Murder Beach — Death in the Future

The Western Washington Artists Exhibit was scheduled to open at ten in the morning on Tuesday at the Oceanside Cultural Center which occupied the southern beach at Oyehut Cove. Linus Kalakos had checked into the new Kalaloch Hotel late yesterday with the intention of giving himself plenty of time to prepare for his showing and provide enough time to do several seascape and landscape sketches which he planned to use later at his Westport studio.

At thirty-four years old, Linus is considered a successful artist in the Washington coast area. He has been featured in regional publications focused on art and culture in the Pacific Northwest. In addition, he has been enjoying his recent financial security resulting from his decision to follow the trend of “Mega-Scenics”, which are very large nature paintings. Wealthy homeowners who want to add a mood or “flavor” to their décor have begun buying large scenic originals which they mount on their vast, empty, newly-painted living room walls. His largest one to date was eight feet by six feet and he made enough from that one sale to get through the first half of this year without any financial worries. He hoped tomorrow would be as successful as last year and he would be able to gain the attention of another rich client during the showing at the Kalaloch Hotel.

Linus found a quiet area of the beach near his hotel and he was assessing possible opportunities for some preliminary scenic sketching. He sat staring at a horse standing just outside the fenced area put up by the Wishkaw Valley Horse Ranch, which supplied the tourists with horseback rides up and down the beach. The horse appeared to be a sturdy middle-aged palomino who was waiting patiently to get his morning exercise carrying the inexperienced city riders back and forth from the turnaround point. He liked the way the horse stood in contrast to the dark sand and yellow grass beach front that blended into the forest, and he began to sketch the scene in order to keep this vision in his mind’s eye.

Linus was watching the horse’s image appear beneath his quickly moving hand when he was suddenly overcome with a dizzy, lightheaded sensation. He was afraid he might fall over and braced himself against his camping chair, struggling to keep himself upright. There was a loud ringing in his ear and a sharp buzzing sound and then he heard a popping noise and opened his eyes. What he saw did not make any sense because the horse he was sketching was completely gone and the time of day had switched from morning to early evening, and he found himself staring at an isolated span on the beach. It was getting dark and he could see two large men carrying a struggling woman into the water. At this moment he dreaded what was to come next. Somehow, he knew this woman would soon drown at the hands of these rough-looking men.

He could see they had tied a scarf around the mouth of the woman so that her screams could not be heard. She looked frightened and desperate. Further up from the ocean breakers where the grasses begin to dominate the sand, two men watched the proceedings, arms across their chests and their legs widely braced in the soft, grassy footing. The fellow in charge was a large dark-haired man with rugged features and broad shoulders and he was giving orders. A tall, much thinner man in fancy cowboy boots and a western jacket looked on silently, appearing bored.

“Get it over with. It’s either she dies, or we all go to prison. All of us are complicit in Hagen Bakker’s death. She walked into the alley at the wrong time and that’s unfortunate, but she can’t be trusted to keep quiet.” The man put his hands onto his hips. “Get on with it.”

The two men carried the women into the waist-high foaming water and waited for a final signal from the large figure in the tailored suit and street shoes. A blonde fat man in a blue sportcoat and at weight lifter in a red polo shirt.

The stocky assailant in the red polo shirt protested their predicament. “I didn’t sign up for no murder. This is bullshit!”

“None of us did, George,” replied the man in charge. “But you better get busy or you’ll be down there with her!” He touched the gun in the shoulder holster beneath his suit, then flipped both hands up in exasperation and continued. “Do it now! Before someone comes down here.”

The men tightened their grip on the screaming woman’s arms and legs then began to lower her into the water. Linus could see the young woman was trying to scream through the scarf. He felt he should do something, but he was paralyzed. Before he could think of what to do, the men submerged the young woman under the turgid water and held her down until her struggles stopped. Then they let her go, stood up, waded out of the water and walked quickly up the beach, apparently not caring whether she was found.

The cold feeling that Linus experienced while watching this scene made him sick to his stomach, and the abrasive indifference in the attitudes of the men who had just killed the young woman made him angry. He struggled to move and realized he could not feel his arms and legs.

He began to panic and was struggling to move when he found himself back at the beach, staring at his sketch pad. The palomino was no longer in front of him and he had sketched little more than a basic outline. He thought to himself that he had fallen asleep and what he had seen was only a bad dream. It was so damn real. So real I could hear her muffled screams and smell the salt water from the ocean and the nervous sweat of the men in the sea breeze. It seemed too real to be a dream.

Linus attempted to analyze his thoughts into a more rational state of mind, hoping somehow to portray what he had just seen as a daydream. However, the truth was he knew it was real: real as rain dripping off your hat down the small of your back, or the sound of brakes screeching before an oncoming truck crashes into the driver’s side of your car.

This memory of the drowning so upset Linus that he decided to give up sketching and spend the rest of the day in preparation for the exhibit on Tuesday. The images he had witnessed kept flooding into his mind, and it was difficult for him to concentrate. This became worse that night as he lay in his bed trying to sleep, pushing the images out of his mind as quickly as they appeared. It was his constant struggle between the memory of what he saw and the reality of the impossibility of his situation that finally pushed him into a fitful sleep.

The first day turned out to be better than the year before and Linus sold three large “Mega-Scenics” and half a dozen ink drawings. By the end of the day, he was in a better mood and decided to walk to the Four Queens casino and have a drink in Hogan’s Alley, the only full-service bar in Oyehut Cove that featured quality live entertainment.

He walked straight thru the noisy, crowded casino without stopping and entered the tenebrous bar. A band was playing a rhythmic Latin jazz melody and the woman singing was a cut above the local talent. He found a table near the stage and ordered a whiskey sour. When the singer walked into the light near Linus, he felt a shiver run up his back. He leaned forward and squinted to see better. When he saw her face more closely, he was stunned when he realized it was the beautiful women he saw being drowned on the beach. He stared at her until she turned and walked over to the other side of the stage. He flagged down the waiter and ordered another whiskey sour. He sat back and put his head in his hands. This can’t be. I don’t even know this woman, so why would I have a dream about her?

Linus was working his way through his third drink when a shadow from the light in the casino darkened his table. He looked up at the large man blocking the view and was relieved. Chance Harper slapped him on his shoulder. “What? You come into town and don’t even call me?”

Linus looked up and was relieved to see Chance, one of the few people he considered foxhole worthy. “Come on, I left you a message,” he said, pulling out a seat. “Sit down. The drinks are on me.”

“You must’ve sold some paintings.”

“I did. More than last year.”

Chance smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

“Still defending the wildlife?”

“Still a game warden.”

“Did you see my name in the art exhibit brochure?”

“No. I’m working on a case involving two brothers poaching elk out of season. They got pulled over by State Patrol and when they saw the elk, they called me. Couple of ignorant dicks. And the elk had CWD.”

“Sounds interesting. What’s CWD?”

“Chronic Wasting Disease. It affects elk, deer, even moose. Nasty stuff. They would have probably eaten the meat, anyway. Takes all kinds.”

“Look, I meant to return your call. I’ve been wrapped up in the exhibition and forgot.”

“No problem. I’ve been busy, too. Say, I was thinking we could get out for a salmon charter in June.”

“I’d like that, but after what I saw this morning, I’m not so sure.”

“How’s that?”

Linus took a long sip from his drink and proceeded to explain the Déjà vu and how the woman had looked like Marlena Colorado. He finished his third drink and waited for Chance to answer.

“Déjà vu is one thing,” said Chance flatly. “Seeing a specific woman being murdered and then finding her singing at Hogan’s Alley is another.”

“No shit. Tell me you don’t think I’m crazy.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Déjà vu could mean trouble. Temporal-lobe epilepsy, or maybe a brain malfunction where your brain mistakes the present for the past. But I don’t believe what you experienced was a déjà vu at all. Déjà vu is when somebody feels they have experienced the present situation before. Technically, what you experienced is not déjà vu because you would have had to have been there watching when they drowned Marlena in the ocean and believing that she would live that same event before.”

“Then what did I see?”

“I believe you experienced a premonition. You saw the murder of Marlena as though you could see into the future.”

“Very impressive professor. The game warden doctor. Could be a TV series.”

“I read a lot,” replied Chance defensively.

“Really? Where do you find the time? I hear you and Julie Indigo have been spending a lot of time in your beach bungalow.”

“I don’t believe it either. What can I do?”

Linus shook his head. “There’s no whining in Hogan’s Alley.”

Chance laughed and replied, “That’s funny shit.”

“Julie’s great. Don’t screw it up,” said Linus leaning closer to Chance. “What about my premonition? What do you think I should do?”

“I’ll answer that, but only if we agree to assume what you say is true.”

“You believe me?”

“At this point I’m leaning toward believing you, but I’m too much of a cynic to lean in that direction any further until we have more information.”

Linus gestured toward the stage. “That’s her. Marlena Colorado.”

“Sure. And the fact that she is gorgeous has nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah, I know. She is my type, but I’m serious.”

“Let’s start by determining if you can remember something that might pinpoint a location.”

Linus sighed. “It happened quickly and I’m in a weird state, so bear with me. The scene took place in the early evening on a deserted beach and high tide was coming in.”

“This time of year,” said Chance, “that would be the third tide, occurring between seven and eight. You said it was dark, so the tide was going back out. The sun sets a little after eight, I would guess the murder occurred between eight and nine.”

“That’s amazing,” said Linus. “You must have a giant left brain.”

“True, but my right brain can only draw stick figures.”

“I can picture part of the land above the beach because the big guy with the broad shoulders was standing up the beach away from the water.”

“Did you see any landmarks or distinctive beach features?”

“Not much. But I do remember sand cliffs and weird trees.”

“Did you say sand cliffs?”

“Yeah. They were far from the beach, beyond where the grass begins.”

“Ok. What about the weird trees?”

“They had white or gray trunks and the leaves were way up high in each tree and kind of slanted. The leafy area seemed more flat than other trees.”

Chance thought for a moment. “There’s a place like that about six miles north of Copalis Beach as the crow flies, more like ten with all the curves. There is a small access road called Roosevelt Beach. It’s a good razor clam site and all the locals come out of the woodwork in late September. On the first day, it’s like an invading army.”

“Maybe we should drive up there. Might help jog my memory.”

Chance shrugged. “It’s your party. Let’s go.”