Patriot

CHAPTER 11

Murder’s a strong word, Ben.”

“I know, I know. No idea how it happened. No idea why. But you asked me what I think and now you know.”

“Take me through it, Ben. Step by step. I’ll ask a few questions. Any information you think I need to have, give it to me. Can you do that?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“First. He was alone on board when he left the dock? Is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And he sailed out of your sight alone?”

“He did.”

“But, once around the point down there, he could have seen a friend on the town docks, or someone on another boat in the harbor could have hailed him over. He could have stopped to let them aboard. A friend along for the ride or something.”

“He could have. But—”

“But what?”

“But he just never would have done it. Sunday was his day. He treasured every second he got to spend alone aboard that old boat. He didn’t go to church, you know. That boat was his church. His place of refuge. You know what he said to me early on in the summer?”

“I don’t.”

“He said, ‘I discovered something about sailing at a very early age, Ben. Something about the doing of it makes people want to keep their eyes and ears open and their goddamn mouths shut. I like that.’”

Hawke smiled. “He hated idle chitchat, all right. Always said they called it small talk for a very good reason.”

“Yes, sir. He said sailing all alone had been his salvation as he grew older. That’s what I think he believed anyway. I know he had a wonderful family, too. Hell, everyone on this island loved him. Look at them all.”

“But you think he would never have stopped to take someone else aboard before he headed for open water.”

“Not unless they were drowning.”

“Which means the killer, if there was one, had to be hiding aboard when he left the dock.”

“Had to be. Only way.”

“But you would have seen someone, hiding aboard, I mean.”

“Not really, sir. All I did below that morning was clean up the galley, plug in the espresso machine, check the fuel and water, and turn the batteries on. Didn’t check the bilges, didn’t check the sail locker forward. No reason to, really. But, still. I wish to God I had.”

“Don’t even think of laying this off on yourself, Ben.”

“Well. I’m just sayin’, is all.”

“When did you last check those two places?”

“The afternoon before. One of the bilge pumps needed rewiring and I climbed down there and did that. And I’d bought some new running rigging from Foy Brown’s. I stowed it forward in the sail locker until I could get around to it. Nothing, no sign of anyone on board.”

“But it had to be a stowaway, Ben. If you’re right about all this.”

“Yes, sir. It did. But where was he?”

Hawke looked away to the horizon for a moment, thinking it through.

“Assume this is premeditated. He’s been watching his victim for some time now. Knows all his habits, his routines.”

“Like his weekly Sunday morning sail.”

“Exactly. So. Saturday night, early Sunday morning. Our stowaway comes aboard in the wee hours, when everyone’s asleep. Finds the boat unlocked, so he goes below. Finds room enough to hide in the sail locker up at the bow. Sleeps up forward on top of the sails and prays no one needs a reason to open that hatch before she next left the dock.”

“That would work.”

“Comes up on deck after she clears the harbor. Confronts his victim. Has a gun or a knife. Words are exchanged. Sees how hard it’s blowing. Sees the opportunity for an ‘accidental’ jibe. No one is around to see. He realizes on the spot that he can make the murder look like an accident.”

Ben nodded in the affirmative. “Maybe Cam knows him. Maybe not afraid of him. The killer stands there talking in the cockpit, making Cam relax, let his guard down. Then he suddenly frees the mainsheet and puts the helm hard over. Wham! She jibes! Cam never saw that boom coming at him.”

“Was there brain tissue found on the boom, Ben?”

“Yes, sir, there was. Consistent with where it would have struck a man Cam’s height standing at the helm.”

“Then what happens?”

“Looks around. Makes sure he hasn’t been seen, I guess. Leaves Cam lying there like that. Maybe dead, maybe still alive. He uncleats the main sheet, the jib sheet, lets her drift.”

“How does he get off the boat? Water’s freezing and it’s a long swim.”

“Has a wet suit stowed up in the sail locker and swims ashore?” Ben said.

“Exactly.” Hawke paused, then asked, “Are you thinking a native of North Haven? Cam have any enemies at all on this island, Ben? By that I mean serious enemies.”

“No, sir. He did not. Had a few run-ins with plumbers and caretakers, the usual disagreements over money or the quality of work over the years. But, as I say, most everybody who knew him loved him. And nobody hated him. I would have known. Everybody knows everything around here, believe me.”

“So some guy comes over from the mainland by boat the day before. Late Saturday night, let’s say. His own boat, maybe, or a rental, or stolen in Camden Harbor. Something to check out with your friends at the local constabulary. Sails over to North Haven from Rockport or Camden. Hides his skiff somewhere along the shore for the night. Hikes out here to Cranberry Point sometime after midnight and climbs aboard the ketch. Tucks in for the night. Main hatch leading below was not locked I’d assume.”

“Never. There’s one other option. He takes the ferry from Rockport the afternoon before. Brings his car aboard. Or leaves it at the mainland ferry station. Either way.”

“You’re right. We’ve established opportunity. So all we need is a motive.”

“I suspect you’d know a lot more than me about that kind of thing, sir.”

“I suspect I would, too, Ben. If I don’t, CIA director Brick Kelly sure does. Thank you for coming to me. It was the right thing to do. Does Cam’s wife know anything about your suspicions?”

“No, sir, she does not. I would never have disturbed her grief with what might still be a whole lot of nothing. You are the one and only person I have discussed any of this with.”

“I may need your help here on the island, Ben. I’ll talk to the director after the funeral.”

“Anything at all. I loved the old guy, sir.”

“Look, Ben, I’m flying back to Bermuda first thing tomorrow morning. But if Director Kelly and I both conclude that you’re onto something here, I’d like you stick around North Haven as long as you can. Just in case we have any follow-up questions for the sheriff or other things we’d like you to look into. When do you have to be back at New Haven?”

“I guess I’m pretty much free now, until fall term starts I mean, sir. Since Cam had no sons who’d cared for sailing, he left me his boat. I think I’ll sail her up to the coast of Nova Scotia. He always took her up there in August and — sorry. Still pretty shook up, sir.”

“Understandable. I’ll talk to Director Kelly tonight. If he concurs, you’re working for the CIA now, Mr. Sparhawk. Just temporarily, of course.”

“Yes, sir!” Ben Sparhawk said with a smile. For a second, Hawke was afraid he was going to salute.

“Don’t get too excited, Ben; you don’t get the secret decoder ring just yet.”