Storm of Suspicion - 4. Chapter 4

As they neared the center of town, a large black-grey plume of smoke rose into the sky and hovered like a genie having been released from its lamp and awaiting orders from its new master. Thom immediately noticed that the back of the bar, where Johanna’s body had been found, was now fully engulfed in flames. “That must have been where the explosion was,'' he commented.

The fire had begun to spread along the backside of the courtyard which connected to the Crown and Anchor, with the bitter winds threatening to carry the fire further. At this point all the fire department could do was to try keeping the fire from spreading and douse any stray debris with water whenever the winds changed direction. If the winds continued the whole town could be in jeopardy. For the next couple of hours the firemen worked frantically to contain the blaze. At last, the winds subsided long enough for them to extinguish the fire without further losses. Little remained of the bar and adjoining structure spare a partial front wall, a long pile of timber where the bar had been, and the charred framing from another wall. The back portion of the neighboring hotel had burned leaving that side of the building exposed like the back of a dollhouse, providing a clear and unobstructed view of the harbor while leaving the front intact but severely damaged by smoke and water. The giant Oak tree that had stood off the front porch, perhaps longer then the hotel itself was now barren and charred, reaching to the sky like an old woman’s hand stricken with arthritis. Circling overhead was the news helicopter dispatched from Yarmouth, which typically covered news on the cape for the Boston station.

“Great, just what I need, more bad publicity”, Thom gripped as he turned to see if Steven was still around. As he did, Thom caught sight of a blond man quickly disappearing around the corner of Atlantic Street. He then remembered the handsome stranger that he had seen that morning over at the Inn. Thinking that it may have been him, he pondered, “Maybe he saw who started the fire; or maybe he even was the one that started the fire….” . Thom again scanned quickly around to make sure Wallace wasn’t still watching him and darted across the street towards Atlantic St.

As Thom nearly reached the other side of the street to follow the stranger, a yell came from behind him. “Mr Landry, you better come here, we have a problem.” As Thom turned back towards the voice, the detective was walking towards him. Wallace continued, ” I was just talking with the fire chief, his preliminary assessment is that the fire started in the back office. This will certainly put a bind on both of the murder investigations.”

A wave of panic swept over Thom as he recalled having had the oil lamp burning when he and Karla had been there earlier. He was sure that he had extinguished the lamp before they had left; although he had been in a rush… “Wait, What? Both investigations? As in more than one?”

“There was a body found near the rear door”, Wallace announced.

Thom’s face turned snow white. “That’s impossible”, he stammered. “There was nobody there when we left”, turning now to Karla who was now standing at his side, having had broken from the gathering crowd.

“This is insane! Somebody must have broken in, I saw you lock the door…” Karla declared.

“What’s this?” Wallace interrupted. “You know each other? When were you two here?

Thom groaned slightly, knowing that the plight of everything had likely just gone from bad to worse. “I stayed in town last night and didn't have a change of clothes with me so I ducked into the club on my way over to the police station this morning to grab a sweatshirt. Karla happened to come by while I was inside and we left together right after that”.

“I see…” the detective pondered. “And who the hell are you and where were you after allegedly leaving here?” he demanded, now turning to Karla.

“This happens to be Ms Karla Eastman”, Thom intercepted, “an old Army friend of mine. She works as a criminal investigator for the government”, Thom continued, always being one for superfluous formalities.

“I was speaking to her,'' the detective snapped. ”And what are you doing here? This certainly isn’t your jurisdiction.

“Used to be CI”, Karla quickly corrected Thom. “I got a call from Steven last night saying something about a murder that he was being accused of so I came to help him”, Karla explained.

“Fucking great”, Wallace sputtered. “Just what we need, some nosey busy body that thinks she can do a better job then the local police department. Listen here lady, do or did work for the CID, you have no jurisdiction here and better just stay the hell out of our way, hear me?”. The detective turned back to Thom who was staring off towards where he had seen the stranger lead to moments before,” You both need to come back to the station with me and answer a few questions.”

“Can we take care of Johanna’s body first?” Thom inquired.

“In light of these new developments, I think that will have to wait.” The detective quickly turned walking towards the street, directing two uniformed officers to join them.

“Ok, I guess it can wait”, Thom replied as he sadly lowered his head to the ground and followed Wallace and the officers. He felt guilty about Johanna’s death; and wanted to throw her a grand funeral. An event that only he could have arranged properly, having known her the best. One thing that continued to tug at his conscience though was “why the hell was she at the Griffin last night?”

§

Seated at the end of a small bar in Boston’s South End neighborhood, Frank sat drinking a beer and watching the local news on a TV screen over the waiters station. “Amid a murder investigation in Provincetown Massachusetts, a fire today has destroyed the crime scene and much of the historic neighboring Crown and Anchor Hotel and entertainment complex….” Frank's attention started to drift as the station showed aerial scenes of the fire damage. “Nice”, he thought. “Very interesting turn of events… the fire and a murder”.

        §

At the Admirals Inn, the stranger walked through the front door. The wind swept briskly behind him nearly pulling the door handle from his grasp. The sudden breeze rustled the papers on the front desk and the flames flickered wildly in the fireplace, nearly going out before flaring back up. Carter popped up from behind the desk like a gopher on crack. “Well, Mr. Frye, and how are we today?” Carters speech was almost too sweet and sappy for the stranger to even tolerate. “Have you been to the fire? Big news, eh? Lucky for you to have come to town for one story and poof! You’re sitting center stage for an encore pre-sentation. Guess that’s how it is in the media business huh? You’re always ready to cover a story never knowing what, when, or where its going to come from.”

“Um, yeah”, the stranger replied.

“Well like I told you before, if you need to know anything just let me know! I tend to know everything that happens around here”, Carter babbled.

“Actually, you might be able to help me”, Frye began. “What do you know about the guy that runs the Griffin?”

“You mean Thom?” Carter fanned himself with a flat, loose wristed hand. “You mean that big butch hunk that runs around town in chaps all summer?”

“Ah yeah, I guess”, Frye responded, a little unsure what to make of the lewd description.

“He’s actually one of the owners. For the most part though he runs the place and the other two are silent partners. I don’t believe I would actually know them if I saw them, it’s been years since they’ve been around. Anywho, I suppose he should still make out pretty good with the insurance and all,” Carter explained.

“How’s that?” the man inquired.

“Well, I know that some buyers up in Boston have been looking at the property. They want to tear it down along with the Crown and Anchor and build a huge casino, presuming that the gaming bill gets passed next week. It certainly would bring tourism out here to the Cape year-round instead of just during the summer months. Boston just isn’t a good place for a casino being the state capital; historical and all, but P-town is just a 90 minutes away by ferry. I heard they were offering 40 million for the property and I happen to know Thom had the place insured for 20 mill. Not bad for a days work, huh?”

“Not bad at all, I didn’t think real estate went that high around here,'' Frye commented.

“Oh honey, it’s not just the property but the potential to make money. Lemme tell you the queens love to spend some money down here during the summer”, Carter went on. “And just imagine if all those people started coming here to gamble! We’d be the gay Vegas of the East Coast!”

“What about the other owners?” Frye started. “You mentioned some silent partners…?” , trying to guestimate how much each would make even after taxes.

“There are two others but Thom only has 1⁄4 share. Kinda unfair since he runs the place but I guess his initial cash investment wasn’t as much as the others. One of them lives in Boston and the other is out west somewhere, Seattle I believe. The one owner from Boston I hear is on board with the sale but the one from out west keeps holding back. Thom has been trying to hold on for as long as he could but now with the murder and the fire…. I really don’t know what he was trying to keep that tired old hole in the wall going for anyway will be the life of me.” Carter obviously wasn’t much of a fan of the Griffin, spare the owner Thom.

“I suppose someone would go to any length to get them to sell then, huh?” Frye pondered aloud.

“Oh and how!”, Carter exclaimed.

§

The fire on Commercial street had now subsided to a smoldering pile of rubble and the crowds of gawkers had again begun to dissipate. Fireman continued sifting through the debris and occasionally watering down spots that looked like the heat or winds could cause the fire to reignite. Frank fervently continued watching the events unfold before him on the television. He sat there spinning the cell phone on the bar several times before picking it up and beginning to dial. “No… not just yet”, he grumbled to himself. “Soon though and the timing has to be just right… soon enough, soon enough…” he grinned.

Frank was an undetermined aged man presumed to be somewhere between 60 and death, and that had been the case for as long as anyone had ever known him. He had dabbled in the bar business in Boston for as just as long and Fran’s had been the only endeavor that seemed to have endured the ever changing population and gay dynamic of the city. It was rumored that he also owned one of the guest houses in Provincetown but nobody knew for certain. His golden hair had grayed and had become thin and wispy from his years of constantly wearing a Red Soxs baseball cap. His face was mapped with deep lines hiding his true age and only served to tell the story of his hard life of years in bars smoking and drinking. His trademark flannel shirt and jeans hardly seemed appropriate for the opulent lifestyle which one would have imagined for anyone running bars and nightclubs in the gay community since the days of disco. As he gazed out the window down Chandler street, the rain began to pour down hard again as the winds sent a broken discarded umbrella rolling down the street like a tumbleweed.

§

As Karla, Thom, and Steven were escorted back into the police station, a chunky young woman in her mid twenties carrying a large pile of papers and files approached the detective. “Detective Wallace, I think you need to take a look at this”, and quickly pulled him into an adjoining room. The three were then led to desks each in separate areas of the room.

Moments later, the detective reemerged and made his way to Thom who now had been seated beside one of the desks, positioned with his back towards the others. “Mr. Landry,” he began, placing a pile of folders on the desk in front of him. “I think you definitely have some explaining to do. The report just came back on the body they found in the fire rubble, it appears that it’s the remains of Danny Summers, your doorman that you claimed already had left for Boston.”

“What? That’s impossible!”, Thom stammered then quickly stood up and turned around to face the room. “You took Danny to the dock and saw him get on the boat didn’t you?”, yelling across the room in Stevens general direction.

“Well, I took him to the dock yes, but….” Steven dropped his head like a dog being scolded. “The 3 o’clock ferry was full when we got there so he was going to hang around and catch the last one at 7:30. I had to get back to the Pilgrims Landing so I left him there. He said he was just going to get something to eat and maybe catch a movie.”

“So you didn’t see him actually leave then?” Detective Wallace interrupted.

“Well, no but…”, Steven replied.

“But what?”, Thom demanded. “This doesn’t sound too good for me,'' he mumbled to himself.

“But he had the ticket for the later boat, I bought it myself”, Steven declared.

“So why then was he at the Griffin this morning and why is he now dead?”, the Detective demanded.

“I’d sure as hell like to know that myself!”, Thom declared.

Karla had sat quietly surveying the situation and trying to figure out how to get Steven and Thom out of this mess, or at least out of here so they could together try figuring out what was going on.

§

At the Seattle Airport, a thin older man with slicked back silver hair stood in line fidgeting like a child that had to go pee. His silk Armani shirt clung tightly to his sweat soaked back and chiseled chest as if he had been caught in the rain. He had literally ran from the cab to the ticket counter and now to the terminal to board the plane.

Overhead a voice announced, “Final call for flight 2635 to Boston now boarding at gate A7”

As the man continued to shift his backpack from one shoulder to the other, a young man appeared from the doorway leading to the plane. He pulled one of the attendants aside and whispered into her ear.

“Now what?” the man mumbled. Moments later, the young attendant returned to the desk and picked up a microphone. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m sorry to announce but flight 2-6-3-5 to Boston has been overbooked. If there is anyone willing to take a later flight we will be offering an upgrade to first class”.

“Shit,'' the man grumbled, “I can’t miss this damned flight!” The man then bullied his way to the front of the line. “Miss, I have to be on this flight, I have to get to Boston tonight, it’s of the utmost importance!”

“I’m so very sorry Sir, we can only take volunteers for a later flight. Otherwise I can only board people already checked in and traveling in a group”, the attendant politely replied. “Perhaps I can help you find another flight leaving today?”

“I suppose that may work”, he replied in defeat.

The attendant motioned for the young man standing beside her to take the next guest while she rapidly began typing away at the computer screen in front of her. A few minutes later she looked up at the man, “I think I found something, there’s a flight leaving in 20 minutes on American, shall I have them hold you a seat?”.

“Oh yes please”, he quickly replied, glancing at his watch.

“If you’ll just give me your ticket from this flight, I’ll make all the arrangements”. As he handed her his papers, she picked up the phone. “Here, I’ll just confirm the gate and let them know your on your way, um…” glancing down at the ticket in her hand, “Mr. Colby… Michael?”

“Yes, that’s correct'', he replied.

“Ok Mr. Colby, They will be expecting you at gate D11. I’m afraid it's at the other end of the terminal and they have already begun boarding….”

“Thank You”, Michael yelled over his shoulder as he again began to make a frantic dash through the airport. “I can’t miss this flight!” he sputtered aloud, half anticipating people would hear him and get out of his way.