We took our places around the dining table and passed around the food. My mother didn't eat much, but she was beaming. “Any progress in your investigation?” she asked Paula and me. “Maybe we can help.”
I didn't doubt that. Paula looked at me, so I took the lead in outlining what we'd done and where we stood. “We're almost out of ideas, though. We've narrowed down our suspect list to three people, but we don't have any direct evidence. Our last hope is that Dr. Singer might have dictated the details of an appointment with the person who wanted to murder him, into a dicta-pen.”
I explained what a dicta-pen is. “The problem is that the police have searched, and Paula and I have searched, but we haven't found it.”
Paula spoke. “Maybe it would help to approach this problem using my technique for finding things that we've lost. Retrace the steps. Where was the last place you saw the dicta-pen?”
“Actually, I've never seen it.”
“Whoops. I guess we have to try something else.”
But when I closed my eyes and cleared my mind, and tried to imagine what the dicta-pen should look like, a scene from Sunday night flashed before me. I opened my eyes, looked up, and smiled. “You won't believe this, but I think I know where it is.” I turned to Paula. “It's on the boat Jonathan Singer rented for the week. We've got to get Stephanie to let us onto it.”
I stood up, took a last sip of soda, and set the glass back down. My heartbeat had speeded up, but out of excitement for a change. “Sorry, we've got to go. Come, Paula.”
“We understand,” my mother said. “Just be careful. Please.”
#
Stephanie, Judith, and Tracey were all in the ICU's waiting room. They were obviously there because of Jonathan Singer's grave condition, but it was eerie to see our Big Three suspects together. And at such a critical moment. Stephanie was pacing. The other two were seated at opposite ends of a long couch.
“Stephanie,” I began. All three women turned.
“Jonathan's taken a turn for the worse,” Stephanie said. “They kicked us out a few minutes ago.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.” I saw that I had to change my plan. Jonathan Singer was probably about to die. There was no way Stephanie would leave now to help me search the boat--nor would I ask her to do so. I could ask her for permission, and for whatever keys I'd need, but I couldn't ask for it here. My three prime suspects were within feet of me.
I didn't think that I could even get Stephanie to agree to accompany me to a nearby private area. Such an action would likely alert the murderer, in any case. I looked at Paula, but saw no answers on her forehead. All I could think of doing was walking out so Paula and I could think it through on our own.
I took Stephanie's hands in mine. “My thoughts are with you. Whatever happens, I hope it's peaceful.” I hoped that wasn't too trite. Paula and I nodded to the three women and left.
#
We were back where we always seemed to end up--the hospital's parking lot. Dusk was falling. I looked around but saw nothing suspicious. “We've got to get onto Dr. Singer's boat,” I said. “But how?”
“I have some ideas,” she said, but then paused.
“Sounds promising,” I said, trying to encourage her.
“Option number one would be to cross his yard.”
“Hmmm,” I considered. We were beyond worrying about trespassing--more about getting caught.
“Option 1-A would be to reach Singer’s boat by approaching it from the side.”
“Through someone else’s property, you mean.”
“Yes,” Paula said. “Or through a public beach, if there’s one alongside.”
“Do you remember the topography around Singer’s house? I certainly don’t.”
“I wasn’t paying too much attention to that, either. I do remember seeing some fences.”
“Probably just dune fences,” I said. “But if necessary, I guess we’ll just have to scale them.”
“There’s another problem. A potentially major one.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yes. All these approaches to Singer’s boat are in public or semi-public views.”
“So we could be spotted,” I said.
“It will be dark-”
“But if any outdoor lights are on-”
“Exactly,” she said.
“We’ll just have to chance it.”
“Maybe. But on the other hand…” She paused again, prolonging my nervous anticipation. “I have another idea,” she said. “It has pros and cons, too...but I think I like it.”
When she paused yet again I took her hands, as though trying to draw out her message through touch. She smiled.
“There are two ways to approach a boat,” she said. “From the land, and from the water. Who do we know who has a boat?”
“Thomas Haydock! Of course!” I kissed her before she could even think of fending me off, then fished through my pockets for his card. “Let’s do it,” I said. “You call him, though. I'm too nervous.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY
Paula called Haydock. He agreed to meet us at his boat's dock.
“Are you up for something a little, ah, illegal?” I asked Haydock when we all arrived. Darkness was falling, so I couldn't be sure if his eyes were twinkling. But I did make out a smile. “All in a good cause,” I finished, then realized that this argument would probably not be the one to sway him.
“Are you kidding, Doc? Count me in.” He boarded his boat, turned on its lights, and helped us climb in. The water was so still the boat barely bobbed.
“Tell me the truth, Doc,” Haydock said. “The last time you did something illegal was when you gave an answer on a test to someone like me, back in high school. Right?”
We all laughed. His cooperation, backed by his undoubted experience in over-the-line activities, began to buoy my spirits. “So what's the plan?” he asked.
I explained our plan in general terms, that we were looking for evidence on Singer's boat. I didn't mention the dicta-pen--just in case Haydock wasn't entirely an ally. “So you don't have to actually do anything illegal,” I said. “You bring us up to Singer's boat. Paula and I will do the actual breaking and entering.”
“You're no fun. I'll come with you.”
“No, no. We need you on your boat. In case we have to make a quick getaway.” And also, I didn't want him searching with us.
“Oh, all right. I'll just have to cool my heels with a few beers.”
“In the dark, if you don't mind. When we reach Singer's boat you should turn your boat's lights off so we don't attract attention.”
“No problem. I can drink with my eyes closed.”
Our ride from the Cove to the sound took twenty minutes. Under different circumstances--far different circumstances--it would have been pleasurable, romantic. The sky was a gorgeous pitch black, shocking in its blackness for a city-dweller such as myself. Stars sparkled in the sky, and house-lights flickered along the coastline.
Haydock steered the boat with complete focus. I paced, my heart pounding nonstop. I couldn't believe that Paula was calm enough to sit in a chair, hands folded on her lap, eyes closed.
I didn't see Singer's boat right away, but I knew we'd arrived when Haydock cut off our boat's engine. We drifted, and then hit Singer's boat with a thud. “Perfect landing,” Haydock said.
Paula and I joined him at the railing. Our boat was lower in the water than Singer's, so our railing was about two feet lower than Singer's, as well. But Haydock had no problem securing the two boats by throwing a rope over Singer's railing, and lashing it to ours.
He brought over a stepstool and a flashlight. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is it. Are you ready to take the plunge? I mean onto the boat, not into the water.” He laughed at his wit, but I winced at his timing.
Paula and I looked at each other and nodded. I climbed the step-stool, then used Singer's railing to pull myself up and vault myself onto his deck. I landed awkwardly, but managed not to fall by maintaining
my grip on the railing. Paula followed me, with Haydock's help from behind, and mine from ahead. I could see her grit her teeth in pain. But she didn't complain, even when I caught her on the other side.
Haydock reached up and handed me his flashlight. He then set up his rocking chair, his step-stool for propping his feet on, and his six-pack, on the other side of the boat. I flicked on the flashlight, he flipped off the boat lights, and I illuminated his path back to his chair.
“Thanks, Doc. Give a holler when you're done. I'll be fine here, as long as it takes. Good luck.”
I spoke to Paula in a low voice. “Who'd have thought that Haydock would be the one we'd turn to for help?”
She punched my shoulder. My sotto voce is never sotto enough for her. My heartbeat had slowed, but was still thumping. Excitement had given way to anticipation. No, my clammy palms told me, it wasn't anticipation. It was fear, and dread. I had a strong sensation that we were nearing the end of our quest. That was a good thing. But a lonely search on a dark, strange boat, didn't feel so prudent. Trapped. That's what I was feeling--but would be better off not thinking about.
“So where do you remember seeing the dicta-pen?”
Paula's voice interrupted my ruminating. I didn't want to communicate my fear to her. But, oh, no! “Don't get upset, but I don't remember...sort of.”
“What?”
“I remember that it's on the boat, but where exactly slipped my mind. So let's start searching. I'm sure it'll come to me.”
“OK.” The darkness didn't prevent me from reading her mind: “I'm frustrated, I can't believe this, but I won't say anything because it won't help.” Or were those my thoughts?
I turned away from Haydock's boat, and used the flashlight to find the entrance to the main room. Funny, there was a door there, and it was closed. I didn't even remember a door being there. It must have been propped open Sunday night. What would we do if it were locked?
I put my hand on the knob. Whew, it turned. But when I pushed I met resistance. Oh, no. When I pulled, however, it opened. Of course. It was an out-ie. Safer that way, in case of emergency. What had I been thinking? Relax, David, I thought, as I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants.
Into the room I went, ready or not, with Paula following. I made my way around using the flashlight to help me explore. Paula hung fast to my arm, probably afraid that otherwise she'd bump into something in the dark.
One flashlight made it a one-person search. I considered sending Paula back to Haydock's boat, but knew that she'd never desert the scene of the action. Or me. And leaving her alone with Haydock didn't appeal to me, either.
My dread was intensifying. The room we were searching had been cleaned up after Sunday's party. Tables and chairs had been pushed to the sides of the room, and were clean and bare. If Singer's dicta-pen had been lying around a cleaning-person would probably have picked it up and returned it. Or thrown it into the garbage. Or pocketed it. I wished I could search with something brighter than the flashlight.
“Do you think we should take a chance and turn the lights on?” I asked.
“I've been thinking the same thing. Have you remembered where you saw the dicta-pen?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Let's sit down for a minute and think. Clearing your mind may help you remember.”
I grabbed two chairs and we sat down. I turned the flashlight off, leaving us in the dark. How I loved being with Paula. Even in such a precarious situation. “Remember Rachel, and the Green Panther comic book?” she asked.
“Why did you ask that, of all things?”
“Taking you back to where you first thought of it may jog your memory.”
“OK. I’ll try anything.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
As we sat in silence and darkness I closed my eyes and thought about Rachel and the comic book. I was in my parents’ cottage. I smiled as I saw Griselda and Rachel coming to join us. I let my thoughts flow. The comic book in Griselda’s grasp was so colorful. And the graphics on the computer at the Sturgis Library were so colorful.
I bolted upright in my seat. That's what was wrong with one of Singers' e-mails! I’d seen e-mails in both standard and large fonts--business, personal and spam--forgetting that his poor vision could accommodate only large fonts. And I could swear that the e-mail he supposedly sent to Mitchell to confirm their meeting on the boat deck was in standard font. Which meant that he hadn’t sent it!
Judith Klansky would have helped him with his e-mails. But she couldn't be the one who forged this particular message, because she would have known that Jonathan Singer would use only large fonts. Had the forger/murderer made a mistake?
I heard a noise on the boat, but kept thinking--I was on a roll. I heard Paula shift in her seat. If Judith had seen the relevant e-mail, she would have noticed the font situation. If she wasn't the culprit, why didn't she point it out to us? Or to the police? No matter now. The point was that if I were right about Stephanie's innocence, then by eliminating Judith, I now knew that the murderer was Tracey Shanley.
And when I came to that conclusion, her motive became obvious, too. How could I have missed it? We'd decided that this was a highly planned-out murder. Which meant that it was no accident that Mitchell Singer had been framed. She wanted both Jonathan and Mitchell out of the way.
Why? This was obvious, too. To take over leadership of the Singer Institute. Which was also why the murder had taken place now, and not earlier. Shanley had been Singer's acknowledged heir-apparent until his recent decision to anoint Mitchell.
The noise outside the room drew closer. “Do you hear that, David? Do you think it's Haydock?”
“I don't know, but listen. I know who-”
A form filled the open doorway. I turned on my flashlight, and flashed it in the face of--Tracey Shanley! One of her hands rushed to shield her eyes. Her other hand flew forward as though aiming at us--but then continued across her body. She flipped on the light switch. Now Paula and I had to blink, and adjust our eyes.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?” Tracey asked. My racing heartbeat slowed when I saw that she wasn't brandishing a gun. She wasn't even acting menacing. We could still pull it off. Find the dicta-pen, get off the boat. Hand the pen and Tracey to the police. But my heart sped up again when I realized that Paula and I were on the boat, on our own, with a murderer.
“We didn't have Stephanie's permission.” My voice cracked. I cleared it.
“But she told me about your search. And that she gave you permission before.”
Damn Stephanie for opening her mouth. But obviously, Tracey was alarmingly persuasive.
“I thought you might've come back to Jonathan's house to continue your search,” Tracey said. “So I came to help. Stephanie lent me her house keys--yes, she trusts me. I checked in the house first, then saw your light flashing out here. So, what are you looking for?”
So she didn't know about the dicta-pen--I hoped. Paula looked at me. “Didn't you say that you had to go to the bathroom, David?” She made a covert movement with her eyebrows, out of Tracey's line of sight. She wanted me to search the back rooms, out of Tracey's clutches. But Paula didn't know that Tracey was the murderer. There was no way I could leave Paula alone with her.
“Go now,” Paula said. “While you have the chance.”
I looked at Tracey. She was looking back and forth between Paula and me. Paula's ruse was simple but effective. Tracey couldn't watch both of us if I left the room. Plus, until Tracey gave away her position Paula should be relatively safe. I had little choice. “OK. Back in a minute. You guys keep looking in here.”
I walked to the back corridor. Search first, bathroom last. Once I flushed I'd have to head back. So I entered and quickly searched the four back rooms. My searches were inadequate, because I had so little time, but at least I was able to turn the lights on and off.
I found nothing. It was hopeless. Every thump of my heart reminded me that Paula was alone with Tracey. I was scared. I went to th
e bathroom, and actually used it.
When I was done I took a deep breath to try to compose myself. Fat chance. My hands were trembling and my armpits were soaked. I returned to the main room and found it empty. That was odd. Why had the two women left? I must have taken too long to search.
There was an odd smell. Straight ahead of me stood the podium, and then I remembered. I remembered Jonathan Singer at the podium, him knocking heads with Judith Klansky, something dropping, something picked up. I ran to the podium, circled to the other side, stuck my hand into the podium's alcove--and pulled out the dicta-pen.
What I would have given to activate the pen right away! Hear Singer himself name his murderer. But that pleasure would have to wait. Tracey might return before I was ready. I shoved it into my pocket, where I felt the plastic wrap from my sandwich. Almost without thinking, I wrapped the dicta-pen in the plastic and returned it to my pocket. Maybe it would help to keep the pen incognito.
When I was done I looked up. Where were they? I heard heavy, scraping noises on the deck, like someone pushing furniture around. When I turned my head to look at the door, which was now closed, I saw her. “Paula!!” She was crumpled on the floor near the wall. What had I done, leaving her alone with Tracey? As I ran to her she groaned, and touched her hand to her head. Alive!
I saw a plume of fire shoot up outside the window. Within seconds the flame traveled the thin trail of gasoline which snaked under the door and into our room. “Are you all right, Paula?” What a stupid question.
“Unhh.” She struggled to pull herself up, leaning on one elbow. “I think so. She hit me.”
I looked around. The fire was burning across the front of the room, about twenty feet from us. But I knew that our time was limited. “Wait. Don't move. I've gotta figure a way out of here.”
As I walked toward the front door the smoke made me cough. Try the direct approach first. The trail of fire was thin enough that I could still reach the door, but only by leaning over the flame. I touched the doorknob. Yow! It was burning hot. I pulled my hand inside my shirtsleeve and tried the knob again. It turned, but I couldn't budge the door.
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