Ray’s answer was a long time in coming. “”It’s so complicated. Twenty or more possible suspects just in our initial review. The victim has had decades-long relationships with most of these people. It’s hard to know where to begin. I spent the day listening to different versions of the same story, most of them coming through a filter that would put the speaker in the best light. Most of the colony residents expressed a dislike for the victim. And yet they seemed to tolerate him because he had the money and competence to keep things going.”
Ray looked out at the water and checked his watch. “We should be back on the water. I want to get across the shipping channel before dark. Let’s have the navigation lights in place and switched on before we launch.”
Ray pushed Hanna’s kayak away from the beach, and then launched his own. As they paddled away from shore, Hanna asked, “Should we put out a radio call that we’re crossing the passage?”
“I don’t see any traffic, but it’s probably a good thing to do.” He stopped paddling and waited as she transmitted “Sécurité, sécurité, sécurité, kayaks crossing Manitou Passage west to east from South Manitou to Sleeping Bear Point.” She repeated her message, her voice echoing through Ray’s VFR radio.
“How was that,” she asked.
“Perfect. We’ve made a cautionary call, the lights are in place, and there are no other boats in sight. Let’s boogie while we’ve still got lots of light.”
Ray turned his bow in the direction of the headland and settled into a fast cadence, Hanna in a parallel course at his side. As Ray focused on his destination, he slowly ran the memory of each of the interviews of the cast, crew, family, and employees from Verity Wudbine-Merone to her son Elliott. He tried to remember the details of each encounter. What had he missed? While it was too early to dismiss the possibility that the murderer was from outside this group, Ray was quite certain he had talked to the killer or killers in the course of the day. The careful, split-second timing necessary to successfully carry out the attack showed extremely careful planning. Was the perpetrator motivated by some recent events or by some smoldering resentment?
“Ray,” Hanna’s voice had a sense of urgency. “There’s a boat closing fast. I can’t tell if they have seen us.”
“Do another sécurité call.”
They paused briefly as Hanna made her call.
“I don’t see any response. They’re coming straight toward us.”
“They are at least a mile out. Let’s get out of their way.”
As they picked up their pace, Ray watched the lights on the approaching craft. He could hear the rumble of the engines, and then the music, a techno beat. As hard as they paddled, the yacht continued to close, as if it was being steered in their direction. Suddenly it veered off to the west, missing their boats by less than forty or fifty yards, the kayaks surfing on its wake. Then it slowly disappeared into the dusk, the engine noise blending with a heavy bass beat.
“Did you get a name?” asked Ray.
“No,” said Hanna, still breathing hard, her arms and legs burning from the extended sprint. “I don’t think they ever saw us. Was anyone on the bridge?”
“Auto pilot,” said Ray. “The guy at the controls was talking, or texting, or watching TV or in the head. They had their VHS turned off or down so as not to be disturbed by the routine chatter.”
“What can we do?”
“Be angry at them, and thankful that they missed us. That was a good-sized yacht. They probably wouldn’t have noticed running over us.”
On the beach in the dull light of the afterglow, as they packed their gear, Hanna asked, “Did you figure out who the killer was?”
“No, I was distracted. For a little while it became quite unimportant.”
“Near-death experiences seem to put everything else in perspective,” she said sliding into his arms. “This was a lot more interesting than dinner and a movie.”
26
“What time did you get here?” asked Sue, observing the elaborate diagram—a collection of circles and ovals with connecting lines that covered the large whiteboard.
“I slept for five or six hours, and then I was wide awake. I was just lying there trying to figure out how to get on top of all this information. Eventually I got up and came in. This,” pointing to the whiteboard, “is what I had to do. I needed to draw it out. Too many balls in the air, I can’t do that in my head.”
Sue settled into her chair and studied the diagram.
“How was your night?” Ray asked.
“It was good. Harry’s trying to prove himself as a cook. I guess I’ve blabbed on too much about your culinary skills. I think he feels competitive. That’s a guy thing, isn’t it?”
Ray looked over at her, but was not quick to answer.
“Anyway, he did a good job. Fresh salmon and some corn he bought at a farm stand. Couldn’t be better. He made a salad, too. And bought some of those chocolates from the Grocer’s Daughter. I think the man has promise as a hunter and gatherer and perhaps even as a cook. Or he’s being excessively charming in the hope of getting me to move to Chicago. The old bait and switch routine. He keeps talking about different law schools, other kinds of jobs I could pursue, and the joys of living in a great restaurant city.”
“Is he making any headway?” asked Ray, uncomfortable with the conversation.
“We’ve had this talk before, Ray. I do have this nagging feeling that I should be thinking about the future. And as you know, this is the first relationship I’ve had in awhile that shows much promise. But I don’t know. How about you? What did you do last night?”
“Fast paddle on the big lake.”
“With the doc?”
“Yes. We went out to the south island and back.”
“Did you have enough light?”
“We were pushing it on the return. Almost got mowed down by a large yacht, a thrilling end to a long day. And that sudden rush of excitement took my mind off this,” Ray pointed to the whiteboard, “for a while.”
“Did you report the incident?” asked Sue.
“We didn’t catch the name of the boat. At the time it seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. I was exhausted. I just wanted to go home and hit the bed.”
“You and the doc, this has been going on for what, six months now? Since I’ve known you, this is close to a personal best.”
“Don’t get too excited, Sue. I imagine she will wander off to do another residency in some exotic area of medicine. Let’s get back on task,” he said looking up at the board. “You can see what I’ve done, every interview gets its own balloon, below each of those I’ve added additional balloons with information I garnered from the interviews. You will remember some of this from our conversation yesterday. For example, look at Richard Grubbs. In the balloons below I have identity of daughter and suggestion of wife’s affair with Malcolm in their own graphic. And in each of those two balloons you see the V indicating Verity was a source of the information.”
“I need 10 or 15 minutes to study this,” said Sue.
“Take whatever time you need,” said Ray. “I’ll go make a fresh pot of coffee for us.”
“Questions?” asked Ray, returning to the table with an insulated decanter.
“It looks like Verity gets the most balloons.”
“Yes,” said Ray. “Verity had all kinds of information, lots of things she wanted me to know. We have Grubbs’ wife and Malcolm, and we have Grubbs’ daughter not talking to her father.”
“And then Verity lets you know that said daughter has Asperger’s like behaviors. I guess I should say ‘spectrum disorder,’ and that the replacement wife, Brenda, is an alcoholic,” said Sue. “And I have to admit I thought Jill was a bit strange. In our long conversation she only made eye contact once or twice. Most of the time she was looking between us at the far wall. She was absolutely without affect. And then I think about her on stage. I wish we could run the tape back. She seemed like the other actors, full of life and emotion. She wasn’t flat or cardboard. Jill really seemed to be into her part.”