Surface Tension - Kling Christine - Страница 38
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I’ve always preferred free diving to scuba. There is no rasp and burble of air drawn in and out through a regulator. It’s quiet except for the distant buzz of propellers far away, the pop and crackle of tiny oceanic shrimp, and the crinkling noise as I squeeze my nose, popping my ears during the descent. Since I’d started practicing, the length of time I could hold my breath had grown longer and now I could stay down for over two minutes. My deepest free dive was to sixty-five feet. But not today, not without fins. I did get down deep enough, though, to see the scuba divers. The divers were about twenty feet off the bottom, swimming toward what looked like a small wrecked freighter. Judging from the number of holes in the thing, it was no accident that brought it to rest on the seabed. It definitely had been sunk intentionally, probably part of the artificial reef system.
It was also obvious that these divers were weekend warriors, not dive junkies. No expense had been spared in the gear they wore. I knew their type: more money than experience, and they bought everything the dive shop guys suggested. The smaller guy even had a bang stick strapped to his leg for shark protection. It was a pressure-sensitive device that when jammed into the side of an overly friendly shark would fire off a single shot gun shell. It worked, but you were more likely to hurt yourself diving with the equivalent of a gun strapped to your leg.
The bigger one noticed me, and I waved. I always felt superior to scuba divers. I felt free as a dolphin. He touched his partner’s arm and pointed up.
There was something familiar about the smaller guy. I used my last reserves of air to swim a little deeper. Just as I began kicking for the surface, it hit me: his black hair floating upward around the top of his mask, the dark inkblot of a tattoo on his right hand, last night at the Mai Kai. Cesar Esposito.
By the time I hit the surface, the black was beginning to close in around the periphery of my vision. I had come too close to passing out. Abaco had climbed back into the Whaler already, and she was barking like crazy. She hated it when I dived. I rolled onto my back and floated for several seconds, my eyes closed, waiting for my breath and strength to return.
Cesar Esposito! I pictured him leaning over James Long’s shoulder and the feeling that I had seen him somewhere before last night returned. My eyes popped open, I rolled over and I began swimming fast and furiously for the Whaler.
I pulled myself over the gunwale, threw my mask onto the floor of the boat, and scrambled for the varnished bench behind the wheel. The outboard sputtered and died at the first turn of the key. I glanced back at the engine, and in the distance, I saw the divers at their Sea Ray. Esposito was already in the boat, reaching over the transom and grabbing for his buddy’s gear. The other diver climbed onto the swim step. He towered over Cesar. Even at this distance, I could tell he was huge; his chest and arm muscles were so big, his arms couldn’t swing comfortably at his sides. He reminded me of a cormorant, the way they stand on rocks or buoys, their wings spread wide, trying to dry them.
I tried the key again. No go. Nothing but dying whines from my little starter battery.
Both men had dropped their scuba gear. I heard their big twin Johnsons roar to life. Shit.
Yanking the cover off the Merc with one hand, I reached into the stern locker with the other and pulled out my can of quick-start ether. I sprayed the carburetor keeping my head turned upwind.
Cesar was on the bow of the Sea Ray, bent over, pulling in their anchor line.
The Merc coughed to life on the next try. The Whaler was pointing north, away from the inlet, but I jammed it in gear and shoved the throttle to the max.
I looked back over my shoulder. Now both men were on the bow of their boat, their butts up in the air yanking on their anchor line. Whatever their anchor had snagged on, all that beef wasn’t budging it. The bigger guy looked up when he heard my engine rev up. I turned back toward the inlet in a wide arc and waved to them as I passed.
Seeing them together had made me remember the night on the beach with Ely. I was looking at Big Guy and Shorty.
XIII
It was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon when I parked on the south side of Bimini Lane and fed the meter all three of my quarters before crossing over to Harbor House. I didn’t see James’s Jag anywhere on the street, but for all I knew there might be a fancy employees’ garage behind the buildings somewhere. It was my fervent hope that he wouldn’t be there on a Sunday afternoon and I’d get a chance to talk to Sonya alone. Minerva was on the desk again, and she buzzed me into the building with a smile. I didn’t smile back.
“May I speak to Mr. Long, please?”
“I’m sorry, he isn’t in on Sunday. Would you like to make an appointment to see him on Monday?”
Excellent, I thought.
“Damn,” I said.
Minerva looked at me with arched eyebrows.
I plastered an on-the-verge-of-tears look on my face. “I guess I’ll have to tell her parents that I just couldn’t do it.”
“Who?”
“The Daggetts. Elysia’s parents asked me to stop by and pick up some of her things.”
“Well, miss, I don’t really have the authority . . .”
“They wanted me to speak to her friend Sonya, too, because . . . well, you know how parents are. They just have to find out everything she did on that last day. It’s all they have left now.”
Minerva scrunched her brows together and pursed her lips. The fine web of wrinkles deepened around her eyes and lips. “Well, I don’t see any harm in that. Specially seeing as the two girls were roommates and all. You should have told me right off. You don’t need Mr. Long’s permission for that.”
She picked up the phone and dialed an in-house extension. “Sonya? There’s a lady here who’d like to talk to you about Elysia. You got a minute? . . . Uh-huh . . . Okay. I’ll send her on back.”
James hadn’t mentioned Sonya was Ely’s roommate.
Minerva pointed to the door opposite her desk. “Just go on through to room twelve. I’ll open it for you. It’ll be on your right. She’s expecting you.”
“Thanks.” When I reached the door a buzzer sounded and the lock released.
The bedroom door opened within seconds after I knocked. Neither one of us said a word at first, although we recognized each other. She was the blond girl who had run into James in the hallway yesterday. He’d called her Sunny. There was open distrust in her eyes.
“May I come in?”
I saw the gap in the door start to close, so I pushed my way in and just started talking.
“Thank you so much for seeing me like this. I know it must be very hard on you, losing a friend like that.” I crossed to the far side of the small room, noticing the open suitcase on the unmade bed. I pointed to the other bed. “Was this Elysia’s bed?” She nodded.
I sat down on the smooth navy bedspread. “Had you two been roommates long?”
She closed the hallway door and leaned against it, crossing her arms under her ample breasts. She was wearing a white tank top and green satin jogging shorts. With her long blond hair and shapely legs, she looked like the type of model who is usually photographed draped over an outboard engine or a motorcycle.
“I already talked to the cops, and I’ve got nothing else to say. Who are you?” she asked.
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