They stood still and gawked at poor Nelson. Bruce retreated to the shade and returned to his chair. Nick and Bob slowly did the same. The sun was bearing down, the temperature getting hotter. Around them the rescue was coming to life as more choppers buzzed about and more chain saws were heard in the distance.
It had been an hour since the cops left.
Nick stood and without a word walked to the corpse, pulled off the towels, grabbed Nelson by his legs, and rolled him off the brick wall. He landed on the patio, faceup. Bruce and Bob hurried over for a look.
His right eye was swollen shut and there was another gash above it. “Just what I suspected,” Nick mumbled to himself. “Would you please get me the flashlight?”
Bruce found it on the kitchen table and brought it outside. Nick took it and knelt low over the head, as if searching for lice. He found a knot on the crown of the skull, hidden by thick hair, and continued his search. When he finished he reclined against the brick wall and said, “Looks like the limb hit him at least three times. Want to explain that?” He was looking at Bruce, who was speechless.
Bob said, “Okay, okay. Now let’s put him back up there before the cops get here.”
“No! The cops need to see this,” Nick said. “We’re talking about murder, guys, and the cops do the investigating. Or at least they’re supposed to.”
Bruce said, “Okay, but cover him up. I can’t stand to see his face like that.”
Nick gently placed the two towels over Nelson.
Bob, who in another life had spent time in a federal prison, was nervous. “Look, we probably left some fingerprints in there. Shouldn’t we try to rub things down?”
“Hell no,” Nick said. “The cops said we could go inside. If our prints are there it’s because we were there. Doesn’t mean we’re involved in the crime. And if we start rubbing things we might destroy prints left by the killer.”
“Good point,” Bruce said. “Do you think he left the murder weapon behind?”
Nick, now the head sleuth by default, thought for a second and said, “I doubt it. He probably fled in the storm and it would’ve been easy to discard anything in this mess. But we should look around.”
“I’m not going back in there,” Bob said. “In fact, I’m thinking about leaving now. I need to start ripping out carpet.”
“We’ll help you,” Bruce said.
“You can’t leave,” Nick said. “You found the body and the cops will want to talk to you. They asked us to stay here.”
“Right,” Bruce said. “Let’s stay put until they tell us to leave.”
Nick said, “I’ll be inside. You guys want another hot beer?”
Both nodded and Nick brought out two more bottles. He left them on the patio and walked around the kitchen, careful not to touch anything. He found a dish towel and used it to open cabinets and cupboards. In the den, he noticed that the set of four fireplace tools was intact in the wrought iron holder. Using the flashlight and not touching the tools, he carefully examined the poker, tongs, shovel, and brush. Only the poker was a possibility. The tongs would be too unwieldy. The shovel and brush could not deliver a lethal blow, at least in his amateur opinion. With his cell phone, he took photos of the stains on the wall in the den.
On the patio, Bruce asked, “Who in the world would want to kill Nelson Kerr?”
“I can’t begin to imagine,” Bob said. After a long pause he asked, “Do you really believe this, Bruce?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I say we take a deep breath, wait for the cops, and let them deal with it.”
“I agree. But right now they’re running in circles. Hell, we’re all stunned. I’m not sure we’re thinking that clearly right now. I was up all night, not a wink of sleep, and scared to death. I’ll be honest.”
Upstairs, Nick entered the master suite, which was even darker. He opened the shades and eased around the room, touching nothing. The bed was unmade. There were clothes on the floor. Nelson kept the downstairs neat but not his bedroom. Nick walked through the other bedroom and found nothing of interest—no more blood, no possible murder weapon. He looked in the two bathrooms; nothing.
On the patio, Bob said, “You know, it’s possible that he got hit by more than one limb. Look, they’re all over the place. I’m not sure I’m buying this murder story.”
“And the blood on the wall?”
“Are you sure it’s blood?”
“No. I’m not sure of anything, except our pal Nelson there is quite dead.”
“Should we move him out of the sun? Hell, he’s just roasting.”
“It’s not bothering him. No, we’re not touching him again.”
They sipped their hot beer and studied Nelson. The shadows were shifting and they would soon lose their shade.
In the garage, Nick found Nelson’s shiny BMW sitting unscathed. An impressive rack of fishing rods covered one wall. A bag of golf clubs was in the corner. On a small workbench, Nelson had neatly arranged the usual assortment of household tools, gadgets, and supplies. Extra lightbulbs. Cans of insect and wasp repellent. Nothing was out of place. Indeed, his garage was tidier than his bedroom. A designer tool kit sat unopened and Nick toyed with the idea of having a look inside. He was particularly interested in the hammer, if it hadn’t been removed, but he resisted the temptation to touch it. Let the cops do that.
Bob said, “There are some bad guys in his past, right? I mean, he wrote about some pretty nasty boys.”
“Have you read his books?”
“Most of them. Good stuff. He got booted from his law firm, right?”
“That’s always been his version. He was a partner in a big firm in San Francisco, doing well but wanting to get out, or so he says. Said. He found out one of his clients was selling military software to Iran and North Korea and he blew the whistle. The Feds paid him well but his legal career was over. He took the money, lost a lot of it in a divorce, and came here to start over again. Apparently, somebody was after him.”
“So you’re still into the murder scenario?”
“I think so. It looks pretty suspicious.” Bruce sipped his beer. “You know, Bob, this is too weird. Nelson’s lying there baking and his family has no clue. You know they’re worried sick.”
“I’m sure the police will notify them. Now that you’ve identified the body.”
“You would hope so, but these local boys are overwhelmed right now. I mean, what if that was your brother lying there? Wouldn’t you want to know?”
“You ever met my brother?”
“Come on, Bob.”
They took a sip, stared at Nelson, listened as another helicopter approached. Bob said, “I wonder what Sherlock Holmes is doing in there.”
Nick was studying the seven iron with the flashlight. The clubs were high-end Pings, a set that Nick, a serious golfer, recognized, and they were arranged in the bag in perfect order. Wedges on the bottom row. Irons, four through nine, in the middle. Then the fairway woods and driver, all with matching Ping head covers. Nick remembered a Scott Turow novel, Personal Injuries, in which the head of a two iron had been filed down to make a bladelike weapon. It landed perfectly at the base of the antihero’s skull and killed him instantly.
The seven iron had not been filed or modified, but there was something on it. A liquid that had dried and perhaps a few sprigs of turf. With the flashlight in one hand, Nick took close-up shots of the clubs. He was suddenly aware that he was drenched with sweat and breathing heavily. He left the garage and returned to the patio where Bruce and Bob were still sitting, still watching Nelson.
Nick removed both towels and said, “I’m taking photos of everything.”
“Why?” Bob asked.
“Just to have them. Who knows?”
At noon, almost two and a half hours after the cops had left, they heard something in the street. An ambulance had arrived and two first responders were unloading a gurney. A downtown-beat policeman who Bruce knew well met them in the driveway.
“Hello, Nat,” Bruce said with a smile and a handshake. He was delighted to see a familiar face, and a man in a uniform.
“Hello, Bruce. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Guarding the body. Guy’s name is Nelson Kerr, a friend of mine. He gave me as his contact.”
“I know Nelson,” Nat said, stunned. “He’s dead?”
“Afraid so.”
“Let’s have a look.”
Bruce introduced Bob and Nick and they walked to the patio, the medics behind them. Nat leaned over the corpse, pulled back one of the towels, and gawked at Nelson’s face. Bruce was saying, “For some reason he came out during the storm and got hit by a limb, or something like that. Bob here found him lying up there on the brick wall.”
“Who moved him?” Nat asked.
“We rolled him off. Not sure the limb did the damage, Nat. It looks like he took at least three blows to the head. This might be more complicated than we think.”
Nat stood and removed his cap and looked at Bruce. “What are you talking about?”
“We found some spots on a wall in the den. Might be dried blood. And some stains in a sink that could also be blood.”
Nick said, “It’s a homicide, Officer. Someone hit Nelson over the head inside, dragged him out, finished him off, and tried to make it look like storm damage.”
“In the middle of a hurricane?”
“Yes, sir. The perfect time to kill someone.”
“And who are you?”
“Nick Sutton. I work at the bookstore.”
Bob said, “He thinks he’s Sherlock Holmes, but he might be on to something.”
Nat was not equipped to deal with situations like this. He paced around for a moment, scratching his head, and finally said, “Okay, show me the blood.”
Nick took him inside. Bruce asked one of the medics, “So what’s happening on the island?”
“Chaos. The National Guard is clearing roads. They just found three dead folks under a beach cottage, just up the road here. The body count is seven so far. Thankfully, most folks left the island.”
The second medic said, “Most of the floodwater has receded but there’s still two feet downtown.”
“I own Bay Books on Main. I suppose it was flooded.”
“About five feet, sir.”
Bruce shook his head, mumbled, and said, “Well, it could’ve been worse.”
Nat followed Nick out of the condo and pulled out his radio. He disappeared around the side and talked to someone privately.
Bruce asked the first medic, “Any phone service?”
He shook his head. “All the cell towers were knocked out. It could be days. Y’all really think he was murdered?”
Nick said, “Either that, or that same limb hit him three times in the head.”
“Which limb?”
Bruce pointed and the medic strained to look.
Nat returned with purpose and said, “Okay, I talked to my lieutenant and he said don’t touch the body. He’s trying to find our homicide guy.”
“I didn’t know we had a homicide guy,” Bruce said. “I can’t remember the last murder on Camino Island.”
Nat said, “It’s Hoppy Durden. He also does bank robberies.”
“I can’t remember the last bank robbery.”
“He’s not very busy.”
Bruce said, “Look, Nat, might I suggest you guys contact the state police and get an investigator in here?”
“Sir, you’re confused. Right now no one is coming onto the island. The bridge is closed and all roads are blocked. We’re trying to get injured folks off the island.”
“I get that, but at some point real soon the bridge will open so the cleanup crews can get in, then the homeowners.”
“Just stay in your lane, sir. Somebody else is in charge of that.” His radio squawked and he stepped away again. The medics were called to another emergency, and so Bruce, Bob, and Nick were again sitting in the sun on the patio watching Nelson roast. Thankfully, Nat had covered him again with the towels.
The officer returned to the patio, said he had been called away, and instructed the three to remain with the body, and don’t touch anything, and he would try and find Hoppy but he was probably busy somewhere else. It was all hands on deck and the right hand had no idea what the left hand was doing.
Luckily, Hoppy Durden arrived fifteen minutes later. Bruce knew who he was but had never met him. As far as he knew, Hoppy spent no time in his bookstore. He was a large man with an ample belly and his sweaty uniform stuck to his skin. Introductions were made and Bruce outlined their murder theory. Hoppy looked at Nelson’s wounds, as if he’d seen dozens of murder victims, then followed Nick into the condo, which was as hot as a sauna. When they emerged, Hoppy flung sweat from his forehead and said, “Looks like this might be a crime scene.” He was noticeably excited. With a real murder in the works, he had the perfect excuse to avoid more chain saw duty down along the beach.
He got his camera and began taking photos of Nelson. He strung yellow crime scene tape around the back patio, down the drive, across the front yard, and along the flower beds. Bruce wanted to ask why so much yellow tape was needed when there was no one around. He had several questions and even more suggestions but decided to keep them to himself. Hoppy kept calling for backup but no one else arrived. Using his phone, he videorecorded brief statements from Bruce, Bob, and Nick. He asked them to please stay out of the condo. As Hoppy went about his business, he offered them bottles of cold water from his cooler. They drained them.
Bob was finally excused and left to deal with his flood damage. Bruce and Nick promised to come help as soon as possible.
The same medics returned with their gurney and loaded up Nelson. Hoppy explained that he would be taken to the city hospital where there was a small morgue in the basement.
Bruce said, “I thought the hospital was evacuated.”
“It is. But it has a generator.”
“Who does the autopsy?” Bruce asked. After spending half an hour with Hoppy he was not feeling good about the investigation.
“Well, assuming we do one, I guess it’ll be the state medical examiner.”
“Come on, Officer Durden. There has to be an autopsy. If this is a murder, you have to know the cause of death, right?”
Hoppy rubbed his chin and eventually nodded. Yes.
Bruce pushed but not too aggressively. “Why not just load him up and take him to the crime lab in Jacksonville? That’s where they do autopsies, right?”
“Yes. I know the examiner there. You may be right. We can probably pull some strings and get off the island without much trouble and drive down to Jacksonville.”
“And we need to make sure his family in California is notified,” Bruce said.
“Can you do that for me? I need to get back to the staging area.”
“Sorry. That’s your job.”
“Right.”
Hoppy followed the gurney down the driveway to the ambulance. Bruce and Nick watched as they loaded it and drove away.