Double Jeopardy

38

Shortly before dinner, Stone had a call from Sergeant Tom Young. “Yes, Tom?”

“Sorry to call with bad news, Stone,” he said.

“Let’s have it.”

“I had hoped to keep the twins on ice with a high bail, but they saw a judge this afternoon, and he released them on their own recognizance.”

“Shit,” Stone muttered.

“I hear that the judge had a call from the governor before the bail hearing,” Tom said.

“Where are they now?”

“On their way home. They’ll make the last ferry.”

“Thank you, Tom. Good night.” Stone hung up and called Ed Rawls.

“Speak to me.”

Stone broke the news.

“Well, shit!”

“Same here. Tom Young says they’ll make the last ferry tonight.”

“That’s good information,” Ed said.

“Does that give you an idea?”

“You don’t want to know. See ya.” Ed hung up.

Dino was looking questioningly at him from across the table.

“Why are you looking at me questioningly?” Stone asked.

“Lance has left us. Somebody had to.”

“I know nothing. Ed wanted it that way.”

“Hearing that is almost as good as knowing something.”

“If you say so.”

Ed checked his watch. It was nine-thirty. The last ferry arrived at eleven. Plenty of time to arrange something. He went into the living room, where Sally was knitting something unidentifiable, opened a panel in the wall, unlocked a cupboard door, and looked inside at the array of ammunition and explosives. He chose a block of C-4 plastic explosive, about four ounces, he reckoned, some radio-initiated detonators, and a small radio. That should do it, he thought. He strapped on a pistol, retrieved a light machine gun and four magazines, and dropped the lot into a canvas carryall.

“Traveling someplace?” Sally asked.

“Only a short distance. I’ll be back in less than half an hour.”

She nodded. “Go safely.”

Ed thought about taking the boat, but since nobody was at home at the twins’, there was no need for stealth, so he’d hoof it. He walked outside, looked around, and listened. Gorgeous, starry night; a loon nearby calling to its mate; cool, dry air: Maine at its glorious best. Given their latitude, some daylight lingered in the western sky, so he didn’t need his flashlight. He walked to his fence and let himself through a gap that no one else would have seen. He found himself waist-deep in blueberry bushes, and walking was slow going.

He reached the border of the twins’ property and walked across a graveled area. Paving stones were stacked on pallets in large numbers; there would be a cobblestone parking area and driveway in a few days. He looked toward the twins’ dock and saw where the teak boardwalk began. There was a large, square floating dock that would take three or four small boats, then a further boardwalk to a final floating dock that would accept a fifty-footer. The depth out there would be six feet or more at low-water spring tide.

Ed walked up the front steps. There were still lights on inside; nothing had changed since his and Stone’s earlier visit. He stopped and listened intently. Nothing, except the distant sound of rotors from a helicopter far out on the bay. He walked on upstairs and into the master bedroom.

He set the carryall on the nearest bed and used its remote control to raise the head to its steepest angle, which gave him a view of the mechanics and electrical connections of the electric bed. He took the chunk of plastique, ripped off a foot-long piece of duct tape from its roll, and taped the explosive to the rod that moved the bed. He selected a detonator from his bag and pressed it into the explosive, which had the consistency of modeling clay. Finally, he returned the bed to its fully down position and set the remote control back where he’d found it. Then he heard the helicopter rotor again, this time from much closer. It occurred to him that the twins might not have bothered with the ferry; they could have flown directly from the Augusta airport to the island. If that were so, he knew where it would land.

Ed grabbed his carryall, quickly let himself outside onto the surrounding porch, ran to the corner of the house, and peeked around it. A small helicopter was setting down on the square floating dock. Two figures alit from the copter and began walking up the floating boardwalk toward the house.

A quick look around ascertained for him that he could not leave the house anywhere except on the side facing the road. He was looking for a place to jump where a landing might not break a leg, when he heard heavy footsteps on the front stairway and the sound of the front door opening.

Ed considered just flinging himself off the elevated porch into the darkness and hoping for the best, but he reconsidered. They were coming up the stairs to the second floor now. Ed crept around the corner and began moving around the house toward the corner of the porch facing the sea. He had to go slowly for fear of making a noise.

He caught a glimpse of the twins’ backs as they turned toward their bedroom, then he continued, now walking faster.

Then he heard a voice. “Is that your duct tape on the floor by the bed?”

“No,” came the reply.

Ed reached the end of the porch and saw a drainpipe coming down from the roof. He swung a leg over the railing, dropped his carryall, grasped the drainpipe, and slid down it like a fireman answering an alarm, making some noise in the process.

He knew he couldn’t run through the blueberry patch, so he ran for the floating boardwalk, dashed down it to the pontoon, and launched into a dive. A split second before hitting the water he heard a shout from the house, but he couldn’t tell what was said. He dove into the black water and swam for the bottom, which happened at about four feet. He swam along it, waiting for the gunshots to find him, but nothing happened. He swam past the outer floating dock, bobbed up long enough to grab a breath, then went down deeper. He reckoned he had eight feet now, but he couldn’t hold his breath much longer, what with the exertion.

Then, above his head, the water began to explode.