Cowabunga Christmas (11 page)

W
hen we
arrived for our meeting with Detective Mitchum I was struck by two things.
First, by how modern the small police station was once we got past the
street-front façade that blended in with the rest of Old Town. Second, by how
jovial Detective Mitchum appeared to be as he greeted us. That large Tom Selleck-Jesse
Stone mustache of his could not hide his smile. He was affable as he directed
us to an interview room where we were seated with fresh coffee.

He introduced
us to his partner, Officer Dickson, and then took us quickly through our
interviews. They did not even bother to separate us as we each told our version
of what had happened since that close encounter with Owen Taylor at the pool on
Christmas Eve. Brien went first and quickly related details about the Q & A
session he had with hotel security, the encounter with Bad Santa, and the time
he spent with Mick and others at Sanctuary Grove.

When
he got to the part about the note we found in our room, we handed it over. Maybe
they could get a fingerprint or other evidence by examining it. Davis made it
clear he knew what was in that note, but that didn’t mean he had written it.
Nor did it mean he had left anything tangible on it that could be traced back to
him if he had penned it.

Our
stories diverged at various points because we had gone our separate ways for
short periods of time on Christmas Eve. On Christmas Day, too, since Brien and
I were sometimes in different places as events unfolded.

I
heard blow-by-blow details from Brien, for the first time, about what happened
when he left Willow and me at the tide pool so he could go get help. Brien had
Snaggy stay with us while he and TonyO surfed back onto the beach. Brien hit
the beach, ran and called 911 from a small burger shack near the dock. He picked
up a couple bottled drinks for me and Willow, left TonyO to wait for the police
and the rescue squad, while he paddled back to the lagoon. In all the
excitement since then he had not even mentioned how, on his return trip, he
found Snaggy. Snaggy had been badly injured and was out cold, floating on his
back in a shallow pool near where Willow and I were being held at gunpoint.

“The
guy had a nasty, deep slash on his head where somebody had beaned him,” Brien
said. “I spotted Benny and could hear him yelling about getting out of there. I
ducked down and stashed those bottles of soda pop in between the rocks. I
wasn’t sure what to do because I could also see two guys were in the lagoon
with Willow and Kim. Kim had Davis talking and Snaggy was bleeding bad, so I
dragged him onto my board and paddled back near where TonyO was waiting. This lifeguard
dude from the resort was there by then. He and TonyO waded out and hauled Snaggy
to shore. Snaggy’s sure lucky that lifeguard was there to help. TonyO wasn’t in
very good shape to do it.”

That
was an understatement. TonyO had hurled at the sight of that gash in Snaggy’s
head. Brien took off again, making yet another trip back to where Willow and I
were being held by Davis.

“When
I got back I could see that Davis guy had a gun. I didn’t recognize him, but I
had seen Arty before. That’s what they called him at the hotel—Arty. He was hanging
around when I spoke to hotel security about what was up with the dead Santa. I
knew I had to do something because Davis told Arty to get Willow and said he was
going to grab Kim next. When Arty just stood there, I figured I had a chance to
end this if I could nail Davis. Then, Davis turned his gun on Arty, away from
Kim and Willow. I grabbed those bottles of soda and pitched them at the rocks.
They landed. Wham! Bam! Davis unloaded bullets into the rocks and I jumped him.
Arty was squealing. I thought he might have been hit by a bullet, but he was
coming at me. Kim threw stuff at him and gave me a chance to punch him. That’s
about it, until the rescue guys got there. Oh yeah, Kim had to whack Arty in
the face one more time so I could get a good grip on him.” Brien had been using
gestures to illustrate and emphasize what happened during that showdown with
Davis. There hadn’t been a peep out of Mitchum or his sidekick for minutes. The
officer had stopped writing, several times, to gawk at Brien.

I
don’t know about them, but I had palpitations—reliving the whole thing had me
breathing hard. This time I also understood how much effort Brien had made and
how much risk he had taken. That many trips back and forth to the lagoon area
at top speed would have been too much for most mortal men. Imagining him as Hercules,
as I had done the day before, wasn’t that far-fetched. I tugged at Brien’s
elbow until he slid his hand down where I could grasp it tightly.

It was
my turn. I tried to keep my voice steady as I told the tale all over again,
from my point of view. By the time I was done, I was ready to bolt. So was Detective
Mitchum. He let out a huge breath, slapped both knees with his hands.

“Well,
that’s a wrap. Thanks Officer Dickson. Will you let me know when their
statements are ready for signatures?”

“Sure
will,” Officer Dickson said, as she stood up and left the room.

“There’s
no rush signing off on your statements. I’ll leave a message with the front
desk when they’re ready. You two can swing by any time before you leave town. Skim
them if you want to be sure we got it all transcribed correctly, and then sign
them. Officially, I want to say thanks for being good citizens. Unofficially, I
feel I should wag my finger at you about how much trouble you two got into.
This could very well have turned out to be a catastrophic Christmas instead of
a cowabunga Christmas.”

“We
know that, Detective. You sure seem confident this is all wrapped up.”

“Yes Kim,
all wrapped up with a pretty bow on top. This is off the record, of course.
Arty is singing like the proverbial canary—cannot give us enough details about
Davis and his counterfeit operation. We’ve rounded up half a dozen more members
of Davis’ ring of pirates, including guys ‘fencing’ the merchandise. One of
those guys was with Davis when they worked Owen over and claims Davis shot
Owen. So far, the evidence says he’s telling the truth. We retrieved Davis’ gun
from the tide pool and the bullets match the ones found in our dead Santa.”

“What
about what you found in that cave?”

“More
good news—the dinghy and other items in the cave let us close the books on
several outstanding thefts. The resort management is delighted at the idea of
eventually getting that hotel scrip back, even though nobody reported it missing
to us. They’ll have to wait until the D.A. has determined whether it’s needed
as evidence.” Mitchum stopped to take a breath and sip his coffee.

“We
finally caught up with Benny Abrams. Benny’s duties were more on the sale side
of the counterfeit ring. He didn’t work for the resort, but met with Davis at
the resort on a regular basis. One night he spotted Owen helping himself to
hotel scrip, stuffing it into his Santa sack. Benny knew right away he was no
hotel employee, wondered who he was, and tailed him to Boardertown. He didn’t
say it, of course, but it occurred to me he might have wanted a cut of that
scrip. We found a ton of it in the cave, but won’t know how much until the
evidence folks have finished counting it.”

“Maybe
that wasn’t Owen’s first time helping himself to fake doubloons.”

“Could
be, Kim. I’ve never seen a place with so many security problems. That could
have to do with the fact that Davis had a hand in hiring. He was more
interested in filling positions to keep his scam running than protecting the
resort.”

“You
should do a consult, Detective. Go in there and straighten them out,” Brien
said.

“I
might just do that,” Mitchum retorted. “Anyway, once Benny was on to Owen he
says he hung out, mingling with the surfers, until he found out Owen was pilfering
their goods. That’s when Benny went to Davis and told him what was going on.
How do you like that—Owen was a scammer scamming the scammers? Good one, huh?”
Detective twinkle-toes had returned. He was tap-tap-tapping away as he sat. Those
antsy feet of his did a happy dance on the floor beneath the interview table.

“Not
so good considering it got Owen killed,” I murmured.

“So
Mick didn’t turn Owen in?” Brien asked.

“It
doesn’t sound like it. Nobody’s mentioned your friend Mick, and he hasn’t turned
up in Boardertown or anywhere else we’ve searched. We’ve quit looking for him.”

“What
about the counterfeit merchandise Owen stored away and was selling on the
internet?”

“Actually,
that’s the only part of this twisted tale that really makes me sad—except for
the part about you two coming this close to a honeymoon tragedy.” Mitchum held
up two fingers and peered at us through a half-inch opening between them. He
had a point, but I still felt torn between lamenting our actions and snarling at
the detective. Brien was feeling something, too, because he tightened his grip
on my hand.

“The
guy at the hotel with Davis when Owen was shot and then tossed off the balcony
helped us out with that. He directed us to a storage unit belonging to the owners
of Corsario’s Hideaway. You were right to be suspicious that they let Owen off
the hook so quickly. I’m sure now they didn’t want us to take a closer look at
what Owen was doing in there after hours. I doubt we would have known what to
look for anyway. They got rid of the merchandise—dumped it, right away. The cyber
evidence is another matter.” Mitchum paused, his sad eyes drooping in sync with
his mustache.

“Their
unprincipled, morally bereft teenage son decided to go into business with Owen.
The adolescent computer geek set up the online auction site Owen bragged to
Willow about. The sleazy nerd’s parents shut it down, but I guess in cyberspace
that’s not the end of it. I don’t know what charges will be brought against the
kid. Heck, his parents might be in trouble with the D.A. since they helped destroy
evidence and cover up dumb and dumber’s criminal exploits. The Hideaway has
been closed while they try to figure out how much trouble they’re all in.”

“That
explains it,” Brien said. The detective tilted his head one way and then the
other.

“Explains
what?”

“Why
they were closed when we dropped by for lunch,” Brien replied.

“What
were you planning to do there?” he asked.

“
Eat
lunch
, Detective,” I snapped. That was mostly true. It had been lunchtime
when we dropped by, and we were hungry. If forced to tell the truth in its
entirety, I would have to admit our curiosity led us there. We didn’t tell
Detective Mitchum, but we even circled the block to get a gander at the back
side of the place. All locked up tight.

“Now
you know you have to go somewhere else to
eat lunch
when you’re in town,
and why. We’re done here. You two go have a wonderful honeymoon, a cowabunga
New Year, and a happy marriage. All that’s way more likely to happen if you do
as that thug Davis told you to do and leave it alone. We’ve got this under
control. There are a few loose ends to tie up—let us worry about that.” He
stood up. We did too.

“A
gnarly New Year sounds better, Detective.” Mitchum stared at Brien like he had
just spoken Klingon instead of English with a dab of surfer. You’d think he’d
be getting used to it by now. I intervened.

“We’re
leaving, Detective. And we’re leaving it alone, too. You should know that Mick
is still out there flapping around in the breeze. He doesn’t realize that
you’ve found Opie’s stash and commandeered that GPS device. He claims he’s
going to go get it. Do you want us to call and tell him to let it go, or do you
want to do it?” Up on his feet, Mitchum was doing that antsy two-step again.
What
is it with this guy’s feet
, I wondered?

“That’s
one of the loose ends we have to tie up. The GPS device wasn’t in the cave—a
spear gun, fishing net, fins and snorkel, all sorts of gear like that, but no
GPS device. Loads of weird stuff too, including rusty canned goods, nails,
metal bands from an old barrel, junk he must have brought up when he was out
fishing or picking up contraband. That Owen was a pack rat. It could be mixed
up in all that junk that they’re still sorting through. I’m sending a team back
out there to do another search, too. We don’t really need that GPS device,
though. I’m convinced Owen was trying to impress Davis, playing the big shot
once he got nabbed plundering that latter day pirate’s loot. Davis is as big a
sucker as anyone else when it comes right down to it. Owen could have been
playing Davis with a wild story that he and his partners had struck it rich. He
might as well have said they found the legendary Mad Monk that haunts the cliffs,
or were about to capture Corsario Cove’s very own creature of the black lagoon.
Who could possibly believe a guy as dumb and desperate as Owen Taylor had found
buried treasure? Give me that phone number and I’ll call this Mick guy. Does he
have a last name?”

“A guy
like Matthew Davis, that’s who—as dumb as Owen and even more desperate,
Detective.” Mitchum stared at Brien as he spoke those insightful words, a look
of surprise on his face. “Myers, Detective—his name is Mick Myers.” It was my
turn to look at Brien in surprise. I didn’t know Mick’s last name. No name had
accompanied the caller’s number on Willow’s phone. I read out the numbers as
Mitchum wrote them down.