Jimmy laid a finger alongside his nose and regarded Liam out of wise eyes. "Well, now, Trooper Campbell, it would all depend on what I was seeing, and who was doing what I was seeing, and how many other people were around while I was seeing it. If you catch my meaning."
Liam caught his meaning. He closed his notebook. "What now?"
The harbormaster sighed. "Now we pump her out enough to tow her around to dry dock. We'll leave the sea cocks open, get a lot of the water out of her that way at low tide, close the sea cocks, and pump out the rest. The engine'll probably have to be replaced-saltwater, you know. It's to be hoped that young Kelly is up to date with his insurance. So many of the younger fishermen can't afford it, and the ones who fish alone usually figure they can't be sued, so they don't bother." He shook his head. "Sometimes I think it's a real shame that keelhauling has gone out of style, you know?"
He wasn't referring to the uninsured mariners.
At that moment, their conversation was interrupted by a scream.
FOURTEEN
The scream was followed by the slamming of a hatch and a woman's voice yelling, "Help! Somebody, help, help, HELP!"
Liam knew that voice. His heart in his mouth, he ran toward it, pounding down the slip, past boat after boat after boat, the vessels increasing in size as he came to the end of the floats and the mouth of the harbor. It was barely nine o'clock, and there was still enough light to reveal an occasional lone fisherman climbing out here and there to the deck of his gillnetter or drifter or seiner to gape at Liam as he pounded past.
She was standing on the deck of the Sea Wolfe, and Liam put one hand on the gunnel and vaulted on board. "Wy! Wy! It's all right, I'm here. I'm here now. What's wrong?"
Her face was white. Mutely, she pointed, a piece of paper crumpled in her pointing hand.
Liam followed her gesture to the door of the Sea Wolfe's cabin and looked in.
This was no little gillnetter with a one-room cabin that served as living room, bedroom, and bathroom combined. This seiner had a separate head with a flush toilet, staterooms with two bunks each, and a galley that resembled the kitchen of a luxury hotel.
The galley, reached through a passageway that ran down the center of the cabin, took up the forward part of the cabin, with side-by-side rectangular windows set into the bulkhead that took in a 180-degree view.
It was the interior view that held Liam's fascinated and appalled attention. Cecil Wolfe was sprawled backward on the deck, arms outstretched, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. Blood was everywhere-smeared on one of the two doors into the galley, on the table, all over the floor-as if Cecil Wolfe in his dying convulsions had waged an unceasing struggle to retain his grip on the life pouring so rapidly out of him.
Because he was most definitely dead. Liam stooped and put two fingers against Wolfe's throat. The carotid artery was silent and still, and Wolfe's flesh was already cooling.
Liam stood up again. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit."
A gasp made him swing his head around. The harbormaster stood in the passageway, turning an interesting shade of green.
"Jimmy?" It took a minute for the harbormaster's eyes to tear themselves away from Wolfe's body and refocus on Liam. "I need you to phone for the ambulance. And then I need you to go to the trooper vehicle. It's the white Blazer parked on the dock. Here's the keys." Liam dug them out of his pocket. "There's a briefcase in the backseat, and a big roll of yellow plastic tape. I need you to bring them both back down here. Okay?"
Jimmy didn't answer at once, and Liam repeated with more emphasis, "Okay?"
Jimmy Barnes swallowed and said in a weak voice, "Okay." He took the keys from Liam's outstretched hand and tottered back down the passageway, nearly blundering into a palefaced Wy.
"What happened here, Wy?" Liam said.
"I don't know," she said numbly. "I found him like this."
"What was he doing down here? What were you doing down here?" Liam could hear his voice rising, and he didn't even try to keep it down. "Last I saw of you, you were settled in at Bill's for the duration. What the hell are you doing down here!"
"I was getting tired of waiting around the bar to get paid," she said, still in that numb voice. Either she didn't notice his anger or didn't care. "So I asked Cecil for my check, and he said he'd left them on the boat. He suggested we come down here to get the checks and bring them back to Bill's for the crew."
Liam was unable to contain himself. "And you said you would? After I warned you how dangerous this asshole was? Jesus, Wy, I thought you were smarter than that!"
Her eyes fell. "I didn't take what you said seriously. I thought you were jealous."
"Oh yeah, right," he said, throwing up a hand in disgust, "like you've been encouraging this jerk all along." He pulled off his cap and rubbed a hand over his hair.
"I'm not a complete idiot," she said, her strained manner robbing her words of indignation. "I didn't come down to the boat with him, I waited for him in the truck."
Liam took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. "All right, you're waiting for him in the truck-what happened next?"
"I got tired of waiting."
"How long did you sit there?" he demanded.
"I don't know. Twenty minutes or so, I guess."
"And then you came down to the boat?" She nodded.
"What happened?"
She gestured at Wolfe. "I found him like this."
"When?"
"What? When I came on board. He was-" She gestured. "He was lying right there."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"And you screamed right away?"
She nodded.
"Bullshit," Liam said.
"What?"
"First of all, you're not a screamer. Secondly." He leaned forward and snatched the piece of paper still crumpled in her fist. "Secondly, you looked for this before you screamed."
A faint flush warmed her pale cheeks. "It was in his hand."
"There's no blood on it, Wy," Liam said tightly. "There's blood on pretty much every other goddamn thing in this room, including all over Cecil Wolfe, including both of his hands, but there's no blood on this check."
She said nothing.
"Let's see," he said, "if I were a check, where would I be? In a desk, maybe? Let's look for one, shall we?" He stepped into the passageway and opened a door. "A couple of bunks, a porthole, no desk." He opened another door. "Shower, toilet-this must be the head. No desks in the head-first law of the sea, I'm sure." He opened a third door, and paused. "Aha. Two bunks, one of them not made up-tsk, bad housekeeping-and one desk. Let's just see what's in it, shall we?" He stepped to the desk and scanned the surface. There was a laptop computer, turned off and folded down. A wire basket suction-cupped to the top of the desk held a small stack of envelopes. Liam took a pen from his pocket and lifted the envelopes up one at a time to read the names scrawled on the outside of each. "Kirk Mulder, Ralph Gianetti, Elmer Ollestad, Angel Fejes, Ben Savo, Joe English, Mike Lenaghan, Tom Howes." He looked back at Wy, framed in the doorway. "Nope, no envelope for Wyanet Chouinard, and she was instrumental in all these guys' getting their paychecks today." He let the envelopes fall back in the basket and stood up. "I ought to know, I was there."
"All right," she flared, "so I looked for the check before I screamed. So what? What's it matter anyway-I didn't kill him!"
"I never said you did," he yelled, "but you're not making it any easier for me to find out who did by screwing with the crime scene! How the hell am I supposed to find who did do it if you're in here stumbling around destroying evidence!"
They glared at each other.
From the passageway behind Wy there was an apologetic clearing of throat. "I'm sorry," Jimmy Barnes said, head down in a conscious effort not to meet anyone's eyes and thereby precipitate an inclusion into the ongoing debate. "Here's the tape and your briefcase, Liam. The ambulance is on its way."