Chapter Forty-Two
(Friday Evening—Owen)
Gordon and Faulkner climbed aboard the Fusty Navel at 6:45, joining the others in the main salon. There was a tense moment when Gordon asked the Hermit who he was, and the Hermit said he didn’t need to know, but Gordon eventually laughed and let it slide. Owen thought he’d seen a stubbornness in Gordon’s eye that said he’d find out later, but didn’t mention it. He was pretty sure the Hermit had seen it too. He didn’t look worried.
Gordon had warned Owen privately that the press might show up at any moment. He’d seemed surprised they hadn’t been by already.
But Leon’s death hadn’t received much coverage, and maybe they hadn’t yet realized Owen lived at the marina.
Maybe Owen could just take the boat out if they showed up. He didn’t watch much TV, largely because of its intolerable idiocy, and didn’t want to see what the talking heads would make of him—or his friends.
Aaron kept a low profile, sitting quietly in a corner. Martina had intervened with offers of drinks when it looked like Gordon was about to challenge the kid, and Gordon had let that pass too. Definitely a scheme unfolding behind his eyes, Owen decided. Faulkner seemed to be amused by it all.
Should he have tried to thin out the crowd a bit before the police arrived? But it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.
Everybody eventually found a place to sit. Faulkner had been silent up to this point, but now he looked to Owen. “Mr. Tremaine? Can you tell us whatever we might need to know about this Mr. Opiela we’re here to meet?”
“Not much I didn’t say over the phone. He’s the Development Manager, meaning he bosses the programmers, at CyberLook. Uh, he checked on some things yesterday afternoon when he knew Danny wouldn’t be in the office.” Owen saw Gordon trying on a disillusioned look, but ignored it. “Apparently that led to something else, and he found some pictures today.”
“And you have no idea what sort of pictures?” Faulkner asked.
“No, but he said the police would be interested. I thought maybe you would want to be here.”
“Lucky us,” Gordon said. “So he found out on his own that Sheffield would be out of the office yesterday, and just happened to decide to ‘check on some things,‘ and just happened to call you about it?”
“Something like that. I’ll let him tell you what he did in his own words.”
Gordon snorted. “So he’ll be here at seven?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Okay. Anything else we should know?”
“What about the little girl?” Martina asked. She turned red when everyone looked at her, but kept her eyes on Gordon. “I told you Carl said something about her, we think. Has there been any sign of her?”
Gordon started to answer, then scowled and closed his mouth. Faulkner smiled slightly and answered the question. “We really don’t know much more than you do about that, Ms. Moynihan. There were no signs of her in the warehouse. They did find two bodies, but both were adult males.”
“Any idea who?” Owen asked.
“No positive identification has been made at this time.”
“And,” Gordon said firmly, “we’re not here to tell you what we know, or think we know.” He pointed at Owen. “You’ve been through the wringer on this, and we appreciate what you’ve done to help. But our job is to investigate, not to inform.”
Aaron spoke loudly from his corner. “That sucks.”
The Hermit laughed. “He’s right, boy. Leave it be, we’ll talk later.” Aaron subsided, twisting his baseball cap in his hands.
Gordon looked at the Hermit and seemed about to speak, then shrugged and turned back to Owen. “Looks like your buddy LaMott is going to be basically okay. He woke up about an hour and a half ago. We talked to him for a few minutes before we came here. He drifted off again before we left, but his color was better.”
“Did he—” Martina stopped herself.
Gordon flicked his eyes to her and smiled briefly. “No, he didn’t tell us much about the girl. He did see her, or someone he thought looked like the photo of Kate Bradshaw, and he also saw the guy who shot him and set the fire. But he didn’t see either of them clearly.”
“He was shot?” Owen asked. Gordon had made a point of saying he wouldn’t talk freely, but he was leaking information like water from a sieve. Maybe he just didn’t want to appear cooperative. Was Gordon’s boss, or someone else, likely to check up on him? Gordon hadn’t exactly been following standard procedures lately, had he?
Gordon sighed. “I guess he’d tell you about it himself, wouldn’t he? Yeah, he got shot. It’s not serious, though, just a hole in his shoulder.”
Uh huh. Owen resolved to be sure to stick with Gordon’s official line if anybody ever asked, and to make sure everyone else did the same. He saw Martina mouth the words “not serious” and took her hand.
“It’s good to know he woke up,” he said. Martina nodded, forcing a slight smile.
“Opiela’s late,” Gordon said, looking at his watch. “You said seven, and it’s five after.”
Shiver on the Sky Page 66
