Read Online Nightshine: A Novel of the Kyndred by Lynn Viehl - Free Book Online
Authors: Lynn Viehl
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scene?”
“Detective Goldberg.” He pointed to a short, dark-haired man talking to one of the forensic techs. “He’s coordinating with SFPD over the phone. How’d you get here so quick?”
“I was on vacation in the area and got pulled.” Drew glanced at the dock. “Any sign of the hostages?”
“They found some blood inside the rig,” the patrolman said. “No cars have been reported stolen, so it might have been a prearranged drop.”
“Thanks.” Drew walked in the general direction of the detective, but once the patrolman had turned back to watch the road, he headed for the dock.
Most of the vessels docked at the pier were big, expensive, and fitted with canvas toppers, suggesting they were the weekend toys of suburb sailors. Drew spotted one elderly man sitting on a deck chair on an old but beautifully preserved sloop; he puffed on a cigar while he watched the cops in the parking lot. Every now and then he would shake his head a little.
Drew stopped by the stern of the sloop. “Afternoon. Mind if I come on board and ask you a couple questions?”
“What’s in it for me?” the old man demanded.
“I don’t take you downtown, hold you as a material witness to a kidnapping, or question you for hours,” Drew countered.
“That’ll work.” The old man gestured for him to approach.
He stepped over the starboard railing onto the deck and looked out at the parking lot before taking out a notepad. “Did you see that ambulance when it arrived here?”
“I heard the lead-footed ass driving it when he laid on the brakes. Sounded like he ran over a cat.” He squinted up at Drew. “You’re not local.”
“I’m with FBI’s San Francisco office.” Drew looked down the row of boats and noted the empty slip at the very end. “About what time did you hear the noise?”
“Might have been two, two thirty. I came up to see what all the commotion was.” He drew on the end of the cigar and let the smoke waft slowly from his mouth into his nostrils. “Mexican fella pushed a cart covered with a mound of bloodstained sheets on it down to Wass’s slip. Howie said he’d gotten chartered to take some sportfishermen down to Mexico, but more likely he was hired to take the bodies out a few miles and dump them.”
Drew stopped pretending to take notes. “What happened then?”
“The Mexican and Howie carried what looked like two stiffs on board and stowed them below. I didn’t see Howie again after that. Greedy bastard probably got his throat cut.” The old man carefully snuffed out his cigar. “The Mexican came up a bit later, cast off the lines, and headed out.”
“Can you describe the people they carried on board?”
He shrugged. “They had sacks over their heads. One was big, and the other had to be a woman. Even with the sheet wrapped around her, I could see she had a beautiful rack.”
“They were both unconscious?”
The old man nodded. “The big one was bleeding from the side. It was all over the sheet.”
Drew knew a little about Samuel’s condition, which had been slowly crippling him for years. Although the Takyn all had the ability to heal faster than normal humans, Samuel’s weakened state combined with an open wound might prove too much for the big man to survive. “Was that when you called the police?”
“Oh, I didn’t call them, son.”
Drew eyed him. “Why not?”
“No phone,” the old man said, gesturing below. “No desire to get my throat cut, either.”
Drew glanced out at the bay. “Did you see what direction he took the boat?”
“He’ll be heading south for Manzanillo, Mexico.” The old-timer grinned at him. “Howie stopped by last night to borrow some maps. He’s never been down that far south, so I plotted the course for him.”
Drew jotted down the name of the city. “Is there anything else you can think of?”
“You’d best get out of here before the real cops see you talking to me,” the old-timer said. “Or you’ll end up going
“Detective Goldberg.” He pointed to a short, dark-haired man talking to one of the forensic techs. “He’s coordinating with SFPD over the phone. How’d you get here so quick?”
“I was on vacation in the area and got pulled.” Drew glanced at the dock. “Any sign of the hostages?”
“They found some blood inside the rig,” the patrolman said. “No cars have been reported stolen, so it might have been a prearranged drop.”
“Thanks.” Drew walked in the general direction of the detective, but once the patrolman had turned back to watch the road, he headed for the dock.
Most of the vessels docked at the pier were big, expensive, and fitted with canvas toppers, suggesting they were the weekend toys of suburb sailors. Drew spotted one elderly man sitting on a deck chair on an old but beautifully preserved sloop; he puffed on a cigar while he watched the cops in the parking lot. Every now and then he would shake his head a little.
Drew stopped by the stern of the sloop. “Afternoon. Mind if I come on board and ask you a couple questions?”
“What’s in it for me?” the old man demanded.
“I don’t take you downtown, hold you as a material witness to a kidnapping, or question you for hours,” Drew countered.
“That’ll work.” The old man gestured for him to approach.
He stepped over the starboard railing onto the deck and looked out at the parking lot before taking out a notepad. “Did you see that ambulance when it arrived here?”
“I heard the lead-footed ass driving it when he laid on the brakes. Sounded like he ran over a cat.” He squinted up at Drew. “You’re not local.”
“I’m with FBI’s San Francisco office.” Drew looked down the row of boats and noted the empty slip at the very end. “About what time did you hear the noise?”
“Might have been two, two thirty. I came up to see what all the commotion was.” He drew on the end of the cigar and let the smoke waft slowly from his mouth into his nostrils. “Mexican fella pushed a cart covered with a mound of bloodstained sheets on it down to Wass’s slip. Howie said he’d gotten chartered to take some sportfishermen down to Mexico, but more likely he was hired to take the bodies out a few miles and dump them.”
Drew stopped pretending to take notes. “What happened then?”
“The Mexican and Howie carried what looked like two stiffs on board and stowed them below. I didn’t see Howie again after that. Greedy bastard probably got his throat cut.” The old man carefully snuffed out his cigar. “The Mexican came up a bit later, cast off the lines, and headed out.”
“Can you describe the people they carried on board?”
He shrugged. “They had sacks over their heads. One was big, and the other had to be a woman. Even with the sheet wrapped around her, I could see she had a beautiful rack.”
“They were both unconscious?”
The old man nodded. “The big one was bleeding from the side. It was all over the sheet.”
Drew knew a little about Samuel’s condition, which had been slowly crippling him for years. Although the Takyn all had the ability to heal faster than normal humans, Samuel’s weakened state combined with an open wound might prove too much for the big man to survive. “Was that when you called the police?”
“Oh, I didn’t call them, son.”
Drew eyed him. “Why not?”
“No phone,” the old man said, gesturing below. “No desire to get my throat cut, either.”
Drew glanced out at the bay. “Did you see what direction he took the boat?”
“He’ll be heading south for Manzanillo, Mexico.” The old-timer grinned at him. “Howie stopped by last night to borrow some maps. He’s never been down that far south, so I plotted the course for him.”
Drew jotted down the name of the city. “Is there anything else you can think of?”
“You’d best get out of here before the real cops see you talking to me,” the old-timer said. “Or you’ll end up going
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