by Rene Fomby
Gavin’s throat suddenly went dry. “You said there was another factor in the creation of rogue waves. What’s that?”
“Well, so far we’ve been talking about a set of waves that all spring from the same source, in this case from the winds generated by the storm system. But in reality, just like the air is filled with sounds from countless different sources, and with radio waves from hundreds or thousands of different broadcasts, at any given moment and in any given location the ocean contains thousands of independent waves racing through the water going in every possible direction. Most of the time the extra waves are very tiny, almost immeasurable, the final remnants of a much bigger wave that may have been born originally on the other side of the world. But sometimes there’s an exception.”
Gavin didn’t exactly like the way Espinosa said the word “exception” and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck started to stand on end in anticipation of the coming explanation. “Okay, so we’ve got our basic monster waves that are pounding away at us right now, sending this boat every which way, and you say it could get even worse?”
“Much worse,” Espinosa said with a frown. “Even ignoring major events like earthquake-driven tsunamis, just the random merging of several wave fronts at once could be catastrophic. You see—” Espinosa started mimicking waves using his hands again, one wave for each hand. “Like I said, waves are energy, not matter, so when two waves collide, it’s not like two cars crashing into each other. Instead, the energy waves combine, if ever so briefly, with the end effect being additive. If the top of one wave front meets the top of another wave, the total height of the wave becomes the two individual heights combined. If Wave A is ten feet tall, for example, and Wave B is six feet, the new wave at that point will wind up being sixteen feet tall. If three or four waves happen to intersect at that point, you can get a wave that rises almost instantaneously from, say, six feet tall, all the way to thirty or forty feet high. Or even higher, especially in a place like Cozumel Bay where the ocean almost immediately goes from around 3000 feet to just around twenty or thirty. And again, you won’t ever see it coming. It just suddenly appears from completely out of the blue. Quite literally, in this case.”
Gavin’s heart started pounding, thinking about the unfathomable power of the water outside, and he sucked in a few deep breaths to calm it. “All right, I can see where that might wind up being a damper on this little party we’ve got going here. But in the end, although what you described certainly sounds pretty scary, wouldn’t this boat just wind up riding through it all, like it’s doing right now? I mean, I’ve been totally impressed with the way these catamarans can manage to stay relatively flat, even in heavy seas. A single-keel boat would have been tossing us all around the cabins like a bunch of dandelions in a spring breeze.”
“You’re right about that, Agent Larson, but as they say, nothing comes for free, everything has a price. And the price in this case is that while single-keel boats aren’t as stable in heavy surf, they are almost impossible to capsize. And even if they do flip over, the heavy ballast in their keels will flip them right back up ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Catamarans, on the other hand, are extremely stable right up to the point that they’re not. However, once you flip a catamaran on its head, it wants to stay that way.” He pointed to the porthole above their heads. “You probably thought the hatches up there were designed to just let the sea breeze flow in on cool nights in the tropics. And you wouldn’t be completely wrong. But the real purpose of those portholes is to serve as emergency hatches in case the boat flips over. I suppose it’s possible you could fight your way out of the pontoon and swim down into the submerged salon, then somehow get the doors open and swim out from underneath the boat, all while avoiding getting tangled up in everything that gravity had been keeping neatly tucked away on what used to be the floor and is now a ceiling. But wouldn’t it be a whole lot easier if you just popped those little hatches and crawled up to relative safety on top of the pontoon’s former bottom?”
When Gavin had first stepped foot on board the Sea Trial, his immediate impression was that the boat was the safest, surest small boat he had ever seen. Now, however, all of his confidence in the catamaran had completely disappeared. After all, if the designers of the boat had gone to all the trouble of specifically addressing the danger of a possibly deadly capsizing—
Espinosa saw the stricken look on Gavin’s face and laughed. “Don’t worry, amigo. As soon as I hit the shore I’ll be lining up space in the harbor for this little rich man’s toy, so we’ll all be high and dry by bedtime tonight.” He thought about what he had just said and ventured a small correction. “I suppose I should say rich woman’s toy, although at this point who knows where the title to the whole damn thing lies? But given Trevor’s now limited financial circumstances, I can’t imagine him wanting to keep it. After all, you know what we Mexicans say about the definition of a boat…”
Gavin grinned, the prospect of imminent doom now lifted, if only by the slightest bit. “Yeah, we Americans have a similar saying. It’s a hole in the water where you throw all your money.”
“Yes! A peso cenote we call it where I come from. But sometimes, like the company of certain women, it can be worth it, right? The pleasure is worth the cost.”
At the mention of “certain women,” Gavin thought of Andy, probably sitting at her desk right now staring at a computer screen full of random numbers and nth level contingency plans for the upcoming launch, and his heart swelled with a different kind of pleasure than the one Espinosa was hinting at. Just as quickly, though, the pleasure turned to a dull pang, the old lingering doubts surging back, the wounds from his children’s rejection of him just as fresh and raw as ever. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I’ll go along with you on that, at least as far as the boat is concerned. Although, personally, I am not exactly what you’d call a water person. Give me dry land any time. And while we’re at it, give me a woman who’s every bit as solid day to day as good old terra firma. That’s my idea of perfection.”
Espinosa grinned at him. “And that’s the problem with you gabachos. Everything has to be so practical, you miss the value of a woman who is, how do you say it, apasionada. Hot blooded.”
“I would argue that hot blooded might be what got us into this whole bloody mess in the first place.”
“More like cold blooded, my friend. It is becoming very clear to me that whoever did this, whoever killed Katy Mulcahey, he—or she—sketched out every single detail of the murder from the beginning to the end, from alpha to omega. Starting with the fact that it was a night dive, where everyone’s movements were masked by the darkness, and it was quite easy to move around underwater completely unseen. Undetected.”
“Right.” Gavin sat quietly for a second. Espinosa had completely blindsided him with his knowledge of the ocean and its waves. He realized now he had grossly underestimated the Mexican detective, and that was never a smart move to make, regardless of whether your target was an enemy or an ally, so he decided to correct that mistake right away. “Say, where did you pick up all this about waves and boats and stuff? Did you spend a lot of time out on the water growing up?”
Espinosa grinned. “No, I grew up pretty much landlocked, actually. My family had a large cattle spread south of Monterrey. But I was always fascinated by science and mathematics as a child, and when it came time to go to university, my family sent me to San Diego to study at UCSD, the University of California San Diego, a top tier school for the sciences and math. Especially the marine sciences, which is where I picked up all that background knowledge about how waves work.”
“So how did you wind up in law enforcement, then?” Gavin asked.
“Long story. A friend of mine growing up got involved in the cartels pretty deeply and wound up getting himself killed as a result, something that really hit me hard at the time. And my science background, that was a big plus, since so much of detective work these days involves forensic evidence. So
when I got out of school, it turns out the Federal Police had an opening and none of the science labs at the time were hiring. So I became a cop.”
“And that explains your English skills,” Gavin offered. “Your accent is barely noticeable.”
“Yes, well, that’s something I can turn on or off, depending upon the situation. But actually, growing up in one of the more affluent families down here, almost everyone speaks English to some degree or another. It’s the international language of money, after all. And whenever cases like this come up that involve Americanos, I usually get the nod. It makes it easier to work together, since almost none of your people speak Spanish.”
“Yeah, well, guilty as charged, your honor.” Gavin pointed toward the bathroom again. “But hey, on a more critical note, all this talk about rogue waves and flipping over isn’t helping my stomach any, I can promise you. Mind if we take another short break?”
“Oh, sure, go for it.” Espinosa flashed him a small, wicked smile. “But you know, you gringos are famous around the world for your weak stomachs. We Mexicans can go back and forth across the border all day long with no problems at all.” Espinosa rubbed his stomach lightly to drive home the point. “Anyway, take your time, there’s no real rush here. And while you’re busy with all that, I’ll head upstairs and break the news that we still have a few more questions we need to get sorted out. That won’t be a popular message, I’m sure.”
“Thanks for being the sacrificial lamb on that one. I’ll try to make things quick down here and join you in the interview room in a second.”
“No problem,” Espinosa assured him, opening the door and stepping into the small hallway outside. “See you in a minute.”
29
Owner’s Head
Gavin sat on the closed toilet seat and pulled his satellite phone out of the inside right pocket of his jacket. He had felt it buzz while he was talking to Espinosa, and when he checked it he saw Harry Crawford had left him a short message. He made doubly certain the door was locked as he scrolled quickly through the email. Intrigued, he swapped to the phone Espinosa had given him and called Harry back.
Harry picked up almost immediately. “Gavin, that was quick. You alone?”
“Yeah, I told my partner I had some GI issues, so we have a few minutes before I have to get back upstairs. You said you have some updates?”
“I do. I got some new info on Katy’s inheritance. Seems her old man set everything up as a generation-skipping trust. Mom got most of it in the form of a life estate, and upon her death the money becomes a life estate for Katy, with a small carve-out directly to Paxton, presumably to ensure that he is well cared for in the meantime and maybe even has some seed money to get started in life. Then finally, upon Katy’s death the entire estate will revert to Paxton and any other legitimate children of hers.”
“So nothing for Trevor.”
“Exactly. Trevor got cut out completely, and there’s not even any wiggle room for Katy to change that fact in any material way. The life estate has some serious language preventing Katy from converting any of the money to Trevor or anyone else. Language so good I took a few notes for myself, just in case I ever need to draw up something similar. A brilliant lawyer might be able to find a way to get around those limits to some small degree, maybe a few million here or there, but nothing really substantial is going to ever sneak past those legal barriers.”
“That’s good work, Harry. Thanks.” He paused for a second, a new idea sprouting in his head. “By the way, did any of the paperwork show who was handling Katy’s interests in the estate? A bank, maybe, or some big law firm?”
“Actually, Gavin, I was holding back on that particular zinger as the final cherry on top to spring on you at the end. As it turns out, the lawyer handling all the juicy details for Katy was none other than—wait for it—Brett Cutler.”
30
Tara
Espinosa and Tara were already waiting for Gavin as he stepped out of the owner’s cabin and joined them in the cramped interview area just outside. Espinosa had a placid look on his face, but Tara seemed nervous, her eyes darting between the two men like a caged beast as Gavin pulled up a chair. Something in that look reminded him of his ex-wife, and he had to shake his head slightly to drive out that especially unpleasant image.
“I take it something’s changed,” Tara said before Gavin could ask his first question. “It’s the little knife, isn’t it? You found out something about that knife that’s narrowed down the investigation, didn’t you? Who is it? Still Trevor? ‘Cause like I told you, he’s the only person who could have possibly killed her. And his knife was the only one missing.”
Gavin paused, drawing out the moment. Tara seemed almost too eager to get started, and he needed to understand why. But first he needed an answer to something else he had noticed when he’d first been introduced to her soon after coming on board the boat.
“Before we get started, Mrs. Cutler, do you mind telling me about that bruise you’ve got going for you on the right side of your forehead? How did you get that?”
Her right hand jerked up involuntarily, covering the bruise for just a second before she seemed to notice what she had done and yanked it back down. “This? Oh, well, would you believe me if I said Brett likes to smack me around every now and then?” she answered with an awkward smile.
Gavin shook his head. “Highly unlikely. Your husband is right-handed. If he’d hit you, it almost certainly would have been from the other side.”
“How observant of you. No, you’re right, I got this the first night we were on the boat. Stumbled into the doorframe of the bathroom trying to go pee in the middle of the night. I would have turned on a nightlight, but Brett is a very light sleeper and I didn’t want to disturb him.”
“I see. That makes perfect sense.” Gavin wrote something into his notepad, then caught her eye. “Okay, Mrs. Cutler, let’s focus in on the night dive, again. When we talked earlier, you indicated that the last time you saw Katy Mulcahey was around thirty minutes into the dive. Has your memory on that changed since then?”
Her forehead wrinkled slightly. “No, I think that’s about right. But like I said, I wasn’t really checking my watch at the time, so I could be slightly off. Why?”
“And for most of the dive, you testified that Casey and Billie were drifting well ahead of the group, a great distance away from Trevor and Katy.”
“Yeah, that’s right. They would float ahead, then park themselves behind some coral formation every now and then and wait for the rest of us to catch up. Why? What have you learned?”
Gavin pointedly ignored her questions, but watched her reactions carefully, like a cat studying a bug. “And when they were hiding behind the coral, would you say they were out of sight the entire time? Or could you see them squatted down up ahead waiting for everyone to catch up?”
Tara rubbed her nose. “I don’t—I—I’m not sure. I mean, like I said, I wasn’t exactly paying them a lot of attention. But yeah, now that I think about it, they were pretty much out of sight the whole time they were waiting for us.”
Gavin nodded. “Okay, I need you to think back very carefully, now. Is it possible that Casey might have been waiting behind a coral head when Katy drifted past—”
“Now I get where you’re going with all this,” Tara answered excitedly. “You’re thinking that maybe Casey or Billie could have popped out, nabbed her, then pulled her back behind the coral, out of sight! Yeah, I can easily see how that might have happened!”
Espinosa had been busy checking his notes, but now looked up sharply. “So that’s a possibility?” he asked.
Tara’s forehead was knotted again. “Uh, no, I don’t think so. Katy was way behind us pretty much the whole time. But, now that you’re asking—”
Gavin leaned forward, peering even deeper into her eyes, trying to read her thoughts. Gray eyes, he noticed for the first time. Like the dark sea surrounding them. “You remember somethi
ng else?”
“No, no, not exactly a memory. But, it’s just that, the way the coral heads were laid out, and given that it was a night dive and all, if someone clicked off their dive light and swung out wide of everybody else down there, sure, he could have doubled back without anyone ever seeing him. At least, without any of us seeing him. He would have just had to avoid getting seen by Brett and me. And Trevor. That would have been pretty easy to pull off in the dark.”
Gavin and Espinosa locked eyes. They hadn’t really thought about that possibility, but it all fit. Now it didn’t seem so crazy after all that Billie and Casey could have been in on it the whole time. That either Billie or Casey—or both—had used the unique conditions of a night dive to swing back and murder Katy Mulcahey.
Gavin tapped his yellow legal pad with a pen. “Okay, Tara, let’s switch gears for a second. Let’s talk about Billie. How well do you know him?”
Tara shrugged. “Not all that well. I didn’t go to school with any of them, so mostly I just know what Brett has told me over the years, and the few instances we’ve had to talk on these dive trips. Same goes for Casey.”
“So do you have any reason to believe Billie might want Katy dead? Any reason at all?”