MacMillan Wharf

MacMillan Wharf: Chapter Four

MacMillan Wharf: Chapter Four

by Richard Gifford

Annie was the first to spot Mary Ellen running up to the ambulance in bare feet, carrying a brown leather sandal in each hand. Strands of her curly brown hair were stuck to her face with sweat. She was gasping for breath both from crying and sprinting from her gallery to the wharf in the late afternoon heat.

“Linda!” she cried out, “Linda!” She ran to the closed door of the ambulance and pounded on the glass with her fists. By the time Annie reached her, Mary Ellen could see the knowing look of anguish on her face, and she immediately collapsed into Annie’s arms wailing, “Oh God, Annie, tell me it’s not true” Mary Ellen demanded.

Annie didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing and just held Mary Ellen closer.

“Someone came into the gallery” said Mary Ellen, “and he told me that the Explorer found a body off shore and that it was someone from the Whale Center. I tried to call Linda at her office, but they said she hadn’t come in, so I tried her cell phone and there was no answer. That’s not like her, Annie. I just knew that something was wrong. When I saw the ambulance, I felt sick, and I knew it was her. Oh God, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” said Annie. “But it wasn’t an accident.”

Chief Souza was stood next to them, listening intently to what Mary Ellen and Annie were saying. He didn’t want to miss any clue that could point him in the right direction. He was amazed at how quickly word spread around town about what was going on at MacMillan Wharf.
The chief introduced himself. “I’m Chief Souza with the Provincetown Police. Annie said that you knew the deceased?”

“Oh God, Annie, tell me it’s not true” Mary Ellen demanded “Yes, Linda and I have lived together for almost five years. We were going to get married this fall, once the season was over,” replied a sobbing Mary Ellen.

Chief Souza still wasn’t used to the idea of same sex couples getting married. He wondered what his wife, Barbara, would think of it. Billy was still in high school when she passed away from breast cancer. He and Barbara grew up together in Provincetown, fell in love in high school, and married at St. James the Fisherman Catholic Church when he came back from Vietnam. He knew what it was like to lose the person you are closest to, and he understood the pain and confusion that Mary Ellen must be feeling now. He also knew the feeling of loneliness that she would have to live with in the months and years to come.

“I know this is all very sudden, but it’s important that I get some information from both of you before too much time passes,” said Chief Souza. “Would you mind coming back to the station with me so we can figure out what happened here?”

“Whatever I can do to help find the bastard who did this to Linda” Mary Ellen seethed under her breath. Changing her tone, she said in her sweet southern drawl, “just one thing, can I see her before they take her away?”

The Chief thought about this for a moment. He remembered how he held Barbara in his arms for nearly an hour after she died. He never wanted to let her go, who would? “Of course,” he said quietly. “But I have to warn you, her body has been in the water for some time. She won’t look like you expect.” He nodded to the EMTs, and the heavy door of the ambulance was opened so that Mary Ellen could spend a few final moments with Linda.

“Oh sweetheart, who did this to you? Why? Who could ever want to hurt you?” Ted Fernandes, a Provincetown EMT for 12 years, extended a meaty hand to assist Mary Ellen into the back. When she was inside, he respectfully closed the door behind her so that she could have some privacy from the throng of people who had now gathered around the scene.

Once inside, Mary Ellen’s world became very small and all she could hear was the idling ambulance engine and the rapid beating of her hear. Her trembling hands reached out to unzip the body bag. She gasped in horror when she first looked at Linda’s bloated face. Linda lay there with her eyes closed, almost like she was sunbathing on Herring Cove Beach. But, instead of the usual reddish tan she had in the summer, Linda’s skin was a languid grey-blue and she had seaweed matted in her hair. Mary Ellen reached out tentatively to touch Linda’s face, and was surprised by how cold she felt, like one of the Inuit stone carvings that she features at her gallery.

She sat down on the bench seat and whispered, “Oh sweetheart, who did this to you? Why? Who could ever want to hurt you?”  Mary Ellen half expected a reply, but she knew that she was really asking these questions of herself, and that Linda couldn’t answer. Instead she just sat there in the metallic womb of the ambulance, holding onto the one thing in her life that she could never let go. The initial shock of seeing Linda quickly turned to grief, she closed her eyes and began to sob.

Mary Ellen Johnson had become accustomed to loss in her life. Growing up in poverty in Georgia, she was only nine when her mother committed suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills, and Mary Ellen was left to care for her abusive, alcoholic father and two younger twin brothers. She was forced to take care of all three of them and took over the cooking and cleaning while her father worked at the Macon County Correctional Facility. After abusing inmates all day, he would often stop off at a roadside bar on the way home for a few hours.

Mary Ellen never knew what kind of mood he would be in when he got home, sometimes he would be the happy drunk and bring presents for the boys and some money for her. Other times he would be like a whirlwind of destruction, wrecking anything or anyone in his path.
The last time Mary Ellen saw her father was nearly twenty years ago. She was barely fourteen and was just entering high school. The twin boys were in seventh grade. It was a hot and humid Georgia night and she had just finished the evening dishes. By that time she had no idea when her father might come home and really didn’t care if he ever did. She decided to take a cool shower since the air conditioning had been broken for two years.

Mary Ellen heard the screen door slam as she was shampooing her hair. Then she heard the bathroom door open. “Hey, I’m in the shower, get out,” she yelled, assuming it was one of the pesky twins. She was shocked to hear her father’s voice booming “Don’t tell me to get out of my own house, girl!” He tore the shower curtain down as he reached out to grab her.

The next few seconds of her life were a chaotic swirl of fists, blood, and profanity. Fortunately, her father slipped on the wet floor and hit his head on the edge of the ragged formica countertop, causing a huge gash on his forehead. He laid there on the tile unconscious and bleeding. Mary Ellen didn’t know if he was alive. She hoped he wasn’t. It didn’t matter anyway, she was never coming back. She threw on some clothes, grabbed the stash of money she had saved out of the flour container and told the twins that they needed to leave right away.

When Mary Ellen called an aunt in Florida and told her what happened, she immediately drove up to Georgia and took the three back to her home in Gainesville. None of the children ever heard from their father again.

A soft rapping on the door of the ambulance shook Mary Ellen out of her grief.

“Mary Ellen, it’s me, Annie.” Annie opened the door just enough to peek in. “The chief says we need to go.” Annie caught sight of Linda’s bloated face and felt her stomach turn into a knot.

“I’m so sorry,” she said as she gently closed the door.

“I’ll be right there Annie.” In a whisper she said, “Honey, I’ll always love you, and I will not rest until I find who did this to you. And I’ll make them pay. Goodbye sweetie.”

Mary Ellen turned and opened the rear door of the ambulance. The bright late afternoon sun blinded her. She felt Annie’s hand reach up and take hers to help her down the step. As her eyes adjusted, she could see a huge crowd of people staring at her with a look of pity and confusion.
Betsy Gilmore and her photographer darted out of the crowd. Shoving a tape recorder right into Mary Ellen’s face she asked, “Do you have any idea who did this? Are you her lover?” Mary Ellen looked bewildered as the photographer snapped three automatic frames.

“Get the hell away from her!” Annie shouted. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Hey, don’t try to interfere with the press,” Betsy snapped back.

“Alright, leave her alone,” the chief said as he jumped between them. Turning to Annie he growled under his breath, “Get her in the car, now.”

Annie guided Mary Ellen to the chief’s light blue Crown Victoria and held the door for her. By the time she got in, the chief was already in the front seat starting the engine.

“Get us out of here,” Annie said. She could see Betsy Gilmore and her photographer elbowing through the crowd to get a better picture.

“I’m trying” said the chief as he turned on the siren. Officers Costa and McGuire pushed the crowd back to give him enough room to turn around. Once he did, he sped across Commercial Street and headed for the police station. “Annie, Ms. Johnson, I know that this is really hard time for you both right now, but I think it would be best if you came to the station with me.”

“Chief, I don’t know what’s going on, but whoever killed Linda is still out there, and probably close by. I don’t want him to get away,” said Mary Ellen.

“Me neither” said Annie.

That makes three of us, Chief Souza thought to himself.

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