy.”

“Mrs. Wilson, do you think your husband would leave you and the boys?”

“Anne,” replied the older woman, pulling up a chair at the table. “Please, call me Anne.” Garrett nodded and Anne continued. “We’ve had our fights over the years, but I don’t think that he would. We had a row the last day I saw him.” Anne looked upset as she recalled the argument.

“If I may ask, what did you argue about?” asked Garrett.

“The farm,” said Mrs. Wilson, “the farm and his work for your employer. I wanted him to quit working for Mr. Kline. We’re honest people Mr. Willigins and our farm is an honest business.” Garrett nodded his understanding – having had his own reservations about working for the gangster. “Rudy said he couldn’t turn away the money, because he’d make more in one day than two weeks of working the land. Times have been tough around here and Rudy felt like he wasn’t providing for me and the boys. I told him we would get by. We’ve seen tough times before, but Rudy would have none of it. He said that Mr. Kline was a fair man and had always treated him good. He couldn’t turn away the money, and he wouldn’t disrespect the man who’d given him a job when he needed one.”

The door to the farmhouse opened and two strapping lads came into the house for lunch. Anne looked at the men with pride as they came into the kitchen. With an effort, she pushed herself up from the table. “These are my boys, Rudolph Jr. and Colton. The men nodded, each thrusting out a beefy hand for Garrett to shake. “Mr. Willigins is here on behalf of Mr. Kline. He’s looking for your father.” At this, both men distanced themselves from their mother’s visitor. Anne immediately stepped in and ordered her boys to get cleaned up for lunch. “Would you be so kind as to get the ham from the cold room?” she asked of Garrett. “My old knees are no good on the stairs anymore.” Realising he had no say in the matter and that he would be staying for lunch whether he was hungry or not, he nodded politely and followed Colton’s pointing finger in the direction of the cold room.

* * * *

Garrett seated himself on a boulder at the end of the jetty. Behind him, the pier continued three hundred feet to the lighthouse. Garrett’s mind wasn’t on the lighthouse though, or the encompassing ocean. He didn’t hear the sounds of the waves lapping at the shore, or the cries of the gulls overhead.

At first he’d thought Mrs. Wilson was covering for her husband, but instincts told him these initial rumblings had been wrong. Garrett had learned long ago to trust his gut. If Rudy had decided to turn traitor and sell Mr. Kline’s trade secrets, Garrett now felt his wife knew nothing of these plans.

Leaving the Wilson’s farmhouse, he had made his way to the lighthouse. Banging on the old door at the bottom of the structure, he had waited several minutes before noting the pull cord beside the latch. Feeling stupid, he gave the rope a tug and sure enough the old attendant appeared on the walkway three stories above him.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” called the old man “My hearings no good, so if you’re talking, I can’t hear you.”

The old sailor managed his way to the bottom of the tower and tugged open the weathered door. He greeted Garrett with a suspicious look, his good eye scrutinising the younger man. “Yes, sonny?”

“Good day,” said Garrett, raising his voice. “My name is Garrett Willigins and I wondered if I could ask you a couple of questions?”

“I’m not deaf,” said the white bearded attendant. “I just don’t hear so well above the wind up there.”

“Sorry,” apologised Garrett. “I wanted to ask you if you know the Wilsons from up the coast?” Garrett pointed along the road toward the farmhouse.

“Rudy and Anne?” returned the attendant. “Course I know ’em. Anne makes the best pumpkin pie in these parts. She used to be a looker too. Got three boys all growed up. Good lads. ”

“Yes sir,” agreed Garrett. “What I was wondering was if you ever see Mr. Wilson walking along here?”

“Sure,” replied the keeper. “He works most days on the docks over there. See him ’round here often. Sometimes he comes up for tea.”

“Have you seen him lately?”

The old man thought about the question. “Been over a week, I suppose. Him and his boy Jr. were here for a visit.”

“And he hasn’t walked by in the last few days?”

“Not that I’ve noticed,” said the man, scratching under his white whiskers. “I’m busy most times keepin’ the lamp goin’ and checking the weather reports. I don’t need no damn globe to tell me when a storm is brewing though. I can feel it in every joint. Ain’t no fun getting old, sonny.”

Garrett nodded his understanding. “Are you the only attendant?”

“Yup,” replied the old man with a proud grin. “Twenty-three years service. I got me bunk up there and me charts. Like I said, lots of folks like to see how the place works. I get company for tea often.” The old man suddenly blinked as if a thought had struck him. “Say, would you like to come up for a tour?” he asked. “I have tea on the stove right now!”

“I would like that,” said Garrett honestly, “but I have to find Mr. Wilson.”

The attendant frowned, but then nodded his understanding. “Well you come back anytime and visit old Lanny. You seem like a good kid. If you see Rudy tell him I have those sea charts he ordered.”

“I will do that,” agreed Garrett. Leaving the lighthouse, he had wandered to the boulder strewn jetty he now occupied.

Scooping a small pebble from the beach, he tossed it into the waves beside him and thought about the morning’s search. He glanced back up the coast and along the trail he had followed from the Wilson’s farm. Colton had told him his father walked this path to and from work, and that he had walked it himself looking for his father the morning following his disappearance. Now, five days later, Garrett had walked it twice and found no signs of Rudy. ‘Just drop it. Rudy Wilson sold out Mr. Kline and he’s long gone with his payment,’ interrupted a small voice inside his head, but before he allowed himself to finish the thought, his feet were moving again. Turning left, he headed back toward the Wilson’s property. Traveling up the coastline several hundred yards, he stopped when he came to a narrow footpath cutting down from the cliffs above. It was like an alarm bell going off in his head, and he forced himself to slow down as he scrambled over the scree. This path could be used to reach the upper establishments, including the whorehouse Rudy frequented.

Reaching the top of the cliff, Garrett was sweating heavily and breathing hard. He didn’t stop to catch his breath though, and the sounds of many gulls drew him onward. Pushing his way deep into the foliage and thorn bushes lining the trail, he fought his way toward the cries of the birds. Kicking at a nearby gull, he thrust himself through the last of the mountain scrub. Several gulls took flight as Garrett exploded into a small clearing containing the remains of a man. Two of the gulls brazenly remained within a stone’s throw, squawking and flapping their wings in agitation. Charging the birds, Garrett sent them winging before returning to the body.

The Smell of the decomposing man made Garrett’s stomach churn and he covered his nose as he moved in to examine his gruesome find. Despite the damage caused by the scavengers, Garrett recognised Rudy instantly. His fears were now a reality. Rudy hadn’t turned traitor and Garrett no longer had a suspect. To make matters worse, Rudy’s body was crucified to a large birch and arranged almost identically to that of Kline’s bookkeeper.

* * * *

“You found him just like this?” asked the uniformed man for a second time.

“Yes,” agreed Garrett.

“And you said you were looking for him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Garrett watched the two men circle the body. The officer asking the questions had removed a notepad from his belt and was taking notes. He had introduced himself as Detective Honi. The second cop was examining the spikes driven into Wilson’s ankles and did not bother to introduce himself. Focusing on Honi, Garrett answered. “He hasn’t shown up to work for several days. Mr. Kline was worried for his employee.”

“And you work for Mr. Kline.”

“Well sort of. As I mentioned, I just received my P.I. certification. I owe Mr. Kline a little money for rent on one of his properties. In order to pay it off, I’ve taken on a few tasks for him.”

“I don’t have any patience for rogue dicks, Mr. Willigins.” At this, the second cop snickered loudly, but Honi shut him up with a scowl in his direction. “I’ve just been assigned to Deep Cove, but don’t think I was born yesterday. I’ve walked the streets of Cassadia for over eight years and I’ve seen all kinds of shit, Mr. Willigins. For every prostitute or homosexual deviant out there, there’s a dick in the background making trouble.” Again the second officer broke into uncontrollable laughter. “Do you find this funny Johnson?” asked Honi. “I personally don’t see anything funny about a dead man nailed to a tree.” Johnson controlled his outburst and shrugged.

“I’m not here to make trouble,” assured Garrett. “I only checked this path because Mrs. Wilson informed me that Rudy liked to visit a particular house of pleasure. Since she filed a report with you guys, and Rudy here is within your jurisdiction, I figured I better report it to you.”

“That’s awful dutiful of you,” replied Honi. “But under what circumstances would you not have reported to us?” The policeman reached into an upper pocket and retrieved a cigarette.

“I didn’t mean I wouldn’t have reported finding his body,” said Garrett guardedly. “I was simply explaining why I did.”

“I see,” said Honi. Flipping the page in his notebook, he scribbled for several seconds. Without looking up, he spoke again. “That’ll be all Mr. Willigins. I’m sure I’ll be in touch. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to vacate my crime scene.”