Chapter 3
I hardly remembered how I’d left the marina, let alone reached the promenade on the upper level. What I did recall was seeing Michael jump out of a police cruiser and rush toward me. He’d received my text message and contacted the police after he’d found my car and the note I’d left him. He’d held me close while I sobbed with relief. It had all seemed so surreal.
Michael kept a protective arm around me as we stood next to the police cruiser. A late evening breeze added to the chill in the air and I trembled—despite the emergency blanket draped around my shoulders.
As the morgue attendants transported Daniel Plouffe’s body from the yacht, the incident took on an even dreamier aspect. I felt as if I were watching a movie or an episode of CSI.
Detective Roland Leclerc’s deep voice drew my attention as he pursued his line of questioning. “Miss Scott, what can you tell me about the man who left you in the yacht?” He flipped to a new page in his black notebook.
I tugged the blanket tighter around me. “He had a raspy voice…and a strong grip.” The paramedics had noted and photographed the bruise marks on my neck.
“Can you describe him?”
“No. I—I didn't see him at all.”
“Did you get his name?”
“No. There was no mention of names.”
“Did he say anything to indicate where he might have been heading?”
“No.”
The detective frowned. “Did he say anything at all before he left?”
“To me? No.” I felt a sudden headache coming on and rubbed my temples. “Oh…he answered a call on his cell. He said, ‘yes, boss, right away,’ then hung up and left.”
“Anything else you might have overheard?”
My head ached so badly. I just wanted to go home.
“Miss Scott?”
“Something about their escape…” I forced myself to recall the memory. “Daniel Plouffe mentioned how he helped the other man get out of jail. A laundry truck, I think he said.”
He nodded. “We have reason to suspect the other man was Pierre Favreau—also an escapee. Fingerprint analysis of the crime scene will confirm their identities.” He jotted a note, then looked back at me. “Was anyone else on board while you were there?”
“No. Only the two men I told you about.”
“Really?” The detective eyed me.
“What are you implying?” Michael asked him.
“We found another body on the yacht," the detective said.
“What?” I gaped at him. “I don't know anything about another body. Is this a joke?” I felt Michael’s arm tighten around me.
Detective Leclerc flipped through his notebook. “A man, middle-aged. We found no ID on him. Would you mind taking a look to see if you can identify him?”
Michael cut in. “Detective, I think Megan’s gone through enough tonight.”
The detective gestured toward the dock. “She was on that yacht.”
Michael tensed up. “What are you insinuating?”
“She must know something.”
He pointed a forefinger at the detective. “If you think for one minute—”
I touched Michael’s arm. “It’s okay. I’ll do it.”
We waited while attendants retrieved the body from the yacht and transported it on the gurney. Judging from the hefty form under the sheet, this second victim was much heavier then Daniel. I didn't think it was Raspy Voice—I was certain I’d heard him leave the yacht.
I held my breath as the attendant pulled the sheet off the victim's face. Horror swept over me when I recognized a familiar face. It was Gary! “Oh, my God, no!”
“Do you know this man?" the detective asked me.
I nodded and tried to breathe normally, but my body refused. I was having a panic attack.
Michael blocked my view of the gurney and leaned in close to me. “It’s okay, Megan. Take a few deep breaths.”
I did. I heard the attendant move the gurney away and began to relax.
“What is this man’s name?” the detective asked me.
“Gary Stilt,” I said. “He’s…he was my client.”
“When did you last see him?”
“This afternoon…I met him for the first time this afternoon. I dropped him off at the Old Port afterward. He told me he was going to a party.” Then I remembered. “Oh…his Prada briefcase. Gary had it with him.”
“We found no briefcase on the yacht,” the detective said.
I recalled how Gary’s briefcase had rested on the table during our meeting and how he’d never zipped it open. Had it contained cash? Is that why it had disappeared?
“The man must have stolen it. The one you suspect might be Pierre Favreau.”
“How do you know for sure? Didn’t you say you were blindfolded?”
My heart pounded as another recollection came to mind. “Le mulet…sharing the money. That’s what the two men were arguing about. Maybe Gary was a mule for the Hells Angels.” I looked at Detective Leclerc, waiting for an aha! moment.
He frowned at me. “You took a grave risk following an escaped convict. You were lucky. Things could have gotten very ugly for you."
I met his gaze but was too overwhelmed to come back with a clever retort.
Michael spoke up. “Gary wasn’t as lucky. Maybe you should be focusing your efforts on finding out what happened here, detective. What was he doing on this yacht? And why was he murdered?”
The detective closed his notebook. "Exactly the questions we hope to answer."
A week later, Michael and I were stunned to learn that the yacht belonged to Gary Stilt. Although the police were still investigating a possible link between Gary and my two kidnappers, there was no evidence so far to indicate they knew one another.
Detective Leclerc suspected the incident was nothing other than an invasion of private property. The entrance to the yacht was unsecured, so anyone could have easily walked in. Unfortunately, Gary happened to visit his yacht that day. He’d been stabbed and so had Daniel Plouffe. It was assumed that the alleged perpetrator in both instances was Pierre Favreau. The forensics team detected the two escapees’ fingerprints all over the boat, but no murder weapon was found.
Bank records indicated that Gary had amassed a small fortune throughout his career as an investment broker. It explained the expensive yacht. The police found no paper trail to prove he was implicated in financial transactions with members of the Hells Angels.
Even so, Gary’s missing briefcase continued to haunt me. I was convinced it had been filled with cash and he’d acted as a mule for the Hells Angels.
But if he was instrumental to their dealings, why did they kill him?
Timely Escape (A Short Story) Page 4