It was a long speech, and I stopped to take a breath.
‘Jesus,’ Martin said. ‘How did you…? Never mind. Warren, right?’
But wait, there’s more, I thought. I explained my suspicions about the Ketamine, and how Kira’s evidence suggested it would have been possible to introduce the drug into Julie’s drink using a straw. Knowing that the straw would had to have been prepared ahead of time, I added, ‘I’ll bet if you search his room right now, you’ll find evidence of that. Ketamine. Straws. Probably hidden in his underwear drawer.’
For the first time since I began talking, Martin hauled out a notebook and jotted something down.
‘So, what are you going to do now?’ Ruth wanted to know.
Martin tucked the notebook back into his breast pocket, his face immobile, grave. ‘As I explained to your sister earlier, I am not a cop. I can’t search a passenger’s room without good reason, and I have no authority to make arrests. I’m sorry, ladies, but the best I can do is take down what you’ve told me and pass it on to the F.B.I. I am simply not equipped to carry out a proper investigation. I don’t have the trained staff, or the facilities. They do.’
‘And by then, the evidence will be gone…’ Ruth let the thought die.
I’d already been down that path with Officer Martin. I knew it was a dead end. What we needed at that moment simply wasn’t in the man’s job description. ‘I’m disappointed, of course,’ I told him, ‘but I understand that you’re just doing your job, and I appreciate the time you’ve given us so far.’
To give him credit, Martin looked genuinely sorry when we thanked him and said goodbye.
‘Thanks for nothing,’ Ruth muttered as we watched Martin disappear into the piano bar. ‘What’s next, Hannah?’
‘I think it’s on to Plan B,’ I said.
TWENTY
‘A conjuring performance cannot be properly and thoroughly appreciated by anyone who does not know something about the art, for the attraction is not – or should not be – wholly centered in the secret, however wonderful it may be.’
David Devant (1868-1941), My Magic Life,
Hutchinson, 1931, p. 116
‘What’s Plan B?’ Ruth wondered as we made our way down the corridor that led to our stateroom.
‘Hell if I know,’ I said.
‘David Warren is going to be royally pissed,’ Ruth predicted. ‘He’s worked so long and so hard. This was a big breakthrough for him.’
‘I’ll give him a call. But I don’t think he’ll be surprised. He’s been dealing with cruise-line politics for a lot longer than I have. Out here in international waters, it’s a whole other world.’
I slotted my sea pass into the lock.
Once inside, I stuck my head into the cabin next door. Julie sat on her bed, swaying to music that was leaking - chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka - out of her earbuds, and playing a game on her iPhone. If the encounter with her abductor that afternoon had upset her, she was hiding it well.
I drew Georgina aside. As I described our meeting with Officer Martin, my sister’s face grew progressively more concerned. ‘What are we going to do about Julie, then? What if Westfall…?’ She couldn’t finish the sentence, but I could fill in the blank. I shivered.
‘We’ll keep Julie close, of course,’ I said. ‘It’s only one more day.’
Georgina agreed. What choice did she have? ‘No more late nights at Tidal Wave, that’s for sure.’
‘Look at it this way,’ I said, sitting myself down on the foot of her bed. ‘Jack Westfall is a cocky bastard. He’s gotten away with rape before, and he thinks he has done it again. He uses drugs on his victims so even if they do remember seeing him, their testimony will be unreliable. What a power trip.’
‘Westfall has no idea that Julie has identified him,’ Georgina rationalized. ‘As long as he thinks he’s in the clear, I suppose she’ll be OK. It’ll be my job to keep it that way!’ Suddenly, she straightened. ‘What about dinner tonight? It’s formal. Since we missed it the first time, Julie has her heart set on going so she can wear one of her new dresses.’
‘I don’t think you need to worry. David Warren told me that the Westfalls almost always eat at the second seating, so I think we’re good to go.’
‘Julie!’ her mother called. ‘Ju-lee!’
Julie yanked out her earbuds. ‘What?’
‘If you ran into Jack Westfall, what would you do?’ her mother asked.
Julie puffed air out through her lips. ‘Walk right past and pretend like I don’t know him, of course. Duh. You think I’m one of those “ooooh ooooh something’s making a noise out in the woods so let’s go see what it is” kind of bimbos?’
Georgina sighed. ‘Fourteen going on twenty.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Back in the cabin I shared with Ruth, I called David’s stateroom and left a message that I needed to see him. I asked the operator to connect me to Buck Carney’s cabin, too, but he didn’t pick up either, so I hung up, figuring he’d be easy enough to track down. With the focus now on Jack, I was hoping Carney had taken some pictures at Breakers! that could help us where the security cameras had failed. I also needed to telephone my husband and bring him up to speed.
Until Islander entered the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay at Norfolk later that evening, cell phone reception was simply a fantasy. We could have Skyped from the library, of course, but then everyone within earshot would have overheard the conversation – both sides.
After discussing a plan of action with my sisters, I used the cabin phone to telephone Paul.
‘Sweetheart! I was hoping you’d call.’ He sounded so cheerful, I hated to burst the bubble.
I twisted the telephone cord around my finger, trying to calm my nerves. ‘Not sure you’ll be so happy when you hear what I have to say.’
‘What’s happened? Is everyone OK?’
‘Sort of,’ I told him. ‘Do you have a piece of paper and something to write with?’
While Paul grunted, cursed, ranted and raved, using words of power I didn’t even know were in his vocabulary, I filled him in on the previous twenty-four hours. Then I told him what we wanted him to do.
After I hung up, with reassurances from him that everything would be OK, Ruth checked in with Hutch. Hutch agreed to cancel his appointments for the day, swing by to pick up Paul and drive up to Baltimore where they would bring Scott into the picture.
I imagined the pow-wow: a tenured college professor, a prominent attorney and a well-respected C.P.A. The F.B.I. would never know what hit them.
When David Warren returned my call he asked to meet me in Athena, the casino bar. Hoping it wasn’t smoking hour at the slot machines, I agreed. When I arrived, he was sitting on one of the banquettes near the window. A glass of white wine sat waiting for me on the coffee table. ‘That was thoughtful,’ I said as I sat down next to him.
As I predicted, he expressed no surprise over Martin’s reluctance to clap Westfall in irons and perform a thorough search of his cabin.
Knowing that his main concern was not Julie or Noelle, who had survived, but to avenge the murder of his daughter, who had not, I said gently, ‘But, surely you can turn this information over to the F.B.I. agent working your daughter’s case. It has to be relevant.’
‘There is no case,’ he said sadly. ‘Charlotte’s death was ruled accidental, possibly suicide. Case closed. And Westfall will never confess to it.’