Gray Ghost Read Online Free PDF Page A

Calhoun.
    “He’s the boss,” said Calhoun, nodding at the sheriff.
    “Yeah, but you’re the captain of the ship.” Vecchio was smiling, but he sounded pissed to Calhoun.
    “Okay, then,” said Calhoun. “Put it this way. The captain orders you to go ashore.”
    Vecchio shrugged. “Well, shit, anyway.” He climbed out of the boat, then held it steady while first the sheriff and then Calhoun climbed in. “We’ll go out again, I hope,” he said to Calhoun.
    “I owe you one,” said Calhoun. He started up the motor. “Give me a call.” He waved at Vecchio, then backed away from the landing, turned the bow to the bay, and headed for Quarantine Island. When he looked back, Paul Vecchio was standing there with his hands on his hips watching them go. Calhoun lifted his hand, but Vecchio just turned around and trudged up the ramp to the parking lot.
    He drove the boat full-bore, following the chart in his head, sticking to the channels between the islands, avoiding the submerged rocks and sandbars.
    Ralph sat on the bottom of the boat, his ears perked up and his nose lifted to the wind, and Sheriff Dickman sat up front facing forward. He held his hat in his hand so it wouldn’t blow away, and the low-angled morning sun ricocheted off his bald head.
    As they cleared Great Chebeague, the sheriff pointed off to the left where a swarm of birds were working a patch of water. Calhoun had taken the sheriff fishing a couple of times, not as guide and client but just as a couple of friends, and he knew that Dickman was a skilled and enthusiastic fisherman, though his bum shoulder made fly casting so painful that he usually used a spinning rod.
    When Quarantine Island appeared ahead, Calhoun throttled down so he and the sheriff could hear each other. “That’s it, up ahead,” he said. “Where that body is.”
    The sheriff turned and looked at Calhoun. “Go past it,” he said, “then circle around, come back.”
    Calhoun shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
    “I just want to be sure nobody’s following us,” he said. “If there’s some dead body here—”
    “There
is
a body,” said Calhoun.
    The sheriff smiled. “Right. I meant, since we got this here dead body, I don’t want a bunch of nosy people leaving footprints and Big Mac wrappers at our crime scene.”
    Calhoun scanned the ocean. “I don’t see any boats tailing us.”
    “Just to be safe,” said Dickman, “circle around it.”
    So Calhoun did it the sheriff’s way. He putted around the island, watching for other boats, and when he saw none, he nosed the boat ashore on the same patch of sand where he’d landed with Paul Vecchio an hour earlier.
    The sheriff climbed out and pulled up the boat. Ralph hopped out and headed for where he remembered the body was.
    Calhoun got out, tied the boat onto a rock, and said, “It’s over this way.”
    They pushed through the underbrush and climbed over the rocks, and then Calhoun was pointing at the crusty blackened body leaning against the old concrete foundation.
    Dickman went over, bent close to the body, and studied it for a minute. Then he straightened up, blew out a breath, and went back to where Calhoun was standing. “Well,” he said, “we got ourselves a dead body, all right.”
    Calhoun smiled.
    “Sorry for doubting you, Stoney.”
    “I guess you got a right to.”
    The sheriff shrugged. “I better secure the area and tell the Portland cops what we’ve got. Assuming we’ve got a crime and this is the scene of it.”
    “Oh, it’s a crime scene, all right,” said Calhoun. “But you ain’t going to find anything.”
    The sheriff looked sideways at Calhoun, then took out a cell phone and made a call.
    Calhoun sat on a rock. Ralph came over and lay on the ground beside him.
    When the sheriff was done with his call, he came over and sat beside Calhoun. “You looked around for evidence already? That what you’re saying?”
    Calhoun shrugged. “I wasn’t actually looking. I just noticed,