Skeleton Sea

CHAPTER 51

The two paper grocery bags sat on the table in Doug Tolliver's office.

The office was roomy, Formica table and slatted-back chairs at one end and big Formica desk and padded swivel chair at the other. Everything tidy, the office of a neatnik. The room was painted a cheery yellow. It had a big window that overlooked the small grassy entrance to the Morro Bay Police Department. It struck me that Tolliver was the only player on this case who didn't have a view of the sea. Of all people, Doug Tolliver should have had a view of his patch of ocean.

Instead, he had a big poster of the harbor and Morro Rock.

The western-facing window let in the afternoon sun.

Tolliver had placed Fred Stavis in the chair facing the sun.

Stavis squinted.

Walter smiled.

This morning had started out foggy — just like yesterday morning, out at sea — only today I'd slept through a good part of the morning, awakened too early by Walter shouting from the common room, “Eureka!”

I'd come out in my robe, groggy, grumbling, who actually says eureka? When Walter showed me what he'd discovered, I understood.

Walter had phoned Tolliver, who'd said, “That could do it,” who'd phoned us back to say four o'clock sharp, it's all arranged.

And now, four o'clock sharp, here we all sat around Tolliver's table.

Stavis shifted in his chair so that the sun wasn't directly in his face. He looked composed. His right arm was in a sling but he assured us that the arm didn't pain him much. He had dressed for the occasion. For an interview at the cop house. No cargo pants. No boat shoes. Pressed khakis and a white button-down shirt — the right sleeve rolled up to accommodate the sling. And lace-up shoes, with socks.

Tolliver rested a hand on a portable digital recorder. “Fred, I'd like to record this interview, if you'll agree.”

Stavis gave a helpless smile. “What am I agreeing to? You still haven't told me why I'm here — is this about the shooting? If it is, I sure hope you're interviewing Jake. He drew on me first.”

“I'm investigating that. But we're here today on a different matter.”

Stavis eyed the two paper bags.

“All in good time. First….” Tolliver tapped the recorder.

Stavis gave a stiff nod.

Tolliver pressed the record button and began the formalities. “This is Detective Tolliver of the Morro Bay Police Department, badge number 370. Today is Wednesday, August eighteenth….”

I watched Stavis shifting position again, trying to appear relaxed, and when Tolliver asked him to identify himself for the record and give permission to record the interview, he responded calmly enough. He smiled when Walter and I gave our IDs and permissions — all of us formally on board here.

And then Tolliver said, “I'm going to go ahead and read you your constitutional rights. You're not under arrest but I want to advise you…”

I watched Stavis freeze up, at that, and when it was time to affirm his understanding of his right to remain silent, to an attorney, he agreed stiffly.

Tolliver concluded, “Will you waive those rights and answer the questions?”

Stavis took a long moment and then said, “Good golly, I don't need a lawyer and I came here to answer your questions. Nothing to hide. Will that do it?”

“That'll do it. My consultants are going to start us off.”

I lifted a hand to Walter. Your eureka, you take it.

Walter cleared his throat. “Mr. Stavis, do you recall that night you and Cassie followed Lanny to the dunes?”

Stavis flicked a look at me. “Yes yes, of course.”

“Do you recall why Lanny went there?”

Stavis seemed to be searching his memory.

“Let me refresh your memory.”

Walter opened the paper bag we'd brought and carefully lifted out the red float. He set it on the table, situated so that the scratches on the eyebolt end were entirely visible.

Stavis eyed the float like it was a sleeping snake.

Walter smiled in sympathy. “That thing has bedeviled Cassie and me from the start. It wasn't until this morning — trying to figure out the missing pieces in the Robbie Donie mystery — that I took another look and found an answer.”

“I don't see what this has to do with me.”

“Let me set the scene for you. It begins eleven days ago. Friday night, the night before Mr. Donie disappeared.”

Stavis shifted again in his chair.

“We know — from Mr. Flynn himself — that he employed you and Lanny on an iron-seeding project. For the record, one of the seeding floats is on display here.” Walter indicated the red float on the table. “On the night in question, you and Lanny were at the Cochrane Bank site, doing maintenance. Lanny did the diving, because of your eardrum problems. He checked the status of the red floats, and removed a yellow float with a bent snap hook. He was upset. He'd been concerned for some time about the effect of the seeding, and in his agitated state he let the yellow float get loose. When he surfaced, you scolded him for losing it. He said he wanted to quit. You told him he was being childish. He snapped. He tried to stop the project — he got hold of the acoustic remote and shut down the link.”

Stavis blinked. “How do you know all this?”

“I'll jump in here,” Tolliver said. “We three had a chat with Lanny late yesterday afternoon. And he came in here today to repeat his story, on the record.”

“Seriously, Doug? Lanny's unreliable. Sandy forced him on me to begin with, and Oscar insisted I keep him. And yes, I did work for Oscar — and whatever he told you about me, well he had his own agenda.”

“Feel free to offer any corrections.”

Stavis glanced at the recorder.

“To continue,” Walter said, “that Friday night you and Lanny had company. Robbie Donie was out hunting squid and he spotted your boat on his radar and came to investigate. He was an excitable sort and he accused you of poaching. Does this jibe with your memory?”

“More or less. But I don't get where you're going with it.”

“Then stay with me. Donie interrupted you before you had time to retrieve the yellow float Lanny lost. As Donie left, he found it and netted it. Lanny witnessed that — you were in the wheelhouse at that point — and Lanny at that point was upset about all the yelling and decided to keep his head down.”

Pure Lanny, I thought. Already feeling guilty about the sabotage. Ducking.

Walter continued. “The following day, Saturday, Donie hid the yellow float in a niche at Morro Rock. That night, Saturday night, Donie went out squid fishing on the Outcast. He anchored at your iron-seeding site. And then he disappeared.” Walter glanced at the red float. “I have an idea what happened Saturday night but why don't you tell us your version?”

Stavis plucked at the sling holding his arm. He grimaced.

Tolliver said, “You in pain, Fred? Docs assured me your wound is minor.”

“I can handle it.”

“By the way, I'll be asking you to provide fingerprint and hair samples, to check against the UID samples my techs took from the Outcast. Just FYI, as you tell your story.”

“That supposed to make me admit I was aboard? I admit it.” Stavis smiled but there was no warmth in it. “So, sure, Saturday. Robbie sandbags me at my dock, about that yellow float. He's decided Lanny and I were 'up to something' at the site. So sure, I worry that he overheard us arguing — sound carries over water. He tells me he has the float, keeping it as 'evidence' for crying out loud, and he wants me to tell him what we were doing out there.”

“Why didn't you tell him?” Walter asked.

“Because I work for a sonofabitch? A secrets freak who made me sign a confidentiality agreement not to divulge anything about the iron seed project. So now I'm in a pickle. I decide I better find out what Robbie saw or heard or thinks he knows. Good thing is, he's dim and easy to rile up. So I played the squid card. I told him he got it right the first time, that Lanny and I were there hunting squid. I knew he was already in a war with Jake about squid, so the idea of me and another Keasling horning in didn't sit well with him. I challenged him to a duel — let's go back out there and we'll see who bags the biggest squid.”

“You didn't tell Lanny any of this?”

“No, he'd just muck it up.” Stavis gave a pained smile. “So Robbie and I head out, Saturday night. We take the Outcast because she's already set up with the gear, and we actually do run into squid…”

Tolliver put up a hand. “Hold on, Fred. Back up to the gear. Don't leave out the part where you ransack Robbie's duffel, looking for the yellow float.”

“At this point, what's that matter?”

I spoke. “Evidence. It always matters.” I didn't add, especially when it comes to trial.

“Sure, fine, I'll dot your i's and cross your t's for you. I wore gloves but I know you anal tech types might've found a hair or something. Look, Robbie all but threatened me with extortion so you better believe I wanted to find that float.”

“But you didn't. Walter and I found it. Crossing our t's.”

Walter resumed. “Now, you're on the Outcast and you do run into squid.”

“Yes. And Robbie jigs a big one. Then it's my turn. I tell him I want to hunt where I was the night before, tell him I saw squid there. When we arrive I ask him questions, vague but, you know, leading. Trying to find out what he knew. Turns out, he knew zip about the project. So, excellent. That's all I need — I tell him I'm tired, he wins the challenge, but Robbie thinks I'm being condescending. Big word for Robbie. Things get heated. He's going to show me how a real man jigs squid. The one he caught was just a warm-up. He cuts it up, baits the hooks, throws the carcass overboard. That's supposed to attract them — Humboldts are cannibals. Only there's no squid there, they'd moved on, and Robbie's jigging and getting mad and then he gets his line caught in the kelp. He's yanking on it, out of control. Wild. And the deck's slippery with ink from his first catch. And he slips, hits his head. Goes overboard.”

“Did you push him?” Walter asked.

“Good golly no.”

Tolliver leaned forward, forearms resting on the table, hands clasped.

“Doug,” Stavis blurted, “you know me. For chrissake. And there was nothing I could do. He sank fast — you know, wearing those heavy fishing boots.”

Tolliver said, “Why didn't you phone for help?”

“Who's going to get there in time? Seriously, I knew I was in a pickle. I had to think about my own position. If I report it, that brings attention to the site and I don't want to go up against Oscar. Wouldn't help Robbie at that point, anyway. Look, I admit I panicked. I started to motor back to shore but along the way I came up with a solution.” Stavis shifted yet again in his chair. The sun had shifted; it kept getting in his eyes. “I called Joao Silva.”

Walter said, “Your diver.”

“Yes. Yes I know, I told you I didn't know Silva, but I do. He does some work for me. Off the books — he's illegal — he handles the occasional dicey stuff.” Stavis shrugged. “Handled.”

I thought, you callous shit.

“So Joao motors out on one of my vessels and picks me up and I let the Outcast, uh, go on her way. I assumed when she was found it would look like Robbie got lost in a squid jigging accident. Which is what happened.”

“And then where did you go?” Walter asked. “After Mr. Silva picked you up?”

“Back to harbor.”

“Mr. Stavis, you might want to search your memory.”

Stavis stared.

“Then let me help. We know you returned to the site. Where Donie went overboard.”

Stavis turned to Tolliver. “This is going way off course.”

“We're right on course,” Tolliver said. “We can place you there, Fred.”

“What?”

“You returned to take care of Robbie's body,” Tolliver said. “You couldn't dive — with your eardrum trouble — so you had Silva take care of it.”

“No.”

“Mr. Shaws says otherwise.”

Stavis reluctantly returned his attention to Walter.

Walter said, “I've learned a good deal about squid hunting, on this case. Doug showed us the equipment, on the Outcast. Those lures have rows of heavy-duty hooks — and that explains what happened to Donie's jig line.”

“Yes, like I said, it got caught in the kelp.”

“The kelp wasn't the only entanglement. If you'll take notice of those scratches on the float?”

Stavis studiously ignored the red float on the table. “I don't know anything about that.”

“Then let me explain,” Walter said. “The scratches contain residue of stainless steel, a composition that includes ten percent nickel, eighteen percent chromium. Marine grade. At first, Cassie and I thought the source might be a sharp edge on the instrument cage, but when we were diving there yesterday I found no sharp edges. This morning, I thought of another possible source. A eureka moment. I phoned Doug and he was able to supply me with a sample, and I made a match between that and the scratches on the float.”

Stavis just shrugged.

“A squid-jigging hook made those scratches, Mr. Stavis. It caught the eyebolt end of the float, and when Mr. Donie yanked on his line, that pulled the float free of its attachment to the cage. We don't have the jig hook in question but we do have Donie's supply of spare hooks, whose points match the gouges, whose composition matches the residue.”

“I don't know anything about any of that,” Stavis said.

“The evidence suggests that you do.”

“Hey, if you say so, Robbie hooked the float. The point is, his line got tangled and he fought it and he went overboard. End of story.”

“Not quite,” Walter said. “The red float has one more twist to add to the story.”

Stavis just shrugged.

“It left particles of hematite embedded in the rub rail of the Outcast.”

Stavis said, “Okay.”

“Given that you just expressed surprise that Donie hooked the float, we can rule out the possibility that he hauled his entangled line — with the float — all the way up to the rub rail. You were the only other person on board. Ergo, you hauled up the line.”

Stavis was silent.

“The question is why. So let's walk it through. Donie, trying to free his line, goes overboard. He gets entangled in the line and probably the kelp. The problem, for you, was that the lure had an LED flasher inside — the lights attract the squid. You couldn't simply leave a flashing lure there — someone might come along and see it. Get nosy. You needed to get that lure out of the water. And so you got hold of the entangled line — using the Outcast boat hook, perhaps. And you tried to haul the line aboard, to reach the lighted lure. The lure was hooked to the float, so you ended up raising the float, as well. Impacting the rub rail. But you didn't manage to retrieve the lure.”

“How could you know anything like that?”

“Because Jake Keasling tried, as well.”

“What?”

“You didn't realize Jake was out there, that night? He was. He heard you and Robbie arguing. And then, after you 'motored away' Jake motored in to find out what was going on. He spotted the lighted lure. Wanted to find out if it was a squid jig. He tried to haul it up — just as you had — and he dragged the float across the rub rail of his sister's boat.”

“Jake? Good golly.”

Tolliver put in, “I had a chat with Jake today. On the record.”

“Look,” Stavis appealed to Tolliver, to the recorder, “if I'd known Jake was in the area I would have called on him for help.”

“Missed opportunity,” Walter said. “Jake went back to harbor, not knowing what he'd done to Sandy's boat. Not knowing what happened to Donie. Not knowing where you went. But of course, you explained that — Silva picked you up. And then you returned to the site.”

“I didn't say anything about returning.”

“The evidence says that.”

Stavis shook his head.

“How else would Joao Silva's path intersect with the red float?”

“I don't know anything about any of that.”

“Ah, but we know. We know that you sent Silva diving to take care of the problem.”

Stavis just shook his head.

“Not just to retrieve the lure. You also had him disentangle Donie's body and remove it.”

“This is wild speculation.”

Tolliver said, “We'll continue the search, Fred. I'm assuming you instructed Silva to move the body to the dropoff at the shelf break, so the currents could take it away.”

“Assume all you want. For heaven's sake.”

Walter said, “Let me ask you something. Why did Silva return two days later — sometime early on Tuesday — to retrieve the float?”

“How would I know?”

“Think it through. He cuts the body free of the entanglement and he retrieves the lighted lure for you, but he leaves the float behind — perhaps for the simple reason that the float would have prevented the body from sinking. But in the following two days, as attention focuses on the mystery of Donie's disappearance, Silva understandably gets worried. What if the authorities find the site, and the red float? What if they learn that his boss — you, Mr. Stavis — worked on a job that used red floats at the site of that accident. Given his illegal status, he risked discovery, or jail, or deportation. And so Joao Silva did the only thing he could do to protect himself — he returned to remove evidence of his participation.”

Stavis was silent.

“And so early Tuesday morning Mr. Silva retrieves the float. He bags it. And that would have been that, had he not had his encounter with a jellyfish. Had he not been stung. And the current then took him on a course that intersected Sandy Keasling's whale-watching trip. And we had a mystery. An unconscious diver adrift with a red float in his dive bag.”

Stavis remained silent.

“A mystery now ninety-nine percent solved.”

Stavis finally spoke. “Just ninety-nine?”

“There remains the mystery of how Silva got to the site. We never found a boat.”

“I can help you with that.”

Walter paused. Looked at Tolliver and me — what's this? Tolliver shrugged, eyes narrowing. I shrugged. I had no idea where Stavis was heading.

Stavis smiled. “It wasn't exactly a secret, that you found my diver at sea. Like I told you earlier, I was in a pickle. Worried about the site being found. When Joao was found I couldn't keep it from Oscar any longer. And he wasn't a happy camper.” Stavis gave a brief laugh. “After he took my head off, we shifted into damage control. We went out to the site Tuesday night on Oscar's boat. He dove and replaced the iron-seeding floats with the standards, the yellows. I picked up my vessel — Joao had taken it without my permission.”

After a moment, Walter said, “Thank you, for clarifying that one percent.”

“You're welcome. And I'll confirm your ninety-nine. Can't argue with the evidence.”

“That's refreshing,” Tolliver said.

“I made a mistake. I was just trying to handle things. So yes, I admit that I had Joao move the body. And yes, I agree that he must have panicked and returned for the float. But none of that changes the fact that Robbie's death was an accident.”

Walter scratched his ear. “Mr. Stavis, I'm not implying that the red float proves you killed Robbie Donie.”

“Then what in hell is the point of it?”

“It proves motive.”

“For what?”

Walter indicated the unopened paper bag. “For this.”

Stavis turned to Tolliver. “Did we not just finish with Robbie?”

“We did,” Tolliver said. “Now we're discussing your Joao Silva problem.”

Stavis lifted his palms.

“You were afraid Silva was going to talk.” Tolliver's voice was tight; he was making the effort to remain composed. “After he fled the hospital, you and Oscar were, as you put it, in a pickle. It took you until the next day to figure out that Sandy was hiding Silva. You knew that cave, you'd played there with Sandy and the boys, as kids. So you waited for your moment and paid Silva a visit. He was still suffering from the jellyfish sting and was rattled by Sandy's interest.” Tolliver paused. “Yes, Fred, I had a chat with Sandy today too. On the record.”

“She lies,” Stavis said.

“I don't think so. I think you, the big boss, told Silva to keep his mouth shut and then you told him chin up, playing the good guy. You'd brought him a treat. His favorite? But the anchovies were contaminated with domoic acid. Your boss had a supply in his lab.”

“I don't know anything about that.”

Tolliver opened the bag and removed the stack of clamshell food containers and slid them across the table toward Stavis.

Stavis gave a little jerk. And then laughed. “What's this?”

“This is courtesy of Lanny. He's a loyal young man. It took him a long while to even consider your role. He had a rough day yesterday — we all did. He had a big shock. And it shocked him out of his misplaced loyalty.” Tolliver showed a grim smile. “He went by your warehouse yesterday and got these. He knew where you kept them.”

“So? Yes, I keep picnic supplies on hand.”

“Don't have many picnics, though? Too busy? And those supplies last forever, right? At least, your foam trays have — they're way out of date. That model was discontinued five years ago. You can find a similar model at Costco — not all that different, just a modification of the fastener. I wouldn't have noticed but my techs are eagle-eyed. Bottom line, Fred, your discontinued-model foam tray was used to serve Joao Silva poisoned anchovies.”

“No.”

“Frederick Stavis, you're under arrest for the murder of Joao Silva, and for obstruction of justice in the concealment of Robert Donie's body.”

“No. No.”

“And I'll advise you that a reckless endangerment charge is pending for your role in the development of venomous jellyfish at the Diablo Canyon dock.”

“Doug.” Stavis shook his head. “This isn't right. You know me. You've known me all my life.”

Very deliberately, Tolliver snapped off the recorder. “I knew Robbie Donie. Didn't like him but he was a citizen of my town. I knew and liked the citizens of my town who went for a swim. You, Fred? I don't want to know you.”

After Stavis had been removed, the four of us sat around Tolliver's table.

Drained.

Satisfied, that feeling of achievement that wells up upon solving a case, no matter the circumstances.

Adrift. Looking at one another. It's all over.

Walter cleared his throat. “What about the Keaslings, Doug? The legal ramifications.”

Tolliver let out a long sigh. “At the least, I have Sandy on harboring an illegal, I have Jake on the possession and discharge of an unlicensed firearm, I have Lanny on the theft of a boat.”

I said, “They all cooperated, in the end.”

“That they did. I could reasonably make a case for sentences of community service.” He looked up at his poster of the harbor, of Morro Rock. “Not sure the community can weather being served by the Keaslings.”