by Stuart Woods
“Oh,” Lance said, picking up some acetates, “we’ve got the thermal images for last night.”
“Let’s take them into the study; everybody needs to be involved, especially Ham. He’s worrying me.”
They left the little office.
“We’ve got last night’s satellite thermal images of the island,” Lance said.
Everybody gathered around the coffee table, and Lance spread them out and pointed as he talked. “As you can see, at three-twenty-six a.m., when these images were captured, the public parts of town are empty of warm bodies: The yacht club, the Dark Harbor Store, the dining room at the inn are all empty. Everybody is in bed, pretty much.”
Ham pointed at a warm spot. “Is that a car?” he asked.
“Yes, probably a police car on patrol,” Lance replied.
“What is all this telling us?” Ham asked.
“That people are where they’re supposed to be. Nobody’s out prowling the island, kidnapping people. They’re all at home in bed.”
“A lot of empty houses,” Stone said.
“That’s because so many people have left the island,” Lance pointed out.
Mabel Hotchkiss came into the room and announced dinner.
They had finished dinner and were on coffee when the phone rang. Stone took it in the study.
“It’s Tom Young,” the sergeant said.
“What did you find out?”
“I called Caleb Stone and got a cell phone number for the twins, then I called the number and got voice mail instead of an answer.”
“So we know nothing more about their whereabouts?”
“Not exactly. Eben called me back a few minutes later and reported that they were off Martha’s Vineyard in a race around the Vineyard, Nantucket and Block Island, then back to Newport. They started this morning.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I had no reason not to,” Young said.
“If the race didn’t start until this morning, then where have they been for the past four days?”
“According to Eben, in Newport, getting the boat ready for the race and partying. I called the Ida Lewis Yacht Club, who are running the race, and the twins are listed as crew on the yacht Hotshot, which is owned by a friend of theirs. They have a crew of six aboard.”
“Did anybody remember seeing them in Newport before this morning?”
“Nobody at the yacht club. The boat was docked at a marina in town, and I’ve asked the Newport police to go down there and see if any of the staff remember seeing a pair of large identical twins there the past few days. They’ll get back to me.”
“Thanks, Sergeant. I’d like to know what you hear.”
“I’ll call you when I know something.” Young hung up.
The others straggled into the study from dinner, Lance first.
“That was Young,” Stone said. “He talked to one of the twins; they’re aboard a yacht off Martha’s Vineyard. He’s asked the Newport police for help in placing them in the town over the past four days, and he’ll get back to us when he hears something.”
Dino played bartender for after-dinner drinks.
Stone didn’t know whether to hope his two young cousins were involved in all this, but he wanted something to happen.
Chapter 49
HOLLY FOUGHT TO stay awake. She had a plan now, and she had to have her wits about her when the guy came back to feed and empty her. She tried remembering things; that kind of mental activity might keep her awake. She tried remembering the names of everybody in her high school graduation class. There were only sixty of them at the small military high school in Germany, when Ham was still in the army.
She went through the girls first; they were the most difficult. The boys’ names came quicker, starting with Burt Bonner, the athlete on whom she had bestowed her virtue when she was eighteen— bestowed it on him a number of times, in fact. She tried remembering the details of each bestowal; that kept her awake.
Then she heard, or rather felt, the footsteps on the stairs. The house must be fairly rickety, she thought, if she could feel footsteps. He went through his routine, but when he ripped off the tape over her mouth, she was ready for him.
“I have over a million dollars in an offshore bank account,” she said quickly.
He crammed the chocolate bar into her mouth anyway.
Holly spat it out. “It’s yours. I can wire-transfer it to any bank account in the world in seconds. You can open an account offshore on the Internet. It’s a million two hundred thousand dollars. You can go anywhere in the world on that. This is untraceable money. An offshore bank will give you a credit card that draws on your balance; you can use it anywhere in the world.”
He poured water into her mouth, crammed the candy bar in again, and retaped. Then he went back downstairs.
Did the guy live downstairs and she couldn’t hear him because of the plugs in her ears? Or did he live somewhere else and just visit her here?
At least she had given him something to think about. Maybe greed was more powerful than sex or killing or whatever reason he had taken her. She dozed off again. Even the memory of Burt Bonner couldn’t keep her awake.
STONE WAS STARTING to get cabin fever hanging around the house, waiting for something to happen. “I’m going to go and get the papers,” he said to the group in the study. “Anybody need anything?”
Nobody said a word.
Stone left the house and drove the station wagon into Dark Harbor. He went into the Dark Harbor Shop, bought the Times and the Boston papers, then sat down at the counter and ordered some ice cream. He was absorbed in the front page of the Times when he heard a deep voice behind him.
“Let me have a box of Snickers bars,” the familiar voice said.
Stone turned around to find Caleb Stone standing there.
“A whole box?” the girl behind the counter asked. “That’s twenty-four bars.”
“My wife likes them,” Caleb said. “Good morning, Stone.”
Caleb didn’t look well. He was pale, and he seemed to have lost some weight.
“Good morning, Caleb. How are you?”
“So-so, I guess. You?”
“All right.”
“Bad business about all these murders.”
“Yes, it is.”
“We’re staying home with the doors locked,” Caleb said.
“The boys, too?”
“No, they’re on a yacht race somewhere off Newport. They left before it got really bad here."
“How are they doing in the race? Have you heard from them?”
“Got a call this morning,” Caleb replied. “They were well up in the fleet, they said.”
“When will they be back?”
“The race won’t finish for another couple of days; they get into Nantucket tonight, where they’ll have a lay day, then they’ll start the return leg the day after tomorrow.” Caleb signed a charge ticket, picked up his box of candy bars and gave a little wave. “See you later, Stone.”
“Right, Caleb.” Stone finished his ice cream, then headed back to the house.
He found Lance working in Dick’s little office. He picked tip the phone and dialed Sergeant Young’s cell phone.
“This is Young.”
“Sergeant, it’s Stone Barrington.”
“Good morning.”
“Good morning. I just saw Caleb Stone in the Dark Harbor Shop and he tells me the twins’ yacht gets into Nantucket tonight, and they have a lay day there tomorrow. Can you get the local police to check quietly if they’re actually aboard the boat?”
“I’ll make a call,” Young said.
“Will you let me know the result?”
“Be glad to.” Young said goodbye and hung up.
Lance looked up from the computer. “You’re still pursuing the twins angle?”
“What else have I got to pursue?” Stone said.
“Good point. I’m just reading through the notes of the various agents who checked into the Rus
sian mob threat against Dick.”
“You’re still pursuing that lead?”
“What else have I got to pursue?” Lance asked. “It’s not as implausible as you might think.”
“Well, if it’s true, it means we have two killers: one of Dick and his family and possibly Don Blown, and one of the women.”
“Unlikely, isn’t it?”
“But not impossible,” Stone said.
Chapter 50
SERGEANT YOUNG’S CALL was forwarded to the cell phone of Lieutenant Jake Potter in Nantucket, who was sitting in a squad car in the middle of the village, watching tourists turn their ankles on the cobblestones. “Lieutenant Potter,” he drawled into the phone.
“Lieutenant, this is Sergeant Tom Young of the Maine State Police.”
“Morning, Sergeant, how’s the weather in Maine today?”
“A little foggy.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, but we’ve had a series of murders on the island of Islesboro.”
“I read the Boston papers.”
“In connection with that investigation, I’m concerned about the whereabouts of two young men, twin brothers, named Eben and Enos Stone. They may be aboard a yacht in Nantucket. They sailed from Newport yesterday.”
“As part of the race?”
“That’s right.”
“If you want me to arrest them we’re going to need a fugitive warrant; you can fax it to us.”
“It won’t be necessary to arrest them,” Young said. “Right now, I just need to determine whether they’re actually aboard that boat.”
“Description?”
“Identical twins, blond hair, tall—maybe six-three or six-four— over two hundred pounds, muscular.”
“Well, I’m glad I don’t have to arrest them.”
Young chuckled. “It may come to that yet.”
“Name of the boat?”
“Hotshot.”
“Spell.”
“Hotel, oscar, tango, sierra, hotel, oscar, tango.”
“Length?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have that information.”
“Skipper’s name?”
“Don’t know.”
“Home port?”
“Maybe Newport, but I’m not at all sure.”
“That was Eldon and Elmer who?”
“No, that’s Eben and Enos Stone. And Lieutenant, if you can find out if they’re aboard without letting them know you’re checking, I’d appreciate it. I don’t want them to run.”
“What do you want me to do if they try to run?”
“If they do, please try to find out where they’re going and call me as soon as possible.” Young gave the man his cell phone number.
“I could detain them on some charge or other, maybe dumping their holding tank in the marina.”
“I don’t think that would help. Anyway, it’s not their boat.”
“I could think of something else.”
“Lieutenant, their father is a big-time Boston lawyer; I don’t think that would be helpful. I just need to know if they’re actually present on Nantucket.”
“Tell me, Sergeant, how is knowing that going to help you?”
“Well, if they’re on the boat, then their alibi for my time frame might be good.”
“Might be good?”
“We’re talking about a period of four days. They say they were in Newport until yesterday, partying, and the race started yesterday morning.”
“Have you talked to the police in Newport?”
“Yes, and they’re investigating as we speak.”
“And you just want to know if they’re on the boat.”
“I want to know if they’re on Nantucket.”
“And you don’t want me to detain them?”
“No, sir, please don’t do that.”
“I guess you want the collar yourself, huh?”
“I don’t have enough evidence for a collar. If they’re on Nantucket, I’ll have even less. If they’re not on Nantucket, then I may have some basis on which to proceed.”
“Well, I’ll drive down to the marina and have a look around,” the lieutenant said.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“And I’ll call you at this number when I find out?”
“Please do that; I’ll wait for your call.”
“Bye-bye, Sergeant.”
The lieutenant closed his cell phone, finished his coffee and started the car. He drove down to the main marina and parked his cruiser on a yellow curb and got out. He strolled down to the marina and walked into the dockmaster’s office.
“Hey, Charlie,” he said to the man behind the desk.
“Morning, Jake.”
“You got a boat named…” He consulted his notebook. “.. .Potshot?”
Charlie picked up a clipboard and ran his finger down to the Ps. “That’s Potshot?”
“Right.”
“Nope. Nothing by that name.”
“It didn’t come in here with the race from Newport?”
“It didn’t come in here at all, with anybody.”
Jake nodded. He flipped open his cell phone and called Maine.
“Sergeant Young.”
“Sergeant, it’s Jake Potter, in Nantucket.”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“I’m down at the marina office; there’s no boat by that name in the marina. It’s not on the dockmaster’s list.”
“Well, that’s pretty interesting,” Young said.
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“Does the dockmaster have a list of people on the yachts?”
“Hang on, I’ll ask him. Charlie, do you have a list of the people that come in here on these boats?”
Charlie shook his head. “Nope. I couldn’t care less who comes in here on the boats; all I want to know is what I have to find space for.”
“No, Sergeant, he doesn’t have a list of people.”
“Lieutenant, do you think you could just take a walk around the marina and see if there’s a yacht named Hotshot?”
“Oh, you’re looking for another boat, now?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m just looking for the one.”
“Potshot?”
“No, not Potshot, Hotshot. With an H for hotel.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?”
“Could you ask the dockmaster about Hotshot, please?”
“Hang on. Charlie, now he wants a boat named Hotshot. You got one of them?”
Charlie picked up his clipboard and ran a finger down to the Hs. “Yep, I’ve got just one Hotshot: dock three, berth fourteen.”
“Sergeant?”
“Yes?”
“He’s got a Hotshot all right: dock three, berth fourteen.”
“Great! Could you go down there and have a look at it?”
“Sure.”
“Wait a minute. I’ve got a better idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Let me speak to the dockmaster, please.”
Jake handed his phone to Charlie.
“Charlie here.”
“Charlie, this is Sergeant Young of the Maine State Police.” He explained his problem and described the twins. “Rather than have a uniformed officer go down to the boat, could you or one of your people go to the boat and tell them there’s a phone call for either Eben Stone or Enos Stone in your office?”
“But there isn’t a phone call.”
“I just want to know if they’re on the boat. If they’re not, ask if they’re in the village or on the island somewhere.”
“And if they are on the boat?”
“Ask for a cell phone number and tell them you’ll refer the call.”
