Linda Fairstein - The Kills

When he had finished checking everything, he unwrapped the tarpaulin cover off a small rubber Zodiac that he must have dragged to safety and tethered to a metal post on land before the storm hit. He led it back into the water and lowered the engine over the side.

"C'mon, missy. Have you there in five minutes."

I kept the blanket wrapped around me and stepped onto the dock, lowering myself over the bumpers and sitting on the edge of the little vessel, clinging to the handles on either side of me.

The night sky was still covered with clouds, but as we chugged along into the main body of the pond, I could make out the distinctive red-shingled roof of the old coast guard station, which now housed the local police. I knew they had a generator, and their lights were the only ones in town working, as far as I could see.

Kenny steered the small dinghy alongside the dock at the Homeport restaurant and started to tie her up. I stood and climbed the ladder that reached down to the water as soon as we touched against it. "No need to come," I said. "I owe you, Kenny. I'll make it up to you."

"You don't owe me anything. Just dry that blanket off and get it back to me. It's what keeps my dog warm when he rides around with me all winter."

"Well, tell him I'm grateful for the loan." I blew him a kiss and made a beeline for the station, just a hundred yards away.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

The clock on the wall behind the officer's head reminded me that it was one-thirty in the morning.

"Chip? It's me. Alex Cooper."

He did a double take. "What hit you?"

"I'll tell you everything as soon as I'm out of this gear. You got any women officers here? Someone who might have some dry civvies in a locker?" I spread my arms to unfold the blanket so he could see the condition of my clothes.

"Just a minute. Wait here." Chip Streeter went up to the second floor and came back a few minutes later with another tan-uniformed officer-a young woman who was shorter and heavier than I. She was carrying a pair of chinos and a plaid flannel shirt, which looked better to me at that moment than the entire spring couture line of Escada.

She led me to a bathroom, apologized for not having clean underwear to give me, but handed me paper toweling and a new toothbrush so I could clean myself up.

When I had finished the job, I went back out to sit at Streeter's desk. I described to him what had happened at the house a few hours earlier, during the storm.

"You sure you weren't imagining things?"

I bit my lip. "My imagination isn't that good. Have you got someone to take me home to check it out?"

"Like Kenny told you, we can't get through up that way by car. When the harbormaster gets on duty in the morning, he'll give us a boat to head on over. All my guys are out on calls on the North Road as it is. Hell of a lot of property damage, and we're checking on some of the seniors to make sure nobody's hurt or got any kind of medical emergency without power. Break-ins are taking a backseat right now. Anyone off-island you want to call?"

I shook my head. "Mind if I stay here till morning?"

"I'll brag about this for a long time to come. Only police officer in Dukes County to have a prosecutor in residence. Wouldn't have it any other way. We've got a couple of cots upstairs if you want to stretch out until daybreak."

I ached to close my eyes and be in a safe place. "Is it too much to ask for milk and cookies?"

Chip smiled at me and led me up to the small locker room. I thanked him and stretched out on the narrow bed, tucking Kenny's dog's blanket around my body.

I tossed fitfully for most of the remaining hours of the night, getting up to brush my teeth and try to give some direction to my hair a little after six-thirty in the morning. Sunlight was streaming in the window and reflecting off the water's bright blue surface. By the time I got downstairs, a fresh pot of coffee was brewing on the hot plate and two other cops had reported in for duty.

I introduced myself and asked for Chip.

"Gone up to your place to look around," one of the guys told me. "Somebody picking up lobster pots from the pond ran him over there. Asked to have you wait here for him."

I sat on a bench in front of the station, sipping my coffee. I could even make out my house on the hilltop across the way. Within the hour, Chip Streeter walked up the driveway, a clipboard swinging in his left hand, and what looked like a pair of my rain boots in the other. I stood to greet him.

"You find anything?"

"Sure looks like Bigfoot was roaming around up there."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to alarm you too much, but you weren't exaggerating the least bit. There's some impressions in front of the house, going off to the right, that must be your feet. Something with a soft bottom, no ridges?"

I stuck out my foot and showed him the plain sole of my suede moccasin. I nodded my head. That was the direction from which I'd left to go down to the cottage.

"But there's a set of footprints-I guess 'bootprints' is a better word-that circles the entire house. Firm and deep in the mud-"

"Did you take pictures? Can you make an impression of-"

"CSI, we ain't, Alex. Maybe the state police can do that kind of stuff. I'll give 'em a call."

"Could I go back over with you? Sometimes there's such a clear imprint that you can make out the brand and size of the footwear."

"Suit yourself. Road crew is out already, trying to clear the debris away. Somebody can drive over with you in an hour or two, if you're willing to hang around. You ought to know that whoever it was tracked inside the house, too. All over, like he was looking for you, or for something you had."

I sat back down on the bench, trying to think about who this could possibly have been.

"Alex, you got any ideas? You'll have to look the place over and tell us whether anything is missing. I checked the usual stuff-TV, CD player-all that's still there. I got no way of knowing about your personal things, cash or jewelry. Thought you might need these to get around, though."

Streeter handed me the boots. I removed the damp moccasins and pulled on the heavier gear.

"I'd like to ride over when you get the chance. I didn't have anything valuable with me." I didn't think my visitor was a petty thief, but there was no point pressing the issue with Streeter.

"Well, hang around and make yourself at home. They got some doughnuts down at the Texaco station. That's about all we got to offer so far today."

"Sounds perfect."

"Ever see those photographs of the thirty-eight storm, the one that washed out half of Menemsha and killed scores of folk all over the area?"

"Yeah."

"Check out the beach parking lot. Doesn't exist anymore. It's covered with mounds of sand, rocks the size of my head, dead fish everywhere. Makes you understand that mean old hurricane and why so many people died back then. Puts your own bad night in perspective."

It was only a short walk from police headquarters, past the closed shops and fish stores, to the gas dock at the marina adjacent to the state beach and jetty. I was stunned by the amount of destruction that Gretchen had visited on this strip of land. This was the road I had driven down the night before last, and now it was clear that water had breached the beachfront and swamped the pavement, making it unrecognizable as the same ground.

I stepped in sandpiles that came up to the tops of my knee-high boots, bypassing crabs and shellfish that had been crushed by the waves. The Unicorn and Quitsa Strider, massive steel commercial-fishing boats, had weathered the storm just fine. But the old shacks that bordered the waterfront had thrown off shingles and shutters, pieces of wooden board sticking out from the sand all along the way that I walked.