The Boardwalk Read online

  THE

  BOARDWALK

  REED FARREL COLEMAN

  Copyright © 2015 Reed Farrel Coleman

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced

  or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopying, recording or by any information storage

  and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission

  in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Coleman, Reed Farrel, 1956–, author

  The boardwalk / Reed Farrel Coleman.

  (Rapid Reads)

  Issued also in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4598-0674-0 (pbk.).—ISBN 978-1-4598-0675-7 (pdf).—

  ISBN 978-1-4598-0676-4 (epub)

  I. Title. II. Series: Rapid reads

  PS3553.O47443B63 2015 813'.54 C2014-906596-5

  C2014-906597-3

  First published in the United States, 2015

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014951594

  Summary: In this murder mystery, the death of an NYPD officer leads PI

  Gulliver Dowd closer to the truth about his sister’s murder. (RL 3.0)

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for

  its publishing programs provided by the following agencies:

  the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the

  Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia

  through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover design by Jenn Playford

  Cover photography by Getty Images

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO BOX 5626, Stn. B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO BOX 468

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  98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  18 17 16 15 • 4 3 2 1

  For Bea and Herb

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ONE

  Gulliver Dowd was waiting in his Red Hook loft for his new office furniture to arrive. He no longer lived in the loft. He kept some space for his business—Gulliver Dowd Investigations, Inc. He rented out the rest of the loft to a group of young artists. He liked artists because they could create new worlds. They could shape those worlds to match the ideas in their heads. Their work could inspire people. All Gullie inspired people to do was to point at him. To laugh. To whisper and stare.

  The loft in Red Hook had once belonged to his sister, Keisha. Loyal. Loving. Fierce. A warrior. The best sister ever. She was dark-skinned. A bit heavy. Even more unwanted than Gullie. Before his parents adopted her, she had been passed from one foster home to another. The things she told him about how she was mistreated in those homes made Gullie mad. Made him feel less sorry for himself. Because of his misshapen body and his lack of height, he had been teased. Bullied. Pitied. But he had never had to put up with what Keisha had to deal with. No one had ever forced themselves on him. No one took a strap to him. No one beat him until his bones broke. All those things had been done to Keisha. Worse. Yet Keisha had overcome.

  She’d made it through high school. Suffolk County Community College. The New York City Police Department Academy. That’s right. Keisha had become a member of the NYPD. The day she graduated was the proudest day of her life. It was the proudest day of Gulliver’s too. He loved the pictures they took that day. They were so happy. The two runts nobody wanted. The dwarf and the abused black girl. Those framed photos were the only things on the walls of his new office. When Keisha was found murdered behind a building in Brooklyn, Gulliver thought he would never stop crying. It felt like his heart had been cut out.

  Yet Keisha’s murder had given him a new life. It had made him overcome too. When the cops couldn’t find her killer, Gulliver decided he would do what they could not. He would find Keisha’s killer. Bring him to justice. Avenge her murder. To that end, Gulliver had become a crack shot. A black belt in jujitsu. An expert with knives. He’d gotten his private investigator’s license. He would never have believed it possible. Not any of it. He had been laughed at for so long, he had believed he was worthless. But in Keisha’s death, he found himself. He found worth. He found purpose. But he had yet to come close to finding her killer. No one had.

  Gulliver had lived in the loft since Keisha’s murder. He felt close to her there. It helped keep her memory alive in him. He had come to love Red Hook. Red Hook had once been the toughest place in Brooklyn. In all of New York City. That was really saying something. Those days had passed. Now it was a hip place to live. It had a Fairway Supermarket. An Ikea! Tapas bars replaced topless bars. But it was still rough around the edges. Keisha had liked that about Red Hook. Gulliver too. Gullie’s girlfriend, Mia, did not like it so much. She had her reasons. So they had moved to the other side of Brooklyn. Keisha would have understood.

  Gullie looked at his watch. He wasn’t worried about the furniture. He knew that it might not be delivered for two more hours. He was more worried about lunch. His friend Sam Patrick had promised to keep him company while he waited. To bring turkey hero sandwiches from their favorite deli. And a six-pack. Sam was an NYPD detective at the 76th Precinct. Red Hook’s precinct. But neither Sam nor lunch was anywhere in sight. Gulliver was getting hungry. Impatient too. Worse, he was bored. So bored he was about to knock on the artists’ door. He liked looking at their work. Just as he raised his hand to knock, the phone rang.

  “Gulliver Dowd,” he answered.

  “Dowd. You hungry yet?” It was Sam Patrick. His voice was strained.

  “Even little bellies get empty. I’m starving. Where the hell are you?”

  “Sorry, Dowd, but I can’t make it over today.” Sam had a coughing fit. Then said, “Something’s come up. Something I didn’t see coming. I’ve got some things to put in order.” He coughed again.

  “You got a chest cold?”

  Sam laughed. “Something like that.”

  “This business you got. You want to talk about it?” Gullie asked. “I got nothing to do until the furniture gets here. Might as well yak to keep my mind off being so hungry.”

  “Sorry, pal. No time for that.”

  “Is it police business, Sam? You can tell me.”

  Sam coughed again. “Bigger than that. We can talk about it later.”

  “Later?”

  “Yeah. We need to talk. Just you and me. Somewhere private.”

  “You can come here later,” Gullie said. “Or you can come by the apartment. Mia is working a night shift at the vet clinic.”

  “No!” Sam shouted, coughing again. “Not anyplace near other people. Not an office. Not an apartment. Not a bar.”

  “Okay, Sam. Whatever you say.”

  “Dowd, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” Now it sounded like Sam Patrick was choking back tears.

  “I said I would meet you, but I need to have an idea what this is about.”

  “Just take my word for it, Dowd. It’s important. You need to hear what I’ve got to say.”

  “But about what?”

  There was silence on Sam’s end of the line. Dowd could almost hear Sam
thinking. Gulliver didn’t like guessing games. He didn’t like surprises.

  “I’m hanging up now,” Gulliver said.

  “Don’t, Dowd! Please, don’t!” He coughed some more.

  “You’re worrying me, Sam. Tell me what’s going on. I can help.”

  “No, you can’t. Not with this.”

  Gulliver really was worried now. “With what?”

  “Promise me you’ll meet me. Then I’ll tell you.”

  “I give up. Okay. I promise to meet you.”

  Sam asked, “You know Plumb Beach?”

  “Sure I do,” Gullie said. “Off the Belt Parkway between Knapp Street and Flatbush Avenue.”

  “Meet me in the parking lot at eight.”

  “Plumb Beach parking lot. Eight,” Gullie repeated. “Now tell me what this is about.” Sam coughed. Cleared his throat. Then said one word. “Keisha.”

  Gulliver shouted into the phone for Sam not to hang up. But Sam Patrick was already gone.

  TWO

  Gulliver and Mia’s new apartment was not ten minutes from Plumb Beach. He checked his watch. Saw he had a few minutes before he had to leave to meet Sam. He decided to give Mia a call. He still couldn’t believe how much he missed her when they weren’t together.

  “Hey, Gullie. I’ve only got a minute. Is everything okay?”

  He didn’t want to mention Keisha. Not yet. Not until he had met with Sam and found out what was going on. He also didn’t want to lie to Mia.

  “It’s been a long day, and Sam’s being a little mysterious. I guess I just needed to hear your voice.”

  “I like that. But are you sure you’re okay?”

  “With you in my life, how could anything be wrong?”

  “Okay, I’ve got to go. I love you, Gulliver Dowd.”

  “I love you more, Mia.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  Gullie smiled to himself. “What do I get if I lose?”

  “You get to sleep with me,” she said.

  “And if I win?”

  “You get to sleep with me.”

  “Okay,” Gullie said, “it’s a bet.”

  They hung up. Gullie checked his watch again. Time to go. He headed downstairs.

  He got to their meeting spot in plenty of time. Sam Patrick had chosen well. Gulliver’s van was alone in the parking lot. And there wasn’t much traffic on the road. Snow was in the air and in the weather forecast. Clouds hung close to the ground. The lights of Kingsborough Community College glowed rainbow colors in the distance. The waters of the Atlantic rolled to shore less than a hundred feet from the nose of Gullie’s van. But Gulliver wasn’t interested in the glowing lights. He wasn’t listening to the pounding waves. He wasn’t even thinking about his phone call with Mia. All he could focus on was what Sam had said about Keisha.

  He had tried to get back in touch with Sam many times during the day. Phone calls to Sam’s home number went unanswered. Calls to his cell phone went straight to voice mail. Gullie walked over to the 76th Precinct to talk to him. Sam wasn’t there. Gullie had even driven to Sam’s house. But Sam’s car wasn’t in the driveway. It wasn’t in the garage. No one answered the front door.

  Now Gulliver didn’t know what to think. Didn’t know what to feel. It was more that he was feeling many things at once. Hope. Excitement. Worry. Fear. Anger. A thousand things. He might get a break in Keisha’s case at last. It had been so long. The trail had gone so cold. He had almost lost hope. But he was worried too. Sam had been so weird on the phone. His voice so strained. Coughing. Almost crying. Still, Gulliver was mad at Sam. He had always felt Sam knew more about Keisha’s murder than he would tell.

  Sam and Gulliver had run into each other over a year earlier. Sam had come to Gulliver’s door to question him about the beating of a street kid. The street kid had hired Gulliver to find his missing dog. Long story. But Gulliver remembered Sam because he had worked with Keisha in the 75th Precinct. Sam Patrick was in uniform back then. Just like Keisha. Gullie remembered that Sam had been nice to Keisha. He had come to the funeral and to the gravesite. Almost seven years had passed since the funeral and Sam coming to Gullie’s door. They had become friends after that. Over the past year Gulliver had asked Sam many times about Keisha. About her murder. Each time, Sam steered their chat in another direction. Sam never really answered the questions. Maybe he was finally ready to tell what he knew. But why? And why now?

  For the second time that day, Sam didn’t show. This was strange. Sam had always kept his word. And it was Sam who had made such a big point about this meeting. Gulliver tried Sam’s cell number. His house number. But it was just like before. All he got was voice mail. The answering machine. He left messages on both. There was nothing else to do but go home. Whatever Sam knew about Keisha’s murder would have to wait.

  Gulliver pulled out of his parking space. Built up speed and merged into the right lane of the Belt Parkway. There were almost no cars on the road. Snow was falling in big lazy flakes. He smiled in spite of his anger and worry. He liked to watch snow fall. He kept in the right-hand lane. Drove at fifty because he had to get off at the next exit to loop around toward home. Yet he felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know how he knew it. He didn’t know what it was. But it was out there. And all the pretty snow in the world couldn’t change his mind.

  That’s what made Gulliver a good PI. He had a feel for the world beyond his five senses. He saw trouble coming around a corner before he saw the corner. He thought it was because he was built like a hound. Close to the ground. Mia sort of agreed. She said his lack of height let him take in the world the way a child does. Whatever the reason, he felt danger close by. And then there it was, in his side-view mirror. There was a van coming up on him fast. Its headlights switched off. Trying to hide itself in the darkness and snow. Almost before he could think, the van was on him.

  Bang! It smashed into Gullie’s rear wheel. He fought hard to control his van. It fishtailed. The back skidding hard right. Then hard left. Then back again. Gulliver got it under control. But just as he did—bang! The other van hit the same spot. This time much harder and at a sharper angle. Gulliver’s van was fishtailing like crazy now. Even though Gulliver was small, the van had been custom built just for him. It was like a race car built around the driver. Still, Gulliver could only just get it back under control. The third hit was too much. When the other van slammed into Gullie again, he lost control. His van spun around twice. Hit the center guardrail. Slid back across all three lanes and flipped over onto the right shoulder. The other van vanished into the night.

  Before Gulliver even opened his eyes, he felt snow on his face. He sensed people kneeling over him. Could feel their hands on him. Heard their voices.

  A woman asked, “Is the kid all right? Did you get his parents out?”

  “There were no parents,” a man answered. “And he’s not a kid. He’s a dwarf.”

  “Little person,” the woman corrected. “They don’t call them dwarfs anymore.”

  If Gulliver’s ribs weren’t killing him, he might have laughed. He pretty much ached all over. His ribs and head more than the rest of him. As his eyes opened, he heard sirens in the distance. Gulliver propped himself up on his elbows. His van was a mess. It was tipped over on the passenger side. The front end was smashed up. The rear driver’s-side wheel well was pushed in.

  He saw that there were two other cars parked in front of his van. He noticed that the snow was no longer falling in big lazy flakes. Now it was coming down in steady sheets. There was almost an inch of it piled on the road and on the cars. He must have been out of it for a while. He got to a knee to stand.

  “Stay down, buddy,” the man said. “You might have some broken bones or something.”

  “Yeah,” the woman agreed. “Stay down. The cops are coming. You’re not breathing so good.”

  But Gulliver was nothing if not stubborn. You didn’t get to where he had gotten without being tough. Without being stubborn. He got to his feet.
>
  “Thanks, folks,” he said. “It was brave of you both to stop to help me. Couldn’t have been easy to get me out of there.”

  “I would want someone to help me,” the man said.

  The woman nodded.

  Gulliver took a few steps. His legs wobbled. He fell back to his knees. Tried sucking in big gulps of air. But he felt faint. Then his world went black.

  THREE

  The air was warm against his skin. It no longer smelled like burnt rubber from skidding tires. Instead it smelled of pine-scented cleaner. Of bleach. Of alcohol. He tasted copper on his tongue, as if there was blood in the air. He was no longer in the snow. But the back of his clothes was still wet. His ribs were aching. His head pounding. His mouth dry. His throat like sandpaper.

  When he opened his eyes, no one was kneeling over him. He was in a hospital. The er. He knew the sights. Knew the smells. Knew the sounds of a hospital. A curtain was drawn around the bed. There was a lot going on around him. On the other side of the curtain doctors were barking orders. Nurses were reading off numbers.

  “We’re losing him!” a doctor screamed. “Get him up to the or. Stat!”

  Feet were scurrying. Shuffling. Racing. A gurney was wheeled by the curtain. Gullie saw the shadows on the floor. Things got quiet for a moment. It was as if the person on the gurney had sucked all the air out of the room.

  Then the curtain around him split open. A woman in powder-blue scrubs came in. She had a stethoscope around her neck. By normal standards, she was short. But she was taller than Mia and many inches taller than Gullie. She had a round face. Thick black hair. Almond-shaped eyes. Light brown skin.

  “Hello, Mr. Dowd. I am Dr. Agbay.”

  “You’re Filipino,” he said.

  She smiled. It was a smile to light up a room. “Very good. How did you know that?”

  “In my business, you learn a lot about people. Sometimes too much. Where am I?”

  “Coney Island Hospital.”