The Scientology Murders. William Heffernan
watching the woman as she expertly secured her vessel. She was perhaps five foot six, he noted, dressed in tan shorts and a pale blue T-shirt, both of which displayed a curvy yet trim figure. She had red hair and green eyes and her first words took him by surprise.
“You must be the cop.” She smiled at the look on his face, which Harry thought probably made him look like a dumbstruck hick. “The dockmaster told me I’d be across from one. He seemed to consider it a selling point.”
“Folks around here call him the dock Nazi.”
She laughed at that. “Yeah, I can see why they might. He’s a curious little guy. Asked me question after question.” She smiled again, revealing very white teeth. “I’m Meg Adams.”
“And I’m Harry. Harry Doyle.”
“And you’re a cop, like the dock Nazi said.”
“Detective, sheriff’s department,” Harry replied.
“And you live aboard?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
Harry shook his head slightly and peered down the dock toward the dockmaster’s office. “Did our beloved dock Nazi happen to give you any other information, like maybe my shirt size?”
She laughed lightly. “He probably would have if I’d asked for it.”
“I wonder if it’s you or if he’s just a . . .”
“Nosy little twit,” she said. Her smile widened. “It’s probably a little of both. At least I hope so. I’d hate to think my feminine charms had nothing to do with it.”
A boyish grin was Harry’s only response. “Look, when you finish what you have to do, if a cup of coffee appeals, you know where to find me.”
“Keep the coffee warm, I’ll be finished up here in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
Harry returned to his boat. It was ten o’clock, late enough to call his mother at the hospital. He checked the coffee to make sure it was still warm, then called the intensive care unit. After explaining he was Detective Doyle, Jocko’s son, the nurse said she would get his mother. A minute later, Officer Moore came on the line.
“This is M.J. Your mom’s asleep and I didn’t want to wake her. I got the okay to come back and sit with Jocko and help your mom where I can.”
“That’s terrific. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that. How’s Jocko?”
“They say he’s holding his own; not out of danger yet, but heading in that direction. He looks a helluva lot better than he did yesterday.”
“Jesus, that’s good to hear. Please pass the word to your bosses about how much I appreciate you being there. It’s a big help to my mom and it will give me more time to look for the son of a bitch who shot Jocko.” Harry paused. “No, on second thought, maybe you better forget the last part. I don’t want to put Max Abrams on the hot seat with the brass.”
“Don’t worry,” M.J. said, “I learned a long time ago when to keep my mouth shut.”
“Thanks. When my mom wakes up, tell her I’ll be there later, and I promise I’ll keep in touch with you and let you know how things are going on my end.”
“If you need my help finding this creep, let me know.”
“I will.”
* * *
“Permission to come aboard,” Meg Adams called out.
“Permission granted. The coffee’s still hot.”
Meg came through the starboard hatch, her red hair giving off a fiery flash as she moved from sunlight to interior shadow. She was still dressed in the clothes she had worn on arrival, the pale blue T-shirt and tan shorts that seemed to accent her every curve.
“How do you take your coffee?” Harry asked, as he placed a heavy mug next to the coffee pot.
“Black. I’m easy.”
Harry poured a cup and took it to the chart table where his own cup waited. He motioned for her to take a seat and raised his cup. “Welcome, easy lady.”
“Easy . . .” She drew the word out, playing with it, then added: “At least as far as coffee goes.”
“It’s a start,” Harry said, trying to keep the banter alive, but Meg let him know the subject had run its course.
“Have you been here long?” she asked.
“Not long. Until you showed up I was the new guy on the dock.”
“What brought you here?”
“I had a house about a quarter of a mile north off Mandalay Avenue. I thought I’d like to try living on a boat, so I sold the house, bought this”—he tapped his hand against the chart table—“and here I am.”
“And you’re pleased with your decision?”
“So far I am. And you, what made you decide to live aboard a boat?”
Meg hesitated, deciding, Harry thought, what she wanted to reveal and what she did not. She offered him a not-quite-regretful shrug. “A relationship that didn’t work out,” she said. “He kept the apartment and the furniture. I took the boat.”
“A thirty-five-foot Morgan in exchange for some furniture. Sounds like a shrewd trade to me.”
“He never liked the boat. We bought it because I wanted it. Poor guy, he got sea sick every time he came aboard. Even if we were tied up at the dock he’d get sick.” She looked out the window at her boat. “But I loved it. And . . . the apartment was about to go condo and he wanted to buy in. It’s a high-rise on Sand Key with a great view of the gulf, but you have to deal with an elevator every time you want to go down to the pool or the beach, which means you have to deal with other people whether you want to or not.” She glanced at him to see if he understood what she was saying. “I just started to loathe that elevator and knew I didn’t want to live that way.” She smiled now. “Picky, huh?” She brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead. “It also didn’t help that my relationship with my guy friend had gone very, very flat. So I opted for the isolation and a boat. A boat gives you all the privacy you want. You see who you choose to see. People can’t just wander around a marina’s docks without eventually being challenged.”
Harry nodded. All true, he thought, unless you’re being stalked by a crazy woman.
Chapter Four
Regis Walsh stared up at the man who stood before him. The white hair he was used to seeing was gone now, replaced by a blond dye job that was obviously from a bottle.
“I sent you a directive to appear before me and explain your actions,” Walsh said. “It took you a long time to respond, much too long.”
“I thought it would be safer if I changed my appearance first.” Tony Rolf raised a hand toward his head and then continued, “Too many people saw me. And even though they weren’t close enough to see my face, I knew the white hair would give me away.”
“Let’s get to the point,” Walsh snapped. “Why did you kill the girl?”
Rolf bristled at the question. Muscles in his neck bulged freakishly and then traveled down into his arms and hands. It was almost as though a switch had been thrown, sending a current through his body. Walsh cautioned himself to tread carefully with this man.
“I didn’t kill her,” Rolf said, his words coming out in a near growl. “I was waiting on Tyrell’s boat so we could take her out to the Freewinds for auditing. When she saw me she freaked out and accused us of trying to kidnap her. Tyrell attempted to calm her, but she jumped off the boat and started running down the dock. I ran after her and grabbed