“I don’t know.” Garrick closed his notebook. “Did Jake practice yoga?”
“We never discussed exercise regimens.”
“He’d have to be a contortionist to shoot himself in the back.” He stood up. “You might want to stay on the boat for a few more hours.”
The smallest frown appeared on Eccles’ face. “You can’t hold me here—”
“No.” Garrick gestured toward the window. “But do you really want to run the media gauntlet now? Later, some of them might go home.”
“Ah, good point.”
“Still, we may have to talk again,” said Garrick. “This case is barely open yet.”
Garrick met O’Connell back in the atrium, where they watched the crime-scene technicians. Two were in Tyvek bunny suits, dusting and measuring and collecting, while another woman stood to the side holding a video camera. A fourth took notes, occasionally dictating into her cell phone.
“It’s almost like they’re trying not to screw this one up,” said O’Connell.
“Maybe CSU got a call from the commissioner, too.” Garrick pulled out his notebook. “What’d the steward have to say?”
“Second mate. This dinghy has seventeen crew, you know that?”
“Perhaps one of them saw something.”
“Well, not this guy. Claims he ran in, smelled cordite, checked the body, and ran right out again.”
“Cordite.” Garrick rolled his eyes.
“Yeah,” said O’Connell. “But get this. There was blood on his cell phone.” He pulled out a paper evidence bag and glanced at the techs. “I’ll sign this over if one of them ever looks my way.”
“I thought Blakely put in the nine-one-one.”
“She did.”
“Oh.” Garrick had to smile. “The mate had more important things on his mind, did he?”
“He seems to have made a half-dozen calls, shopping the story.”
“How much you figure he got for the tip?”
“Nothing.” O’Connell waved the bag at the woman with the video camera, who nodded back. “But for the inside story I’m sure he’s planning to sell later? A few grand, at least.”
“Civic-minded of him.”
O’Connell handed off the evidence bag. As the woman went back to her camcorder, he stared up at the elevator’s roof.
“Think the killer went through the maintenance hatch?”
“It was bolted shut, from the inside. And there was hardly time.”
“Too bad we don’t have surveillance video.”
“It’s not a public venue. Would you put a camera in your living room?”
“I have one in my bedroom.”
Garrick decided he didn’t really want to know. “Any luck on the handgun?”
“Fraxton has a collection. Or a gun cabinet, anyway, in his stateroom. The captain says there might be one missing.”
“Was it locked?”
“No.”
“We’ll have to get the licensing records.”
“Dunno — wouldn’t it depend on where the boat’s registered?”
“Good question. Maybe the Harbor Unit can help us with that. They must find weapons on boats all summer.”
“Uh-huh.” After a few moments: “We know it was murder. No one shoots themselves behind the neck. So why would the gunman set it up like, you know, mystery of the week?”
Garrick nodded. “My guess is, reasonable doubt.”
“How’s that?”
“Say we find the guy. In court, the first thing his lawyer’s going to say is, ‘impossible.’ Doesn’t matter what other evidence we have, if the crime requires a teleporter or time travel or something, the jury’ll have to acquit.”
“Huh.” O’Connell looked back at the elevator. “Where’s Monk when you need him?”
They found Blakely in the library, one level up on B-deck. Bookshelves rising to the ceiling held shiny hardbacks, clean as a Barnes & Noble row. A four-foot plasma flatscreen on one wall silently displayed an extreme-skiing documentary.
Blakely sat in an armchair, more fully dressed now, holding an empty crystal tumbler and staring blankly at the soundless video.
“I apologize for bothering you,” Garrick said. O’Connell drifted to the background. Garrick wouldn’t have had him there at all, since two-on-one made a sympathetic interview more difficult, but department rules and common sense both precluded being alone with a suspect.
“No, no.” She shrugged, then abruptly started to cry.
“I’m sorry.” Garrick looked around, but O’Connell was already handing over a pocket pack of tissues. “Thanks.”
Another minute, some nose-blowing, some hiccups.
“I just can’t believe it,” Blakely said finally.
“How did Jacob Fraxton appear?” asked Garrick. “When you last spoke?”
“Like himself.” She looked at the screen again. “I mean, it’s been awkward this weekend. Harrison invited me, for the Fourth, so we could watch the fireworks from the harbor. I thought... I thought this boat was big enough, maybe we wouldn’t run into each other too much.”
“You mean Jacob?” Garrick wondered if Blakely was really that dumb. Or had it been deliberate? A provocation?
She glanced at him, eyes starting to brim again. “He tried to act all, like, normal and everything, but, you know.”
“Had you been separated long?”
“Oh, we got divorced last year. And it wasn’t — we just grew apart. He... I think he got bored with me. That’s how I felt, anyway. So it was all like, what the lawyer kept saying, amicable.” She stopped. “The truth? I think he just wanted someone even younger.”
On the screen, a helmeted skier went off a vertical slope, skidding down past spruce trees and granite outcrops in a glittering spray of snow. The absence of sound made the action seem unreal.
“And Harrison?” Garrick asked.
“He’s so nice. We can talk about anything, and he understands me, and we love each other so much.”
O’Connell shifted behind them, a small choking noise.
“Yes,” said Garrick. “What were you talking about with Mr. Fraxton, this morning?”
“I don’t know. Whether it might rain on the fireworks tomorrow. Nothing important.”
“This was outside the, uh, atrium? On the deck?”
“Yes. Harrison and I were going to the pool, and Jacob happened to come out, and, you know, we couldn’t just ignore each other. And then I went up the stairs, and that was the last I ever... I ever...”
The waterworks started again, but Garrick leaned forward. “You left Harrison with Jacob?”
“Not with him.” Blakely snuffled. “We sort of all left at the same time. Harrison was going to ring the steward for pool towels.”
“Did you hear the shot?”
“Yes! I was already on C-deck, but near the windows — you can’t see in, hardly, they’re so dark, but I heard the bang and ran back down and there was still cordite in the air and the elevator up there and all bloody—”
“I understand.”
“Not cordite,” said O’Connell from behind them, apparently unable to let this pass again.
“What?”
“Cordite hasn’t been used as an ammunition propellant for decades,” said Garrick.
“Well, whatever. Gunsmoke. You could still smell the shot.”
“Who else was there?”
“Harrison, of course, he ran back even faster than me, and the steward. They were pressing the button, bringing the elevator back down.”
“Second ma—” O’Connell started, but Garrick overrode him.
“No one else? Did you see anyone on the upper decks, inside the atrium?”
“No. I mean, all I remember is thinking, what happened? And staring at the elevator.”
Garrick couldn’t tell how much of Blakely’s affect was contrived, though this didn’t bother him as much as it had when he was just starting as a detective. Everyone lied about something, and grief struck everyone differently. Still, he needed a better sense of her.