Island of Bones (17 page)

The gulls dipped and hovered, following in the white foam of the ferry’s wake. A little girl was standing at the rail tossing Cheetos at the birds. Frank stood there, hands deep in his pockets, watching her. Then, finally, he looked away, his gaze going back to Away So Far Island, quickly growing smaller.

“Come on, Frank.”

He looked back at Louis.

“I need to go call in, let them know we’re coming.”

“I’ll wait here,” Frank said quietly.

“I have cuffs, Frank. You want me to use them?”

Frank just stared at him. Then he turned and headed toward the front of the boat. At the bridge, Louis rapped on the door then slid it open before the man behind the wheel had a chance to protest. Louis flashed his ID.

“I need to use your radio,” he said.

The man was in his sixties, with wild white hair and brows as bushy as caterpillars.

“What
?”

“I’m arresting this man,” Louis said. “Get the coast guard, please. Ask them to patch you through to the Fort Myers
police.”

The man’s blue eyes jumped from Louis to Frank, standing by the door. He hesitated, his gnarled brown hands gripping the wheel. Finally, he unhooked a mike and keyed it, his eyes locked on Frank.

Louis saw a crewman hovering outside and he pulled Frank inside, shutting the door. The ferry captain held out the mike.

“Got someone named Horton,” he said, his eyes still on Frank.

“Al?” Louis said, keying the mike.

“Louis? Where the hell are you?”

“I got Woods. We’re coming in.”

“What? Where?”

“Sutter’s Marina, Captiva. We’ll be there in —-” Louis looked at the ferry captain.

“Half hour,” the man said.

“We’re on the ferry. We’ll be there in a half hour.” Louis hesitated. “No press, Al, okay?”

“Just get him here, Kincaid.”

Louis clicked off. The captain was trying to steer but kept looking back at Frank with shock, as if he were seeing Charles Manson, complete with a swastika tattooed on his forehead.

“That the guy in the newspaper?” the captain asked.

Louis ignored him and took Frank by the arm. They went back outside. Louis led Frank back to the stern.

The little girl was gone. They were alone except for two women standing at the rail. Frank sank down on a bench, el
bows on knees, hands clasped, head bowed.

Louis looked out over the
sound. They were out in the broadest stretch of the sound now, surrounded by water. To the west, he could see the mangrove fringe of Cayo Costa. He looked east and could see the northern edge of Pine Island where Bessie Levy’s stilt house was. And there, far away to the south, he could just make out the green that he knew was the tip of Captiva.

There was nothing else to
see but water, a stunning spectrum —- aquamarine, turquoise, azure —- changing with the shifts of the sand bottom and the sun rays.

Louis looked over at Frank’s bowed head. He was glad that the ferry’s engine made it difficult to talk.
Louis took a bench a few feet away, facing Frank.

“Diane,” Frank said after a moment. “How is she?”

“Worried about you.”

“I failed her.”

Louis didn’t know what to say.

“
Cruoris innocentium sceleratus sum
,” Frank said.

“Frank, I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

"
Cruoris innocentium sceleratus sum.
The blood of the innocent is on my hands.”

Louis just shook his head.

Frank looked out over the water. He was squinting into the sun, his eyes moist.

“I need to fix things,” he said. “Tell Diane I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, Frank rose and headed to the rail. It took Louis a second before the thought hit him, and then another second to take it seriously. He jumped to his feet, rushing toward the rail after Frank.

Frank disappeared over the side in a flash of white spray.

Louis grabbed the rail, screaming down into the water.

“Frank! Goddamn it, Frank!”

Frank’s head bobbed away, his arms flailing against the wake of the boat.

“Motherfucker,” Louis
said.

He grabbed the railing and hopped over the side, sailing down into the water.

The cool water rushed over him and he could hear the dull churn of the ferry’s engine close by. He struggled through the bubbles to the surface, the salt water stinging his eyes. The boat was a dark shape to the left.

But there was no sign of Frank Woods.

Louis treaded water, his head swiveling. Nothing. Just water and the ferry growing more distant. Louis pulled a full breath and dove down. The water was clear, maybe twenty-five feet, and he could see down to the sandy bottom. Nothing. Just the sand, rippled by the currents. The currents were strong, strong enough to make Louis fight to keep from getting pulled away.

Louis felt his lungs start to bu
rn and fought his way out of the current and up to the surface. He took another deep breath and dove again, frantically searching. A flash of silver as a school of small fish darted by and then blue. Just endless blue fading away into nothing.

He broke the surface, coughed, and wiped his eyes. He could see the ferry far off to his left and he could feel the current, pulling him in the opposite direction. He felt a panic rising up inside, but he pushed it back down.

He started side-stroking, trying to get out of the current’s pull. Finally, he felt the pull lessen and then he was free.

He stopped, treading water, trying to catch his breath. He could still see the ferry. It took him a moment to realize it had stopped. A flood of relief passed through him. It was circling back.

He took another dive down to search but saw nothing. When he surfaced he heard people yelling. His legs and arms were tiring fast but he spat out a mouthful of salt water and kept treading water. A few minutes later, something hard and white splashed near his shoulder, a lifesaver.

Louis grabbed it and felt himself being pulled toward the ferry. He wiped the water from his stinging eyes and scanned the surface for Frank Woods. Nothing.

Sonofabitch.

Someone threw a ladder over the side and he climbed back onto the boat. He wiped his face, still searching the water. He could
feel the eyes of the tourists on his back as water puddled at his feet.

“I called in your man overboard,” the captain said
. “The coast guard is on its way.”

Louis stayed at the rail, looking for Frank’s body while the ferry slowly kept circling. Finally, he saw the coast guard boat speeding toward them. He stood at the railing, rigid and angry, his neck burning from the searing sun. The other passengers were all staring at him and whispering. The little girl with the Cheetos was hiding behind her father, who was filming Louis with his video camera.

The captain approached Louis. “The coast guard says I can go take everyone back. You wanna stay here with them?”

Louis looked out over the water. “No. They won’t find him.”

Fifteen minutes later, the ferry pulled into the marina and Louis waited until the tourists had left before he stepped off onto the dock.

Landeta and Strickland were standing under a palm and came forward when they saw him. Landeta was wearing his usual black suit and white dre
ss shirt, his bald head glistening with sweat. He stopped at the end of the dock, blocking Louis’s way.

“I heard a rescue call,” Landeta said.

“You heard right, but they’re not going to rescue anyone,” Louis said tightly. “He’s gone. Frank’s gone.”

“He’s gone?” Landeta
said, his voice sounding as if it were being pulled through a grinder.

“He jumped overboard,” Louis said.

Landeta grabbed Louis’s arm and jerked him off the dock onto the sand. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Are you fucking stupid? You can’t even keep a fifty-eight-year-old man on a fucking boat for forty-five minutes?”

Louis pulled away. He started to argue, started to fight back, but he had nothing to fight with. He had fucked it up
-— again.

“Look,” Louis said, “we need to get back out to that island. I saw Frank talk to a man there. We need to get out there and question them.”

“We’ll do it,” Landeta said. “But you’re out of the picture.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You’re done with this.”

Louis stared at Landeta then turned sharply. He started away, catching Strickland’s look of pity as he passed.

“And don’t come begging around the station for any more work,” Landeta hollered. “You hear me, dumb-ass?”

Louis just kept walking.

He knew the currents. He knew where they would take him. So he stayed underwater until his lungs were burning, swimming near the bottom where the water ran the swiftest.

When Frank finally came up, he gasped for air and wiped a hand across his eyes. Treading water, he searched for the ferry. It was maybe fifty yards back, heading away. Then he spotted something dark in the water.

Damn...Kincaid.

He had jumped in after him. He could hear him yelling his name.

Frank pulled in a deep breath and dove back down. He swam fast and as far as he could before coming up again for air. Then he drove down again, swimming underwater until he felt as if his chest would explode.

He surfaced, gulping in air, and scanned the water again. Good...he was far away now. If he was lucky, the fast-flowing northbound current would carry him away before they could get help.

His heart was hammering in his chest. He was tired, his legs and arms heavy with fatigue. But he had to keep going. He started to side-stroke to conserve his strength, moving away from the ferry.

Jumping overboard had been a stupid thing to do. He hadn’t planned it
. But he knew that he couldn’t go back. He would be tried and probably convicted for killing Shelly Umber...maybe the others, too.

No...
he wasn’t going to rot in prison. He had spent the last thirty-five years hiding from his past and he wasn’t about to give up now. But there was no place to hide anymore, no place left to go.

Except...

His eyes stung from the salt water and he was exhausted. He flipped on his back to float for a minute. The sky was brilliant blue above him, cloudless, infinite blue. Beautiful...so pure and beautiful. He felt a sudden catch in his throat, but it was so unfamiliar it took him a moment to realize what it was. Salt, he tasted salt but not from the water, from his tears.

He hadn’t cried in a long time, not since that night Sophie died. Everything had changed that night. She was the only thing that had kept him going, the only thing he felt connected to. When she
had died, he had gone adrift.

Diane...he had tried to be a good father to her, but a part of him always thought she blamed him for her mother’s death.
Why didn’t you go with her, Daddy? Why did you let her drive in the rain?
How did you explain things like death to a seven-year-old girl, things you didn’t even understand yourself?

Frank closed his eyes to the sun, letting the current carry him.

How did things get to this point? How had it spiraled so out of control? He had always known it was wrong to kill them. Until now, he had been able to distance himself. But when they found Shelly Umber’s body, he knew it was over.

Ah, Sophie...I’m glad you’re gone so you don’t see what is happening to me. I thought I could escape it, but it’s always been there, deep inside me, waiting to come out. A man can't escape what he is.

He opened his eyes. He stopped moving his arms, then his legs. For a moment, he just floated, looking at the blue above, waiting, waiting, waiting to be sucked down into the blue below. The water covered his face, he let it flow in. But instinct kicked in and he struggled back to the surface, coughing the water out of his lungs.

No...that
’s the coward’s way. Keep going.

He flipped back on his side and started swimming again.

Time seemed to stop. The sun began to dip slowly in the west. The sunlight was coming in at a low slant over the water when he saw the green fringe of the island ahead. He was beyond exhaustion now, his limbs leaden in the water, his eyes swollen from the salt water. But he kept side-stroking.

Finally, his feet touched sand and he dragged himself toward the mangroves, using the roots to pull himself up.

He stood for a moment, knee-deep in water, breathing heavily. It was near dusk. He heard the shriek of a grackle, and then the odd rusted-hinge call of a limpkin. He knew birds didn’t normally call at dusk. They were announcing the presence of an invader. He wiped a hand over his eyes, tried to steady his shaking legs. When he looked up, he saw a figure standing on the dock ahead.

“I knew you’d make it,” the man said.

Frank staggered toward the dock.

“I heard the distress call go out on the radio,” the man said. “So I came out here to see.”

Frank looked up at the man’s face. Thirty-five years...Jesus, he hadn’t seen him in thirty-five years. He looked different, older, yet so familiar it was like looking in a mirror. Frank felt a sudden urge to embrace him and took a step forward. But the man’s expression froze him there in the water. And the rifle...he had a rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Why did you come back?” the man
asked.

“Emilio
—-”

“You were told to stay away,” the man said. “She told you that
. She told you never to come back.”

“I left with her blessing,” Frank said.

“We don’t want you here,” the man said. “I don’t want you here. You’re dead to us.”

Frank let out a long breath and looked around. “Where are the others?” he asked. “Do they know about me?”

The man shook his head. “They know what you did. But they didn’t hear the distress call. They won’t even know you ever came.”

Frank came out of the water, starting up the rise toward the dock. The man swung the rifle around
, aiming it at Frank’s chest. Frank froze. He felt a clutch in his gut but it wasn’t from fear.

“Emilio,” he said quietly, “I’m your brother, for God’s sake.”

“You have no brothers here. You have no family here. Not anymore.”

Frank took another step. “I have nowhere else to go. You know that. You must have seen the papers.”

“I’ve read them,” Emilio said. “There was a picture of the ring. How did they get it?”

Frank shook his head slowly. “My daughter turned it in.”

“Your daughter? What did you do to her to cause her to hate you so much?”

“Don’t talk to me about daughters, Emilio.”

Emilio snapped the lever on the rifle. “Then go now. Leave.”

Frank shook his head. “I won’t go. I want to talk to the others. I want to talk to
—-”

“No!” Emilio yelled. “The police will come here after you. Don’t you know that? You made your choice when you left. We don’t want you here.”

Frank took a few more steps. “Emilio,” he said carefully, his eyes locked on his brother’s face. “I know you still blame me. But Sophie didn’t love you, she —-”

Emilio lifted the rifle, his finger on the trigger. “I said go!”

Frank came closer.

“I’ll shoot you!” Emilio shouted.

Frank lunged for the rifle, grabbing the barrel. Emilio twisted away, falling against the mangrove roots.

Frank wrenched the rifle from his hands, but before he could get away, Emilio grabbed his legs, pulling him to the ground.

Emilio’s hands wrapped around Frank’s throat. Frank tried to wedge the rifle between himself and Emilio’s chest, but he couldn’t get a breath, couldn’t find the strength to do it.

“Emilio, stop,” Frank gasped.

Emilio pulled Frank forward then slammed his head back against the tree. A split second of blackness, and then a sudden surge of adrenaline ripped through Frank’s body. He jammed the rifle butt down hard against Emilio’s head.

Frank felt Emilio’s hands fall away from his neck, and then the weight of Emilio’s body sent him stumbling backward. Frank thrust out a hand to brace himself as he fell hard back against the mangrove roots and into the shallow water.

He sat up, grabbing at his throat, gagging and gulping in air. He saw the rifle and grabbed it with a shaking hand. It took a few seconds for him to realize that Emilio had not moved. He was lying face down, draped over the roots. Frank grabbed him and rolled him over. Emilio’s eyes were open.

No...

Frank touched Emilio’s throat. He felt nothing.

“No,” he said, his fingers groping for a pulse.
“Oh, God, no.”

He pulled Emilio’s limp body off the mangrove roots, laying it down in the mud, and pressed his ear to the chest. Nothing. With a cry, Frank leaned back and flung the rifle into the water.

“Emilio?”

Someone was calling from beyond the trees, a woman. He knew her voice immediately.

Frank looked up. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled up the incline through the trees. When the woman saw him, she stopped in the path.

“Emilio?”

Frank came forward. It was almost dark now and he couldn’t see her. Just her small black form and the white aureole of her hair. Tiny...she was so tiny.

He went closer so he could see her. Her face had been stored in his mind for decades, put there by his heart for safekeeping, to be taken out only when his loneliness overwhelmed him. Her face was there, in the archive of memory, with all
the other images and experiences of this place. But he could see now that his memory had been unreliable. She was different. Her skin, once so smooth and white, was now yellowed and crinkled like old parchment. Her eyes, which once had the dark shine of onyx, were now cloudy. She was old.

He felt something tear, deep inside his chest.

“Mama,” he said softly.

She took a step back, putting a hand on her chest.

“It’s me, Mama,” he said “it’s Frank. Francisco.”

She wavered slightly and he stepped
forward, ready to catch her if she fell.

“Francisco,” she whispered. “Francisco.” She lifted her hands, cupping his face.

“How? Why are you —-” She stopped. “So many years. I can’t believe you came back.”

Her hands were warm against his cheeks and Frank closed his eyes. Her touch, that had not changed. It was exactly as he remembered it.

“How did you get here?” she asked softly.

“I jumped...” He took her hands in his and looked down into her face. “It doesn’t matter.”

Her eyes filled with tears. He pulled her into his arms. He could feel her shoulder blades, sharp as knives, through her dress. She was so fragile, as if she would shatter into a million pieces if he held her too long or too hard. He lowered his head to hers, and breathed in her scent —- not the lavender soap he remembered but something dusty and dry. His throat constricted and he squeezed his eyes shut against it.

She pulled away to look
up at him. “The police are looking for you. They will come here.”

Frank shook his head. “They won’t come. They don’t know about this place. They don’t know who I really am.” He hesitated. “Mama, I have nowhere else to go.”

“But the others...your brother won’t allow it”

Frank stepped back and took her small shoulders in his hands. “Emilio is dead.”

Her eyes widened. “Dead?”

“It was an accident,” Frank said. “I didn’t mean to do it. We were fighting, and
—-”

She eased from his grip and covered her face with her hands. Frank hung his head, rubbing his face. Emilio had been right. He shouldn’t have come back. Kincaid or someone would eventually trace him here. The police would come. And they would find out about the girls and what they did here, what they had been doing here for decades.

“Francisco.” 

Frank looked at his mother.

“Where is he? Where is your brother?”

Frank looked down toward the mangroves. She followed his gaze and started toward the water, but he put his hands on her shoulders, stopping her.

“I’ll take care of him,” he said. “Then I will go.”

Her fingers curled around his forearm. “Go? Where?”

“Back. If I turn myself in, they’ll leave you alone. If I don’t go back, they’ll come here.”

“No,” she said. “I lost you once. I won’t lose you again. You will stay here now.”

Frank shook his head. “No, Mama, there’s no way that can happen now.”

Her grip on his arm tightened. He was surprised by her strength.

“There is a way,” she said. “I know a way you can stay and they will not come here looking for you
. Frater tuus mortuus est. Voluntas dei est. Nunc ille locum tuum sumet et tu suum sumes.”

Frank stared at his mother, too stunned to answer.

“Francisco, do you understand?” she asked.

He hesitated, then nodded.

“Tell me you understand,” she said firmly.

“
Sic intellego
,” he whispered.

She touched his face.

“What about the others?” he asked.

“They will do as I say. They always have.”

Frank shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Mama,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t —-”

Her hand
s came up to his cheek and he felt their
dry caress. “I know. Everything will be all right. You are home now.”

Frank reached up and took his mother
’s hands from his face. He covered her small hands with his own, holding them for a moment, then turned away.