Townsend dropped a notepad on the table then took a seat. After taking out a ballpoint pen from his tweed sports coat, he slid the pad toward himself.
Grant and Adler waited, and finally, Townsend looked at Grant. “I assumed Mr. Henley would have been here.”
Grant replied, “That’s ‘Commander’ Henley, sir, and he had a prior commitment.”
“According to Sergeant Fowley you work in Washington, D.C. for the Naval Investigative Service.”
“Yes, sir. We do.”
“Civilians?”
“No, sir. We’re Navy.” Grant rested his arms on the table and asked, “Didn’t Sergeant Fowley give you this information, sir?”
“He did. Now, would you please give me your ranks?”
Grant complied, and as Townsend was writing, Grant looked across the table at Adler, giving him an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He wanted to move things along faster. “Have you found out any more about Mr. Carter’s death, sir?”
Townsend dropped his pen on the notepad then leaned back. “According to the M.E.’s report, Mr. Carter drowned.”
“So, he was alive when he and his car went under that sludge?”
“That’s what was indicated, with the, uh, fluid the M.E. found in his lungs.”
“Was anything else found in the car that would give us — you any leads, sir?”
“Two suitcases were in the backseat and a box with other personal items. It looked like he may have been moving. But why he was at the clay pits is a bit of a mystery.” Townsend’s eyebrow went up and he asked, “You wouldn’t know why now, would you?”
Grant decided enough was enough. He needed information. He had to find Labeaux. “Sir, are you aware that Derek Carter worked at St. Mawgan?”
“That was in Sergeant Fowley’s notes.”
Grant continued, “We have reason to believe that Mr. Carter was involved in a security breach. And before you ask, our boss is aware that we’d be having this discussion with you.”
“Can I ask what that security breach might be?”
“You can, sir, but I’m afraid there are some things I can’t discuss. If you or a higher up needs clarification, Admiral Torrinson at NIS can be contacted. Hope you understand.”
Townsend again thumbed through his notes. “What’s this admiral’s full name and title?”
“He’s Rear Admiral John Torrinson, Chief of Naval Investigative Ser… ”
“Oh, never mind. I see it,” Townsend interrupted, putting a circle around the written information.
While Townsend made more notes, Grant sat back, clasping his hands behind his head, seeing Adler patting his stomach. Grant just smiled before saying, “I can tell you this, sir, we’re positive Victor Labeaux’s involved.”
Townsend was completely caught off guard. “Bloody hell! Labeaux? You’re sure?”
Adler responded, “Positive, sir. We saw him at the harbor.”
“Joe’s correct, sir. Both times were at the harbor, and both pure coincidence.”
Townsend again sat back. “Twice. You went to the harbor twice. For any particular reason?”
Grant explained the circumstances that brought him to the harbor.
Townsend was ready to write. “Did you happen to get a license plate number?”
Adler responded, “Afraid not, sir. The Rover didn’t have any.”
“Maybe it was a rental. I’ll check the local companies.” Townsend made a notation and underlined it twice.
“I don’t think we’ve got much time, sir,” Grant said. “If I’m right, we’ve only got until early Monday to stop this… incident.”
Townsend stopped writing, then tapped the pen against his mouth. “It’s too bad you didn’t talk with me sooner. Maybe… ”
Grant interrupted. “Didn’t have anything to go on, sir, until Labeaux came into the picture.” Grant pushed his chair back, stood, then started thinking out loud. “I doubt he’s hiding anywhere in town. It’s gotta be someplace with easy access to the base or maybe the harbor. How much time would it take to locate any houses rented over the past, oh, let’s say, over the past couple of months?”
Townsend propped his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his fists. “Why don’t you think he’d rent a flat? Most visitors want to stay in town.”
Grant shook his head. “Don’t think we can consider him a typical visitor, sir. He wouldn’t want neighbors. The less eyes, the better.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Townsend answered. “The number of house rentals should be lower than vehicle rentals.”
“What about another boat, skipper?” Adler asked. “Do you think the harbor needs watching?”
“Might be a good idea, Joe.” Grant looked toward Townsend. “Guess it might be a long-shot, sir. Think you could have the harbor staked out?”
“For what purpose and for how long?”
Grant pulled his sleeve back, and checked his watch. “Through Monday morning, unless we luck out sooner.”
“What would we be looking for?”
“That’s a tough one, sir, but I doubt he’d rent any other craft. I suspect there’s another vessel involved, anchored offshore, and something bigger that’s probably got a life raft of some type. He’s gonna want to haul ass, so more than likely it’ll be a rubber boat with an engine. That’s what you’d have to watch for.”
Townsend kept his eyes on Grant as Adler spoke. “He doesn’t have a crystal ball, sir. But his instincts can be pretty damn scary at times.”
Grant turned away for a moment, then he looked again at Townsend. “Sir, do you have a large map of the coast we could look at?”
Townsend pushed his chair back as he stood. “Wait here.”
Once he left, Adler got up, and adjusted his holster under his jacket. “You’re planning on inspecting the coastline, aren’t you?”
“Gotta bring the chopper back to St. Mawgan, Joe. That goddamn boat’s gotta be within striking distance if I’m right.”
Townsend came back with a large map draped over his arm. Laying it on the conference table, he smoothed it out. “Now what?” he asked staring down at the color map.
Grant and Adler both leaned over the table. Grant traced the coastline with his index finger. “Lot of coves,” he commented. Without looking up, he asked Townsend, “Are most of these beaches used by tourists?”
“They are. Even with the cliffs, most have paths for easy access.”
Grant continued searching, finally pointing to a place off the coast. “This is Lundy, right?”
“It is.”
Grant calculated the distance. “Looks to be about sixty miles from here.” He leaned closer to the map, looking at dotted lines. “Is this ferry service?”
“Yes. Sailings go from Bideford and Ilfracombe to the southeast coast of Lundy.”
“Guess we can eliminate that area,” Grant said, drawing a circle on the map with a finger. “Is there a large population on the island, sir?”
“The only year-round residents are mostly volunteers, and I’d say no more than thirty.”
“Thirty? Three zero?” Adler questioned, with a raised eyebrow.
“Correct.”
“And I assume there’s a lighthouse somewhere near here.” This time Grant tapped the northwest tip of the island.”
Townsend looked closer. “That’s one. There’s another at the southeastern tip, right here.”
“What do you think, skipper? Did you find a spot where you think they’d be hiding?”
“I’d say right in here, Joe. What’s this area like, sir? Cliffs?”
“There are, but there are also steeper, grass-covered slopes. The area you’re pointing to is Gannets’ Rock. When the weather’s good there are usually guided boat tours for viewing the seals and seabird colonies. But what…?” Townsend didn’t get a chance to finish