by Rene Fomby
The winds had calmed down slightly overnight, but looking out the large window cut into the side of the cabin, Gavin could see that things were beginning to pick up again, and lightning was lashing the surrounding waters in almost every direction. “I wish I could talk you out of it for now, talk you into giving it at least a few more hours so we can get a little more dirt on Katy’s inheritance—”
“That is not going to change anything at all from my perspective,” Espinosa said, his lips drawn into a firm line. “Unless we could prove conclusively that Trevor was fully aware that he was being cut out of the money, he’s still the only person on this boat who had any reason to see her dead. Gavin, you of all people on this boat know the drill. My job isn’t to prove he’s the killer beyond any doubt, just beyond any reasonable doubt. And at this point I’m ready to make that call.”
Gavin nodded reluctantly. “Okay, okay, I see your point. But if you don’t mind, I still have one last little detail I’d like to run past everyone before we make the arrest and shut down the case. Then send everyone home until the trial, if it even comes to one.”
“Yes? What’s that?”
Before he left his cabin that morning, Gavin had clipped a small evidence bag to the side of his belt. Unzipping it, he pulled out a small sandwich-sized ziplock bag, holding it up for Espinosa to see. Inside of the bag was a roughly two-inch by one-inch object, metal on one end and black plastic on the other.
“What’s that?” Espinosa asked, bending over to get a closer look.
Gavin held it up to the light streaming in from the window off to his left. “Well, I can’t be certain, Detective Espinosa, but I think we may very well be looking at the murder weapon.”
24
Owner’s Cabin
Espinosa took the baggie from Gavin and examined it more closely. “Looks like some kind of knife. I think they sell these things at the department stores on the island. But this one’s been cut off at both ends, just an inch or so of serrated blade, and another inch of plastic handle. Why would someone do something like that? It’s got to be very difficult to handle without cutting yourself—”
“My thoughts exactly. I found it sitting on top of some coral that had been heavily damaged quite recently, when we dove down to recover Katy’s body. Roughly ten, fifteen feet down past the top edge of the underwater cliff and about fifty or so feet back from where they found the body.”
“But knives are outlawed in the marine park.”
“Yes, and yet this knife was down there. And even as small as it is, it’s still more than big enough to cut through that inflator hose on Katy Mulcahey’s BC.”
Espinosa shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner? And what do you mean, you found it on some damaged coral? Damaged in what way?”
“It’s hard to say for certain, but the coral looked like it had been kicked repeatedly. Not in an organized fashion, more like there was some kind of struggle and someone was kicking out with their feet trying to get free.”
“Like what we believe must have happened to Mulcahey.”
“Exactly. Her hose cut and her valve turned off, then held from behind until she passed out. The killer must have pulled her down at some point off the cliff face, out of sight of the other divers.”
Espinosa nodded. “And then, finally, tossed her out over the edge to sink to the bottom of the ocean. It fits. But again, why wait until now to tell me about this? This could be an important clue in the case. And it will almost certainly be a great clue to show to a jury.”
“I held off because we decided to get through the interviews first, remember? Plus, I’m not really sure where we can go with this. My first thought, though, is we get the whole group together in one room and spring it on them. See how each of them reacts. My guess is the killer will be shocked that we found it, given the fact that it’s nothing more than one microscopic needle in that great big haystack of an ocean out there.”
“Okay,” Espinosa agreed. “It’s worth a shot. But assuming it doesn’t turn up anything new that changes things, anything that proves Trevor is actually innocent, then I suggest we go forward with making the arrest, and then we can all finally go home. Bueno?”
“Bueno.”
25
Salon
The seven remaining members of the little dive group were sprawled out loosely on the main couch in the salon, and Espinosa and Gavin pulled up chairs to face them. When everyone was settled, Gavin stood up to address them.
“Okay, the good news is, I think we’re finally coming to an end here. We’ve got a pretty good idea of exactly what happened down there, and who in the end was responsible for Katy’s murder.” He watched and waited while the seven eyed each other somewhat suspiciously. It all reminded him a little of a scene from a game show, or maybe one of those reality shows where everyone’s waiting to see who gets kicked off the island. When they finally turned back to face him, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the baggie with the little knife. Espinosa’s eyes swept across each of their faces as the knife was revealed, but he saw nothing in the way of recognition, just a general look of confusion in all of their eyes. He signaled Gavin with a raised eyebrow and a small shake of his head. Nothing.
Gavin reached out and laid the baggie on the table right in front of them. “Anyone recognize this?”
The three women and Billie were shaking their heads, while Casey still looked confused. Trevor looked down at the knife briefly, then back up at Gavin, shaking his head as well.
Brett, however, reached toward the baggie and, with a quick glance in Gavin’s direction to get permission, pulled it closer “Wait, I’ve seen one of these before. They come along as standard equipment whenever you buy a wing.”
Espinosa’s forehead knotted. “Wing? What wing? You mean like chicken wings? They give these knives out in restaurants?”
A light had finally come on in Trevor’s eyes. “No, he means the wing style of buoyancy compensator. You see, unlike the more common vest-type BC, with a wing the air bladder is attached to a metal plate in the back, where the air tank gets strapped on. Until you clip it down in front it tends to fly out to each side, kind of like a wing. Hence the name.”
“And do any of you own one of these wings?” Gavin asked. Assuming the answer was yes, he knew exactly what he needed to do next. And that might wind up being the biggest breakthrough in the case so far.
Brett was the first to answer. “Trevor, Casey and I all have wings. Trevor got a new one last year, and Casey and I are using his hand-me-downs.”
“How about Billie and the three women?” Espinosa asked, pulling out his notebook again and jotting down some fresh notes.
“I’ve got an old jacket-style BC I bought on eBay years ago,” Billie explained. “The girls have hand-me-down vests from Katy. She had a habit of buying a new scuba outfit every year.”
“I see,” Gavin said, nodding and glancing from Trevor to Casey to Brett and back. “And where do you keep these BCs, might I ask?”
Trevor pointed toward the back of the boat. “They’re all kept in the aft equipment locker, out in the cockpit. Do you want to go take a look?”
That was precisely what Gavin intended to do. He stood up and motioned for Trevor to lead the way.
26
Cockpit
Thankfully the catamaran was anchored off its nose, and the wind and waves had shoved the boat around so that its rear cockpit was largely shielded from the elements by the overhead bimini roof. Still, stepping though the sliding glass door into the open air, Gavin was unprepared for the full fury of the storm. The clouds had completely blocked out any sunlight that might have reached them, but the violence of the constant lightning all around them lit up the skies like it was midday. Which, in fact, it almost was.
Trevor had moved off to starboard and was opening the hatch on an equipment locker, then reached in and passed the three wing BCs up to Brett, who laid them out neatly
in front of Gavin and Espinosa. The rest of the group hung back just inside the doorway, the girls watching the storm raging all around them with obvious anguish.
“Here they are,” Brett shouted over the constant thunder. “In order, that’s mine, Casey’s and Trevor’s. Mine is the one with the small orange ribbon attached. Trevor’s is the newer one. Want to see the other BCs?”
“No, this is fine,” Gavin shouted back, bending over to inspect the BCs more closely. “Where exactly do the little knives go?”
Brett leaned in to point out the location on his vest, which still had a knife in place. Gavin pulled the knife almost completely out of its sleeve before sliding it back in, then repeated the same motion with Casey’s vest. Finally he turned to Trevor’s vest, momentarily perplexed.
“I’m sorry, but where is the knife on Trevor’s wing?” he asked.
Brett pointed. “It should be in the same location,” he answered. “These are all pretty standard—” And then he saw it. The knife on Trevor’s wing was missing.
27
Salon
Brett stowed the vests away even as Trevor wandered in a daze back into the main cabin, Espinosa and Gavin trailing closely behind.
“I—I don’t understand,” Trevor mumbled, mostly to himself. “Maybe it just didn’t come with a knife. And all this time, I actually never knew those little knives even existed—”
Espinosa had reached into his jacket and pulled out a set of handcuffs, and was now stepping forward purposefully to make the arrest when Gavin grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“What?” Espinosa sputtered. “It is obvious, isn’t it? We now have the murder weapon, and definite proof that Johnson did it, that he is our killer.”
Gavin shook his head back and forth, slowly. “Not so definitive, after all, my good friend. Come on, we can’t talk here. Join me for a second back in the owner’s cabin.”
Once they were alone, Espinosa turned on him. “Look, we had a deal. You got to show them the little knife, and if we didn’t see any reaction, then I would move forward with the arrest. And now, not only did we not get a reaction out of any of them, it’s obvious that the knife you found was Trevor’s after all. No jury in their right mind would ever find him innocent.”
“And yet, the fact that his knife is missing is actually ample evidence that he is, in fact, innocent,” Gavin explained. Seeing the look of confusion and exasperation in Espinosa’s eyes, he continued. “When I pulled out the knives on Brett and Casey’s vests, did you notice anything unusual about them?”
Espinosa indicated with an impatient wave of his hand that he did not.
“Okay, then, take a look at this knife I found at the murder scene. Look closely. See anything different about it, other than the fact that it’s been sawed off at both ends?”
Espinosa took the baggie and held it up to the overhead light to get a better view. “Uh, not really. Except that it’s a little worn on the handle. And the blade is showing small signs of rust.”
“Exactly! Just what you’d expect from a knife that had been exposed to corrosive seawater and physical abuse for years. But that’s the thing. Trevor’s vest and knife were almost brand new.”
“Still, as you say, it doesn’t take long for seawater to leave its mark.”
“No, but the thing is, when I looked at Brett’s knife, it looked almost identical to this one, Small bits of rust on the blade, and little cuts and abrasions on the handle. But—” Gavin fished another baggie out of the evidence pouch attached to his belt, then flashed Espinosa a triumphant smile as he held it up to the light. “When I pulled out Casey’s knife, it was essentially brand new. Take a look for yourself if you want. No signs of wear at all, and the blade is shiny and rust-free, just like it came out of the box. Well, other than a small smudge of a fingerprint, something I still need to check out.”
“So what does that mean?” Espinosa had been so far along on his eager little guilting trip, his theory that all the evidence pointed to Trevor and Trevor alone, he was having problems walking it all back.
“It means,” Gavin explained patiently. “It means someone clearly put Trevor’s dive knife in Casey’s BC, to cover up the fact that his blade was missing. And that means the knife I found at the murder scene wasn’t Trevor’s at all. It was Casey’s.”
28
Owner’s Cabin
Espinosa stared back at Gavin, stunned. “How—how can that be?” he stuttered. “Casey was way ahead of Katy the entire time. Everyone agrees on that. So how could he possibly be the killer?”
Gavin sat back against the edge of the queen-sized bed, one eyebrow lifted slightly. “I didn’t say he killed her, only that the knife I found was apparently his. Two very different things.”
“But still, two things very closely tied together.” Espinosa started slowly pacing back and forth in the tiny cabin, his right hand absently scratching at the rubble on his unshaven chin. “It just doesn’t make sense. I think we’ve established pretty firmly that whatever happened took place about thirty minutes into the dive. And none of the witnesses placed Casey Thompson anywhere near Mulcahey at that point.”
“But we never actually asked that question, did we?” Gavin noted. “They said Casey and Billie were always floating ahead, but we also heard that the two of them would periodically pull up behind a coral head out of the current to wait for the rest of the group to catch up. What if Casey took advantage of one of those rest stops to grab Katy and kill her when she drifted past?”
“That would mean Billie Peterson was also in on it. And that also doesn’t fit with what Trevor told us, that he was also waiting behind a coral head for her to catch up to him.”
Gavin nodded, thinking through the impact of this new revelation. “So now we have three possible killers. Same as we had before, just a slightly different group of suspects. Leaving Brett and Tara out of it.”
“Right.” Espinosa turned his eyes toward the salon. “Okay, so what’s our next move? Who do we talk to first?”
“I’m thinking we start with Tara, see if the new information prods her into remembering things somewhat differently than before. And also seeing if she can give us any insight into why Billie and Casey might want Katy dead.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Espinosa said. “Do we reveal what we know about the switched-out knife?”
“I’d say we keep that close to the vest for now. No pun intended.” Gavin pointed toward the empty bathroom. “But before we chase all that down, if you don’t mind, I need to hit the head for a second. All that coffee has got things finally moving around downstairs, if you know what I mean.”
“I’d rather you spare me all the gruesome details. But, speaking of things moving around, it appears we grossly underestimated the strength of this storm, and the weather reports now say it’s heading our way at full speed. If we don’t get this boat in the harbor by nightfall, the chances of it surviving the next few days approach zero. And it’s not just the wind we have to worry about. A rogue wave hit a harbor near Havana just a few hours ago. If one of those beasts decides to rear its ugly head out here, the Sea Trial doesn’t stand a chance.”
Gavin looked confused. “A rogue wave? What the heck is that?”
Espinosa stared out the side window at the storm as he answered. “Most people think of waves as little crests of water moving across a lake or pond. Or the ocean, in this case. But actually, waves in the water are almost identical to radio waves or sound waves. They are actually oscillations, made up of energy that is moving through the water, but not the water itself. As the wave moves through water, it pushes part of the water up even as it forces another part down, and those parts are constantly shifting in the direction of the wave’s apparent motion.”
Gavin scratched his neck. “I’m afraid you’re losing me there, Tony. I mean, you can see the water moving with your own eyes, right up until it hits the shore.”
“No, you only think that’s
what’s happening.” Espinosa paused to come up with a good example to explain the phenomenon. “Okay, you’ve been to sporting events where people have done ‘the Wave,’ right?” Gavin nodded that he had. “Good. Well, think about how that actually works. As the wave works its way around a stadium, when it comes their time, people stand up and throw their hands in the air, and then immediately sit right back down. Nobody doing the wave ever leaves their seats, they just stand up and sit down. But to anyone watching it looks exactly like a ripple is running round and round the stadium.”
Gavin finally got it. “Wow. I’ve never thought of it like that. But it makes sense. So what does that have to do with the whole rogue wave business?”
Espinosa mimicked the motion of a wave with his right hand. “Okay, imagine we’re sitting in a boat on the water, and the wind from the storm has kicked up a pretty heavy surf, just as it’s doing right now. As long as the waves don’t get too big, and as long as we’re only seeing a single set of waves, we can ride it out just fine, although that ride is not going to be a whole lot of fun.”
“Like the way it is now,” Gavin suggested.
“Exactly. But what happens when the height of the wave gets taller than the water is deep at some point? The wave form won’t compress very much—it takes a tremendous amount of pressure to squeeze water molecules closer together—so instead the wave simply rises up out of the water. That’s what creates surfing waves, an existing wave form hits shallower water near the shore and rises up. At some point the wave gets too high to hold itself up and it falls over, creating the curl that surfers love to ride their boards through. Right now this boat is sitting in relatively shallow waters right next to a huge sea cliff. If a big wave hits us while we’re squatting out here at the very edge of the cliff, a wave far taller than the ocean is deep at this point, we’ll be on a high-speed elevator ride straight to the top. And it will all happen without any prior warning.”