Nelson DeMille - Plum Island

Beth replied, "We think it was someone the Gordons knew. A grudge. Nothing for you to worry about."

"What if they come back?"

I was getting annoyed again. "Why would the murderer come back?" I asked a bit sharply.

"They always return to the scene of the crime."

"They never return to the scene of the crime."

"They do if they want to kill the witnesses."

"Did you or Mr. Murphy witness the murder?"

"No."

"Then you shouldn't worry about it," I said.

"The killer might think we witnessed it."

I glanced at Beth.

She said, "I'll have a patrol car keep an eye on things. If you feel nervous or hear anything, dial 911." She added, "Don't you worry."

Agnes Murphy nodded.

I opened the door and got out into the sunlight. I said to Beth, "She actually has a point."

"I know. I'll take care of it."

Beth and I went around the side yard where we found the gap in the hedges. From the hedges you could see the rear of the Gordons' house and the deck, and if you stepped through and looked to the left, you could see down to the water. Out in the bay was a blue and white boat, and Beth said, "That's the bay constable's boat. We have four scuba divers looking for two little bullets in the mud and seaweed. Fat chance."

The crime was not yet twenty-four hours old, and the scene was secured until at least the next morning, so we didn't enter the Gordon property, because to do so would have meant another sign-in, and I was trying to sign out and sign off. But we walked along the Murphy side of the hedges toward the bay. The hedges became stunted toward the saltwater and at a point some thirty feet from the water's edge, I could see over them. We kept walking to where the bay lapped against the Murphys' bulkhead. The Murphys had an old floating dock to the left, and to the right was the Gordons' fixed dock. The Spirocbete was missing.

Beth said, "The Marine Bureau took the boat to their docking area. The lab will work on it there." She asked me, "What do you think about the Murphys?" I think they did it."

"Did what?"

"Murdered the Gordons. Not directly. But they intercepted Tom and Judy on the deck, spoke to them for thirty minutes about the supermarket sales in the Saturday paper, the Gordons drew their guns, and blew their own brains out."

"Possible," Beth conceded. "But what happened to the guns?"

"Edgar made toilet paper holders out of them."

She laughed. "You're terrible. You'll be old someday."

"No, I won't."

Neither one of us spoke for a few seconds. We stood watching the bay. Water, like fire, is mesmerizing. Finally, Beth asked, "Were you having an affair with Judy Gordon?"

"If I was, I'd have told you and told Max right up front."

"You would have told Max. Not me."

"All right — I was not having an affair with Judy Gordon."

"But you were attracted to her."

"Every guy was. She was beautiful." I remembered to add, "And very bright," like I really gave a rat's ass about that. Well, sometimes I do, but I sometimes forget to list brains as an attribute. I added, "When you have a young, sexually attractive couple, maybe we should consider a sex angle."

She nodded. "We'll think about it."

From where we stood, I could see the flagpole in the Gordons' yard. The Jolly Roger still flew from the mast, and the two signal pennants hung from the crossbeam, aka, the yardarm. I asked Beth, "Can you draw those pennants?"

"Sure." She took her notebook and pen and sketched the two pennants. "You think that's relevant? A signal?"

"Why not? They're signal pennants."

"I think they're just decorative. But we'll find out."

"Right." I said to Beth, "Let's return to the scene of the crime."

We crossed the property line and went down to the Gordons' dock. I said, "Okay, I'm Tom, you're Judy. We left Plum Island at noon, and now it's about 5:30. We're home. I kill the engines. You get off the boat first and tie the rope. I heft the chest up to the dock. Right?"

"Right."

"I climb onto the dock, we lift the chest by the handles and start walking."

We sort of simulated this, walking side by side. I said, "We look up at the house. If anyone were on any of the three deck levels, we could see them. Right?"

"Right," she agreed. "Let's say someone is there, but we know him, or her, or them, and we keep walking."

"Okay. But you'd think that person would come down to the dock to help. Common courtesy. Anyway, we're still walking."

We continued, side by side, up to the second level of the deck. Beth said, "At some point, we would notice if the sliding glass door or screen was open. If it were, we'd be concerned, and might stop or go back. The door shouldn't be open."

"Unless they were expecting someone to be waiting for them in the house."

"Right." She said, "But that would have to be someone with the new key."

We continued toward the house to the top level of the deck and stopped a few feet from the two chalk outlines, Beth opposite Judy's and me opposite Tom's. I said, "The Gordons have a few more feet to go, a minute or less to live. What do they see?"

Beth stared down at the chalk outlines, then looked at the house in front of us, at the glass doors, at the immediate area left and right. Finally, she said, "They're still heading toward the house, which is twenty feet away. There's no indication they were trying to run. They're still side by side, there's no concealment anywhere, except the house, and no one can get off two head shots from that distance. They had to know the killer, or they were not alarmed by the killer."

"Right. I'm thinking the killer could have been lying in a chaise lounge, faking sleep, which is why he or she didn't go down to greet the Gordons at the dock. The Gordons knew this person and maybe Tom called out, 'Hey, joe, get up and help us with this chest of Ebola vaccine. Or anthrax. Or money. So, the guy gets up, yawns, takes a rew steps toward them from any of these chaises, gets within spitting range, pulls a pistol, and drills them through their heads. Right?"

She replied, "Possible." She walked around the chalk outlines and stood where the killer must have stood, not five feet away from the feet of the chalk outlines. I moved up to where Tom had been standing. Beth raised her right hand and held her right wrist with her left hand. She pointed her finger right at my face and said, "Bang."

I said, "They were not carrying the chest when they were shot. It would fly out of Tom's hand when he was shot. Tom and Judy put the chest down first."

"I'm not sure they were carrying any chest. That's your theory, not mine."

"Then where is the chest that was always in the boat?"

"Who knows? Anywhere. Look at those two outlines, John. They're lying so close together, I wonder if they could have been carrying a four-foot-long chest between them."

I looked back at the outlines. She had a point, but I said, "They could have put the chest down a few feet back, then walked toward their killer, who may have been lying on the chaise or standing here or had just walked out of this sliding door."

"Maybe. In any case, I think the Gordons were acquainted with their killer or killers."

"Agreed." I said to Beth, "I don't think it was chance that put the killer there and the Gordons there. It would have been easier for the killer to do the shooting inside the house rather than out here. But he chose this spot — he set up his shots right here."

"Why?"

"The only reason I can think of is that he had a registered pistol, and he didn't want the bullets subject to ballistics later, if he became a suspect."

She nodded and looked out toward the bay.

I continued, "Inside the house, the rounds would have lodged somewhere, and maybe he wouldn't have been able to recover them. So, he goes for two close-up head shots with a large-caliber pistol and with nothing between the exit wounds and the deep bay."