When It's Time for Leaving Read online

  “I need help here!”

  An older guy with hair the color of a Q-tip stood on the dock of the contemporary house next door. I called out to him again.

  “Yo! I need a hand over here. It’s an emergency.” He stood there gawking as if he didn’t hear me.

  The school of fish returned and resumed their meal. There was no time to wait for the next-door neighbor. I kicked off my shoes and jumped into the drink. If it was up to me, I would rather have jumped in with an alligator than those nippy little creatures. As I swam toward the body, the crazed fish once more turned tail and disappeared. The tide was too high for me to stand, and every time I pushed the boat away it slammed into us. Finally, I freed the man’s hands and floated the body to the end of the dock. I was having trouble getting him out of the water when Max charged onto the platform.

  “I called 9-1-1.” She knelt on the dock and grabbed the body. “Push,” she said.

  We almost had it on the dock when it slid back in. It landed on me and we both went under. I grabbed the guy and swam to the surface where I maneuvered it close to the dock. Max grabbed his arms again.

  “This isn’t working. I’m getting out,” I told her.

  I hopped on the dock and we both pulled until we managed to get the man up on the landing. The guy looked to be maybe twenty-five, about ten years or so younger than I was. He had blond dreadlocks and wore a thin black leather necklace with a silver Hawaiian fishhook ornament hanging from it. A windsurfer, I thought, as I checked for life. His lips were blue and I found nothing.

  Then Max tried. She checked for respiration and looked for a pulse in his neck. She shook her head.

  I started CPR anyway. Within minutes the yard became a madhouse of activity.

  So much for a quiet breakfast by the water.

  4

  GIVING CPR TAKES A LOT OUT OF YOU. Although the EMTs were there in minutes, when they finally took over, I was ready to dissolve to black.

  Max and I went up to the lawn and flopped down to dry out and watch. It didn’t look good. My arms were stinging from the salt water in the scrapes and bites I had gotten on my arms. I wondered if he had been alive when the fish started nibbling him.

  The guy next door was watching from his dock.

  “I guess the old geezer didn’t want to get involved,” I said to Max. I’d seen it a thousand times before.

  “They’re a little different over there.” She motioned toward the contemporary house.

  “Well, I’m glad you heard me and came over.”

  “Actually, I didn’t hear you. I came over to get a file I needed.”

  “File?”

  “Didn’t Greenleaf tell you? I’m senior investigator at Blue Palmetto.”

  I thought it was a one-man agency. “What about Big Al?”

  “He’s president, of course.”

  “Senior, huh? There are other agents?”

  “Yes, you.”

  Between the dead guy and now this, I couldn’t think straight. I was the owner of the agency, but my father and Max were above me in pecking order. I was about to clarify what she was saying when three officers approached us. I shook off Max’s offer to help me to my feet.

  “I’m good,” I told her as I got up.

  One of the cops asked Max to go with him to the table up on the patio. I knew the drill: separate the witnesses, get statements right away because people easily mix up recollections. Even at that, most statements are unreliable. Max went without hesitation.

  Another officer with graying hair and a paunch came up. He motioned for me to stay where I was. “I’ll handle this,” he said to the third cop who went down to the dock.

  “I understand you found the body, Mr....”

  “DeSantis. Al DeSantis.” I noticed the gold oak leaf insignia; a major on the police force. I wondered why I deserved such attention.

  He broke into a grin.

  “Thought so. The other Al DeSantis and I go way back to Granville.”

  “Is that so?” I don’t know if I was supposed to know what Granville was, but I didn’t and I didn’t ask.

  He put out his hand. “Major Gil Johnson, AIPD.”

  “The island has its own police department?”

  “Yep, and you’re looking at about half of it; five full-time and four part-time officers including the chief. Ava Island is a special service district of the Savannah Metro Area. Our population swells from 680 to over 3,000 in season, so we police ourselves.”

  Nine officers; a regular NYPD. Roaming dogs were probably the biggest crime on the island, so this must be a huge deal. No wonder why half of the force showed up. The EMTs had the guy Max and I pulled from the water on a stretcher and were running him out toward the front yard.

  Johnson shook his head. “They stuff them into an ambulance and rush them to Georgia Regional Hospital over in Savannah even if there’s the slightest hope. I don’t make the call.”

  I understood what he was saying, but I knew the man was dead even before the EMTs took over. I thought of Psycho’s lifeless body under the truck on the bridge. That hadn’t been a pretty sight, but the thought of this guy possibly being nibbled to death by a school of fish was even worse.

  A white skiff with a gold badge and Savannah–Chatham Metro Police lettered in blue and yellow on the side came up slowly without a wake so as not to disturb the scene.

  “Here we go,” Johnson said. “We could have handled this ourselves. Technically, I can’t stop them from showing up. The river is their jurisdiction.”

  A diver went over the side. I knew he was checking that there wasn’t another body under the dock.

  Meanwhile, a photographer had been taking pictures, and a couple of other uniforms showed up who didn’t seem to have much to contribute other than gawking. Johnson spoke to them privately and they left.

  “I was a cop. We used to get that all of the time; our own men compromising the crime scene to be nosy.” As soon as I said it, I realized it was a mistake. I didn’t mean anything by it, but Johnson didn’t take my remark lightly. Still, I knew what I said was true.

  Johnson straightened up his sagging old shoulders. “Do you know something I don’t about this being a crime scene?”

  I decided to ease up.

  “Nope. Not my call.”

  “Good.” Johnson relaxed his shoulders a bit.

  “Although... I was wondering how a body could get wedged between the dock and the boat.”

  Johnson glanced toward the dock. “I’ve seen it before. Boats are tied loose enough to allow for the tides, and the current pushes a body in there.”

  “Are you saying he was dead before he got trapped?”

  “You were a cop, so you know I’m not saying anything of the sort. We are investigating a death.” Johnson took some gum out of his pocket and plopped a piece into his mouth.

  “I had a hard time getting the body out. His hands were wrapped up in the lines. My neighbor had to help me.” I motioned toward the patio where Max was being interviewed.

  “Why did you move the body from where it was found?”

  “The fish were eating him, and I had to give him CPR.”

  He must have known as well as I did that actions to save a life take precedence over preserving the scene, but I knew I’d been put in my place.

  “Well, were his hands tied or only tangled in the lines?”

  “I don’t know. I was concentrating on getting him free to see if I could save him. His hands were wrapped in the lines. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Johnson then caught me off guard when he changed the subject. “I heard Big Al was in the hospital. How is he?”

  “A nursing facility. The Palms over in Savannah. He has beginning Alzheimer’s. I was told he signed himself in.”

  The major made a face. “Damn hellacious
disease. So, you took over the agency?”

  Hellacious. Who uses that word? I was surprised that he didn’t make a comment about the old man signing himself in to the Palms.

  “I got here yesterday. It seems to be getting more complicated, but my plan is to tie up a few cases then I’m moving to California.”

  “Good idea.” Johnson’s words almost came out as a snicker.

  “Tying things up or going to California?”

  “Both. My daddy used to say, you should do what you have to do, then do what you want to do.”

  “Judging from the files I looked at last night, it’s mostly small stuff, divorces and insurance cases.”

  Johnson wasn’t all that interested. Kind of like when someone asks how you are but they don’t really want to know. He lowered his voice and stepped close to me.

  “You all set with your license? I know people.”

  That was nice in a good-old-boy kind of way. I guess any friend of Big Al’s is a friend of Johnson’s. “Experience and criminal justice credits fast tracked my license. Mrs. Greenleaf got everything in order before I came down.”

  “Got it.”

  “Look, can I go change? I’m soaking wet.”

  “Just hold on a bit. I only have a few questions to establish a time line, then we’re done.”

  Those few questions lasted forty-five minutes.

  5

  AFTER THE COPS LEFT and Max went back to her place, I called Greenleaf and told her I wasn’t opening the office that day. I wasn’t going to tell her why, especially since she didn’t keep me in the loop as far as telling me that Max worked for the agency, but the old woman pressed me until she had the whole story.

  “Your father never closed the office on a normal working day.”

  Finding a body getting eaten by fish didn’t qualify as a normal day, but I did my best to hold my tongue. I certainly wouldn’t get into a back and forth with an elderly woman.

  “I’ll pay you for the day.”

  “You think it’s the money? If I was worried about making money, I’d be working at McDonalds.”

  “Is there a McDonalds on Ava Island?”

  “No. And lucky for you there isn’t.” The phone went dead.

  I wasn’t surprised when Greenleaf wheeled her Schwinn around back and parked it in the iron bike rack. I was down on the dock looking at the spot where I’d found the body.

  Greenleaf was quiet as she came on to the dock.

  “Is that where you found him?”

  “Yeah.”

  She stood next to me looking at the water. “It’s too bad. Do they know who he is?”

  “I don’t think they found any identification on him. He was in swim trunks. Did you ever see a young guy around here with blond dreadlocks?”

  She rubbed her chin as if she were trying to think of something.

  “There are a lot of young people on the island but they mostly hang out down in the village or at the beach. Around here the people are older and you hardly ever see them.” She looked out at the mouth of the river and the Atlantic beyond. “Maybe he fell off a boat.”

  I looked up river. “Or jumped off the bridge.”

  “Either way, not much of a welcome for you on your first day on the island.”

  “It might be an omen. You know, I think you’re right about opening up today.” I might as well get started on cleaning up business. I’d get to L.A. that much quicker.

  Greenleaf sighed. “Whatever you say.”

  As if she didn’t intend to open in the first place. Why else would she be here?

  I followed her up the dock. As I stepped off, a glint of light caught my eye as Greenleaf’s shoe kicked something. I saw it roll under a bush with large red and green leaves. I picked up a small stick and probed under the plant. I found what I was looking for and used the stick to pick up what turned out to be a circular piece of brass.

  “What’s that?” Greenleaf eyed the ring when I held it up to get a better look.

  “Too big for someone’s finger.” I made it spin on the stick.

  “It’s nothing. Let’s get to work.” She started walking up toward the house.

  “Everything is something.” Whether it was significant or not was another story. I set the ring on the patio table and asked Greenleaf to go in the house for a baggie. I used my phone to take a couple of pictures of where it was when Greenleaf kicked it. When she returned with the bag I dropped it in. “I think I should show this to Johnson.”

  “I thought we were going to get some work done today.”

  “I went over the files before I went to bed. I prioritized the cases I want to wrap up. There’s a list on the coffee table starting with the back-injury guy who likes to jet ski. Check it over and see what you think.”

  There was an awkward silence and I was about to ask her why she didn’t tell me Max worked for the agency. We both started to talk at once. I deferred to her.

  “There’s something else you should know. Max works for the agency.”

  I fidgeted. “She’s the senior investigator.”

  “You know then. I was going to tell you, but you were talking about closing the agency and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

  “I still intend to close it after I clean up my father’s cases.”

  Greenleaf scoffed. “Max has cases to close, too. Look, I know it’s a little awkward. She moved here after she quit her job. She was a TV reporter in Atlanta. Investigative stuff, but the industry has a glass ceiling thicker than a bowl of two-day old oatmeal. Big Al was having trouble keeping up, so he hired her. It was a perfect fit for both of them.”

  “So, now I’m the owner, but she outranks me?”

  “You can’t handle that?” There was a downward turn of her mouth.

  “I didn’t say that. I’m going to see Johnson. I should be back soon.”

  6

  AS SWEET AS THE OLD MERCEDES WAS, I chose to take my own ride because I didn’t want anything from my father. The traffic was horrendous and I realized it was because of people going to the beach.

  With the help of my finicky GPS, I found the Ava Island Police Department a block from the beach in a white building with an impressive rounded portico held up by scroll topped columns.

  It was well into afternoon when I stepped into the station and approached a female officer at the front desk. I didn’t think the small brass ring was relevant but it was an excuse to ask if I could get a look at the report on the body. I was curious. Once a cop, always a cop.

  I knew that the public had the right to see police reports, but I also knew that the chances of getting the paperwork were a crap shoot.

  “I’m here to see Major Johnson.”

  “He’s in a meeting right now. Is there something I can help you with?” The woman hardly looked up from her computer. And there I was giving her my most charming smile. Her loss. I’d have a better chance of getting the report from Johnson since he and my old man seemed to have that good-old-boy thing going.

  “I’ll wait.”

  A display of old-time pictures of Ava Island above a row of chairs caught my interest. Photos of bathers on the beach in 1895, a doughboy parade in 1917, and a seaplane at a dock in 1935 told me that the place had quite a history. Eventually I took a seat. After about fifteen minutes, the officer directed me to Johnson’s office in the Criminal Investigations Section.

  Johnson was as convivial as he had been that morning.

  “DeSantis, sorry for the delay. I was in a meeting. Everything alright? How’s the old man?”

  “I never got out there to see him. It’s on the to-do list.”

  Johnson shrugged his shoulders.

  “I had a feeling you’d be showing up. Sit down, I’ll get you some coffee. It’s not your usual police department swill. I make it myself
.”

  I took him up on the coffee.

  “I’ll take it black,” I said.

  Johnson walked out of the office and I used the time to look around. It always interests me to see how a person chooses to present themselves to the world by what they display in their office. In a way, we are each our own PR man. Johnson didn’t overdo it, having just a few personal pictures around. They were enough to tell me what he wanted the world to know. He was a family man, judging by an older picture of what I assumed was him with his wife and two young boys. A more recent picture showed him with the same woman, quite a few years on them both, cutting an anniversary cake. The third picture showed the couple in mouse ears with a little boy and girl on their laps. Grandkids, I guessed. Wholesome. Exactly what the public wants from a major in the local police department. When he came back, I was looking at a picture of him by a white truck. He was holding a fish and had a great big smile on his face.

  “Striped Bass. I know a spot where they’re huge. I can show you some time.”

  “I don’t do much fishing. Nice truck.”

  “’89 Ram. I still got it. Solid as the day I bought it. I couldn’t kill it if I wanted to.”

  I took a gulp of coffee. He was right. It was good for station house java. “I came to show you this.”

  I slid the baggie with the ring in it across his desk. He picked it up and looked at what was in the bag without opening it.

  “A brass ring. Have you been on a merry-go-round?”

  “Sometimes it feels like it. I found it near the dock.”

  Johnson picked up the baggie and took a close look at the ring. “It’s cracked. I suppose it could have fallen off something.”

  I hadn’t noticed it was cracked. He handed me the bag and I examined it. “But what?”

  “You think it has some significance?” While he wasn’t being overtly dismissive, his seemingly friendly tone struck me as patronizing.