“Who?”
“Beth. You probably don’t know me; I’m new. Anyway, I wonder if you could come up here for a few minutes.”
There was a sigh. “Why?”
“It’s about those things the woman who was staying on your boat lost last week.”
“What things?” His tone was suddenly more alert.
“Oh, didn’t she tell you? She lost a key ring and a checkbook. One of the other slip holders turned them up. We have them here if you’d like to-”
“I’ll be right there.”
It had been a guess, but it had turned out right on target. Now I’d have to move fast. I ran across the graveled parking lot, back along the slips, and along one of the side floats. In a couple of minutes, Keller hurried along the dock toward the office. I waited until he was past, then sprinted for his slip and climbed on board the cruiser. As I’d hoped, he hadn’t locked the door to the companionway. I went down there, almost slipping on the ladder.
The galley was straight ahead, but that didn’t interest me. I went aft, where there were sleeping quarters. The teak-paneled cabin had two built-in bunks with a dresser between them. On the dresser was a small tan suitcase with the initials JMA. Irrelevantly, I wondered what Jane Anthony’s middle name had been.
The case was full of cosmetics, underwear, jeans, and tops-all thrown in together. Fastidious Jane had never packed-or repacked-these things. I looked through them, found nothing unusual, then turned my attention to the rest of the cabin. One bunk was rumpled, its covers turned back. The other was smooth and on it sat a cardboard box. I went over and saw it was full of file folders.
As I reached for the box, I heard a thump on the deck above. I froze, listening. Footsteps went toward the companionway and down the ladder, and then Keller appeared, his back to me, heading for the galley.
He was back much sooner than I’d anticipated. Had he realized the call was a fake? Would he search the boat? I flattened against the wall of the cabin, wishing the box of folders was still within reach.
There was the sound of an icetray being emptied and then the crack of a seal, probably on a fresh bottle of gin. Keller’s voice said wearily, “Let them keep the stuff. It’s of no use to me. Or to Janie anymore.” Next I heard breaking glass. “Jesus Christ,” Keller said. There was a long silence and then he added, “You’ve had enough, fellow.”
Keller’s footsteps left the galley and I held my breath, hoping he would go up on deck and leave the boat without the files. The footsteps came on, however, toward the cabin. I got ready and, as he stepped through the door, rushed past him, heading for the ladder.
Keller whirled. “Hey!”
I banged my knee on one of the rungs but scrambled up.
“Come back here, dammit!” Keller was right below me, grabbing for my ankle. He got a good hold on it, and I fell to the deck, then started crawling for the rail when he let go. He lurched up the ladder and grabbed me by my hair, yanking me backward. I screamed. He bent my arm behind me and glowered down, breathing gin into my face.
“That call was one of your cute tricks, eh?”
I tried to wrench free, but he held me firmly.
“So you know Jane stayed here,” he said. “So what?”
“The police will be interested.”
“Not when they find there’s no evidence of her presence. Who are they going to believe-you or me?”
I didn’t want to debate our relative credibility. I struggled harder, but he pinned both my arms behind my back and dragged me to my feet.
“You’re trespassing, you know,” he said. “Why don’t I call the police and let them handle you?”
“Why don’t you? When they arrive we can discuss what the personnel files from The Tidepools are doing below.”
“Why shouldn’t they be there? I was going over them, working here because it’s quieter than my office.”
“Sure you were.”
“Like I said, who are they going to believe?”
He was right; they were his files and the police would believe him, particularly when he got Ann Bates to back him up, as I was sure he could. Still, I decided to call his bluff. “So pick up the phone and call Lieutenant Barrow.”
He was silent for a moment, breathing hard. Then he chuckled. “No, I’ve got better plans for you.”
“Such as?”
He twisted my body sideways, and one of his arms went under my knees, the other around my shoulders. I pushed out at him with my freed hands, but he lifted me and stepped over to the rail.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said.
In seconds, I was flying through the air, and then I hit the water. I started to yell but closed my mouth just in time before I went under. The water was cold and oil-slicked. When I bobbed up to the top, my hair was plastered to my face, and I had to part it to look up at the boat. Keller leaned on the rail, laughing uproariously.
“That’ll teach you to be so goddamn nosy!”
“Fuck you!” It was one of the few times in my life I’d ever said that.
It only made Keller laugh harder.
I began to swim in the opposite direction, toward the main dock, Keller’s laughter following me. I’d lost both shoes sometime during the struggle, but my skirt-the grown-up-person skirt I’d worn to impress Ann Bates-greatly impeded by progress. I wanted to appear dignified, but it was impossible while attempting the Australian crawl, fully clothed, in six feet of dirty water. I could still hear Keller’s laughter when I hauled myself up on the dock and sloshed off toward my car.
I’ll get even, I told myself. I will get even. By the time I’m through with this case Allen Keller won’t be laughing at anything.
Chapter 14
I called Lieutenant Barrow as soon as I got back to the motel and told him what I’d found out at the Princess Jane-omitting the part about my impromptu swim. He said they’d already talked to Keller-who had claimed not to know where Jane had been during the week before her death-but promised to go out and talk to him again. I said I would check with Barrow later, and then hung up and took a long, hot shower. By the time I’d finished dressing and drying my hair it was after four.
One thing was certain: I was never going to get a look at The Tidepools’ files now. I sat down and considered the problem, then decided to approach it from another angle.
At the public library, I requested the microfilms for the week of Barbara Smith’s death once again. I read through them slowly, looking for any facts I might have skipped over before, then checked her obituary. It listed a sister, Mrs. Susan Tellenberg of Port San Marco, as one of the survivors. I looked her up in the directory, found a number and address, and called her. The phone rang ten times with no answer.
When I left the library, it was nearly dusk. I wanted to go to Salmon Bay, to talk with both Mrs. Anthony and John Cala, but I decided to stop by the police station first and see what Barrow had gotten out of Allen Keller. The desk sergeant told me the lieutenant was out of the office but due back any minute. I waited on a bench in the lobby, watching uniformed cops and plainclothesmen come and god. What business there was that evening was strictly routine: a father picking up a lost child, a wife filing a missing person report on her husband, a tourist reporting a stolen camera. After an hour it became apparent that Barrow either had been delayed or wasn’t coming back, so I left a message that I’d stop by again and went out to my car.
I drove north to Salmon Bay along the now-familiar coastal highway and parked in front of Sylvia Anthony’s house. It was dark and closed up, just like last time. Maybe Jane’s mother had gone to stay with friends or relatives.
I looked over at Cala’s junk-cluttered yard and saw a porch light on. At least I would get to talk to the fisherman. I took my keys from the ignition, but before I could get out of the car, Cala came through his front door. He was pulling on a windbreaker as he hurried down the walk toward a beat-up pickup truck. As soon as he jumped in, the truck’s lights flashed on and its engine roared. I started my own car as the truck pulled away.